betrayal. I give you a lot of credit for continuing to show up and do the job.”
“What choice do I have? It’s the only thing I’ve ever been any good at, the only thing I know how to do.”
“You’re exceptionally good at it, and it’s what you should be doing.”
“Now that the fear of my husband becoming president has been taken off the table, I can exhale a bit about my own future. Looks like I’ll be spending it right here, so if you could get rid of any of the remaining scumbags in our ranks who knew who shot my dad and didn’t say anything, I’d consider that a personal favor.”
“We’re working on it. People are less than forthcoming, but we’re not going to be deterred by stonewalling.”
“Go get ’em.”
“Good luck with the fraud case.”
“Ugh, I’m going to need it.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He waved as he walked away to continue plumbing the depths of the MPD for scumbags.
Once upon a time, she’d been under the illusion that everyone in the department viewed the job the same way she and her father did. Those illusions had been shattered a long time ago. Whenever she’d talked to Skip about it, he’d advised her to continue to stay on the side of right, do the job the best way she knew how and she’d be fine. “You can’t control what others do,” he’d said. “Only what you do and how you react.”
As she gathered what she needed for the meeting, she let the soundtrack of his voice play in her mind. She’d known him as well as she knew herself and knew exactly what he’d say to any comment or question. That was a huge comfort to her now that he was no longer physically present. Knowing what he’d say about any topic would keep him present to her for the rest of her life. And for all the life she had left, she’d fight for justice for him, even if it meant seeing colleagues she’d worked with for years taken down. If there were others, she hoped they were freaking out with the FBI crawling all over HQ.
She went into the conference room where her detectives had gathered. While they waited for her, they’d updated the murder board with additional information, including photos of Ginny alive and dead, the garden tool they assumed was the murder weapon, a list of the people they’d talked to and others who’d been scammed.
“How did you order the list of her victims?” Sam asked.
“By dollar amount invested,” Jeannie said. “The ones at the top put in the most. The thought is to start with them and work our way down.”
“Tell me we aren’t going to have to talk to all of them.”
“Uhhh, well,” Jeannie said with a smile and a shrug.
“I hate this woman, and I hate this case,” Sam said. “If you were wondering.”
“We weren’t wondering,” Cameron said, smiling. “But thanks for confirming.”
“Of course even vile people deserve justice when their lives are taken,” Freddie said. “But sometimes it’s hard to feel bad for them when it seems like they had it coming.”
“Indeed,” Sam said, “but we will get justice for her just the same, whether she deserves it or not. What’re we seeing in the financials?”
“Nothing that would lead you to believe that the woman had twenty million floating around,” Cameron said.
Detective Matt O’Brien, the newest member of their team, distributed a printed summary of the McLeods’ financials, which consisted of several brokerage accounts, bank accounts with several thousand in each and retirement funds. “As you noted, we suspect the bulk of the funds were stashed in offshore accounts that haven’t been located.”
A knock at the door sounded.
“Enter,” Sam called.
Patrolman Clare, whom Sam had met at the scene of Tara Weber’s murder, ducked his head into the room. “Pardon the interruption, Lieutenant, but per your request, we’ve put Ken McLeod in interview one.”
“Thank you, Officer Clare.”
“You should know he’s furious to have been detained and is screaming for a lawyer.”
“I assume you allowed him to make that call?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good work. Thank you.”
He nodded and left the room.
“So we’ve got another member of Ginny’s posse, who says he had nothing to do with the scam, screaming for a lawyer,” Sam said as a headache formed between her brows. “What do we make of that?”
“I want to dig deeper into his alibi,” Freddie said. “We’ve learned—recently—that alibis can be fabricated.” He referred to the Weber case, in which an airtight alibi had proven to