Wrong Place, Wrong Time (28 page)

Monty snatched the pages. “Receipts. Disbursements. All from an account in the Cayman Islands.” He shot Blake a look. “What a coincidence. That’s where our blackmailer wanted his millions deposited.”

“It’s not exactly an unusual spot for an offshore bank account,” Blake reminded him.

Monty blew off the comment, shoving the pages in Blake’s direction. “Recognize any of those names?”

Blake looked. Abruptly, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah,” he said indisbelief. “Some local bureaucrats and politicians we wined and dined to win contracts.”

“Pretty expensive wining and dining.” Monty pointed at a couple of entries. “Two hundred thousand dollars. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not what I would call a little palm greasing.”

“Shit,” Blake muttered, dragging a palm over his jaw.

“They’re payoffs. Big ones. The question is, who made them? James? How’d he get them by Frederick? By embezzling? If so and if Frederick found out, did he threaten to take him down, nephew or not? Is that why he’s dead? Did Rhodes stumble onto all this? Is that why he became a threat?”

Blake didn’t respond.

“Let’s start with the basics,” Monty said. “Did you know this account existed?”

“Not a clue.”

Monty nodded, glancing over the other entries. “These two names show up repeatedly — Lawrence Vista and Gerald Paterson. Mean anything to you?”

“One does,” Blake supplied in a flat monotone. “Vista. He’s an equestrian vet and genetic consultant. He works for my grandfather. From what I understand, Vista’s advising my grandfather on the best breeding partners for his show horses.”

“And getting paid a king’s ransom to do it. A dozen monthly payments of twenty grand each, during last year alone. Quite a hefty consulting fee. Not bad for equestrian matchmaking. What about Gerald Paterson? Know him?”

Blake shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

Monty studied the details more closely. “The payments were transferred to Paterson’s bank in Colorado Springs. Castoro, start there. Do an extensive computer search on this guy. Find out who he is and what he does.”

“Okay.” Castoro’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Let’s start simple. Just what’s publicly available.” A few seconds passed. “Looks like Paterson’s an average Joe with a house and mortgage. Nothing too exciting. Now let’s wake up the feds and some IT security weenies. Hacking time.” He fired up some programs and responded to their prompts, gaining access to the restricted systems. “Here’s something interesting. He’s an IT guy. And his employer is the US Antidoping Agency.”

Blake swore again, turning his back to the group and glaring out the office window. “If he’s being paid off, it must be to relay advance information on event testing.”

“Yup,” Monty agreed. “That way whoever’s paying him will know which events need fixing. It’s a different kind of hands-on approach. Very clever. There’s no need for James to take drugs. Instead, he makes sure others take them, at just the right time and place. I’ll bet if we check, we’ll find a few of his closest competitors were disqualified for drug usage — even though they probably swore they never used.”

“If you’re right, then Wednesday’s accident at Wellington was rigged,” Blake said woodenly. “Which would fit your theory that James set up the whole extortion scheme.”

Monty nodded, turning his attention back to the accounting pages, this time with a new slant in mind.

“What’s this horse farm in Uruguay?” he asked, jabbing his finger at the page. “There was a payment made to them this week.”

“That’s one of the farms my grandfather deals with. They sell him sperm specimens to inseminate his mares.” Blake gave a baffled shrug. “But those are legitimate transactions. So why pay them from a secret account?”

“Additional business,” Jenkins muttered.

“Maybe conducted by an additional person,” Monty concurred. “Someone who’s paying off an illegal debt.”

“What kind of debt?” Blake demanded.

“I can’t answer that. But I’ll bet James can.”

Blake made a frustrated sound. “We’ve got to strong-arm the bank,” he pronounced. “We need confirmation of James’s connection to this account.”

“Don’t hold your breath. The bank won’t reveal that information.” Monty pursed his lips. “We’ll have to dig it up through another, more subtle source. A source who’s got immediate access and an emotional in with James.”

“Devon?”

“Yeah. Devon. My daughter’s going to be a busy girl tomorrow night.”

The telephone woke Monty up.

He jumped to his feet, dropping the notebook he’d had on his lap onto the floor. Papers spilled everywhere, and he swore as he stepped over them to scoop up his office phone.

