One-Night Alibi

“Thanks.” As he exited the clinic, he was already redialing Mitch.

* * *

AFTERNOON WAS WANING as Hudson approached the front door of the posh apartment building in Houston’s downtown historic district. Who knew there were 28 Elizabeth Downeys living in the Houston area? Mitch was able to eliminate most of them based on identifying factors like race and age, but there were four who had shielded their privacy enough that he couldn’t rule them out. Mitch had offered to hack into Department of Public Safety records and peek at their driver’s-license pictures, but Hudson couldn’t condone Mitch breaking the law on his behalf.

He’d find her. In fact, he was almost positive he had. This building just looked like someplace Liz would live—a redbrick 1800s building right off Market Square. Secure—but not behind the walls of some sanitized gated community where no one knew their neighbors.

Now he just had the security desk to contend with.

“I’m here to see Elizabeth Downey,” he told the official-looking man who watched all who came and went through the lobby. He didn’t wear a uniform, just a nicely pressed suit, but Hudson had no doubt the man could stop anyone who tried to gain entrance to the elevators or stairs without his okay. At least he’d try.

“Your name?” the guard asked as he picked up the phone from the antique desk.

He considered lying, but Elizabeth would probably refuse entrance to someone she didn’t know. “Hudson Vale.” God, he hoped she was home.

The man spoke softly into the phone. Though Hudson was standing right next to the desk, he couldn’t understand what was said. That was a talent. The guard cast a suspicious eye at Hudson, then concluded the conversation and hung up.

“Fifth floor. Apartment 524.”

Relief flooded through Hudson’s whole body. She was here. And she’d agreed to see him. It had taken him half a day, but he’d found her.

Belatedly, he wished he’d brought flowers. She was undoubtedly still angry with him for the accusations he’d thrown at her Saturday night. That had been stupid of him.

The elevator couldn’t move fast enough to suit him. When he finally alighted on the fifth floor, he practically sprinted down the hall until he found her apartment number. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he knocked. Decisively. Twice.

The woman who opened the door was hardly recognizable as the sultry vixen who’d taken his breath away Saturday night, seducing him so shamelessly. She stood before him in sweats and an old Bryn Mawr College T-shirt, her face pale and devoid of makeup, her hair pulled back untidily in an elastic band.

She was still achingly beautiful.

“Liz.” Somehow, that was the only word that would come out of his mouth.

She turned, leaving the door open, and he followed her into her apartment. It was an expensive-looking space, open and airy. The walls were painted in soft pastels; the furnishings looked classy but not formal or pretentious. The only item that looked out of place was a huge bouquet of orchids on the dining-room table, wilted and turning brown. Everything else was clean and well-maintained.

“I can explain,” she finally said.

“There’s no need.” He felt a little off-balance. She was the one apologizing? “I don’t blame you for bailing out on me. I said some awful thing, things I didn’t mean. If I’d bothered to use half a brain before I spouted off...”

She looked at him curiously, as if an apology wasn’t what she expected, either.

He closed the door. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her expression changed rapidly from guilt to suspicion. What had he done now?

“I stopped at your clinic first,” he explained, figuring she didn’t appreciate his intrusion into her privacy. “Someone there told me you’d had a death in your family.”

“Dear God, you still don’t know.”

“Uh...guess I don’t. Pretty clueless here. Liz, I don’t mean to intrude on your grief. But I’m in a difficult situation here, and you’re the only one who can help me. Believe me, I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise. I mean, I did want to see you again. And I’m kind of glad I had an excuse to track you down—”

“I can’t help you. You have to leave.” She strode toward her front door, obviously expecting him to vacate.

“What? I haven’t even told you what the problem is.”

“I already know. You want me to vouch for your whereabouts on Saturday night.”

“Well, yeah. How do you know about that?” Then he slapped his own forehead. “Duh. It’s probably been in the news.” He hadn’t turned on a TV in days. “Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again, or if you don’t want the whole world to know you picked up some strange guy at a wedding. But there’s no need for anyone to know. Just talk to a couple of detectives. Tell them you were with me, that I couldn’t possibly have killed Mandalay.”

