Page 92 of Old Money
I hit the red button and stop the recording.
“Shall we?”
Chapter Forty-One
“NowI feel like a criminal.”
I crane my neck, checking the driveway again.
“What? Youarea criminal.” Jamie takes a bite of pizza. “You’ve been one for, like, a month. Stolen police files? Who the hell knows what else.”
We’re sitting on the terrace steps—one rule I never dreamed of breaking. We waited until the few lingering members had gone home. Jamie called it at seven thirty, releasing the dozy kitchen staff and sending the doormen home to sleep off the rest of their hangovers. Then we ordered a pizza, got a pitcher of iced tea from the bar and carried it all outside for an illicit sunset picnic.
“Did you mean it about going to the cops tomorrow?” Jamie leans back, propping his elbows on the step behind him. “Or was that just to see if he’d refuse?”
“To see if he’d double down, yeah,” I answer. “And no, I’m not going to them. Not tomorrow anyway.”
“Seriously?” He nods toward my bag and the phone tucked inside it. “Because I’d say that evidence counts as novelandcompelling.”
I nod, smiling.
“That’s why it’s going to the press first.”
“Explain again, Scarface? I haven’t slept in two days.”
“Well, the recording is good. It proves Brody’s original interview was bullshit, and it makes him another witness. His story lines right up with mine—”
“Lines up with Alex Chapman’s too,” Jamie adds, and both of us fall silent.
“Right,” I continue. I don’t want to think about Alex right now. “And Theo’s! Brody’s story also has Patrick walking toward the pool.Andit’s got him returning to the clubhouse after.”
“And the floodlight.”
“Oh my God, the floodlight! So good.”
“You’re welcome.” He nods soberly. “So what’s the issue?”
“It’s just not enough.”
Jamie turns his palms up, his mouth a questioning circle.
“Itmightbe enough to initiate a new investigation,” I explain. “Maybe. But it’s not a guarantee. And that’s not the goal here anyway.”
Jamie cocks an eyebrow.
“The end goal is Patrick.” I look at him head-on. “And this isn’t enough to keep him from slipping through the cracks again. I need more witnesses—more of those blanks filled in.”
“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”
I reach over the pizza between us, nudging his shoulder.
“Sorry, had to.”
“This is the first domino!” I continue, gesturing with my slice. “Brody’s story goes public, and that convinces other witnesses to speak up. ‘Compels’ them, rather.”
That’s the idea, anyway.
“You know that thing you said about Gordon Fairchild and clout?” I add, recalling our conversation at the Martha.