“Montgomery.”

“You sound worse than I do,” John Sherman informed him. “Once you solve this Pierson case, it’s time for a vacation.”

“Hell, yeah.” Monty rubbed his eyes, blinking as he glanced around the side of his house that served as his office. “What time is it?”

“Ten after four. P.M., if you need to know.”

“I’ve been staring at the same page for the past three hours. I’m beat.” Stretching, Monty got his bearings. He planted his hip against the desk and turned his attention to the conversation. “What’s up?”

“Raymond Carlburgh wants to see you,” the other PI said. “He sounds like hell.”

Carlburgh. He was the pathetic rich guy whose wife was banging her boyfriend like there was no tomorrow.

“Why? Did he walk in on them?”

“No idea. He sounded pretty out of it. All he said was that he wanted a meeting with you ASAP, complete with report and pictures. He tried your cell. When he couldn’t get through, he called me.”

“Great.” Monty massaged the back of his neck. “The shit’s hitting the fan here. I can’t break away.”

“He’s expecting you tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Neither is he.”

Monty sighed. “Fine. Have his chauffeur drive him here.”

“No can do. He says he’s too sick to leave the house. You’ve gotta drive up to Scarsdale.”

That was odd. Being a pain in the ass was out of character for Raymond Carlburgh. He was usually dignified and patient. Something must have really freaked him out.

“Yeah, okay,” Monty agreed. “I’m heading up to my daughter’s place tomorrow. Carlburgh’s mansion isn’t too far out of my way. Do me a favor. Get his file together. I’ll swing by and pick it up first thing in the morning. And call Carlburgh back. Tell him to expect me around nine.”

“You got it.”

Monty hung up and went back to his notes. He had a half hour before Devon arrived. They had a lot to go over.

In the meantime, something was still bugging him. It had been since his meeting with Blake. Until now, he’d been too preoccupied with the file Castoro had uncovered to give it much thought. But he needed to see if his suspicions had merit.

Backtracking to his notes of a few days ago, he found the interview he was looking for and sought out the inconsistency.

It didn’t take long to find it.

THE FRONT-DOOR buzzer sounded.

Startled, Blake sat up. He’d been flopped on his living-room sofa, polishing off a second glass of bourbon and scratching Chomper’s ears. Now Chomper was scrambling up, barking excitedly and making a beeline for the door.

Blake blinked back to awareness. The living room was dim, and shadows stretched across the walls. Sometime between when he’d arrived home and now, the sun had set.

He glanced at his watch. Six thirty-five.

Again, the buzzer sounded, this time more insistently.

“I’m coming.” Blake stumbled to his feet and made his way through the foyer. He was still half out of it from his thoughts and the bourbon. He rubbed the back of his neck and opened the door.

“Hi.” Devon was standing outside, shivering, her hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket. “Bad time?”

“I…No.” Suddenly wide-awake, Blake blocked Chomper from lunging outside to greet Devon. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice greeting.” She glanced pointedly into the hall.

“Sorry.” Blake stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

“Thanks.” Devon hurried in, wrapping her arms around herself as she stomped on the mat, kicking snow off her boots. “It always feels ten degrees colder in the city than in the suburbs. Which is pretty bad, considering it was twelve degrees when I drove out of the clinic’s parking lot, and ten when I left Little Neck. Plus, now the sun’s down. So it’s like Iceland out there.” She stooped down to rub Chomper’s snout and ears. “Hey, boy. At least
you’re
happy to see me.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” Blake said. “Just surprised.”

“So I gathered.” Devon rose and unzipped her parka. “Tell you what. Hang up my jacket, pour me whatever you’re having, and I’ll tell you why I’m here.”

One dubious brow lifted. “You want straight bourbon?”

“Yuck. No.” Devon shuddered. “How about a Thoroughbred Cooler?”

“What the hell is that?”

“Your bad.” Devon’s eyes twinkled. “Opening a restaurant chain called Chomping at the Bit, and you don’t know what a Thoroughbred Cooler is? Looks like having a party animal for a big brother trumps having a family in the horse business.” She handed Blake her parka. “It’s bourbon, sour mix, and orange juice, plus a dash of grenadine, lemon-lime soda, and ice. A lot more palatable than straight bourbon. Think you can manage?”

