Page 11 of 4th Silence (Schock Sisters Mystery #4)

Meg

A fter barely five hours sleep, I’m back at the office by seven-thirty, standing over the world’s slowest coffee pot.

Or maybe I’m just impatient.

Irritable.

Nothing about this case has gone right. Mom in jail, JJ dumping Charlie, zero solid leads. All of it adds up to us spinning our wheels on the murder of a child.

My stomach shrivels. Damned cold cases .

Finally, the pot gurgles, alerting the masses—meaning me—that it’s done.

Mug at the ready, I pour, toss some Stevia in, and head to the conference room.

Last night, Charlie and I sorted through files, organizing them into neat piles. Now, I’m overwhelmed by the stacks littering a table that seats ten.

I inhale, hold it for five seconds.

I need a starting place. Just one .

Suspects.

Excellent.

I move to the giant whiteboard on the far wall, uncap a marker, and write the suspects in all caps. Below that, I add Mary’s name.

For a few seconds, I stare at it, then add: Regal. Controlled.

Of the hundreds at that party, Mary knew every inch of that estate. And had access to every person.

Not all in attendance would be suspects, but even so, any of them could be involved.

I stick to the immediate family and add Mallory’s name, and then Tiffany’s father, Gerald.

Nothing about Mallory killing her daughter makes sense.

Still, we can’t rule her out yet. Tiffany was an only child, so I continue by grabbing Mom’s list of potential suspects and include aunts, uncles, and cousins.

By the time I’m done, I have twenty-five. There are more family members, but I’ve started with first cousins and will see where that takes us.

We can build on these names. Draw conclusions and make connections that might help us identify more suspects.

It’s a start.

I draw a line down the center and write MURDER WEAPON.

The autopsy report indicates Tiffany suffered blunt force trauma to the right temporal region. The weapon was never found but given the shape of the wounds and the fact that the safe room was under construction, a hammer could have been used.

I add HAMMER and wander back to the stacks on the table searching for the evidence lists. I skim the pages for at least the tenth time since last evening.

Nope.

Not a hammer to be found.

Remembering my now nearly cold coffee, I take a swig, hopeful the caffeine will jump-start my brain.

A chime sounds, alerting me that the rear door has been opened. My sister, eyes puffy and shadowed, appears.

“Morning,” she says.

“Hi.” I hold up my mug. “Coffee is on.”

“Good. Matt is five minutes out.”

I nod. “Okay. Maybe fresh eyes will help us out here because we have zip. What’s happening with Mom?”

“The lawyer I hired called. Her arraignment is at nine. Dad is arranging bail.”

Our poor father. The man is destined for sainthood. “I contacted him this morning.”

“Me too,” Charlie says. “He sounds…”

“Broken?”

It suddenly hits me that the Schocks are dealing with all sorts of relationship drama. Charlie got dumped, I’m terrified of a marriage proposal, and Dad is dealing with…well…Mom.

“Yes,” Charlie says. “Good word for it.”

“He’s exhausted,” I say. “Of all mom’s antics, I wouldn’t be surprised if this one puts him over the edge.”

My sister cocks her head, stares at me for a solid ten seconds. “You don’t think he’d leave her. Do you?”

I shrug. JJ just left her. And she didn’t do anything nearly as humiliating.

“I’m tired,” I say. “Everything feels like a catastrophe.”

Charlie nods. “I hear you. Let me take off my coat and get some coffee. Be right back.”

Ten minutes later, Charlie, Matt, and I sit at the table. My sister is directly across from me, with Matt to her right. He rocks back, placing his hands on top of his head.

“You’ve got Gerald on the board. His brother, Phillip, was Mary’s husband, right?”

“Yes. Gerald was the rich party boy spending the family’s fortune while Phillip was the responsible one.”

“What do we know about him?”

Charlie grabs a small stack and rifles through it. “I saw something in here last evening. He was interviewed that night. Claimed he didn’t know anything and barely noticed Tiffany at the party.“

More rifling ensues until Charlie finally holds up a stapled report.

“Here it is. The detectives did a deep dive on him. He was quite the drinker. Mary and the kids wouldn’t comment, but a cousin who worked with Phillip claimed the pressure of being the Hartman patriarch—and covering for Gerald’s behavior—was getting to him. ”

“And Phillip is where?” Matt asks.

“Deceased,” Charlie says. “A year after Tiffany’s death, he dropped dead of a heart attack during a meeting.”

Interesting.

Or is it?

