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“Merritt Margrove,” Gleason guessed, glancing out the window. “Run that down. See what happened there.” He leaned forward again, his chair creaking loudly. “I’m assuming the kids inherited everything?”
“Right,” Johnson said.
“His and hers?” Gleason asked, leaning back in his chair. “All—what was it?—six, no, five kids, right? Divided equally? Nothing specific for her kids versus his kids?”
Thomas nodded. “If both parents were dead.”
“So the only ones left to inherit were Jonas and Kara McIntyre.” Gleason stated it as a fact.
“Except there was a caveat,” Johnson said. “If you were convicted of a crime or involved in drugs, you were out of the will, at least temporarily. So while Jonas was in prison, he was barred from inheriting.”
“And Kara was too young. Comes of age within a couple of weeks,” Johnson said. “How’s that for a coincidence? About the time she’s going to inherit, her only surviving sibling is going to be released from prison.”
“I don’t like coincidences,” Gleason said, tapping a finger on the desk. “If the whole family died, kids included, who was next in line?”
Johnson said, “Samuel McIntyre didn’t have any siblings and his parents were dead, but his wife had—or has—a sister, Faiza Donner.”
“And she ended up being Kara McIntyre’s guardian?” Gleason asked, his brow furrowing as his phone rang again and he glanced at the screen, then sucked air through his teeth in irritation. “Damned things never leave you alone.”
“Faiza had an alibi,” Thomas said, bringing the conversation back to the McIntyre Massacre. “She and the boyfriend were supposed to come to the mountains for Christmas Eve dinner, but they canceled. Something about the boyfriend, Roger Sweeney, not being welcome. Kind of a ‘family only’ affair and even though Faiza had been with Roger for years, they’d never gotten married. Faiza and Roger alibied each other.”
Johnson added, “And everyone already thought Jonas McIntyre was the killer.”
As if they hadn’t checked it out too hard. Thomas said, “He was. Is. That hasn’t changed.”
Her chin jutted a bit and she argued, “But the case has changed. The evidence that it hung on, the sword, it’s as good as gone.”
She was right, but it bothered him, as if she were subtly grandstanding, showing him up.
She said, “I finally got through to Randall Isley’s wife. I wanted to talk to him about what he knew, why he brought up the problems with the evidence chain on the sword now, but we might not be able to speak directly to him. Isley is in an ICU ward at a hospital in Omaha. Congestive heart failure. She’s not certain he’s going to pull through.”
“What?” Thomas said in a breath. Why hadn’t she told him?
“Jesus.” Lieutenant Gleason sucked in his breath. “God, that’s too bad. I worked with Randy. Good cop. Decent guy. Our kids went to school together.” He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, derailed for a second.
“I’ve already asked for another look at the DNA,” Johnson said. “From hair and blood samples collected at the scene, cigarette butts, glasses, whatever. I figure testing has come a long way in twenty years. Maybe something will turn up.”
Gleason was nodding. “Good thinking.”
“I told them to put a rush on it,” Johnson added.
“Great. Double-check everything.” Gleason moved a finger back and forth, indicating both detectives. “And I mean everything.”
“We will,” Thomas said, unable to hide his irritation. “We will.”
“And locate the sister. Marlie. Talk to the ex-girlfriend who testified and the younger girl, Kara, as well as her guardian.”
“Faiza Donner,” Johnson supplied.
“Right, and while you’re at it, see what all those ex-wives and husbands of the murdered couple have to say. I know the kids were set to inherit millions, but my guess is that Johnson, here, is right.” He nodded to Thomas’s partner, who had the good sense not to smile. “There were probably lots of other people waiting in the wings, hoping to get their hands on that fortune.” When Thomas started to argue, Gleason held up a big hand. “I know. We think we got our man. I agree. Just check out other possibilities. They’ll probably be dead ends or circle right on back to Jonas McIntyre, but let’s prove it.”
“Again, you mean,” Thomas clarified over the sound of a huge truck passing on the street outside, then stopping in a hiss of brakes. “You want us to prove it again.”
“Right.” The lieutenant nodded. “And yeah, he can’t be convicted for the same crime, but at least he did twenty years of his sentence and the department will look good, like we covered all our bases.”
Thomas said, “Or our asses, as you said.” Again noise from the street, this time the steady beep of a large vehicle backing up.
“And that’s the goal? Appearances?” Johnson asked just as the exterior noise quieted again.