Pool Of Lies Part 23

"I should have called first. I see you're busy." Morgan's tone was self-effacing, not at all what Rae had expected.

"No, uh..." Like a smitten schoolboy, unflappable Sam Garvin was tongue-tied.

Rae stepped forward and offered her hand. "I'm Rae Esposito. You must be Mrs. Bayfield-Farris."

Morgan grasped Rae's hand firmly and flashed a smile. "Of course. I didn't mean to interrupt your meeting."

Rae noted Morgan's camel-colored pantsuit with matching silk scarf. Definitely not off the rack at Kohl's. And the pale beige gloves. Unusual summer accessory.

"Mrs. Esposito came in to re-interview Fredricka," Sam explained.

"But she's on vacation, isn't she?" said Morgan.

Sam placed a hand on Morgan's elbow and steered her toward the hallway that led to his office.

"If you'll have a seat," Sam said to Rae, "we just have a few things to go over. Then I'll be at your disposal."

As the two left the room, Rae was almost certain she detected a tremor in Sam's hand as he touched Morgan.

At the sound of Sam's door closing, Rae let down her guard. She shook her head to clear the thoughts that were pouring in. Then she glanced at that picture she'd noticed on the wall beside the entrance. The one that had been so puzzling on her first visit. Jerome Bayfield, the patriarch, with an arm around his daughter, Elisabeth, and teenage granddaughter, Morgan. The caption: Groundbreaking-Bayfield Commons-1966.

The dark-haired young man with the widow's peak and the dimples whom she'd wondered about-that was Sam Garvin.

And the years of pent-up longing in the man's eyes as he'd looked at Morgan told the tale. Rae wondered what ghosts of the past, what feelings spilled from Morgan's eyes when she removed those Serengetis.

Moving closer to the picture of the Bayfield Commons groundbreaking, she stared intently at the images. An eerie familiarity p.r.i.c.kled her spine. Familiarity with what? What could those inert figures tell her? More to the point, what would they tell her-those still alive?

"Worth a thousand words."

Sam's voice right behind her startled Rae. No telltale sounds of doors or footsteps. She glanced around and beyond Sam.

"Where's Mrs. Bayfield-Farris?"

"My office has a rear entrance. She was feeling a bit emotional. She knows you've seen the tape. Deidre's tape."

"Oh." Rae distanced herself from the picture on the wall as if this could prevent Sam from guessing her thoughts. What did it matter if he knew that she'd figured out he was the young man in the picture? Somehow, instinct told her it did matter.

"She loved her daughter." Sam's voice, like fine sandpaper on her ears.

She had a pretty strange way of showing it. Rae bit back the sarcastic remark. She really didn't know these people. Besides, it would be unprofessional. Just do your job, Rae.

"Can we just cut to the chase, Sam?"

She thought she detected a slight intake of breath as Sam looked a question at her.

"I mean, how long have you known about Deidre's true parentage?"

A bony hand hid his crooked smile, m.u.f.fled something like a laugh devoid of humor. "As you've seen by that picture," Sam gestured toward the wall behind her, "I've been around a long time. I've known Deidre all her life...known who she was."

Rae resisted the urge to turn back toward the photograph as she focused on Sam's pale eyes. "Then you're aware of the implications," she continued.

"I am." His voice was barely above a whisper. Soft, as it may once have been before something sucked all the juice out of him. "But are you, Mrs. Esposito?"

The pale eyes, the angular face, the black hair, the widow's peak coalesced in her brain. OhmiG.o.d. He's Deidre's father.

"Mrs. Esposito?"

Rae struggled for composure. "The implications...I think so. The GST tax."

Sam took a step back, again giving her the lop-sided grin, this time not bothering to cover it. "The GST tax?"

"It must have been a whopper. I'll need to take a look at Jerome Bayfield's 706."

Sam had stopped smiling and was looking through her.

