CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Sleep evaded her. She kept seeing Siobhan's lifeless body splayed across the floor of the club. Dull eyes, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, and the heel of her shoe cracked open. The very hollow heel of a black slide shoe with a rhinestone-covered platform.
Veronica went over it again.
'We were instant besties- double dating, borrowing each other's clothes…'
'I already told you I don't have them… they're like fifty bucks, go buy another-'
But Karen DID have them. She'd taken them when she'd packed for her mother's house. Veronica had sat on them and was rewarded with a nine-inch spike to the spine. And it was Siobhan's insistence, asking about the shoes, that clued Karen in to their importance.
'Why does she care so much about those damn-' On the recording the TV had drowned out the rest of Karen's sentence, but Veronica knew what she'd said now. 'Why does she care so much about those damn SHOES.'
Because there was a hundred thousand dollars hidden in the soles.
"Go to sleep, Veronica," Logan mumbled from beneath his pillow. "Your brain is so loud, the neighbors can hear you plotting."
"Do you think the shoes are still there?"
"We'll know in the morning."
She frowned at the back of his neck- the only part of him visible above the blankets. It was technically already morning. The cold gray light of dawn peeking through the blinds. She'd wanted to go directly to the apartment from the club, but Logan had said words like 'kids, breakfast, parenting, responsibility' and they'd come home instead.
But it didn't mean she had to sleep. She stuck her tongue out at him.
"Very mature," he said, rolling over and catching her in the act. "You're only spiting yourself by staying awake so don't blame me when you're overtired and cranky." Despite his words of warning, he snaked his arms around her waist, pulled her closer and gently started to rub her shoulders, as if it were his responsibility to lull her to sleep.
"Mmm, that feels good." Veronica relaxed into the massage. "Maybe you're right- an hour or two won't hurt."
"Of course I'm right." He kissed her neck, and her eyes drifted closed.
Bang! The noise startled her awake. Disoriented, Veronica sat up. The light in the room was different- warm, golden honey pouring over the empty bed- and Logan was gone. She blinked and groped for the clock. Bang!
Muted voices in the distance. Veronica couldn't identify the speakers, but it sounded like they were in the kitchen.
Her fingers closed over the clock. FIVE HOURS. Logan had let her sleep for FIVE HOURS without waking her. Grrr!
She tossed away the covers, swung her legs off the bed, and shoved her feet into slippers. Her bathrobe was in a ball on the floor. Veronica plucked it from the carpet and stomped across the room, jamming her arms in the sleeves as she walked. FIVE HOURS.
As soon as she opened the door the voices were clear and so was the low crying. Bailey. She hustled down the hall. The minute Veronica crossed the threshold of the kitchen Wyatt raced across the room. She threw herself at Veronica, wrapping her arms tight around her mother's knees, and started talking with an over-excited babble that was hard to understand.
Veronica looked at Logan for clarification. He shrugged, rubbed a hand over his face, and then scratched his bare chest, looking as disoriented as she felt. "I don't know; I got here two seconds before you did."
"What was all the banging?" She freed herself from Wyatt's grip, then picked her up. "And where's Bailey?"
A blank, half-asleep stare was Logan's only answer. He was useless to her. Veronica turned her attention to Wyatt, who was still chattering on, but some of the words were beginning to make sense. "Puppy tew." She wagged her finger. "No, no, no."
"Partner chewed something?"
"Wabbit-" Veronica's heart stopped beating in the second between Wyatt's words. "-tup."
She breathed. "Partner chewed Rabbit's cup?"
Wyatt nodded and started to squirm. "Me get." She pushed at Veronica's arms, not wanting to be held anymore. "Me get."
Veronica put her down, watched as she raced from the kitchen, and sighed. She may never know what the- Bang. Now that she was awake the noise was easy to identify since it was immediately followed by the muffled beep, beep, beep of the alarm. "Back door," she said needlessly because Logan was already on the move.
When he returned it was with an entire parade- Dottie with a now quiet and content Bailey, Keith, the dog at his heels, and Wyatt, holding aloft one chewed Mimijumi. "Puppy tew," she tattled, thrusting the destroyed bottle at Veronica.
