Save Her Soul (Detective Josie Quinn #9)(98)

Amber looked at each of them and then said, “I was at the Mayor’s office.” She put up a hand. “I know, I know. You all think I’m some kind of plant. I’m really not. I just have to liaise with her office. That means communicating with her about things that might go out in the press. So I was over there waiting outside of her office and Connie Prather was waiting to see her.”

“At City Hall?” Gretchen asked.

Amber nodded. “Connie went in before me. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then I heard them shouting at each other and I moved my chair closer. I heard them talking about what to do with the files now that Kurt was dead. Mayor Charleston said it was none of her business and she couldn’t get involved, but Connie said it was her business because she was the Mayor. I couldn’t hear what they were saying next—something about Marisol. Tara asked Connie why she didn’t just take the files to the police, and Connie said she didn’t want the police to find out, she just wanted Tara to handle it. Then someone else came into the waiting room, and I lost the rest of the conversation, but Connie Prather came storming out of there in tears. She had this flash drive clutched in her hand. Anyway, I followed her to the bathroom. She was in one of the stalls. She came out and put her bag down next to the sink. She was crying and so when she saw me, she went back into the stall to compose herself. She left her bag right on the countertop. I reached right in and found the flash drive. She didn’t see me.”

“Wait a minute,” Josie said. “You stole this? We can’t look at this, Amber. That’s not legal. Whatever’s on here—”

“Please,” Amber said. “Just look at it. It’s important.”

Mettner said, “Amber, why would you steal a flash drive from Connie Prather?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “No one believes that I’m on your side in this department. You all think I’m the Mayor’s puppet. Now she’s going to be in office even longer. I needed you all to trust me. Trust is earned, not given.”

Josie tried not to flinch at the words as she opened the PDF files on the drive and perused them. “These are files from the Prather Foundation,” she said. “Looks like scholarship applications.”

She skimmed through more documents. “There are some emails here as well. It looks like Marisol Dutton chose a student every four or five years to get a scholarship from the Foundation.”

Amber said, “Dutton Enterprises has been a huge donor to the Prather Foundation over the years.”

Gretchen said, “That’s not illegal. Neither is Marisol choosing the students. The Prather Foundation is private. They’re not bound by the rules non-profits are subject to.”

Josie scrolled through the applications more slowly. The names were familiar to her, but she couldn’t place them. “How did Marisol even find these students and vet them? I thought her only job was to look pretty and spend Kurt’s money.”

Josie came to the last application and read the name. A cold shock ran through her.

Gretchen said, “What is it, boss?”

“Alice Adams,” Josie said. “These applications—they’re all names we found on the driver’s licenses that Vera had been using.”

“Which means what?” Mettner said.

Josie scrolled through more documents. “The Foundation was able to send its checks directly to students or to their parents rather than to the school. Like Gretchen said, private foundation, private rules. Every four to five years, Marisol Dutton would choose a young woman to receive ongoing checks from the Foundation from their freshman year through their graduation. Connie approved these applications and the checks went out.”

“But not to the young women,” Gretchen said. “To Vera. Posing as these women.”

“Right,” Josie said. “Kurt Dutton wasn’t funding Vera all these years, Marisol was. She funneled it through Connie’s foundation.”

“Holy shit,” said Mettner. “But why?”

“I have an idea,” Josie said. “But we have to talk to Connie and Marisol. Unfortunately, because Amber stole these files, we can’t use them. We’ll need them to confess to some or all of this.”

Amber bit her bottom lip and said, “How will you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Josie said. “But I think we should start by talking with Connie.”





Forty-Eight





Josie and Gretchen stood on Connie Prather’s front stoop. They’d rung the doorbell several times and knocked but there was no answer. Gretchen said, “Maybe she’s walking her dog?”

“Let’s take a stroll,” Josie suggested.

They were halfway down the next block when they passed Calvin Plummer’s house. The attorney’s Lexus LX was parked in the driveway, as was Tammy’s Honda. As Josie passed, Tammy emerged from the house, headed toward her car. Josie waved at her. She waved back. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for someone,” Josie told her. “Connie Prather? She’s got this little tiny dog. White fur. Looks like you could fit it in your purse.”

Tammy pointed down the street, in the direction Josie and Gretchen were headed. “She walked down toward the flood area about a half hour ago.”