Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(124)

“Knife to the chest. Not so hard to fake with a blood packet. And we still haven’t found the body.”

“Exactly.”

“I think he cheated on her,” Wyatt said abruptly. “Pure conjecture, but the money skimming started sixteen years ago. I think it was triggered by the first time Justin was unfaithful to Libby. She would’ve been pregnant with Ashlyn right about then. A stressful time in any marriage. He fell off the wagon, followed in his father’s footsteps, whatever. But at that moment, Justin realized he was his father’s son—fidelity challenged. And he started to worry, because Libby wasn’t necessarily his mother, the kind of woman who would turn a blind eye. If she left him, divorced him…”

“Fifty percent of all personal assets,” Tessa supplied.

“So he stopped taking money out of the business, bought the town house in the company’s name. Except that meant he didn’t really have cash. So he created an offshore slush fund. Why not? From his perspective, it was his money, after all. But as any corporation is subject to audit, of course he couldn’t just have the accountant write him a check. He had to create a fake vendor, bill his own firm, then pocket the cash. Amounts small enough not to be noticed, large enough to give him peace of mind. Ingenious, really.”

“Except Libby didn’t find out,” Tessa picked up. “He got away with that affair, she gave birth. Maybe they were going to live happily ever after, except then he met another girl—”

“Leading to another fake billing cycle…”

“And continued with a crazy dual life as a loving husband/cheating husband, great boss/embezzling boss.”

“It happens,” Wyatt said.

Which was true. When it came to crime, innocent people hemmed and hawed all the time, how could he, how could she, why I never suspected a thing. That was because innocent people had consciences. And guilty people, such as Justin Denbe, didn’t.

“Sixteen years,” Tessa murmured. “Then, finally, the shit hit the fan. Libby found out about the latest woman, and Justin started devising an exit plan. Ironic, really, given that Libby still wasn’t planning on leaving him.”

“I don’t think that mattered,” Wyatt said curtly. “Where are you?”

“Denbe Construction offices, looking for Justin.”

“He’s not there.”

“Given that I’m here, walking the offices, I already know that. So here’s a question: How do you, by phone, also know that?”

“Because Libby wasn’t leaving Justin. You heard her—they were working on their marriage. Meaning…” He paused a beat. Tessa finally got the rest of the story.

“He was leaving her.”

“And why does any husband leave his family of eighteen years?” Wyatt asked.

“Fuck. He thinks he’s in love with Kathryn Chapman.”

“Meaning…”

“He’s hiding at Kathryn Chapman’s house. Most likely getting everything in order before they hop a flight to some exotic locale first thing in the morning.”

Wyatt said, “Last one there buys dinner.”

“Please. I’m already in the city.”

“Yep, but at this point, so am I.”


KATHRYN CHAPMAN LIVED IN MATTAPAN. Her mother’s house, a white-painted triple-decker. Tessa had the address, because she’d gotten it off Chris Lopez. Wyatt, on the other hand, had police dispatch, an in-vehicle computer system, not to mention GPS, which explained how he managed to pull up just seconds before her. She literally veered around him as he parallel parked four blocks over, where his sheriff’s cruiser wouldn’t spook Kathryn Chapman or Justin Denbe.

He gave her a cheery wave. Tessa rolled her eyes and drove around yet another city block in search of parking. Always fun in Boston.

She found parking two blocks over and trotted back to Wyatt’s vehicle, where he was leaning against his cruiser, waiting for her. She thought he looked particularly good in his brown sheriff’s uniform, which was just as well.

“Dinner,” he declared. “Your treat.”

“Do I get to pick the restaurant?”

“Fair is fair.”

“I want to wear heels. Maybe a skirt.”

“Hell, I’ll pay for that.”

“No, my dinner. But I expect a jacket from you. Maybe even a tie.”

“And you’re in heels?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

“Done.”

They turned their attention to Kathryn’s darkened duplex, a couple of blocks down. Five A.M. Sun would be rising soon. Already, lights were appearing in homes with early morning commuters. Not the best time of day for stealth.

“How do you want to play it?” she asked.

“We don’t have a warrant.”

Tessa shrugged. “More your problem than mine. And you don’t even have jurisdiction in Massachusetts.”

“You’re right, we should call for backup.”

She gave him a look.

“Or,” he countered, “I could close my eyes, and if the front door happened to open, giving me cause to worry about the safety of the individuals inside the residence…”

“Then as a conscientious representative of law enforcement, naturally you’d have to check it out.”