Her Last Word(48)

“Brad Crowley does well for himself. He’s a plastic surgeon who’s made a name doing nip and tucks.”

“Does Erika work?” she asked.

“She’s a homemaker.”

Quinn moved back toward him and studied the bloodstain. “I talked to a buddy of mine in county police. The security cameras across the street recorded Kaitlin visiting Erika on Friday morning.”

“That’s what she told me.”

“So she’s awake?”

“As of an hour ago. I just came from the hospital.”

“Can she identify her attacker?”

“No. And she was wiped out when I left.”

Quinn’s jaw tightened as she shook her head. “So, what’s the deal with her? Her name keeps coming up.”

“She’s at the center of all this. Her podcast project was likely a trigger for someone who doesn’t want her digging up the past. If I had any doubts about Jennifer’s death being connected to Gina’s, I don’t anymore.”

“I thought Hayward said he could lead you to Gina?” Quinn asked.

“He says he will as soon as his attorney gets the plea agreement in writing. That should happen early next week.”

“He couldn’t have killed Jennifer.”

“Agreed.”

“Could he have collaborated with someone? Maybe an accomplice knew what happened to Gina and was willing to kill to protect it. Maybe Jennifer wasn’t just an innocent victim?”

“I’ve asked myself all these questions,” Adler said.

“How about this one. Ever stop to wonder if Hayward is working with Kaitlin? Maybe he used her to broker the deal with you and Ricker.”

“That’s possible.”

Quinn rested her hands on her hips. “I hear a but.”

“I think Hayward enjoys hurting Kaitlin, and when she contacted him at the jail, she gave him the perfect opening to do just that,” Adler said.

“You think he’s lying about Gina and this is all a sick joke to him?” Quinn asked.

“It’s a real possibility, but I think he does know where Gina is, and he wants Kaitlin to have a front-row seat at the big reveal,” Adler said.

“Kaitlin broke up with Hayward, correct?” Quinn asked.

“So she says.”

“It’s been fourteen years.”

“Maybe he still feels possessive toward her.”

“Possessive goes hand in hand with anger. If he can’t have her, he’ll go out of his way to hurt her.”

Adler nodded. “He must know whatever information he has will hurt her.”

“Or, playing devil’s advocate, she still has a thing for him and she’s using you to plead his case. What’re the chances he’d have any kind of deal without her?”

As tempted as Adler was to reject Quinn’s idea outright, he couldn’t. “She didn’t stab herself.”

“Allegedly,” Quinn responded.

Adler was silent. Quinn was asking all the right questions, but his gut told him Kaitlin was a victim. However, gut feelings weren’t proof. “Any word on Erika or Brad Crowley’s whereabouts?”

“According to my buddy in county police, nowhere to be found. No activity on their credit cards or cells. GPS on Erika Crowley’s car led the county detective to a gas station parking lot on Route 1.”

“That’s not the burbs. What was she doing there?” Adler asked.

“Good question. Normally on Saturdays she takes a yoga class. But she didn’t show up to class yesterday. Seems for a couple of months Erika has been parking at the yoga studio but skipping the Saturday-morning class and heading across the street for coffee.”

“Is she meeting someone?” Adler asked.

“The studio owner didn’t know.”

“We need to look at that car. And visit that coffee shop.”

“Agreed,” Quinn said.

“The county detectives are digging into the Crowleys’ financials?” he asked.

“They’ve requested a warrant.”

“What kind of car does Brad Crowley drive?” Adler asked.

Pages in her notebook flipped. “Crowley drives a Lamborghini. And currently it’s parked at a hotel in the city. He’s registered there, but he isn’t on the premises now.”

“Why’s he at a hotel?” Adler asked.

“Apparently he spent a lot of time there in the last year. I spoke to his office, and he’s supposed to be attending a conference in northern Virginia for a few more days. He’s not answering his phone.”

“Just because the car is in Richmond doesn’t mean he’s not at the conference.”

“My buddy is trying to confirm that,” Quinn said.

Adler stepped around the bloodstain and moved into the center room. His gaze was drawn to the vaulted ceiling, the stone fireplace, and the sleek leather furniture. The Crowleys lived well and had spared no expense. Status mattered to them.

He moved to a grand piano sporting a collection of pictures featuring a beautiful blonde and a dark, muscled man. Most looked like they were taken at exotic locations.

“Which neighbor said they heard the alarm and called it in?” Adler asked.