“That’s the one.”

When they drove through the gate that protected the property from the uninvited, Kerri turned to Falco. She’d watched Tempest Abbott closely during their meeting. One conclusion in particular bugged her. “Mrs. Abbott didn’t like Sela’s mother. There was some sort of animosity there.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that too.”

“I also got the impression she wasn’t exactly thrilled with Sela. You notice she didn’t ask about her missing daughter-in-law. Just the grandchild.”

Falco sent Kerri a knowing look. “I found that a little on the strange side. But the strangest part to me was the sort of businesslike way Old Man Abbott handled the questions. I expected him to be a lot more broken up. You know? His only child is murdered. Seems to me he’d be all torn up even a day later.”

Kerri nodded. “You’re right. The conversation was very controlled, almost careful.”

And there it was . . . the first crack in the perfect facade of the Abbott life.

9

11:00 a.m.

Law Office of Keith Bellemont

Third Avenue North

Keith Bellemont locked the bathroom door and turned to the mirror. The horror on his face would not be contained inside. He hurried to the stall, flushed the toilet, and put his hands over his face, covering his mouth so he could release the groan trapped in his throat.

Dear God, how had he not realized this could happen?

The ache burst inside him, and tears spilled down his cheeks.

He was in part responsible for this horrific tragedy.

The police had been here . . . to question him, but he couldn’t talk to them.

Not yet. A groan of misery welled once more in his throat.

When Ben had come to him, he should have said no. He should have warned his lifelong friend that the war he was about to start would not end well.

Now Ben was dead.

“Dear God, dear God.” Keith scrubbed at his face. My fault. My fault.

The possibilities of what might be happening to Sela at this very moment ripped at his guts, twisted his heart.

And the baby. He moved his head side to side, bit his lips together to hold back another howl of misery.

He thought of his own children, and the agony intensified. Someone could be watching them at this very moment. They had opened a Pandora’s box, and there was no way to know what might emerge next.

His body trembling, he shuffled to the sink, washed his face, and attempted to regather his composure. Ben and his wife—dear God, and her poor mother—deserved better than him falling apart. He had to make this right. Whatever it took.

The cell in his trouser pocket vibrated. He snatched it out, peered at the screen.

Thank God it wasn’t that detective again. Besides coming to his office this morning, she had called twice already. He wouldn’t be able to put her and her partner off much longer. But he needed time. Time to piece together a reasonable and logical way to answer their questions . . . time to figure this out.

“Tell me you’ve found something,” he said to the caller.

“Not yet.”

Neal Ramsey’s words widened the cracks in Keith’s chest. “Were you able to get into the house? Was anything missing? Anything that would suggest this was the work of someone else . . . someone . . .” Besides the bastards they had poked with a big-ass stick.

“Yes, and I found nothing to suggest the home invasion was motivated by robbery.”

Keith’s chest tightened. Then it was true. He was the reason this nightmare had happened. He took a moment, turned over the words. Ramsey was an investigator he employed—one who had never failed him. He would trust the lives of his own children to this man, no question.

“I won’t ask how you got in,” he said. The police had the house guarded. He suspected it would be so until the forensic investigators finished their work. Sometimes property was kept in police custody for days or weeks due to the possibility of potential evidence that might become relevant at a later time in the investigation.

“It’s better that you don’t know these things,” the other man said.

Keith had worked with Ramsey for many years; they understood each other. “Have we learned anything new from the inside?”

No matter that Keith trusted Ramsey implicitly; phone conversations could still be overheard, tapped into. It was extremely important that they chose their words carefully.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Bellemont.”

“And nothing at all on Sela?” The air refused to enter his lungs as he waited for something, anything that would provide hope.

“Nothing.”

Keith’s hopes sank. “Call me when you have more.”

He ended the call before he broke down again. He had a two o’clock. He couldn’t hide in his personal restroom forever.

He considered the risk of allowing this off-the-record investigation to continue. A thousand knots tied and twisted inside him. He didn’t want to be responsible for another loss of life. Worry gnawed at him. But if he stopped now, the bastards would get away with what they had done.

Fury tightened his lips. He would find the truth, and he would get those sons of bitches one way or another.

He unlocked the door and readied to step back into his office.

He owed it to Ben to try and finish this.

10

1:30 p.m.

Birmingham Police Department

First Avenue North

Major Investigations Division

“Sela Abbott oversaw four major fundraisers and half a dozen smaller ones in the past year,” Kerri said as she stood back and surveyed the new timeline added to the case board. “She is one busy lady.”

Falco paced the length of the board, studying the new line of dates and activities they had added to the lower portion of the board. The upper part of the board was already dotted with known activities for the week prior to the murders as well as with a host of photos of persons of interest—not that they had that many. The one person who might be able to give them more insight was not available. Keith Bellemont’s assistant insisted he was out of town. Kerri wasn’t entirely convinced the woman was telling the truth. Either way, they were a day and a half in and still hadn’t been able to interview Ben Abbott’s only close friend.

Falco stopped his pacing and peered at the board. “She’s damned sure made all the right connections. Look at this list of names.” He tapped one after the other as he recited them. “The who’s who of the Magic City. Including Mrs. Suzanne Thompson.”

“I noticed,” Kerri said. She shook her head. “Most fundraising professionals have a staff or at least an assistant. But not Sela Abbott. She does everything personally.”

“Sounds like we should have a talk with the cohosts for these events and see what they have to say about the missing wife.”

“We should divide and conquer,” Kerri decided. “You hang around Bellemont’s office and try to catch him, and I’ll start on this list.”

“Do I get to guess where you’re starting?” Falco grinned.

“Any updates I should know about, Detectives?”

Kerri turned at the sound of Lieutenant Brooks’s voice. The LT stood in the doorway of their cubicle and surveyed their case board.

“We interviewed the Abbotts,” Kerri said. “We’re working on an interview with a Keith Bellemont. Mr. Abbott named the attorney as his son’s closest friend.”

“We’re still waiting on the lab and the ME’s office,” Falco mentioned.

Kerri decided to give him the one other lead they’d found, for what it was worth. “Ben Abbott’s assistant stated that he and Theo Thompson had a very public disagreement over a piece of property. We’re planning to follow up with Mr. Thompson.”

The LT frowned. “Maybe you should hold off on Thompson until you have more than hearsay. The chief doesn’t want us bringing unnecessary grief to Theo Thompson or his father. They have a lot going on right now.”

Falco nodded. “Yeah, right. Political campaigns can be hell.”

Kerri bit back a smile, but the LT wasn’t amused.

“The media watches our every step in a high-profile case like this one, Falco. One misstep can have a ripple effect for which we do not want to be responsible.”

Falco nodded. “Got it, sir.”

“Keep up the good work,” Brooks said to Kerri before walking away.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Falco said.

“It’s not about you, Falco. It’s politics. This department depends on a certain level of donations from the city’s elite. It’s a sad fact of life.”

Falco grunted. “So I’m off to wait out Bellemont.”

“Take me by my place to get my Wagoneer first.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you need wheels to go rattle a cage yourself.” He held her gaze for a moment. “You sure you want to do that, Devlin?”

“He said not to go to Theo without more; he didn’t mention his wife.”

Theo Thompson Residence

Augusta Way