"We were eating outside-trying not to wake you-and I put it down for less than a second," Dottie explained. "When The Dog decided it would make an excellent breakfast."
Logan muttered something indecipherable, and jabbed the start button on the Keurig. He dropped onto a nearby stool, resting his head on the counter as he waited for the coffee. The gurgle and hiss of the hot brew was enticing.
"Make me one, too," Veronica said. There was an answering grunt from her husband, which she took as a yes. Her head was still fuzzy. "Aren't you guys going to the-"
"In a little while." Keith sharply cut her off before she could finish asking the question, and Veronica understood. If Wyatt heard the word 'zoo' it would be impossible to get her to do anything else. "I need to load up the car, and we have to take Partner home first."
"Right." Veronica checked over the girls. They were both dressed and fed. Wyatt's hair was already brushed and in pigtails. Face clean. Sneakers on her feet. "Let me go pack their overnight bags."
"Already done," Dottie said. "I took care of it last night while they were asleep."
"Oh." Not only was she bad at this mothering thing, she was also completely unnecessary. Before the feeling of abject failure could settle in and take root, Logan kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her shoulder- a steaming-hot cup of coffee in his hand. Veronica gratefully accepted the distraction, leaned back against him and took a generous sip of the cream-laden, sweet Italian roast.
"Let's get moving." Keith snapped the leash on Partner's collar. "Places to go, people to see."
Wyatt grinned up at Logan and Veronica, and echoed Keith. "Me go, people tee." Then she raced from the room to do… whatever it is toddlers must do in order to meet people. In Wyatt's case, it probably meant a visit to her trunk of clothes and shoving Cuddles into a matching outfit.
Veronica gnawed her bottom lip, put down her mug, and lifted Bailey from Dottie's arms. "Do you have enough milk for the day?"
"We should be okay as long as The Dog learns it is Not For Him." She glowered at Partner, who bowed his head in contrition. "And we come back early tomorrow. Say around eight? Right after breakfast?"
"That works." Veronica nuzzled Bailey's neck, inhaling the fresh baby smell, and then showered her face with kisses. "Because I have plans for family day."
At her pronouncement, Logan paused mid-sip, one questioning eyebrow shooting upward.
Veronica only smiled. "You'll see tomorrow."
In a whirlwind of tutus and ribbons and, for some unknown reason, a top hat, Wyatt returned to the kitchen, clutching Cuddles in her fist. "Me go bye bye." She held her arms out to Logan. "Too tall."
He squatted next to her for hugs and kisses, then it was Veronica's turn. After several rounds of hugs, kisses, and goodbyes, the house emptied and silence reigned. The deep, heavy kind where you could hear your own heartbeat and listen to the steady tick of the clock.
"Time's a-wastin, Echolls." Veronica swallowed another gulp of coffee. "We need to get ready so you can buy me a breakfast burrito on the way to Karen's."
"Me?" He pointed to his chest. "The only place I intend on going is back to bed where I can luxuriate in all this quiet. You'll have to buy your own food."
"You're so full of shit," she said with a grin. "There's absolutely no way you're going to luxuriate while I go looking for the stolen cash- even if I am carrying my gun."
"I don't know, Mars, having the whole house to myself sounds really good. Better than driving you to Gus' for breakfast."
With a dismissive wave, she left him standing in the kitchen and went to get dressed, sure that he'd follow eventually. Never mind worrying about her safety, his curiosity level was on par with hers, and there was no way he'd miss the big reveal. If there was a big reveal. Veronica frowned. It was possible she'd misguessed Karen's hiding place, or that she was too late- and Siobhan had already found the money.
She tugged on some ratty old jeans, found an equally worn t-shirt, and then completed her outfit with a green hoodie ruined by bleach stains. She crawled into the back of the closet for a pair of black Chucks she hated.
"Are we going undercover as the homeless?" Logan asked upon seeing her exit the closet. "Because I don't think I can pull off that look."
Veronica rolled her eyes. "Just try not to wear cashmere, okay?"
Without waiting for a reply, which was sure to be sarcastic, she headed for the garage, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she walked. She knew there were garden trowels on a shelf near Logan's weight bench; she'd bought them as a not-so-subtle hint for him to build her garden. There was also a larger digging shovel, but that might be overkill. Veronica winced at the word.
