Suspect. Jasmine Cresswell
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righted itself. “Why would Dad walk away from every penny he possesses? Does that seem likely to you? Or even remotely credible?”
“No,” Megan conceded. “But we have to face the fact that the cops in Miami have no idea what really happened the night Dad died.”
Now it was Liam’s turn to hesitate. He was much less convinced than his sister that Julio Castellano was as innocent as he had claimed, despite the fact that the guy had definitely helped to rescue Megan and Adam from the dangers they faced in Belize.
“We talked about this when you first got back from Belize,” he said in the end. “I agree the cops might have screwed up on the details of what happened the night Dad died, but their basic outline seems to be correct—”
“Sure. Apart from the minor detail that they have the wrong name pinned on the hit man.”
“In a sense, that is a detail. From what you told me about your trip to Belize, it seems that Uncle Ted knew plenty of people who wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Dad for quite a small sum of money. If not Julio Castellano, then take your pick of a dozen or so other smugglers and thieves hanging out in Las Criandas.”
Liam found it depressing to think about his Uncle Ted, a maternal uncle with as few ethical scruples as his father. Poor Sophie was certainly inheriting a package of unpleasant genes from the Raven side of her family, he reflected grimly. For her sake, he hoped to God that the scientists who claimed nurture was more important than nature were correct.
“The cops in Miami aren’t going to rethink their entire investigation without a stronger inducement than a vague sighting by a woman who didn’t know him all that well,” he said, forcing his thoughts away from his daughter. “It’s convenient for them to have Julio Castellano as the chief suspect. Who could be better to accuse of murder than a man who’s already been convicted and imprisoned for a previous killing?”
“Maybe a private investigator would find something powerful enough to turn the cops’ attention in new directions,” Megan suggested.
“But what could an investigator find? And how would he find it? Tricia hasn’t given us anything new to work with. She didn’t give you an address or a car registration for this guy she spotted. She didn’t even get a make or model of the car he was driving. All she gave us was the way he walks! Where the hell is that going to lead us? Nowhere.”
“You’re right.” Megan sounded wistful.
“You don’t sound entirely convinced.”
“No, I am. Of course, you’re right…”
“Look, if you want us to hire a detective to reexamine the events surrounding Dad’s disappearance, we should go for it. Except…what exactly are you going to instruct the guy to do? Even if we sent him to Belize, there’s nobody to question. Uncle Ted is dead. We haven’t a clue where to find Julio at this point—”
“I know. Tricia didn’t provide any new information we can follow up on and there are no other leads. Rationally, I knew that even before I called you.”
“There’s a melancholy note in your voice. What’s that all about, Meg?”
She hesitated for a moment. “I guess I realized when I was talking to Tricia that I haven’t quite accepted the finality of Dad’s death. He left so many issues unresolved that part of me feels mad at him for being at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, where I can’t demand answers. I wanted Tricia to be right. I wanted Dad still to be alive. After a while, it eats at you to be angry with a dead person.”
“You’re right. But for my sake, I hope he’s not alive,” Liam said coolly. “Because if he ever did come back, I’d be tempted to kill him, and I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in prison.”
Megan gave a wry laugh. “I think you’d have to stand in line. Ellie and Avery would both want to take the first shots.” She paused for a moment. “Tricia told me the cops in Miami have received four hundred and twenty-seven reports from people claiming to have seen our father. Isn’t that astonishing?”
“Not really. Police reports are generated in direct proportion to the amount of media attention. For a couple of weeks after Dad died, there was coast-to-coast, wall-to-wall TV coverage. The four hundred reports don’t mean anyone’s seen him, or even that they’ve seen a man who looks like him. It just means lots of lonely people like to feel connected to a celebrity murder.”
“It totally amazes me how much media attention our family is still attracting. I caught a snippet on the news just last night. They were doing a special report on the increase in cases of bigamy and polygamy, and they dragged out all the facts of Dad’s situation again.”
Liam had a suspicion it would be a while before the Ravens and the Fairfaxes could sink back into welcome obscurity. In life, Ron Raven had been rich and successful; in death, he was mysterious. The combination was irresistible to news outlets and his two families were suffering all the notoriety that really ought to have been Ron’s.
On the other hand, he wasn’t in a position to be judging other people’s failings right now, Liam reflected as he said goodbye to his sister and entered his office. His own choices and decisions over the past four years certainly didn’t stand up to scrutiny. Four years ago he’d spent the night with a woman dressed as Cleopatra whose real name he didn’t know and hadn’t made any effort to find out. That fact alone put last night’s careless seduction of No-Name into a new and unpleasant perspective. Clearly, he’d been pursuing a problematic lifestyle for several years. And what was his excuse? Four years ago, he’d been angry at the world because his father was a bigamist and the following year he’d had the bad luck to fall in love with a woman who’d murdered her husband. It was past time for him to admit that plenty of other people survived far worse. He’d chewed out Chloe this morning because she’d been unfaithful to her husband. Talk about the pot accusing the pan of being dirty! Okay, Chloe’s adultery had been reprehensible, but his own behavior would clearly not stand up to any sort of ethical scrutiny.
Awareness of his own culpability—that he’d behaved like a major dick—did nothing to improve Liam’s mood. In retrospect, he wished that he hadn’t been so damned smug this morning.
Chloe was already waiting for him in the small reception area, sipping water from a paper cup. She’d changed her ratty T-shirt for a soft cotton blouse that looked new, and her hair was combed into a smooth ponytail, held in place by a pewter-colored barrette. He felt a sharp jolt of sexual attraction as she crumpled the cup and tossed it into the trash, rising to her feet.
He pushed the attraction aside. God knew, where Chloe was concerned, sex had already gotten him into more than enough trouble. From now on, he was going to concentrate on thinking with his brain, a significantly smarter portion of his anatomy than his penis. Giving her a quick nod, he put the Cellini file on Jenny’s desk and tried to sound like a man in full control of his life.
“We’re finished with this case, Jenny, so you can send out the final bill.”
“Did we win?” Jenny asked.
“We did.” Liam gave a thumbs-up. Then he opened his office door and beckoned to Chloe. “Come on into my office,” he said. “I’m glad you made it back safely.” He was pleased with the casual courtesy of his opening gambit. “Since you’re here, I’m assuming you didn’t run into any trouble with the cops? Or the press?”
“I didn’t even see a squad car, thank goodness. And no journalists.”
“You got lucky. Quite often the journalists are more difficult to shake than the cops.”
Chloe followed him into his office. “I did what you instructed. I went to the mall at Park Ridge and watched a movie, although I couldn’t describe a single scene of what I supposedly saw. The worst thing about having the police believe I killed Jason is that I’ve been left with no time to mourn him. So every time I’m alone and quiet, I feel paralyzed with grief.”
Liam damped down another