Thick as Thieves(72)

“PDAs?”

“No. A lot of talking, though, so maybe it was a business meeting. They had their heads together over an official-looking manila envelope. I didn’t see any markings on the outside, or what was in it.”

Rusty’s face turned hot. He knew what was in it. “Thanks, Angie.”

“My sister doesn’t get touched. Just the asshole.”

“Got it.” He hung up, dropped his phone onto the desk, then pivoted and kicked the hell out of the ottoman in front of his easy chair. The steel tip on the toe of his boot left a dent in the leather.

Ledge and the Maxwell girl had their heads together over those police reports.

Judy opened the door without knocking first. “Are you coming back to the table or not?”

“Not!”

She pulled the door closed with a slam.

Any other time, he would have gone after her and taught her a lesson in respect, but she could keep. He had to get Burnet’s attention without delay. Shock-and-awe style.

He went around his desk and opened the bottom drawer. Inside it was a small safe with a keypad lock. He opened it and took out one of several burner phones he used to make calls such as this one.

The number rang four times before a nasally voice answered with a surly, “Who’s this?”

“Your worst enemy or best buddy, depending.”

“Oh. You.”

“Yeah, me. How soon can you be ready?”

“If you’re waitin’ on me, you’re backin’ up. Say where.”

“Stand by. I’ll let you know.”





Chapter 29



Arden was looking at Ledge wide-eyed, but he wanted to make certain that she had understood him. “Rusty killed Brian Foster.”

She leaned away from him until her back was up against the passenger door. Her mouth opened, shut, opened again. Then, “There’s nothing in the investigation report to support that.”

“There’s nothing in it to support that Joe was the culprit, either.”

“But Rusty’s name doesn’t appear anywhere in those reports. Dad’s does numerous times. What caused you to suspect Rusty of all people? Is this payback for his getting you arrested that night? If he did.”

“He did.” The doubt in her expression made him angry. “Fuck it. Crystal wasn’t convinced, either.”

“You’ve talked to her about this?”

“Last night. She shared something I didn’t know that lends—”

“You saw Crystal last night?”

Her voice had gone a little thin, and he enjoyed the tinge of jealousy it conveyed. “Yeah. Straight from you, I went to her.” He relished her miffed expression for only a second or two, then pulled himself back on track. “She told me quite a story about the night Foster was killed.”

“The night he died. According to the report, it never was determined if it was intentional or an accident.”

“All right. The night Foster died, Rusty went to Crystal’s house.”

“A tryst?”

“You decide.” He related to her everything Crystal had told him about Rusty’s bizarre visit. He finished by saying, “At first, I was mad at her for keeping this from me for all these years. But I know how Rusty operates, how persuasive he can be. He convinced her that if she ever failed him, I would be the one to catch hell.”

Arden asked, “Had you beaten up her stepbrother?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Why did you?”

“I had a reason. But we’re not talking about that. We’re talking about why Rusty needed an alibi that night.”

“You didn’t fight him?”

“No. But he couldn’t have faked his injuries.” He raised his hips in order to reach into his back pocket for the envelope Marty had hand-delivered.

“I wondered what that was about,” Arden said. “It seemed very secretive.”

“Rusty’s medical chart. She filched it from hospital records. I haven’t had a chance to look at it.”

“I want to see, too.”

He turned on the map light and spread the folded sheets open across the console. “Time of arrival in the ER, five fifty-two a.m. That’s consistent with the time Crystal estimated he left her house.”

He ran his index finger over the sheet. “X-ray on left arm showed a fractured ulna, fractured humerus. Contusions on face, neck, lower abdomen.”

“Lower abdomen?”

“Can’t figure that, either,” he said, frowning. “CT scan of torso. No organ rupture or internal bleeding, but blunt trauma to spleen.”

“What does that say?” Arden squinted at a notation. “Splinters?”

“Removed from palms of hands,” Ledge said, reading from the attending physician’s notes. “Treated for superficial scratches on arms and hands.” He looked at Arden. “Sounds like defense wounds.”

They went back to the notes. Rusty had been admitted. He wasn’t discharged until Tuesday morning and was sent home with instructions to continue bed rest for several days, take prescribed pain medication as directed, and apply antibiotic cream to the scratches four times a day.

“I wonder how he explained his injuries to the medical staff. His parents.”