She hoisted the green garden-tool tote from the shelf. It was sufficient, but it wouldn't fool anyone into thinking they were professionals. New tenants maybe? Veronica shrugged. Hopefully it wouldn't take them long and they could be out of there before anyone had a chance to get suspicious.
Logan was waiting for her in the living room. The jeans he'd chosen were faded almost to white in places and the knees were fraying, but it was all too 'exact' to be real wear and tear. No, these were designed to look old, and he'd probably paid a fortune for the precise rips. Veronica felt another eye roll coming on. At least his plain, fitted white t-shirt was working for him … and her.
"Uh…" Focus, Veronica. "The Armstrongs on Friars Road is on our way to Karen's- we'll stop there first and then get my burritos."
"Why are we going to the garden center?" His brows knitted together. "Is this just an elaborate ruse to get me to plant something?"
"Yes, Logan, I'm running a long con for a few hibiscus flowers and maybe an agave plant or two." She tried passing him the tote, but he refused to take it, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Seriously?"
"I know how you work. First it's a few flowers, then you'll want trees and maybe a shrub or two; before long it will be a vegetable garden, and I eschew manual labor."
Sure, Jan.
He set lie to his 'no manual labor' claim fifteen minutes later at Armstrong's, by stacking bags of mulch onto the bottom shelf of their cart, and hefting large pots of octopus agave. "We're going to need another cart," he said, adding trays of gerbera daisies.
"Slow down there, HGTV." Veronica held out a hand to stop him from putting a nursery tray of impatiens in the cart. "You know, we're not actually going to plant any of this, right?"
"These are for you, Veronica," he said over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving her standing in the aisle.
When he returned it was with another cart already laden with hibiscus plants. Their tags read 'Hawaiian Sunset.' The edges of each bloom were a bright yellow, which faded to a burnt orange, then deepened to a lush red at its center. Logan stopped next to a display of dwarf elephant ears. "Two or four?" Without waiting for an answer, he chose four, and picked up a matching number of peonies. Then on their way to the register, he selected a dozen packages of Tam Tam dahlia tubers.
Veronica opened her mouth to protest, then promptly shut it. Logan never did anything in half measures. It was one of the things she loved about him, and one of the things that drove her crazy. This is why a simple swing set became the Taj Mahal of playgrounds. And why her request for some flowers was going to turn into the Garden of Versailles.
After folding down the back rows of seats, she helped him load up the mom van, including a new ergonomic, stainless-steel shovel. "Looks like Wyatt will finally get to use her garden set." It came with an orange sun hat and matching gloves, and Wyatt adored it, even if she only used the tools to rake the carpet in her room.
"We can spend family day in the yard," Logan said, shutting the Acura's trunk. "Unless that will interfere with your plan?"
Veronica smiled. "Is this where I'm supposed to tell you what we're doing? Because, if so, it's not going to work."
"I don't care what we're doing." He slid behind the wheel and waited until she was in the car to add, "As long as it's just the four of us." His corresponding look was pointed.
Nodding her agreement, she snapped her seatbelt closed. "Now breakfast."
"Yes, ma'am."
The breakfast burrito at Gus' Taco was her favorite- eggs, tomato, onion, avocado, and cheddar, wrapped in a fresh, hot tortilla and topped with salsa verde. She'd found the restaurant while pregnant with Wyatt, and now it was a regular stop when she was working a case. Or when she was visiting her dad. Or driving past. Or-
"Are you thinking deep case-related thoughts again, or are you salivating at the idea of food?"
To cover the truth, she said, "I wonder why Karen bought them? Was she going to return the new shoes to Siobhan and pretend they were the originals? Or were they supposed to be a decoy in case someone searched the apartment again?" In the crime scene photos, the gun used to kill Karen was found sitting atop a red shopping bag from Wicked Venus, and the $53.61 charge on her credit card corresponded to the price of the stilettos.
They're like fifty bucks, go buy another…
PAIR. That's what Karen was about to say in the one-sided phone conversation from the recording. She was telling Siobhan to replace the missing shoes, not realizing their importance.
