drop by,” Benedict said.
“How do you know Blair?” Robb demanded.
“Uh-uh,” Benedict answered as he wagged his finger at the detective. “Attorney-client confidentiality and all that.”
“You’re looking prosperous, Charlie,” Santoro said.
“I can’t complain.”
“Not with clients like Horace Blair,” Santoro said. “We’d like to talk to him.”
“About what?”
“About some stuff we found in the trunk of his Bentley.”
“Oh? What kind of ‘stuff’?” Benedict asked.
“Blond hairs, blood, a gun, stuff like that. The lab is testing the hairs and the blood to see if they belong to his wife.”
“What made you think to look in the trunk of Horace’s Bentley?” asked Benedict.
“We got a tip.”
“Did the tipster give a name?”
“No, it was anonymous.”
“What was the tip exactly?”
Santoro smiled and shrugged his shoulders, trying hard to look sheepish.
“We’d like to tell you, but you know how it is early in an investigation. I’m afraid we have to keep it confidential as of now.”
Benedict returned the smile, letting Santoro know that he was too polite to tell the detective that he was full of shit.
“Did you have a search warrant for the car?”
“Didn’t need one. Mr. Blair gave us permission to look in the trunk. He was very cooperative.”
“I don’t suppose you Mirandized him or suggested that he speak to a lawyer?”
“There was no need. Mr. Blair wasn’t a suspect.”
“Then he’s free to leave?”
“No, Charlie. We found a handgun in the trunk with the serial numbers filed off. That’s a violation of the penal code. If we talk to him, he might clear up our confusion about the gun.”
“I’ll ask Mr. Blair what he wants to do.”
Santoro led the way down a short hall and stopped on the other side of a holding cell in front of a metal door with a window three-quarters of the way up. Benedict peeked in and saw Horace Blair waiting in a narrow, claustrophobic room with stained white walls. He was seated in an uncomfortable wooden chair, leaning his elbows on a scarred wooden table. When the door opened, Blair looked up. He started to say something but Benedict shook his head sharply. Then the lawyer handed Santoro a letter.
“This is a formal demand that you not listen in or tape our attorney-client conference or speak to my client unless I’m present. So please turn off all of your recording devices.”
“We don’t have any on.”
“Good. That means you won’t have any trouble complying. And now I’ll speak to my client alone.”
Santoro shut the door and Benedict sat opposite Blair. The millionaire was dressed in an expensive suit, but it was rumpled. He looked furious.
“Do you know what the fuck is going on?” Horace snapped.
“Unfortunately, I do. The police have taken advantage of you, Horace. Robb and Santoro knew they couldn’t get a warrant to search the Bentley because they didn’t have probable cause, so they tricked you into letting them look in the trunk of your car.”
“But they said it would help find Carrie.”
“Your cooperation may help the detectives send you to jail,” Benedict said in hopes of frightening Blair. The more Blair panicked, the easier he would be to manipulate. “If the hairs and blood they found in the trunk of the Bentley turn out to be Carrie’s, they may arrest you for murder.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know Stephanie Robb. She has tunnel vision. Once she fixes on a suspect you can’t reason with her.”
“I can’t be arrested. I have businesses to run. I have meetings scheduled in Europe and Japan.”
“Robb won’t care, but I do, and I’ll do my best to make sure that you make those meetings. You were wise to call me.”
“I should have done it before I let those lying bastards search my car.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You were worried about Carrie and that kept you from being cool and objective, the way you are when you make business decisions. Most people want to cooperate with the police, especially if they haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I haven’t, and I have no idea why Carrie disappeared or where she is.”
“Have they accused you of being involved in Carrie’s disappearance?”
“No, but they’ve been acting like I’m a suspect ever since they searched my car. How can they arrest me? Don’t they have to have evidence?”
“Unfortunately, the handgun they found in the trunk of the Bentley had its serial number filed off. That’s illegal.”
“I have nothing to do with that gun!” Blair shouted. “I’ve never seen it before!”
Benedict held up his hand. “Okay, relax. You have every reason to be upset, but before we talk about what they found in