Page 119 of Dead Man's List

Joe pulled a pen from his pocket, his expression grim. “Hand me a piece of paper. I’ll give you anything you need.”

San Diego PD, San Diego, California

Wednesday, January 11, 6:00 p.m.

Well, Sam thought, at least he didn’t have to look at Laura Letterman through the glass tonight. Simon Daly, also known as Mr.Maserati because he’d sold his sports car, had a male attorney who was currently trying to discourage Kit from the interview.

The other person of interest, Hugh Smith, a.k.a. Mr.Ex La Jolla after he’d sold his mansion in La Jolla and downsized to a condo in the city, hadn’t yet been located.

Sam hoped Daly would give them something good or at least confirm that the club members were being blackmailed. Then they could be a little more certain that they knew the secret that Drummond had been hoping to trade for his freedom. Sam sure as hell didn’t want Christopher Drummond to profit from his crimes against little Rita. Sam’s heart still hurt at her fear. But she trusted them. She trusted Kit to do the right thing, so Sam sent up a prayer that Kit would be able to crack Simon Daly.

“You’re wasting your time, Detective,” the attorney said. “My client isn’t going to tell you anything.”

Daly’s gaze was fixed on the table. His eyes weren’t visible, but the man’s body language screamed “guilty.”

“That’s okay,” Kit said sweetly. “My partner and I have some information your client might find useful, though.”

“He’s toast,” Navarro said with a chuckle.

“He is,” Sam agreed.

Kit and Connor had teamed up this time, and Sam was looking forward to seeing what they could pry out of Mr.Daly.

“So,” Kit said, her elbows on the table. “You sold your Maserati recently, Mr.Daly.”

“Not a crime,” his attorney said.

“Of course not,” Kit agreed pleasantly. “But we’re thinking you did do a crime, Mr.Daly, and you sold the Maserati to pay your blackmailer.”

Daly jolted, the movement seeming to be involuntary.

“Oh yeah,” Navarro murmured. “He did something, all right.”

Sam agreed. “His shoulders just hiked up to his ears and, from the way his biceps just flexed, I’d bet he’s clenching his fists under the table.”

“My client doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” the attorney said, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Except his left eye was now twitching. An unfortunate tell for an attorney.

Laura never would have allowed her face to twitch like that.

“Oh, I think you do, Mr.Daly.” Kit still sounded so sweet. “And, just so you know, we’ve got a warrant in front of a judge so we can search your home and your bank records. I’m betting we’ll find a bunch of cash, all fifties, nonsequential. Maybe in your safe or hidden in a shoebox, just waiting for your day to pay. Which day was yours, Mr.Daly? The first of the month? Thefourth? The woman who paid on the second of every month has already shown us her bank records.”

“Did she?” Sam asked Navarro.

“No, but she offered. Her secret was discovered by her ex-husband, so she had nothing to gain by continuing to pay Munro.”

“Munro just let her go?”

“From what she said, yes. But he may have tried to kill her in a traffic accident, so we’re not sure.”

On the other side of the glass, Mr.Daly had grown more tense but remained silent.

Kit was smiling at Daly sunnily. “No worries, we’ll figure it out. We’re combing through surveillance footage at the most recent drop points. We’ll find you on the recordings, Mr.Daly. Unless you sent someone else.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Connor said to Kit, as if Daly weren’t there. “That would be one more person who knew he had something to hide.”

“True,” Kit said. “So, the dead man’s switch. Have you lost sleep this week, Mr.Daly, worrying about it?”

Daly looked up then, his glare glacial. But he said nothing.