"I don't know, but it's all very Get Smart." Logan parked in front of the restaurant, and hopped from the car before she could. Leaning through the open door, he asked, "The usual?"
"Yes… and a large horchata."
With a smile, he backed from the car. Veronica watched him round the hood, skip over the curb, and walk inside, admiring the view. She was wrong for complaining about the jeans- whatever he'd paid for them was totally worth it.
Now, fingers crossed, this trip would also be worth it and the shoes would still be there.
When Veronica had gone to see the crime scene right after the murder, it was organized-almost neat-thanks to the very comprehensive search by the SDPD, but the apartment had still been dingy, and there was actual dirt, dirt on the carpeted floors. Veronica remembered seeing it, but the connection had been unclear. Now though, Veronica had a good idea of the 'someplace safe' Karen had used to hide the money-filled shoes.
"Breakfast is served." Logan passed her the plastic to-go cup with her horchata and a large white paper bag with the Gus' Taco white-green-and-red logo on it. "The concha is mine."
"Uh-huh," she murmured, completely ignoring him as she took a bite of the chocolate, cookie-topped, sweet bread. The crunch of the toasted sugar mixed with creamy chocolate and combined with the soft, melt-in-your-mouth bread was heavenly. Veronica took another bite of his pastry.
"What about the words 'the concha is mine' did you not understand?"
"I'm saving you from having to add an extra mile to your morning run- you're welcome." Veronica sipped her drink. "Do you think Dom killed Siobhan?"
Logan laughed and glanced at her before pulling away from the curb. "I love the way your mind works- we're discussing stealing breakfast and you jump to murder. I didn't realize you took your food THAT seriously."
"You should never get between a Mars and sugar… or cheese, for that matter, and probably pasta, too." She finished the concha. "But what do you think about Siobhan?"
"Dom killing her makes sense. On average, over half of all murdered women are killed by their intimate partner." Logan clicked on his turning signal and merged onto the 405.
"Gee, that's a comforting statistic- it makes cheating, money shots, and a nasty divorce sound like the ideal." Appetite ruined, she set her foil-wrapped burrito in the center console between the seats. "But you know that means it's less likely Dom killed her, because their relationship will make him the number one suspect. Her death will have the cops taking a long hard look at him, and if Dom was her partner in the theft, the murder investigation could uncover it, which would be very bad for him."
"It would certainly make Thanksgiving dinner at the Carlucci house an uncomfortable affair." Effortlessly, he glided across three lanes of traffic and exited onto Mission Valley. "What do you think his motive is?"
"All the money for himself?" she guessed, then frowned. But if he had the money, then this trip to Karen's was pointless, and he'd been willing to share the ill-gotten gains with Siobhan this entire time, so what had changed?
"What if…" Veronica twisted in her seat to gauge his reaction. "Dom wasn't her partner in the theft? What if she betrayed him by stealing from his uncle and Dom found out? That would be a motive to kill, right?"
Logan nodded. "Killing her for stealing from his family would prove his loyalty to Sam, and it might elevate him to trusted partner instead of related lackey." He glanced at her as he pulled the car to the curb in front of the apartment building. "But if Dom wasn't in on the theft, did Siobhan act alone, or was she working with another dancer?"
Good question, but there was too much information to sort through before she could answer, and now wasn't the time. With a shrug, she climbed from the car. The neighborhood was quiet for a Saturday. One of the perks of it being a residential area, she guessed. Most of its occupants were out doing things- running errands, shopping, taking their children to the zoo. She ignored the stab of guilt, and opened the trunk.
"I don't think they'll be too deep," she said, passing him the shovel. "And they won't be right by the stairs." Veronica studied the border along the foundation wall. It was a psychological thing. Hide something too close to you, and you fear it will be easily discovered because of its proximity. But hide something too far away and you feel uneasy because you can't get to it quickly.
Without further direction, Logan picked a spot to dig- right-of-center, closer to the stairs and the apartment entrance, but not too close. The exact place she would've chosen. Veronica smiled. Sometimes it definitely did not suck to have a husband who could read her mind.
