Damage Control (Alexis Parker Book 27), page 2
“That case was different.”
Almeada stood. He knew better than to argue with me. “Lucien, I trust you’ll get results. Let me know what you find.”
“We need everything the prosecutor’s office plans to use against Mr. Ford,” Cross said.
“I’ll have copies of discovery sent over in the morning.” The attorney stopped in the doorway. “Where is Mr. Ford now?”
“He’s waiting in reception.” I glanced from my boss to Almeada. “I guess you can tell him I’ll take his case.”
“There was never any doubt,” Almeada said, “but I’ll reassure him nonetheless. Do you need anything else from him today?”
“Not yet,” I said. That would change once I started looking into the matter.
“Make sure he signs a contract,” Cross said.
“I already signed one on his behalf.” Almeada pointed to a blue folder beside my boss.
“Have him sign one too. I like to make sure our clients know where they stand,” Cross insisted.
Almeada cocked his head to the side. “I’m your client, Lucien. The firm hired you. I’ll be footing the bill. Anything you find, you report to me.”
“Make him sign it anyway.”
“Whatever.” Almeada waved his hand in the air, half as a goodbye, half dismissing Cross’s request.
Once the door closed, Cross found me staring at him. “What?”
“You assigned me this case because of Martin?” I asked.
“Almeada dug that up on his own. But he has a point. The police had James Martin dead to rights. A body on his yacht with no one else around.” Cross tilted his head. “Without you, they would have nailed him for that.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“Were you dating at the time?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m curious.”
“No, we weren’t dating, but I knew he wasn’t a killer.”
“Do you think Dustin Ford is?”
“I don’t know.”
“People are capable of anything.”
“I know.”
Cross searched my eyes. “Almeada isn’t hiring you to clear Ford’s name. He isn’t even hiring us to find the truth, unless the truth will exonerate his client. He hired us to come up with alternative theories as to what happened. He wants us to create reasonable doubt.”
“Create it or find it?”
Cross’s brow furrowed. “What’s the difference?”
“I won’t fabricate evidence.”
“So find it.”
I stared at the notes I’d made. The murder took place six months ago. By now, there wouldn’t be anything left to find at the crime scene. “I need police records, not just whatever the prosecutor is using to build his case. The answers Almeada needs will be in the bits and bobs the prosecutor threw out because they were inadmissible or didn’t support the narrative he’s crafting.”
“Do you need help getting those materials? I figured your friends in the department could assist, but I have other means available if necessary.”
“Your father?”
Cross scoffed. “No.”
“I’ll stop by the precinct once I know more, but first, I want to build a profile on our client and the victim. I need to know who these people are so I can dig deeper.”
“Almeada’s research and the backgrounds I put together are waiting in your office.”
“How long have you known about this?”
“A day or two.”
“Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”
“Maybe if you’d been at any of the morning meetings this week, you would have heard about it,” Cross said. “We do have those for a reason.”
“I wasn’t there because I was conducting surveillance for another case you assigned me.”
“Oh, that’s why?”
“Ask billing. I sent them my timesheet and expenses.”
He glanced at the door. “You should get started. While you do that, I’ll look into the vacation rental.”
I fought to keep the exasperation from showing. “We’re working on this together?”
“I’ll be assisting. In fact, anyone with a light load will be assisting. This is an all-hands situation at Almeada’s request.”
“Why? What’s so special about Dustin Ford? As far as I can tell, he’s a nobody who got himself in a sticky situation.”
Cross squinted, like he thought I was putting on an act. “You really don’t know who he is?”
“Why would I?”
“He changed his name to Ford when he turned eighteen. He didn’t want his family’s legacy to follow him around. He’s a black sheep, a pariah, but he’s also heir to a pharmaceutical fortune.”
“That’s why you’re interested.”
“That’s not why I’m interested. That’s why Almeada’s interested. His firm’s corporate wing represents Ford’s father’s business. They lose this case, they’ll lose an eight-figure account.”
“That sounds like Almeada’s problem.”
“He said he’d make it mine. I’d prefer not to deal with that.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” I hesitated in the doorway. “Did Almeada really handpick me for this?”
“Yep.”
“And he did it because I cleared Martin’s name?”
“And mine.”
“Why do the men in my life end up arrested for murder?”
Cross smirked. “I can’t speak for Martin, but mine is a story for another day.”
“I thought I already heard it.”
“Part of it.”
I didn’t want to hear the rest. In fact, I made that abundantly clear at the time. Cross had been on the same page. Some secrets weren’t meant to be shared.
“How did Almeada even know about the incident on Martin’s yacht?” I asked.
“That was a highly publicized case. I’m sure every defense attorney in the city was hoping to get a call, except it never came down to that. The police issued a public apology. Martin Tech issued a press release, and the whole matter quietly disappeared. I’m sure Almeada made a note who was responsible in case he ever needed a fixer.”
“I’m not a fixer.”
“Imagine his disappointment when I told him that.”
“Why don’t you give this to someone else? Someone more qualified?”
