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Hastings looked like she wanted to follow up on his terse answer, but shifted her gaze to Reese. “Ms. Decody. We apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but we need to ask you a few questions.” She took a notebook from her back pocket,flipped it open, and drew out the attached pen. “Can you tell us where you were between eight thirty and nine this morning?”
Her brows furrowed. “I was at the SDPD Central Division around eight, and then stopped at Ingersoll Partners Wealth Management. I probably left there shortly before nine. Why?”
“Did you talk to Tyler Greenley today?”
Reese exchanged a look with Hayes. “Yes, for a few minutes. He was having breakfast at the outside eating area of the building’s sixth floor. I spoke with him for a couple of minutes, then left. What’s this about?”
Fenton answered, his eyes hard. “Greenley was found dead in his office at six twenty-seven this evening. It looks like he died after drinking from the bottle of Scotch you sent him this afternoon.”
One hand flew to her throat. “Greenley’s dead?”
“Reese didn’t send him anything,” Hayes put in. “Your information is wrong.”
The officers ignored him. “Did you or did you not have a bottle of Bowman 25 Year Scotch sent to his office this afternoon?” Hastings asked.
Feeling in need of support, she braced a hand against the table just inside the front door. “No. Why would I do that?”
The officer drew her cell out of her pocket and brought up some pictures to show her. Reese stared dumbly at the white box and gold wrappings on a floor covered in industrial blue carpet. Then she flipped to another shot, this one of a small card with a black text typed message. The next was a close-up of the words. Hayes crowded her side as she read it:
Just a thank you for letting me crash your breakfast. I look forward to seeing you again soon.
Reese Decody
The world lurched once. Reese felt dazed, like a prized fighter after a hard right jab. “I didn’t send that.” She shook her head to clear it. Nothing about this made sense. “Are you saying the liquor was laced with some sort of poison?”
Hastings repocketed her cell. “That’s for the lab to determine. But his death is being investigated as a homicide. So why don’t you tell us about the conversation you had with him today?”
“Come in and sit down.” Hayes guided her to the couch. Reese sank to perch on the edge of a cushion. He sat beside her. Hastings seated herself in the chair Adam had occupied yesterday morning. Officer Fenton strolled through the apartment, pausing in front of Hayes’s closed computer. He reached for the lid.
“Unless you brought a warrant, don’t touch that.” The command in Hayes’s voice had the officer drawing his hand back.
“Something you don’t want us to see?”
Hayes’s smile was humorless. “Nice try. Take a seat, Officer Fenton.”
The exchange gave Reese time to recover, although shock still filtered through her system. After the officer sat in the chair beside his partner, she gave a concise explanation of her visit to Greenley’s office and then of the brief meeting she had with the man. “We agreed that I’d make an appointment for a later date to discuss the growth strategy for my brother’s trust fund.”
“Was the meeting contentious?” Fenton seemed content to let his partner do the talking.
“No. I asked him a few questions. He answered them. We recognized that we needed more time to discuss them in full.”
“And did you make that follow-up appointment?”
“Not yet.” She immediately caught herself. Not ever, now. A cloud of disbelief settled over her.
“Walk me through this trust you’re talking about. Who stands to benefit from Greenley’s removal from the account?”
Mechanically, she gave the officers a brief rundown of the history of the monies, her aunt’s death, and Reese’s registration to take Julia’s place as conservator. “I’m trying to get up to speed about all the details, but there’d be no advantage to anyone if another person was appointed to manage the fund. I understand Greenley had been in charge of it for six years, but there have been other advisers before him.”
“What happens to the trust if your brother no longer requires care?”
“That’s unlikely to happen. But in the event of his death, the remainder of the funds go to charity. I’d have to check the terms of the trust to recall which ones.”
“And how much do you stand to gain if you’re named conservator?”
Hastings’s tone was beginning to rankle. But a man was dead. Reese couldn’t hold her attitude against the officer. “I’m not sure what the recommended compensation is. My parents and then my aunt never took any sort of payment. I don’t intend to, either.”
“Who else knew you were going to his building today?” Finally, something from Fenton.