He dug with neat military precision. The rectangle space of a foxhole was already outlined. Its north boundary was the building itself. South boundary was the asphalt parking pad. To the east were the gate and metal stairs leading up to the second floor, and to the west was the neighboring lot. Logan shoveled, placing the excess dirt in an even berm around the hole he was creating. Veronica sincerely hoped he did not have to dig down too far, or they'd be here all day. Worse, someone might get curious and stop them before they could finish. Reflexively, Veronica glanced up at Millie's windows.
"Think your girlfriend will notice us down here?"
"I hope so," Logan said without missing a beat. "She might bring me some lemonade and homemade cookies. Since my wife ate my breakfast, I'm weak with starvation."
Watching his muscles bunch and flex beneath the fitted t-shirt as he wielded the shovel, weak was not the word she'd use to describe him. Woof.
Veronica shook off the hot, unrelated-to-the-case thoughts and moved forward out of Millie's potential sightline. "You know, Dom could have killed Siobhan to cover his involvement in the theft. Like, maybe Sam was getting close to the truth so Dom threw her off the balcony and literally placed all the blame at her feet?"
"Possible." Logan paused, resting the long-handled shovel against the building.
"Not that it matters. I don't need to give Sam two thieves; the one will suffice. When he has proof Siobhan stole the money, he will leave Pam alone." Veronica stopped talking. Logan was bending down, brushing dirt away from something. She joined him on the upturned earth as he lifted it from the ground. A shoebox. "Yahtzee."
He angled his head to stare at her. "Want to do the honors?"
"Yes, but" -she looked over her shoulder- "in the car." There was no back-of-the-neck-prickle of fear, but she definitely felt exposed. There were drug dealers and mobsters looking for this money. Not to mention a killer. "Grab your fancy, expensive shovel, and let's go."
Logan passed her the box. It was the same deep-red color as their shopping bags with the Wicked Venus logo in the center. Why did Karen buy another pair? Maybe just to use the box as a shoe coffin? Without waiting for Logan, Veronica hustled back to the car and slid into the passenger seat with her prize.
She tossed the lid on the floor. The shoes were exactly as she remembered them- a nine-inch spike heel with an equally tall rhinestone-covered platform. She'd initially thought they were a slide shoe, but a thin, almost-invisible acrylic strap acted as the heel counter to hold the shoe in place. It matched the acrylic vamp and toe box.
The Audi's trunk thudded closed and a second later Logan joined her in the car. "Couldn't wait for me?"
"Uh, have we met? I'm Veronica Mars." Patience was not a virtue she possessed. As proof, she directed a pointed gaze at the ignition.
He laughed before starting the car, putting it in drive, and pulling away from the curb. "So are we a hundred grand richer?"
"What we? This is my ill-gotten gain; I figured out where it was."
"And I dug it up."
She offered him a slight one-shouldered shrug. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law- uti possidetis, ita possidetis."
"Good to know your fancy law degree isn't completely wasted; you can quote arcane Latin expressions to your husband."
It wasn't even worth an eye roll. Ignoring him, she focused on the shoes. She lifted the right heel from the box. It was heavy. But she didn't know if it was because of the oversized platform, or the bounty inside. She tried prying open the sole with her fingernail. No joy. "The decoy shoes explain why they came back to the crime scene after killing Karen."
"They took the wrong pair," Logan said.
She smiled at his deductive reasoning. "They must have realized their mistake in the car." Veronica glared at the uncooperative shoe, turning it over in her hands. She was half-tempted to make him pull over so she could break them open with the shovel, but that would be akin to admitting defeat.
The car slowed as Logan glanced over to watch her examination of the shoes and an answer clicked into place. That was why Siobhan's blue MX5 was moving slower as it left the crime scene. Siobhan's partner was watching her try to open the heels... and failing. Not for the same reason as Veronica though. Siobhan was unsuccessful because she had the wrong pair. Veronica was failing because she couldn't figure out how they worked.
"Maybe it's like a puzzle box, or Sam's hidden dumbwaiter." Logan returned his eyes to the road, increasing their speed at the same time. "Try sliding, or moving, some other part."
