You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,155

out something—anything—to point the police in the right direction.

As she lathered her body, she wondered, who had the most to gain with Megan out of the way?

The simple answer was: Sophia Russo.

Because she wanted James, who hadn’t been able to break up with Megan.

So maybe Sophia had taken matters into her own hands.

That seemed pretty rash, but Rebecca had seen enough true-crime mysteries on late-night TV to know that truth was stranger than fiction. She would just have to be careful.

* * *

Sweat pouring down his face, Rivers ran on the treadmill located in the second, or spare, bedroom of his condo. He never had overnight company, so he’d converted the room into an office/gym. He’d pushed a desk into one corner, while a set of weights, the treadmill, and a stationary bike were all aimed at a television mounted high on the wall opposite his filing cabinets, the equipment dominating the room. Currently it was 4:00 A.M., and the news of the day was breaking on the East Coast. Not that he was paying attention.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, his thoughts chasing one after the other about the ongoing investigations that had stalled over the last week. The loose ends kept running through his mind: Why had Charity Spritz been killed? What had she learned? Did it have anything to do with Megan Travers, who had grown up in San Francisco? Who was the mystery woman related to James? Why was Megan Travers’s car located at that out-of-the-way mountain cabin? Where was she? How was Jennifer Korpi involved? Did it have to do with her brother, Gus Jardine? And what about Sophia Russo, the woman who had caught James Cahill’s attention while he was still involved with Megan Travers?

He kept running and swiped at the sweat on his forehead with the towel that hung from his neck.

His calves started to ache, and he was breathing hard.

What about Rebecca Travers? Was she as innocent as she tried to be? And how was Willow Valente involved? Why was she murdered? And by whom? Why stage her death to appear a suicide, then take a picture of her dead body and send it to a newspaper, the same newspaper Charity Spritz worked for, the same newspaper that received pictures of Charity in death?

What the hell kind of nutcase were they dealing with?

Or was it more than one case? Were the murders and disappearance linked or separate crimes?

The latter seemed unlikely. On a side note, he’d learned that the owner/manager of the Cascadia Apartments, Phoebe Matrix, was in the hospital, in a coma, one of her tenants having called 9-1-1. The only reason he noted her condition was that Matrix was the landlady for the building where Sophia Russo, a suspect in the case, resided. It might just be coincidence, but James Cahill too, the man who had been dating Sophia for a while, had been in a coma recently.

And Rivers had never put any stock in coincidence.

He hit the INCLINE button, and the treadmill responded, its nose inching upward so that he was running uphill, the sweat rolling off his muscles and dripping off his nose, his calves and thighs protesting.

The answer to the case was right in front of him, he was sure of it, he just couldn’t see it.

Why?

Because he was wearing blinders?

Was he too focused on James Cahill, who was at the center of the investigation, linked to the victims, suspects, and crime scenes? Could Cahill really be completely innocent?

“No way,” he said aloud.

Today, he promised himself, things were going to break.

He would make them.

First, by leaning on Bruce Porter.

He’d viewed the footage from the airport parking-lot security tape that Detective Tanaka in San Francisco had sent, and all they could determine from the grainy black-and-white image was that the individual appeared male, though there was no certainty in that hypothesis. Just because the driver leaving Charity Spritz’s parked van was nearly six feet, that was no guarantee. In an oversized sweatshirt, face obscured by a hood, and loose jeans, the figure could be a woman in disguise.

But he was betting on Gus Jardine. The reason? Teeth marks on Jardine’s hand. Rivers had learned about Gus’s injury from a surgical nurse who hadn’t been able to keep her mouth shut despite the current HIPAA rights of patients. She’d called, spoken anonymously, but swore there had been a human bite mark on Jardine’s palm that had been visible, despite the damage done by the tile saw. Also, she’d insisted