The Last Lie Told (Finley O’Sullivan, #1)(70)

“You’ve got it all wrong, ma’am. Cecelia sought me out,” he insisted. “She knew what she wanted, and she thought I was the one who could help her. May God have mercy on my soul for being so weak.”

Okay, now she might just vomit. “I don’t believe you, Charlie. This whole thing is just a lie to get attention. You are a liar.” She met his gaze. “No one is going to believe anything you say.”

He grinned. “All I’ve ever wanted was to take care of the people close to me. My family.”

“Or maybe it was just the thrill of driving that Jag a few hundred miles that made taking a man’s life worth the risk? Not really your MO based on all we learned after you were arrested. You primarily saved your violence for those who seemed to deserve it—in your opinion.”

He laughed, a dry sound. “Don’t waste your time trying to figure me out. Just tell Jack he can’t win this one because he doesn’t see what’s right in front of him.”

“This is your chance, Charlie, to say something that might make me believe you,” Finley offered.

“My good friend Preacher tells me everyone has a time to die. I guess it was just Sophia’s time. Like it was her husband’s when he died. What will you do when it’s your turn to die, Finley O’Sullivan?”

“I don’t know, Charlie. What about you?”

Dr. West rose from his desk. There wasn’t much time.

“I think I’d go to Paradise. I was always my best in Paradise.”

“Paradise?”

He grinned. “See, I told you there was a lot you didn’t know, and now you have a chance to see that I’m telling the truth. I didn’t kill Lance Legard.”

“You said Cecelia hired you to kill him,” Finley countered.

“You keep at it, and you just might find out the most important truth of all.”

“And what is that?”

He made a soft chuckling sound. “I lied.”

Oddly enough, for that one instant . . . she believed him.

The doctor strolled back to the patient, and the rest of Finley’s time in the same room with Charles Holmes was spent watching him play the part. His back was killing him. He wasn’t sure how he could continue handling the pain. He needed some relief. The man certainly knew how to work the people around him. He was smart. Much smarter than he presented himself to be. A manipulator.

Finley had his number.

When he wasn’t working the doctor, he was eyeing her. He understood that she recognized exactly what he was doing, and he liked it. Her presence emboldened him. His followers, all those people who hung around him before he’d ended up here, had incited him. Gave him extraordinary courage. And made him dangerous.

Charles Holmes was a very dangerous man.

Particularly when things didn’t go his way. Like the man who’d allegedly attempted to rob him and the one who’d dared to go after his girlfriend. Maybe Legard was dead because Holmes never made it in the music business.

After the appointment, Finley excused herself for a break. She hurried to the usual meeting place. She left her borrowed scrubs and badge with Mickey and climbed into the vintage Ford truck. She checked her cell for messages. Nothing from Cecelia or Olivia. Nothing from Jack. She had missed a call from Matt.

Once she was on the highway headed home, she returned his call.

“Sorry, I was in a meeting,” she explained. Technically it was true. She wondered what Matt would think if she told him about the things she did these days to get what she wanted.

She decided then and there that she should keep those things to herself.

“Your ears must have been burning today, Fin. Seems like Jack’s source was right. Briggs is leaning on Lawrence to have his guy Houser amp up his game. I’m guessing he believes if he makes your personal life a living hell, you’ll fall down on the job on the Legard case.”

Outrage belted her, but she pushed it back. Didn’t matter that she had known this would be the case. “I guess he doesn’t know me as well as I would have thought after four years of working together.”

“Apparently not. Anyway, don’t be surprised if Houser starts giving you a hard time. Watch your back, Fin.”

“Count on it.”

“What the hell happened with Sophia Legard?” he asked. “You think Cecelia killed her?”

“The jury is still out, but I’m not convinced. Cecelia says it was Olivia.” Finley wouldn’t put it past them to be working as a team.

Charles Holmes’s voice echoed in her brain. I lied.

What else was new? Every damned person involved in this case was lying.

“Well,” Matt said, “you didn’t hear this from me, but the ME says Sophia was dead before she was stabbed. Looks like she emptied a bottle of prescription sedatives. The empty bottle was found under the bed. Whether she had help doing so is yet to be determined.”

Finley wasn’t surprised. “Makes sense. There was very little blood at the scene.” Could Sophia have killed herself? And left her daughters to fend for themselves in this mess? Didn’t seem likely. Unless she’d reached her limit.

Finley knew better than most that everyone had a limit.

“Did she seem suicidal to you?” Matt asked.

“No. I have to say she did not. I was just thinking that she didn’t strike me as the sort who would bail on her daughters in a time of crisis, even if it was exactly what they deserved.”