Her eyes flashed. “So you and Fitz really are in bed together?”
The only MVPD officer that I’ve been to bed with is you, AngiePallorino ...But he held his tongue and was saved by the ring of his cell phone.
He answered. It was Buziak.
“We got a break,” Buziak said immediately. “Highways camera captured a black Lexus, license plate BX3 99E, heading west over the Johnson Street Bridge at 5:37 p.m. Saturday. The same Lexus was captured again, heading east at 6:52 p.m. I want you to handle this lead, and I need you to tread lightly. Very lightly. Everything by the book, understand? Because that Lexus is registered to Ray Norton-Wells.”
Maddocks’s pulse stalled, then kicked to a rapid staccato.“The husband of theassistant deputy attorney general?”
“The same. Address 5798 Stanley Road, Uplands. Keep this quiet for now. When talking to him, focus solely on the Lexus—don’t link it to the murders yet. Just because that vehicle was seen in both places, it doesn’t prove it was involved in the Drummond abduction. Again, I cannot reiterate this firmly enough—tread extremely carefully. If this does start to go anywhere, if this case is connected in any way to the ADAG and the office of the attorney general, we’re going to need a special prosecutor on board. And that will blow sky-high in the media and political establishment. We need to have all our legal ducks in a fucking tight little row.”
CHAPTER 37
Gravel crunched beneath Angie’s boots as she walked with Maddocks slowly around a bronze Jaguar parked outside the front of the house. The doors to the garages at the side of the house had been left open. Rain redoubled efforts, and the wind whipped icy up from the sea into this subdivision of high-end estates. Tension still simmered hot and sexual between her and Maddocks. With it came unease, because she knew that she’d overstepped the mark, and it scared her that he was right, that he could read her like a book, that he dared say to her things no one else would. Shewasself-sabotaging. Like some kind of sick addict. And she couldn’t seem to stop the slide, and she didn’t know why or what was truly driving her. He was right about another thing—one word from him and her bid for homicide would be toast. She resented that he had that power over her right now.
“This is not a house,” she said, stopping to look up at the three floors. “It’s big enough to be a small hotel.”
Inside the garage was a little red 2016 Porsche 911 Turbo and three vacant spaces. Not surprising. It was Tuesday afternoon. House occupants would likely be at work.
“Can I help you?” came a gruff voice from behind them.
They spun around. A man in a raincoat over a suit, briefcase in hand, shined shoes, stood next to the Jag.
“Ray Norton-Wells?” Maddocks said, approaching.
“Who’s asking?”
“Detectives Maddocks and Pallorino, MVPD.” He showed his badge. Rain was dampening Norton-Wells’s hair, face.
“What’s this about?”
“You have a black Lexus registered in your name. I don’t see it parked here.”
The man frowned. A movement up in a window in the left wing of the mansion caught Angie’s eye. A young male in a white T-shirt stood there. Watching them.
“That’s because it was stolen,” said Norton-Wells.
A ripple of interest went through Angie.
“When?” said Maddocks.
“About two weeks ago. Look, I need to get back to my office—”
“Did you report the theft, Mr.Norton-Wells?” Maddocks said.
“My son, Jayden, did. I’d given him the Lexus for his use. He’s had it for about six months now.”
“But the insurance was in your name.”
He irritably wiped rainwater from his brow. “Yes.”
“But when the vehicle was stolen, you didn’t cancel it?”
“Jayden said he’d taken care of it.”
“Is your son home, Mr.Norton-Wells?” Angie interjected.
“I’m going to have to ask why you’re interested in this vehicle.”
