Liar

“What?”

“Briana Maguire’s will leaves everything to you.”

5

“It doesn’t appear to be much of an estate, I’ll grant you,” he went on. “But we haven’t really had time to check for assets. You know, sometimes you read about these hermits who live very simply, but end up having a million bucks stashed away in a savings account somewhere.”

“Brilliant,” Frank said angrily. “You think this single mother who worked as a file clerk was a millionaire? A woman who was living on disability checks?”

McCain shrugged.

“No matter how much she did or didn’t have,” I said, “I don’t want any of it. And I have no idea why she named me in her will.”

McCain studied me for a moment, then seemed to come to some decision; he appeared to relax a little. He asked me a few more questions about my childhood relationship with Briana, then said, “Any idea why someone might want to kill her?”

“No. I don’t know anything about her recent life that Mary didn’t tell me tonight. As I said, I haven’t been in touch with Briana in a long time.”

“You’re certain this was premeditated?” Frank asked.

“Not absolutely. But a couple of things bothered us about it, or I wouldn’t be here,” McCain said, seeming to loosen up a little more. “First, a high rate of speed, coming down a street that isn’t exactly known for drag racing. Second, no skid marks-and yes, maybe the car had antilock brakes, but we’ve got two wits that say the car didn’t stop at all. You and I both know that very few people would accidentally hit someone and never apply the brakes.” He turned to me. “Most hit-and-run drivers are surprised, you might say-they stop or try to stop at some point. Maybe panic sets in or they have some reason for avoiding the police- drugs in the car, car’s stolen, they’ve got warrants out on ‘em, whatever-so they take off after they realize what they’ve done. But they seldom just hit somebody and keep rolling as if nothing’s happened. In this case, no one heard brakes or saw the driver swerve to avoid her.”

“Any chance the driver just didn’t see her?” I asked.

“Your aunt was in the middle of an intersection on a bright and su

I shuddered.

“The witnesses give you a make on the vehicle?” Frank asked.

“They can’t agree on the make, but between what they’ve given us and some of the physical evidence, we think we’re looking for a Camry.” He paused, then looked over at me. “As I said, the witnesses agreed that it looked deliberate. The vehicle wasn’t out of control-it maneuvered to hit her. The car hits her, knocks her down, rolls over her, and drags her body a few yards. The collision breaks a headlamp and does some other damage to the car, and makes a noise loud enough to bring people ru

Even though I hadn’t seen her in a long time, it was hard for me to hear this description, to imagine someone doing that to Briana. Frank took my hand. I held on.

After a moment, McCain said, “Any idea where your cousin is these days?”

“Travis? No.”

“Your aunt’s ex-husband?”

“He wasn’t really her husband. But no, I don’t know anything about him.”

He asked a few more questions, then walked over to the kitchen door.

As he opened it, it was clear from both her startled expression and her nearness to the door that Mary had been eavesdropping. She recovered herself quickly though, and I had to admire her regal bearing as she continued on into the living room. “Thank you, Detective McCain,” she said. “It was insufferably hot in that kitchen.”

McCain gave a little laugh. As he came back to where we were seated he smothered a yawn, then said, “Excuse me. I think I’ll call it a night. You’ll be in the area for the next few weeks, Ms. Kelly?”

“As far as I know.”

He took out a card. “Give me a call if you have any questions, or if anything comes to mind.”

“One moment,” Aunt Mary said.

He waited.

“I assume you aren’t charging Irene with any crime?”

“No, as of now, I have no reason to do so,” he said.

“Is there any reason why she can’t visit Briana’s apartment, take things out of there?”

He hesitated, then said, “It’s no longer sealed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I don’t want-” I began.

“Hush!” she snapped at me. “I want you to go over there tomorrow morning and clear her things out. You can keep them in boxes and give them to Travis when we find him. That’s fine.”

“But her furniture-we don’t have room-” I began again, grasping at the first argument that came to mind.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll even arrange to have movers bring the furniture here. I’ll store it for you until we find him.”

“What’s your hurry?” McCain asked.

She folded her arms across her chest. “I drove over to Briana’s apartment the other day. I’m sure one of your men mentioned that to you.”

McCain just smiled.

“Well, he wouldn’t let me in the apartment, but I spoke briefly to Briana’s neighbors. They said up until you and your patrolmen started hanging around, there had been problems with break-ins in that building. I don’t want thieves looting what belongs to Travis.”

“Neither do I,” McCain said, looking right at me.

Frank rose halfway out of his chair. I placed a hand on his arm and said, “That won’t help anyone.” He sat back down.

“What’s your real reason for wanting her to go over there?” McCain asked Mary.

“That’s real enough,” she said, narrowing her gaze on him. “I don’t lie as readily as some people do.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept smiling.

“I do have another reason. I want her to find her cousin. I’m very worried about him.”

“We’ll find him.”

“Hah! Listen here, Mr. McCain. There are only about six or seven states that have a bigger population than Los Angeles County-you’re going to tell me that you’ll find the needle I want out of a haystack as big as that? And that’s if he stayed local. Besides, you just mentioned to us that things are kind of busy in your division.”

“We have other professionals who-”

“So does she!” Mary crowed. “One sitting right next to her.”

“I’m sure Detective Harriman won’t want to cause jurisdictional problems.”

“No,” Mary answered for him. “Even though you’re in his right now. But he’s going sailing tomorrow morning. Irene’s going to hire that private investigator friend of hers to help us look for Travis.”

It took all the acting skill I have not to betray my surprise at this a

“Rachel Giocopazzi,” he supplied, not missing a beat. “She worked homicide in Phoenix. She’s my partner’s wife.”

McCain’s working smile suddenly brightened into the genuine article-this one lit up his face with pleasure. “Giocopazzi? Rachel Giocopazzi got married?” He laughed. “‘Pazzi! Well, I’ll be damned!” He quickly looked over at Mary and said, “Pardon me, ma’am.”

She waved that away. “You know her?” A bold question, since Mary had never actually met Rachel, only heard us talk about her.

“Know her?” McCain said. “Yes. I know her. Lord, yes. We worked together on a long, tough case-two victims killed here, bodies taken to Phoenix.”

This led to some grisly shop talk between Frank and McCain, during which it was obvious that Jim McCain’s unspoken reminiscences were not strictly about the case.

“Married,” he said again. “Your partner must be quite a guy. I don’t think there was a man in the Phoenix department that didn’t dream about ‘Pazzi. They’d call her that, or ’the Amazon.”“