She undid the strap, slid her hands over the shank, tried pushing and pulling the vamp, and then tugged at the heel itself. Nothing moved and nothing felt out of place. Veronica stared at the nine-inch spike, gaze narrowing to the tip at the bottom of the heel. Possible. They were definitely made to be replaced; attached to the shoe with a small metal nail, they could be pulled out, or—
Veronica twisted the hard polyurethane plastic tip and the sole of the shoe flapped open like a trap door. Banded stacks of crisp, new hundred dollar bills fell across her lap. Not all of them. Two bricks were still wedged deep inside, half in the shank, closer to the heel than the toe.
It was the same with the other shoe. This time Veronica held the shoe upside down when she opened the secret compartment to keep it from spilling its contents like a cracked-open pinata.
Just like the cash at home in their freezer, these stacks of currency were also bound with mustard straps that read 'ten thousand dollars', and it did not take up as much space as the movies would have you believe. But it was still a tight fight. Veronica wasn't sure if it would've worked had Sam emptied his no-name ATM machines and used circulated bills to make the buy. Not that he would. Grubby, greasy, worn bills did not project the right look. "Image is everything."
She refilled the soles thinking about next steps. She had the thief, and she had the cash, and the shoes proved the entire story. A quick search through the video footage and she could print a few stills of Siobhan wearing them the night of the private party. The proverbial icing.
None of which she wanted to turn over to Sam. Veronica sighed, and Logan asked, "Regrets?"
"I've had a few." With the shoes back in their box, she retrieved the canvas beach tote she'd shoved into her messenger bag on Thursday, and slipped the entire bundle inside as Logan turned down their street.
When they arrived at the house, they found both an Amazon shipping box and an FBI agent waiting on their doorstep. "I was just about to leave," Gil said.
"Impatient much? It's barely one." Veronica tore open the package while Logan unlocked the front door. "Bet you're going to be glad you waited- I have a gift for you."
Gil jutted his chin toward the dog she was holding. "I'm a little old for stuffed animals."
The comment made Logan pause with his hand on the knob; he looked at her and the tan toy Labradoodle she was holding. "Two day shipping with Prime," she said with a grin. "Isn't he cute?"
Logan pushed through the door with a sad shake of his head. "It's not the same thing, Veronica."
"But it will have to do."
"Now who's full of shit?" He punched the code into the alarm. "You know you want a dog as much as she does."
"You mean, as much as YOU do."
"Why do I feel like I've stepped right into the middle of a marital dispute?" Gil asked, reluctantly following them inside.
"Worried?" Veronica hid the Labradoodle in the hall tree. "Didn't they teach you conflict resolution at Quantico?"
"Not well enough to navigate an argument between the two of you." He did not sound like he was joking at all. "So maybe you can press pause until I'm clear of the blast zone?"
Her lips pursed as if to protest, but she dropped the dog discussion (not a dispute or an argument, thank you very much), and by silent mutual agreement they all migrated toward the kitchen.
Gil glanced through the picture window at the swimming pool-covered and locked-before taking a seat at the table and putting his briefcase on the floor by his feet. His thoughts had followed the same path Veronica's took each time she looked at the pool, directly to Gina, as evidenced by his next question. "Where's Wyatt?"
"At the zoo with my dad."
"That's good," he said, running a hand over his weary face.
Logan took a long look at Gil. There was obviously no five-hour nap in his recent past, or any kind of sleep. He was a man clearly in need of caffeine. Logan switched the Keurig from single serve to a silver carafe, then leaned on the counter waiting for it to brew. "How did you convince Lamb to let you play Sheriff for the day?"
"And how did you get to the club so fast?" Veronica hoisted her messenger bag and the canvas tote onto the table.
"Lamb wasn't given a choice. Our surveillance teams are set up at the house next door- DEA, ATF, us- and we intercepted his response to the 911 calls."
The explanation made sense, but only the part about excluding Lamb. Gil had just mentioned arranging government surveillance two days ago. There was no way the federal alphabet soup got organized and obtained warrants that fast. Her gaze narrowed, suspicious. "Were the teams already in place when we talked?"
He looked a little sheepish at having been called out on his obfuscation. "No, but it was in the works. Your information just got me invited to the party."