“Who would that be?”
“Renner, for one. He worked homicide.”
“Which would make him biased against our client. Why don’t you want this? Murder investigations are what you do best. At least that’s how it seems since you keep getting tangled up in them,” Cross said.
“So that’s why you gave it to me.”
“You kept me out of prison. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you our resident expert. You’re two for two.”
“Fine. But you should know, I didn’t have anything to do with how things played out in Martin’s case. All I did was point out a few mistakes and misconceptions. Heathcliff and Moretti handled the rest. The PD would have dropped the charges anyway, even if I hadn’t shown up that day. They knew the case was bogus. Martin was another victim, not the perpetrator.”
Cross stared at me. “I can’t figure out if you’re being humble or if that’s really how it happened. Either way, Almeada doesn’t need to hear it. He’s stressed enough.”
“Fine.”
I was halfway to the elevator when Cross exited the conference room. He whispered something to Justin, his executive assistant, before calling out to me, “Stop by my office when you’re ready to call it a night. I have plans in mind for us for later.”
“Plans?”
He waved me away. “My office before you leave. Don’t forget.”
Three
My mind was running in three different directions. Usually, I didn’t have an entire case laid out for me, but I did now. Having everything at once should make things easier. Instead, the overwhelm threatened to send me into a tailspin.
Breathe. There was one question in my head that couldn’t wait. Who was the victim? I’d read the report. Sydney Breeding. Her name meant nothing to me.
Assuming the evidence was telling the truth, Sydney had entered the vacation rental with Dustin Ford the night before she was found dead. Had she been at the concert? Had she been with the group Dustin and his friends met? Was any of that even true?
Starting with the vic would lead down a rabbit hole. However, in most homicide cases, that’s how investigations were conducted. The detectives rarely knew who the killer was from the get-go. Whoever caught this case had gotten extremely lucky, or he’d gotten it wrong.
I pulled out the police report again. Jacobs. “Dammit.”
I’d worked with Detective Jacobs a few times. While I didn’t know him nearly as well as the rest of my friends in the major crimes unit, Jacobs had assisted them enough that they’d all swear by his work. I had no reason to think he botched this, which meant Ford was guilty.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I reminded myself.
Shaking it off, I started with the alleged killer, my client, Dustin Ford. Dustin was twenty-five years old. He graduated middle of his class from a local public university. He’d been a philosophy major with a minor in communications. He’d tried to distance himself as much as possible from his legacy. No hard sciences classes. No business classes. He wanted nothing to do with the pharmaceutical industry.
Dustin had one prior for streaking on campus. The actual police hadn’t been called. Campus security had dealt with the issue, and Dustin had been warned not to do it again or he could face suspension or expulsion. Other than that, he hadn’t so much as been caught jaywalking.
Dustin had admitted to being under the influence at the concert, but he said he hadn’t taken any illegal drugs. The police hadn’t run a blood test when they arrested him. That came after. When Jacobs brought him in that night, he hadn’t been sure Dustin was responsible. At the time, my client was just a person of interest.
Only after the owner of the vacation rental was contacted and provided the exterior security cam footage was Dustin declared a suspect. After that, everything else lined up.
There was no blood or murder weapon to be found. Dustin’s prints were on Sydney’s necklace, which remained around her neck. Forensics found trace DNA where the bruising was darkest. It matched Dustin.
The crime lab hadn’t found anything else of use on the vic. Her nails had been cut short and were clean. They didn’t find signs of recent sexual activity. The woman was fully clothed. Her toxicology report showed she’d been beyond the legal limit when she died. She was drunk. She wasn’t high. That made the drugs found in the rental even more confusing, if they weren’t Dustin’s.
I checked the included photos. They were tiny, not the full-sized glossies the police or prosecutor’s office had. These were copies, crappy copies, which Almeada’s office must have shrunk. I’d need the originals.
Since I couldn’t get a clear look at the crime scene, I sent a text to the lab and asked if they could recreate it for me whenever they got the chance. When asked for the photos and files, I told them to ask Cross when they should expect such things. Since my boss wanted to assist, I’d let him. After all, I could be a team player.
“All right, Parker, think.” I paced behind the couch. Movement usually helped get the mental juices flowing.
The coroner’s report hadn’t narrowed down TOD. Some sort of technical issue had kept them from pinning it down, but the preliminary report based on liver temp concluded Sydney Breeding had been killed at least eighteen hours prior to the police arriving. More than likely, she’d been killed right after entering the vacation rental the previous night.
Still, a technical issue could be something Almeada could use. I made a note, but I didn’t think the attorney had missed this tidbit. The rest of the evidence was far too overwhelming for that to matter, at least to a jury. So I kept digging.
Dustin Ford didn’t have a record or any real priors. He touched the victim. That wasn’t in question. He rented that apartment from a vacation rental site. His check-in day was Thursday, even though he didn’t enter the apartment until early Friday morning. His check-out date was scheduled for Sunday.