I mean, with the combined stress of running an empire, a pain-in-the-ass brother whose child had been murdered, and the ensuing media attention on their typically very private family might be enough to give anyone a stress-induced cardiac event.

Matt lowers his hands and sits forward, pointing at the report still in Charlie’s hand. “Anything in there about Gerald and Phillip’s relationship? Aside from Phil being frustrated. Were they on the outs?”

Charlie skims the report. “There’s nothing.”

“Let’s call Mallory,” I say. “She’s the only Hartman?—”

“Former Hartman,” Charlie says.

“Former Hartman willing to help us. It’s afternoon in Paris. Maybe she’ll pick up.”

Charlie grabs a legal pad and pen from the middle of the table and sets them in front of her before dialing. She taps the screen, and the room fills with the sound of a ringing line.

“Hi, Charlie,” Mallory says.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no bother. I’m grateful someone is trying to find my daughter’s killer. What can I do for you?”

“I have Meg and Matt, our investigator, here. We’re reviewing evidence files in the case. There’s nothing about the relationship between Phillip and Gerald. We’re hoping you can give us a sense of it. Did they get along?”

“Eh,” she says. “They didn’t not get along. It was weird.”

“Weird how?” I ask.

“Phillip would lecture Gerry about his carousing. The man was a pig. Women, drinking, drugs. It never stopped. It’s why I divorced him.

He’d blow through his monthly allowance and then have to call Phillip for funds.

Gerry found it demoralizing to have to ask when it was his trust, but Phillip was the custodian. ”

“Did he ever deny the money?”

“Never, but he didn’t make it easy on Gerry. Mary didn’t like Gerry, and there was underlying tension between them, but Phillip did his best to get Gerry help. Not that it worked.”

Charlie jots some notes. “You mentioned Gerald found it demoralizing to ask for money. Did he ever talk to Phillip about that?”

“Not that I know of. And, I don’t think he would have. I don’t keep in touch with him, but I’ve heard he’s as wild as ever. He’s never had a job, and he needs the Hartman money, so he won’t make waves. Even when it comes to his daughter’s murder.”

I snap my gaze to Charlie. That last sentence was delivered with a sharp enough edge that my sister’s eyebrows have hiked up.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“For years, I begged him to throw the Hartman name around to see if we could get some help on the case. They ask for political favors all the time. I didn’t think it was too much to ask for help with Tiffany. But he refused.”

My jaw drops. What an asshole.

“He claimed,” Mallory continues, “it wouldn’t be appropriate. Which translates to, he couldn’t afford to create issues in the family because he needed the money. He sacrificed his child for wealth. I finally gave up and haven’t spoken to him in nearly fifteen years. I despise that man.”

Yikes.

I think of the little girl who wanted to be a hairstylist. Her father prevented her from getting justice so he could stay wealthy.

Charlie flips a page and jots a note, holding it up to Matt and me. Any more questions?

I shake my head, and so does Matt.

“Okay. This helps. Thank you, Mallory. We’ll keep you posted.”

Charlie disconnects. “So, Gerald is a scumbag of the highest degree, but that doesn’t make him a killer of his own child.”

“Agreed,” I say.

“Yeah,” Matt adds. “I’m not seeing it.”

The sound of our front doorbell sounds. Haley hasn’t arrived yet, and we no longer keep our doors unlocked for any psycho to walk in on us.

Charlie picks up her phone and pokes the screen. No doubt checking the security app.

“It’s Alex.”

I check the clock on the credenza. Eight-ten. “He’s early.”

“Fine by me.” Charlie stands and heads to the door. “We can ask him about his father.”

Once Charlie is gone, I peer at Matt. “Should we erase the board? I can take a picture and redo it.”

For a few seconds, he simply stares at it in that distant way he does when contemplating a serious situation.

“No,” he says. “Let him see his name up there. Maybe it’ll rattle him.”

If this were an average family we were dealing with, I’d buy into this line of thinking.

The Hartmans?

They’re masters of self-promotion. And the spin. With all the research and press coverage I’ve seen, they close ranks and never—ever—admit fault.

Or apologize.

Somehow, I don’t believe Alex will be shaken by seeing his name, along with that of his immediate family, on a suspect list. He’s a prosecutor. That alone has taught him how to play a role. To craft a story with precision.

Couple that with the Hartman way, and Alex might be quite the puzzle.

Charlie appears in the doorway. She moves aside and waves Alex in.

He stands there, reminding me of a somewhat shorter version of JJ with his expensive suit.