"You're welcome." Veronica joined Logan at the coffee bar to collect mugs and sugar, then got the half-and-half from the fridge. "But it looks like the DEA and ATF might be leaving with no party favors, because I don't think Sam is trafficking drugs or guns."
"So just the money laundering?"
"Not exactly." She side-stepped the question. There was blood in the water and the competing law enforcement agencies were circling their prey like sharks- ready to take a literal bite out of crime. And right in the center of it all was Pam. Veronica needed to make sure she wouldn't get devoured along with the likes of Joey and Sam. "Did you finish interviewing the dancers about Siobhan's murder?"
Gil started to nod, then paused. "Are you sure it was murder?"
Logan joined them at the table, carrying the pot of coffee, which he poured into the three waiting mugs. "Her neck was broken."
Gil took a grateful sip of coffee before answering. "The coroner says it happened in the fall- he's leaning toward accidental, but he won't make a decision until after the autopsy."
"Accidental?" Veronica scoffed. "It would be an amazing coincidence. The person who stole from Sam just happens to trip off a balcony."
"She's the thief?"
Instead of a direct answer, Veronica said, "Your gift," and slid the box from the tote. Gil looked about as impressed with the shoes as he had with the stuffed labradoodle. Until she twisted the heel and bundles of cash cascaded across the table.
"Whoa." He set down his coffee, lifted one of the green bricks and riffled the bills with his thumb while eyeballing the shoes. "How did you find them?"
Veronica explained the connections she made after witnessing the cracked-open shoe on Siobhan's feet. "The money literally walked out of the party," she said, as she started to gather the bills.
"I'm going to need to check that into evidence."
His words gave her pause, and her hands stilled. "Uh… about that. Maybe 'gift' was a bit of a misnomer. You can't take this with you; I need to-" Give it to Sam, was what she was going to say, but that was not really something to confess to an FBI agent. She changed tack. "It needs to go to the SDPD as evidence in Karen's murder."
At the blatant lie, Logan almost choked on his coffee. He thunked his mug down and coughed into his fist, tears in his eyes.
Veronica glared at his theatrics, then continued blithely. "And Balboa County will need it to prosecute Siobhan's killer. It's not like the FBI investigates run-of-the-mill murder cases, anyway."
Both men were now staring at her. Logan with an amused half-smirk, clearly wise to her game, and Gil with a deepening frown.
She changed the subject. "Were you able to get a look at Sam's financials?" Veronica tucked the bag with the shoes and cash under the table- out of sight, out of mind. "Because I think money laundering might only be the tip of the iceberg."
"We got the banking records for the club." Gil lifted his briefcase onto the table, clicked it open. "But without a link from it to Sam, there wasn't enough probable cause to subpoena his personal finances." He slid the file across the table to Veronica.
A quick flip of the pages showed Shenanigans was firmly in the black. They were making more money than Joey could spend on fancy champagne. "I think they're doing a little creative accounting- over- and under-invoicing- and there are privately-owned ATMs at the club."
Gil nodded. White-label cash machines, those not owned by reputable banks, were already on the FBI's radar. Load the machine with a mix of legit funds and dirty bills and watch the money come back clean.
"He also owns two other strip-"
"Six," Gil interrupted her. "Possibly seven in California alone, but we're still trying to untangle his shell companies."
It was her turn to push a file across the table. Copies of the construction and catering invoices were inside, along with the research from Paige and Mac on Sam's various holdings.
"It's like watching a high-stakes poker game." Logan said in between sips of his coffee. They both turned to look at him and he smirked. "For the record, my money's on Veronica- she has a tendency to get what she wants."
"Hello kettle," she muttered under her breath with an accompanying eye roll, and Logan grinned. It was self-satisfied and smug and way too confident. "Don't say it...don't even think it."
His smile widened. "I've already named her."
Veronica swallowed her sigh with another mouthful of coffee, then chose to ignore him, and returned her attention to Gil. "They haven't found the link to Sam yet, but they're trying to connect him through real property."
He tucked the files into his briefcase. There was silence in the kitchen for a beat, broken only by the snap, snap of Gil closing the latches on the leather attache. Finally, using her earlier words, Gil prompted: "Tip of the iceberg?"