"I can understand your wanting to protect Mrs. Bayfield-Farris by not putting a disclosure like that on her grandfather's estate tax return. Who could fault you for making a mistake? Worst case scenario, you'll pay a preparer penalty." Rae backtracked, hoping her panic didn't show. People didn't kill over a tax return error, did they?

"Are you wearing a wire, Mrs. Esposito?"

"A...whoa...you think I'd tell you if I was?" Rae backed toward the front door. Too late, she realized Sam wasn't looking through her, but at someone behind her.

"I'll bet she's not." Morgan's voice fanned her ear, chilled mint on the stale office air.

Rae whirled around to face Morgan. "How do you know that?"

"They don't send accountants in wearing wires." Morgan's voice sounded frayed at the edges.

Rae watched a cloud pa.s.s quickly over Sam's expression as he asked Morgan, "Did you forget something?"

"The books are clean. You can't blow that check all out of proportion," Morgan continued, ignoring Sam's question.

"Fredricka has explained about the check." Rae fought for calm as she watched Morgan clench and unclench her hands on the handle of her beige leather handbag.

Then, Rae decided calm wasn't going anywhere. "If I were you, I'd be more concerned with the GST tax omission."

"GST tax?" Morgan's volume cranked up a notch, a decibel away from completely doing in her serene image.

"She has no idea what that is," said Sam to Rae.

"What's she talking about?" Morgan demanded, brus.h.i.+ng past Rae to get to his side.

Rae watched Sam guide Morgan into the chair behind Freddie's desk. "It's going to be all right," he said.

"That's what we thought when Jerome died."

The hateful tone Morgan used confirmed Rae's picture of Jerome Bayfield as a cold, miserly tyrant.

"It's going to be fine, dear." Sam rubbed Morgan's arm.

The intimacy implied in Sam's words and touch made Rae uneasy. "I need to get back to my office. They're expecting me." Rae wished. Truth be told, she was supposed to be at her home office working on a projection of the GST tax that had been skipped.

She watched more looks pa.s.s between Sam and Morgan, as Morgan shrugged off her moment of weakness. They really don't need words, they've been together so long. Apart yet not apart. They've had to get major mileage out of a glance.

"The check is a dead end, Mrs. Esposito. Fredricka's not going to change her story," said Sam.

Story? Don't touch that one, Rae.

But, that cat-killer curiosity was honing her senses, making her say it out loud. "So, it's a lie? You pressured Fredricka into lying?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Sam's voice burst into flames. "All you have is the GST tax. I'll take whatever blame is due for that."

All? Isn't that enough? What could be worse?

But she knew now what something so insignificant as the date on a check could really be-not just a theory she only half-believed. One dead Kevin sure didn't need a check. And Sam couldn't leave Morgan out there as the last to see the kid alive. If Kevin was in the office on that Friday afternoon, there had better have been a check written.

Rae dove for the front door and gave the k.n.o.b a mighty twist, then nearly landed on her b.u.t.t as someone on the other side turned the k.n.o.b and pushed inward at the same time.

Rae struggled for balance as Veronica brushed past her with barely a greeting. A stocky young uniformed officer followed her like a puppy without a leash.

"Detective Sanchez," began Sam, gearing up to make nice, placing himself between Veronica and Morgan.

With a curt nod of her head, Veronica shoved some paperwork at him and then continued on without slowing until she faced Morgan, who had retreated to a point just beyond Freddie's desk. The looks were darting between Sam and Morgan again as Sam glanced up from the paperwork Veronica had given him.

"Morgan Bayfield-Farris," said Veronica, "you are under arrest for the murder of Kevin Cantrell."

Rae watched numbly while Sam wasted no time in hopping behind Freddie's desk, grabbing the phone and hitting speed dial.

"You have the right to remain silent. If you waive that right, anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."

Rae strained to hear what Sam was saying on the phone, but his hand was cupped around the mouthpiece. Got to be Stan Eisley. Rae felt an unbearable sadness wash over her. She'd wanted justice for Deidre, but justice for Kevin? Did he deserve justice? And wasn't it only a few weeks ago that she'd been asking herself if Deidre was worthy of all their efforts?