She paused at the door, her hand hovering over the knob. Finally she turned and looked at him with something approaching honest regret. “I would help you if I could. I’m not embarrassed. It’s just that using me as an alibi won’t do you much good. Because if there’s one person in the world who had a better reason than you to kill Franklin Mandalay, it’s me.”

Oh, God. This did not sound good. “Maybe I better sit down.”

“No, no, you have to leave.” The urgency had returned to her voice. “We can’t be seen together.”

“We’ve already been seen together. Your security man downstairs knows I came to see you. The valet at the wedding saw us leave together. You think cops won’t figure that out?”

Her face fell. She returned to the living room and more or less collapsed onto that comfy-looking sofa. Hudson sat in the chair opposite her.

“Maybe you better tell me everything,” Hudson said. “Why would you want to kill Franklin Mandalay?”

“Because he’s my father. And we’re estranged. He is manipulative and controlling and a liar. And I’m his sole heir.” With that, her eyes filled with tears. “Jesus, I have no idea why I keep crying. He was not a very nice man.”

Mandalay was her father? Hudson’s head was spinning like a gyroscope. “I knew there was something off about that night,” he murmured. Then, louder, he said, “Tell me everything. All of it, Liz. If I get even a whiff of deception from you I’m going straight to the police.”

CHAPTER FIVE

LIZ MASSAGED HER temples and looked as if she was collecting herself, rounding up her thoughts. “Our meeting was accidental,” she began. “Well, sort of. I already told you I recognized you from the newspaper. I wanted to meet you. I actually admired you for standing up to my father, and I knew you hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“Hmm.” Should he believe her now? He had no idea.

“When I saw you at the wedding, I planned to just talk to you. But then one thing led to another and I completely forgot why I’d wanted to meet you in the first place.”

“Hmm,” he said again.

“Hudson, I really liked you. But I knew if you found out who I was you’d be freaked out, and I just didn’t see any happy ending if the truth came out. That’s the real reason I left your house so fast. I saw my opportunity, and I dashed. I didn’t want you to know anything more about me—I was afraid you’d try to find me.”

“Guess your fears came true.” He pondered the situation for a few seconds. “So, you called a cab?” Her cell phone would have a record of that call, he realized.

“Using your phone. My cell was out of juice.”

Okay. That was probably good news. “And you went straight home?”

“Hudson, of course! Jesus, don’t tell me you think I did it.”

“The time-of-death window goes until 5:00 a.m. That’s more than an hour after you left my place.” At her stricken expression, he changed tacks. “No, Liz, I know you didn’t do it. But the cops are going to ask you that. They’re going to ask you a lot more. You better be prepared for it.”

“The cops already talked to me.”

Oh, hell, of course they had. She’d probably been notified first thing after the body was identified, then asked at least a few preliminary questions. “When?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That I went straight home from the wedding. I didn’t talk to anyone or see anyone. I went home alone, and no one can corroborate my whereabouts.”

Hudson jumped up and started to pace. “You lied to the police?”

“You think I should have told them I was with you? How would that look?”

“You should never lie to the police. They always find out, Liz.”

“They don’t have to find out. What did you tell them?”

“I said I was with you, of course. How the hell was I supposed to know you would be the other main suspect?” He thought some more. “There’s only one thing to do. You have to go to the Montgomery County sheriff’s office and tell them the truth. We’ll go together.”

“No! Hudson, no, we can’t do that. It’ll look so bad that I lied. For me and for you. Because if they think I did it, and they know we were together, you’ll go down with me.”

She had a point. Still... “I don’t know how we can keep it secret. The cabdriver who took you home—”

“I didn’t tell the police anything about a cab.”

“Yeah, but I did.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “We’ll deal with that if we have to.”

“They’ll ask people at the wedding. The valet, for instance. He saw us leave together.”

“I can’t tell them I lied, Hudson. I won’t.”

Great. If he tried to claim she was his alibi, and she denied his story, he would look even worse. The valet might not recall seeing them together; the place had been a zoo. If he could find which cab company she’d called...