A wry grin. “I can try.”

“Good.” Devon ran her fingers through her hair and headed toward the living room. “Were you asleep?” she asked, glancing around the semi-darkened room.

“Nope.” Blake walked in behind her and flipped on a light. “I was thinking.”

“From what I heard, you have a lot to think about.”

Blake studied her face. “You saw your father.”

“I just left his office. He filled me in. You must be reeling.”

“Did you drop by to check on me?”

“In part, yes. From what Monty said, you had a rough day all around. Some disturbing revelations implicating your family and an inquisition from my dad. Lucky you.”

“The inquisition wasn’t bad. At least I understood where it was coming from. But the rest…” Blake blew out his breath. “Speculating that a relative of mine is into something criminal is one thing. Having the reality shoved in my face is another. And murder? That’s unfathomable. I feel like a stranger in my own family.”

“It’s not your whole family, Blake,” Devon reminded him. “It could be just one person.”

“Yeah. The person you’ll be alone with tomorrow night.”

“That’s not a concern. Monty will be right outside.” Devon sat down on the rug near the fireplace. Chomper plopped down beside her, his snout in her lap. “How about a nice, warm fire.”

“Consider it done.” Blake flipped the wall switch, and the flames licked to life. “The wonders of gas. Should I make you that drink?”

“I have a better idea. Let’s open a bottle of wine and order a pizza with everything on it.” Devon tilted her head. “I promise not to eat more than half.”

“That’s a relief.” Blake’s lips twisted into a grin. “And here I thought I’d have to fight you for a fifth slice. I appreciate your restraint.”

She smiled. “No problem. Although restraint isn’t what I had in mind — at least not this minute.”

Her tone was teasing. But her meaning was clear.

The mood in the room shifted abruptly.

“Is that so?” Blake asked, sexual tension crackling to life.

“It’s so.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Can you handle it?”

“Definitely.” Blake’s gaze swept slowly over her, his eyes darkening. “Just tell me this — when do I have to have you home by?”

“Breakfast.” Devon leaned back on her elbows. “Merry’s feeding the pets. Monty’s got an early-morning client meeting. If he shows up at my place early, Lane will entertain him — and tie him up with duct tape, if necessary.”

“Your brother’s resourceful,” Blake replied, still studying her heatedly. “Remind me to thank him.”

“Thank me instead.”

“My pleasure.” Blake pulled off his sweater and tossed it aside, lowering himself onto the rug beside her. “You know, this day is turning out a lot better than expected.”

“I thought you might feel that way,” she murmured, unbuttoning her blouse. “Of course, I still expect to be fed.”

He took over the unbuttoning job. “It’s early.”

“That’s true.” Devon lay back, feathering her hair out around her. “On the other hand, I skipped lunch. I’m pretty hungry. And if we push dinner off for a while
and
I exert tons of energy, I’ll probably be ravenous. I might eat a whole pie myself.”

Blake was making quick work of the rest of their clothes. “Tell you what. I’ll be a sport. I’ll spring for two pizzas.”

Devon’s smile was pure seduction. “That’s all the incentive I need.”

AN HOUR LATER, they were wrapped in blankets, munching on pizza and sipping wine by the fire.

“Now
this
is what I call a great end to a day,” Devon announced between bites.

“Better than great.” Blake caught her hand, brought her palm to his lips. “You’re exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome.” Her lips curved. “The funny thing is, I didn’t plan this part. It just sort of happened.”

“That’s the best way.” Blake kissed her bare shoulder. “You said you wanted to talk. I assume it’s about the deleted file.”

“Specifics of it, yes.” Sobering, Devon stared into her glass. “Lawrence Vista,” she clarified, not mincing words. “Turns out I met him. Twice, as a matter of fact.”

Blake’s brows rose. “When? And where?”

“This week. At your farm.” She elaborated on her two encounters with Vista. “He seemed uneasy. Especially after I told him I was a veterinarian. I assumed it was a question of job security, that he felt threatened by the thought of your grandfather hiring the competition. But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he was afraid I’d pick up on something. I have a trained eye. If he’s involved in something illegal to benefit James, and that something is medical, I might very well notice it.”

“Did you?”