It was put up or shut up time. "I think Sam's trafficking women."
The more she'd thought about it, the more she was certain. Bill Gant's 'investment.' An unheard of zoning variance. Missing girls. Surveillance cameras with night vision. Elaborate shell companies. Even the name of the corporation that owned the deed to the mansion-Rare Imports-was a tongue-in-cheek clue to what they were doing.
Gil didn't share her conviction. "I don't know, Veronica."
"Human trafficking is a hundred and fifty billion dollar business," Logan added, bolstering her argument. She stared at her husband, and he shrugged. "What? I read the newspaper."
"That might be true," Gil conceded. "But that doesn't mean it's happening here."
Veronica laid out all her facts. It was persuasive, but not definitive. There was no way to explain her certainty. The feeling she experienced when dancing at the club of being like chattel paraded in front of buyers. That the girls were a living and breathing menu. What had Fast Hands asked her before Logan punched him in the mouth? How much? Not for a dance, for you.
"When I met with Karen, she said Sam views the dancers as a product, and I don't think she was talking about the stripping."
Doubt etched itself into the lines and contours of Agent Townsend's tired face. "Maybe she meant the prostitution sideline?"
"Then why can't we find the girls who left the club?" Veronica's question hung in the air for a moment.
Finally Gil nodded. "I'll look into Bill Gant's girlfriend."
"And talk to Haley Romanov. She knows more than she's telling, especially about a fellow dancer who left around the same time she did." Veronica frowned. "I'm not sure she'll still be there, or even if she'll let you in. She was visibly scared when I visited, but it's worth a try."
"I'll bring a female agent with me-Sara Tam; she's very persuasive." Gil drained the rest of his coffee. "And speaking of being very persuasive... remember that favor you owe me?"
It took a substantial amount of willpower to not glance in Logan's direction. "Vaguely."
Gil chuckled, then instantly sobered. "I want you to stay undercover at the club; we're going to need more than supposition if we want to arrest Sam."
"Wait- we've all just agreed that Carlucci might be selling women to the highest bidder, and you want my wife to stay there?" Logan shook his head. "Are you fucking insane? Just search the club and-"
"Can't do it. Veronica's right- murder isn't our jurisdiction. The only reason I showed up at the club was to protect her cover. Lamb is in charge of the investigation, and unless I'm wrong about how big a tool he is-" Their exchanged glances said he wasn't wrong; Dan Lamb was a monumental tool. "-I'd say he goes along with the 'accident' theory and releases the crime scene by tomorrow."
Logan didn't care. "Find someone else. Send your persuasive Sara Tam undercover."
Veronica didn't want to say yes. Working at the club, taking her clothes off nightly, was getting to her. It was messing with her head. All of it-stripping, Pam, Tyler-had knocked her off balance. She hadn't even noticed Logan still wearing his wedding ring, and she should've figured out the shoes way faster than she had. But what was the alternative?
"I'll do it," she agreed, at the same time Gil said to Logan, "We won't let anything happen to her."
As if the hollow comfort was the end of the argument, Gil stood and picked up his briefcase. Clearly not satisfied, Logan also got to his feet; his mouth was set in a grim, determined line, and his shoulders were rigid. Before he could continue with his objections, Veronica repeated, "I'll do it, but when you take Sam down, you need to leave Pam out of it. She doesn't have anything to do with the money laundering, and she definitely doesn't know about the trafficking."
Gil smiled. "Don't worry; the AG owes me a favor too."
Veronica put a staying hand on Logan's arm. "I'll walk you out."
They crossed the room together. Gil let out a wide yawn, then said. "Even with Lamb in charge, Shenanigans probably won't open until Tuesday night, which will give Agent Tam time to meet with Haley, and allow me to do a little research into Gant's mistress. I'll call you on Monday to discuss next steps."
She silenced the alarm and opened the front door for him. "Don't wait until Monday; I want to know when you know, and I want the immunity for Pam in writing before I step foot in the club."
"Yes ma'am- duly executed and notarized." Gil stepped outside, paused on the porch, and turned back. "Oh, and one more thing, Oscar wanted me to tell you your test results are ready."