“Hudson, there must be something else we can do.”

“We could fly to the Bahamas, but they probably already have our passports flagged.”

“Really?”

“Liz, focus. We aren’t going to flee the country. Let’s think this through. You didn’t kill your father. And I didn’t kill him. Ergo—”

“Someone else did. We just have to find that person!”

Easier said than done. He prided himself on being a good, thorough detective. But without his badge—without the authority of the Montgomery County sheriff behind him—his efforts would be severely hampered.

“Any ideas who could have done it?”

“One of his desperate clients. Or someone he swindled.” She shrugged. “He wasn’t a part of my life anymore. I have no idea what was happening in his world.”

Hudson had a hard time understanding that. His parents were his rocks, and he loved them both fiercely and saw them on a regular basis. “How long have you been estranged from him?”

“Since I was eighteen. I got an academic scholarship to Bryn Mawr. He refused to let me go, insisted I go to Rice University and live at home.”

He glanced at her sweatshirt. “Guess Daddy didn’t get his way that time, huh?”

“No. He took my car away. I went anyway.”

“You haven’t seen him since then? That’s, what, ten years?”

“Oh, I’ve seen him. He pops up periodically—here or at work, or we sometimes attend the same functions.” Her gaze darted to the dying orchids, then back. “But no matter how hard he tries...tried...he can’t engage me. I ignore him. And he goes away.”

“So the estrangement was one-way.”

“If you mean I wanted it and he didn’t, yes, that’s exactly right.”

Only one more question came to mind at the moment. “Why? It was a long time ago, and it sounds like maybe he just didn’t want his daughter to be so far from home.”

“It wasn’t just that. I had my reasons.”

“That answer isn’t going to wash with the cops when they question you again.” And something told Hudson they would. Though he hadn’t seen it the first time they’d met, Liz fairly reeked with deception. Maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to see it last Saturday.

“I’ll tell the cops if they ask. But you’re not the cops.”

He wasn’t...but he was. They could take his badge and gun away, but inside he was still a cop. He always would be. It drove him nuts that he didn’t have his usual resources at hand. He couldn’t simply call up DMV records or look up someone’s criminal history.

“Hudson...what about the burglar?”

“Yeah. Kinda suspicious—a guy with a gun in close proximity to where the body was found.”

“Was my father killed with...? Was he shot?” She realized she’d never asked how he’d died, and she’d deliberately not watched the news or read a newspaper. “They told me he was found in the lake, and I guess I just assumed he’d drowned.”

Hudson nodded. “He was shot.”

“So the creep that broke into your house was connected to my father?”

“I think he was there to kill me,” Hudson said flatly. “I think if you hadn’t been there, that’s what would have happened.”

“My father wouldn’t have had you killed,” she said reasonably. “I’m sure he was angry over being arrested, but I can’t see him going that far.”

“I can.” Hudson still shivered when he remembered Mandalay’s cold eyes. “Something was going on in that parking lot. Something other than a simple business transaction. Whatever it was, maybe he wanted it to stay hidden—at any cost.”

“Okay, so let’s assume the burglar was there to kill you. He fails. Reports back to my father. They get into an argument. Gun comes out...” She swallowed convulsively.

“It’s okay to grieve, Liz. Whatever happened that caused the feud between you...I’m guessing you have some fond memories, as well.”

She nodded. “He used to be the center of my universe.”

Hudson had to admit, he was consumed with curiosity about what all had happened. But she wasn’t ready to tell him yet. She would be. Someday.

“Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. Knightly and Sanchez think my alibi lady doesn’t exist. I’ll continue to tell them I can’t find you.”

“Oh, thank you, Hudson—”

“Wait, wait, I’m not done. They only gave me a couple of days to produce you as my alibi. I doubt they have enough to arrest me. But if they do...then I’ll have to come clean.” He hated lying to cops—to his own partner especially. But he had to agree with Liz on this one. Once they knew the two prime suspects had been together Saturday night, he and Liz would probably find themselves in jail and unable to conduct any kind of investigation of their own.

“Okay... And during this grace period?”

