Page 62 of Dead Man's List

“Munro didn’t have a safe-deposit box at his bank.”

“Not the bank he openly used.” Connor merged onto the freeway. “Veronica’s trips to the Caymans could mean an offshore account there.”

“Wouldn’t be the first person to hide ill-gotten gains.”

“Nope. Who is Munro’s attorney?”

Kit was annoyed at herself for not having already talked to Munro’s lawyer. “It might be the same attorney whose nameVeronica gave us when she threw us out of her office.” She pulled the folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Lucas King.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Connor said. “He does estate planning for the newly rich and the ‘middle-class millionaires.’ ”

“Middle-class millionaires? That’s a thing?”

“Yep. People who slowly built their wealth or got it through selling real estate they bought fifty years ago. They’re a few steps below the mega-wealthy. Some of my parents’ friends have mentioned that lawyer. He doesn’t typically handle defense cases, but Veronica might not have thought she’d need one. She seems arrogant enough.”

Using her phone, Kit paged through the notes that Marshall and Ashton had uploaded to the department server and gaped when she got to the page that listed Munro’s attorney of record. “Oh my God. You’re not going to believe who’s Munro’s attorney. It’s Laura Letterman.”

Connor did a double take, glancing at her before returning his gaze to the road. “Sam’s ex?”

“One and the same.” Kit leaned back into the headrest. “Sam’s gonna freak out.”

“Not like he did today, though, right? She’s not a danger to him.”

“Laura still cares about him in her own way. She worked hard to represent him when we thought he was a suspect nine months ago. So a totally different kind of freak-out than talking to Tasker today.”

“Still can’t get over how cool he was,” Connor muttered. “I thought the man wore his feelings on his face. Now I have to wonder.”

“He usually does,” Kit said, still staring at Laura Letterman’s name. “But his job requires him to compartmentalize when he has to. That’s what we saw today. I wonder if we should pay Miss Letterman a visit.”

“She won’t tell us anything about Munro. Privilege and all that shit.”

Kit lifted a brow. “Well, she doesn’t represent Veronica, does she?”

Connor grinned. “Damn good point. What’s her address? She’ll be in her office unless she’s in court. Either way, we should find her.”

Kit was googling Laura’s address when her phone buzzed with an incoming call. “It’s Navarro,” she told Connor, then hit accept. “What’s up, boss?”

“Veronica Fitzgerald left city hall ten minutes ago and appears to be on her way to her apartment.” He gave them the address, an expensive building downtown. “Bring her in.”

“On it.” Kit punched the address into their GPS and Connor upped his speed. “I’m assuming we don’t have enough for an arrest warrant?”

“Not yet,” Navarro said ruefully. “The word of a convicted murderer who cut his wife into pieces isn’t enough, unfortunately. But I did get you a search warrant, freshly signed by the judge. It’s only for her bags, including her purse. She should have some luggage if she’s running away like we’re assuming. If she has anything in her bags that’s remotely suspicious, arrest her and bring her in. I’ll send a uniform over with a signed copy of the warrant, just in case she resists the search.”

“I hope she resists,” Kit said. “I’d like to slap some cuffs on her. She’s a snake.”Trying to shake Sam down like that.

“Hiss,” Connor muttered in agreement.

“Understood. Keep it classy, though. I don’t want her slithering away.”

“Of course,” Kit said. “We’ll call you when we have her. We’re about seven minutes out. If she tries to leave before we get there, have the uniforms on watch keep her there.”

Kit ended the call and fixed the flashing blue light to the top of the car. “Step on it.”

Connor complied with glee because driving fast and furious was one of his favorite things. Kit fought the urge to close her eyes as he dodged traffic, breathing her relief when they finally slowed to a stop in front of Veronica’s building.

“Four and a half minutes,” Connor crowed. “I love this job.”

“I need one of Sam’s margaritas,” Kit muttered, releasing the grab handle and shaking out her stiff fingers. “Let’s bring her in.”