I don't want these thoughts. But Rae couldn't shake them as she watched the scene unfold.

Morgan stood impa.s.sively while the young male cop put the cuffs on her. It looked to Rae as if he was trying to be gentle. Morgan Bayfield-Farris didn't look like a criminal. She looked like a trapped animal that had given up.

"You have the right to an attorney."

"He's on his way," Sam interrupted. "Don't say a word," he instructed Morgan.

Morgan gave Sam a wan smile and a mouthed thank you.

Veronica continued her Mirandising as if Sam didn't exist. "If you cannot afford an attorney..."

Rae let out an involuntary snort at the idea of an indigent Morgan Bayfield-Farris. Veronica rattled off the rest, all the while eying Rae as if she were a nut case.

Then Veronica plucked Morgan's Brahmin handbag from Freddie's desk. Last Rae remembered, the beautiful leather bag had been in Sam's hands. Veronica plopped it into an evidence bag and headed for the door.

But what about Sam, Rae wondered. Accessory?

With a quick nod of her head, Veronica signaled. When Rae didn't move, Veronica said, "Let's go."

"But, what about..." Rae looked at Sam.

"Tell Stan Eisley we'll meet him at the station," Veronica said to Sam.

Rae hurried out the door, trying to keep up with Veronica. "I need to talk to you."

"We'll talk at the station."

The young cop helped Morgan into the back seat of the squad car, protected her head just like on TV.

"No. We've got to talk now," insisted Rae.

"What is it?"

"What about Sam Garvin?"

"What about him?" Veronica tapped her foot impatiently as she watched her backup officer climb into the driver's seat of the car. "My warrant is only for Morgan Farris and her purse."

"At least you could've given me a heads-up."

"You weren't supposed to be here. Besides, the informant just came forward. I had to scramble like mad to get the warrant. Now get your b.u.t.t in gear and follow me back to the station."

While following Veronica back to Lakewood P.D., Rae's mind constructed various scenarios to explain the turn things had taken.

An informant came forward? Did this mean they finally got their hands on JJ Camacho, and he implicated Morgan? Was this whole thing just about money?

No way. Unless Morgan Bayfield-Farris was one award-quality actress. Morgan and Sam, the ill-fated lovers, paired for life like a couple of wild geese-they did not kill their love-child, either directly or through a hit man. Rae would have staked her life on this. Well, not her life. And yesterday she'd have had a different take on it.

But the arrest had been for Kevin's murder. And Kevin seemed like a really bad seed. A loco weed in the pasture.

Would someone of JJ Camacho's ilk lie to save his a.s.s? You bet he would. Stop it, Rae. You'll know soon enough from Veronica. But how in h.e.l.l did Veronica know Morgan would be there? Rae's mental processing had slowed her driving and taken her attention away from Veronica, and now the detective's car was nowhere in sight.

As Rae pulled into guest parking at the Lakewood Civic Complex, she noted Veronica's car parked and empty in the police section.

Not yet eleven in the morning, and heat waves danced along the asphalt parking area. Rae pitched her suit jacket into the back seat, grabbed her briefcase and exited. d.a.m.n skirt always ended up around her thighs by the time she got from the driver's seat of her SUV to the ground. Once she felt established in her new job, she'd go back to jeans. And boots. The d.a.m.n shoes still weren't broken in.

Inside the building, she hurried past security. The guards all knew her by name now.

Still no sign of Veronica. How'd she do that? And with a prisoner in tow. Rae pulled out her key card as she hurried down the corridor, then quickly keyed into the department offices.

When she pa.s.sed the interrogation room, she caught sight of Veronica, Morgan and a youngish guy in a suit. Must be somebody from Stan Eisley's office. But what could Stan be doing that was more important than being at his number one client's side?

More importantly, where was Sam Garvin?

Rae briefly greeted the co-workers she pa.s.sed before holing up in the cubicle that had been a.s.signed as her work s.p.a.ce.