“I’ll find the real killer. There’s simply no other choice.”

“I’ll help.”

“We’re dealing with a ruthless person or persons here. I can’t put you in danger.”

“I’m already in danger. What if I get convicted of murder? Sentenced to death? Anyway, I’ve got something you might need.”

“Really. What might that be?”

“Money. Lots of it. Getting information out of people can cost. Speaking of which...how did you find me? Money also buys privacy. Jillian was pretty much the only person at that wedding who knew me. And even if you managed to get hold of her in Patagonia, she would never tell. She knows better.”

“I called in a favor at Project Justice. And I did some legwork,” he added, unwilling to give Mitch all the credit.

“Project Justice. So maybe we should get them to help us find the real killer. That’s what those people do, right? Help people who have been unjustly accused?”

“Usually they help people unjustly convicted and imprisoned. We haven’t even been arrested.”

“So, they’ll get a jump start on our case. Anyway, I have an ace up my sleeve. I serve on the board of directors of the Logan Charitable Trust.”

“You’re friends with Daniel Logan? The billionaire?”

“You were at his house. You don’t know him?”

“Not well enough to just call him up and ask him for a favor like that.”

“Leave it to me. I’ll let you know once I’ve set up a meeting. Meanwhile, you better go. The less we’re seen together, the better. It’s only a matter of time before some enterprising reporter puts it together.”

“Damn.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been the subject of media scrutiny before. I don’t like it. Not at all.”

“You get used to it.”

“So I take it you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before?”

“When I was fourteen, my mother disappeared. Poof.” Liz spread her fingers wide, outlining an imaginary cloud of dust. He couldn’t help noticing that her immaculate manicure from Saturday had deteriorated; she’d been chewing on her nail polish.

“Given who my father was,” she continued, “the media went crazy over the story. Reporters camped out in the street in front of our house for literally months. I didn’t leave the house, not even to go to school. My father hired a tutor. I became a prisoner in my own home.”

“That sounds brutal. Did you find out what happened to her?”

“There was some evidence she had a lover. The police decided she must have run off with him, but I never bought it. She wouldn’t have left me without a word. Dad, yeah, she’d have left him. They hadn’t been happy together for a long time. But not me. We were tight.” Liz paused, reflecting. “I know she’s dead. Realistically, that’s the only possible answer. Beyond that, I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to know. That way, I can fantasize that it was quick and painless, you know?”

Hudson didn’t really understand that attitude. If something happened to one of his parents, or his little brother, he’d want to know, no matter how unpleasant it was for him.

“Reporters still call me about it, wanting to revisit the case, since it was never solved.”

“Have you tried to find her? Recently, that is? In Montgomery County, we have a cold-case squad. There are new techniques, or maybe just looking at an old case with fresh eyes...”

“Anytime anyone tried to look into it, my father stonewalled them. He said he didn’t want to open old wounds. No investigation ever got very far.”

“Was he ever considered a suspect? Your dad?”

“Briefly. But he was out of the country when it happened. That theory never got much traction.”

“It’s easy enough to create an ironclad alibi if you hire a hit man....” Then Hudson remembered himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t vent my sordid theories in front of you.”

“Let’s not get distracted. One parent’s homicide at a time, okay?”

“Sorry.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “That’s got my cell number. Let me know... No, don’t call me directly. When you set up something with Project Justice, have someone there contact me. The less direct contact between us, the better.”

* * *

ELIZABETH HAD TO admit, the Project Justice office was impressive. Not the outside, so much. The historic, three-story brick building in old downtown Houston, not far from her apartment, was distinguished, but nothing dramatic stood out. In fact, only a very small plaque in the wall advertised that the foundation was housed here.

Inside, however, it was a different story. The brass double doors opened into a soaring lobby with walnut-paneled walls and a gray marble floor, polished to a high sheen. You could have fit a bowling alley in that lobby, but it was empty, except for two rather uncomfortable-looking straight-back chairs against one wall. In the center of the room, toward the back, was an enormous circular desk behind which an extremely formidable woman sat surveying her territory like a hungry vulture.