Based on all accounts, I had no reason to doubt he’d gone to the concert. He had photos. But I’d need to narrow down that timeline, and I needed to figure out when, where, and how he hooked up with the vic.
The photos on his phone showed Dustin and his buddies inside the concert venue and at the club afterward. As far as I knew, he hadn’t taken any candids of the other group or any photos with them. I didn’t know if the same was true of his friends, but since the police report only noted interviews with Joe, Mike, Norman, and Mike’s parents, I had to assume Jacobs never verified the story about the four people who joined them after the concert. No one else must have taken photos or remembered names either, or Jacobs would have performed his due diligence. However, I’d follow up just to be certain.
Even though I promised myself I’d wait until I had the rest of the files, I picked up the phone and dialed Detective Jacobs. Since he wasn’t one of my usual phone-a-friends, he didn’t answer.
“Hey, Jacobs, this is Alex Parker. A murder you worked came across my desk. I’d love to take you out for drinks or a burger so we can talk about it. Give me a call.” I hung up and debated dialing someone who would answer. But I didn’t want to drag Detectives Heathcliff or O’Connell into this prematurely. If I needed a favor, I didn’t want to waste it by asking them to relay my message to Jacobs. After all, that was why voicemail had been invented.
Before giving Sydney Breeding my full attention, I did a quick internet search on Dustin Ford. The search results were all related to the police investigation and pending trial. Abandoning the search engine for social media sites, I found Dustin’s. He had a presence on almost all the platforms, but he didn’t post a lot. Maybe once a month. Maybe less. His friend count was less than a few dozen.
It was all very pleasant. No drama. No questionable photos or images. No mention of a significant other. No mention of his parents or their wealth either. From what I could see, Dustin Ford didn’t have enemies. No one should want to frame him for murder.
That thought bounced around my brain for a millisecond. Who stood to gain by having Dustin removed from the picture? An heir to a pharmaceutical fortune couldn’t exactly spend it if he was serving twenty to life.
As far as I knew, Dustin was an only child. He didn’t have any siblings. A distant relative must have been next in line, unless the wealth would be distributed to a close family friend. Was there any reason to think Dustin’s parents were on the brink of kicking the bucket?
I made another note and brought up their bios. His parents were in their fifties. Cross would be able to get a look at health records and sensitive documents of the sort through less than legal means, but I doubted this was some crazy conspiracy. Still, I scribbled it on the page. Better safe than sorry.
Once that was done, I reviewed my list. I had more questions about Dustin Ford now than when I started, but I didn’t have immediate access to the resources needed to answer those questions. Instead, I left that on the back burner, snickering at the notion someone else on the team could run it down for me.
It was like being a federal agent again. Maybe if I stopped resisting, I could get used to this. After all, Cross Security was now my home and had been for a while. It was time I got settled.
“Tell me about yourself, Ms. Breeding.” I taped her photo to my wall and stared at it. When it didn’t answer, I checked the police report.
The vic was twenty-seven. She worked as a waitress and hoped to be an actress. She had been cast in non-speaking roles a time or two but had yet to hit it big. When she wasn’t waitressing or auditioning, she took acting classes. As far as anyone knew, she’d never crossed paths with Dustin or his friends prior to that night.
I checked her social media pages which had been turned into memorials. Hundreds of people had posted, expressing their love and condolences. I didn’t read every post. I only skimmed for anything negative. But I didn’t find it.
Sydney didn’t have a criminal record, no known ties to drug dealers and no connection to the vacation rental. According to the owner’s records, Sydney Breeding had never booked a room at that property or any of his other properties. I wondered how many he had but let that thought go.
The security footage from the rental hadn’t been included in the files I received. Only printed stills. Tiny, low-quality stills. Sure, the woman with Dustin that night had the same hair color and build as the vic, but I couldn’t say definitively that was Sydney. I needed to see the actual footage.
I dialed my boss’s extension, but he didn’t answer. Instead, Justin did.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Parker?” he asked.
“I need the security footage. Does Lucien have it?”
“Let me check. I’m not sure Mr. Almeada sent it over yet.”
While I waited, I read the crime scene report again. The victim still had her wallet and necklace. But the police never found her phone. They had searched the rental, Dustin Ford’s car, and the surrounding area, but they didn’t find it.
According to Dustin, the woman who drove him home had a rideshare waiting. Without Sydney’s phone, it’d be harder to verify that. Surely, Jacobs had pulled her phone records. But app usage wasn’t recorded, at least not to any degree that would prove useful. Maybe her financials could help.
“No,” Justin said, reminding me I had been waiting for his response. “Mr. Almeada will be sending copies of everything over tomorrow.”
“Make sure they don’t shrink any more photos in the process. Actually, I’d prefer digital if possible.”
“You sound like Lucien.”
“Hey, I thought you and I were becoming friends. Why would you say something like that?”
He laughed. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Parker?”
“You could call me Alex.”
“I shouldn’t. Lucien’s afraid we may get too chummy.”
“In that case, I insist.”