Alex, however, has more of that highbrow haughtiness that comes from generational wealth, while JJ has more of an easy, confident charm.

“You remember Meg,” Charlie says. “And Matt.”

Hellos are exchanged along with the obligatory offerings of coffee or other beverage.

Alex refuses all, and Charlie points to the seat beside me, forcing him to walk around the table and come face to face with our murder board.

I make no effort to hide my curiosity as he pauses and takes it all in.

Then he turns, shoulders back, an expression of, well, nothing. Not a worry line. Not a crease. Just that Hartman mask.

Hartmans.

Absolute masters.

He walks to his seat and gestures to the board. “I see the gang is all there. You’re missing Eloise.”

I roll the name around, but my brain won’t latch on. “Eloise?”

“My youngest cousin. She died two years after Tiffany. Leukemia.”

Charlie jots the name on her notepad. “Thank you,” she says.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “the PD cleared her early on, so you may want to spend your time elsewhere.”

He may be trying to be helpful, but something about his tone slices against my already fried nerves. As if we’re not smart enough to figure it out on our own. As if we need him.

Which we don’t.

For kicks, I stand and march to the board, where I add Eloise to the list of names.

Charlie shoots me one of her focused, mean-girl looks. Yes, I’m being a brat. She knows it. I know it.

Everyone in this room knows it.

Ask me if I care.

I reclaim my seat just as Matt leans forward. “What can you tell us about your father?”

I’ve always adored Matt. No bullshit. No stalling. Just a straight-on inquiry.

Still with the mask of nothingness, Alex meets his eye. “My father. He was a mean bastard who drank too much and took it out on everyone around him.”

Alrighty then .

I make a mental note to call my dad and tell him how much I love him.

Charlie flips to a fresh page on her notepad. “Why?”

“My guess,” Alex says, “is he didn’t want to be carrying the weight of the Hartman legacy.”

“We’ve spoken to Mallory. She indicated there may have been tension between your father and Gerald?”

Alex barks out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it. They were cordial, but my uncle was a major part of the problem. When they were younger, my father assumed they’d run the company together. Gerry wound up being a liability on many fronts.”

“The party boy,” Matt says.

“The party boy who cost us a lot of hush money.” Alex waves a hand. “Prostitutes. Drug dealers. Bookies.”

“He owed money?” Charlie asks.

“Plenty of it. My father always paid it. But, who knows, there could have been more Gerry didn’t tell Dad about.”

“Who do you think killed Tiffany?”

This from Charlie. Also no slouch in the directness department.

Alex lets out a low whistle. “No wonder JJ loves you.”

My sister averts her gaze, pretending to stare at the murder board. I know her, and underneath that calm facade, she’s crumbling.

Clearly, Alex is uninformed about JJ punting their relationship.

“Here’s the thing,” Alex says, his gaze following Charlie’s. “Something happened during that party. My father and Gerry weren’t at odds. I was young, but kids understand tension, and it was thick that night.” He absently waves a hand. “It’s in the reports somewhere.”

This is news to me, but I haven’t reviewed all the files. Perhaps Mom knows this, but I think she’d have mentioned it.

“I’m not sure,” Alex says, “but I’ve always thought Gerry was in another mess. My father was tired of cleaning up his disasters, and I think Dad may have told him he was done shelling out money.”

I swivel my chair to face him. “You’re saying Tiffany may have been killed because of Gerry’s debts?”

Alex shrugs. “It’s not out of the question. Think about it. Why, if Gerry owed some nasty people money, would they kill him? He was their golden goose who would always be back for more action. If he’s dead, they definitely don’t get their money, and they lose an income stream.”

The room falls silent for a moment, and that sickness in my stomach returns.

Yes, there are people who are evil in the world. Those who would murder an innocent child simply to send a message to the degenerate parent.

God, this world is too much for me.

“Gerry went in and out of the party a lot that night,” Alex offers. “That seemed to rile Dad up even more.”

Matt pulls a face. “Why did Gerry do that?”

“Don’t know. Drug deal? To get high? To pay his bookie? There were plenty there who might have fallen into that category.”

“Okay.” Charlie taps her pen on her notepad. “Maybe Gerry set up a meeting with whoever he owed money to. With so many people on the grounds, it would be easy to slip someone in for a clandestine meeting.”

Alex jerks his head. “That’s always been my theory.”

And, whoa. My spine stiffens. Did he just imply …

Before I can finish my thought, words tumble from my mouth. “You’re saying your cousin was killed because of her father’s debts? And it might’ve been his bookie or your dad who did it?”