Elizabeth approached the woman confidently, her heels clicking loudly against the floor and echoing off the walls. The woman’s nameplate identified her as Celeste Boggs.

“Good morning, Ms. Boggs,” Elizabeth began. “I’m here for a meeting with—”

“I know who you are. Sign in. I’ll need to see some ID, make sure you aren’t an impostor.”

Elizabeth obliged and Celeste handed over a visitor badge.

After Celeste summoned someone on the phone, a young woman who must have been an intern appeared from behind a frosted-glass partition.

“Ms. Downey? I’m Jax. I’ll take you to the meeting room.”

Elizabeth struggled with where to clip the visitor badge on her collarless shirt. She finally settled on her belt.

She followed the young woman down a series of hallways, all of them decorated with the care any River Oaks maven would use to decorate her house. Designer paint colors adorned the walls, while subtle lighting illuminated various pieces of original art. This place was almost as impressive as Daniel’s house. She’d grown up with all the trappings of wealth, and she was still impressed.

If anyone could help Elizabeth and Hudson, it was Daniel Logan. Aside from the fact he was a billionaire, he was one of the most influential people in the whole state of Texas. He was a personal friend of the governor, and it was rumored he was on a first-name basis with the president.

Jax finally paused before a room labeled Conference and tapped softly, waiting until someone opened the door. She then stood aside and allowed Elizabeth to enter.

Elizabeth’s eyes immediately sought out Hudson. He was there, looking delicious as ever, and her heart jumped and briefly tripled its rate. Each time she saw him, her regret for the most unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting grew sharper.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” Daniel’s voice boomed. At first glance, she thought he was seated at the head of the conference table—until she realized his head and shoulders were being transmitted on a giant TV screen. She had heard that Daniel once suffered from an acute case of agoraphobia, making it nearly impossible for him to leave his house. Although he was much improved, he still did the majority of his business—whether it was running his oil company, his charitable trust or Project Justice—from the comfort of his home office.

“Good morning, Mr. Logan.” She felt a little silly talking to the computer screen, but there was a small camera mounted just above the screen, so she supposed from his viewpoint it was as if she were really looking at him.

“Please, sit down. I think you’re the last to arrive, so we can get started.”

She glanced at her watch as she seated herself, worried that it was later than she’d thought. She prided herself on being punctual.

“You’re not late,” Hudson said. “The rest of us were just early.”

Discussing her before she had arrived? Or was that paranoid?

The closest empty chair was beside Hudson, so she took it, though sitting next to him unsettled her nerves.

Daniel introduced her to the others in the room. Some of them she’d met briefly at the wedding, but fresh introductions helped her put the names and faces into their professional context. Joe Kinkaid, one of the lead investigators at the foundation, was a thirtyish, clean-cut guy with a boyish charm. But his demeanor suggested ex-military. His posture, maybe, or the bulky, complicated dive watch on his left wrist.

Mitch Delacroix, a slightly scruffy, laid-back man, greeted her with a good-old-boy “pleased to meet ya,” revealing the traces of a Cajun accent. The only other woman in the room, a tall, glamorous brunette dressed to the nines in a turquoise suit, was Raleigh Shinn, the foundation’s chief legal counsel.

The show of force encouraged Elizabeth; if Daniel was going to reject their request for help, he was pulling out some pretty big guns to do it.

“I’ll just get right into it, if that’s okay,” Daniel began. He was a man of few words, but what he said was always important. “A lot of people need our services. I wish we could help them all, but though the foundation is growing all the time, we simply don’t have the resources to take on every case.”

“But—” Hudson started to object. He stopped himself when he saw the quelling look on Daniel’s face. Raleigh, too, gave him a stern look of reproach. He sank lower in his chair.

“That’s why we have a protocol in place, so that the most urgent and deserving cases get our attention first.”

Oh, dear. This didn’t sound promising.

“That said, Hudson, you’ve been a friend to Project Justice on a number of occasions. You were a tremendous help with the Mary-Frances Torres case, and if not for you, our Jillian might have frozen to death in a deep freezer.”