Bad Penny (31 page)

Luis stifled a grin. She was a cool one.

“No, Miss Dupree, I—”

“It’s McKay. Mrs. McKay, but you can call me Cat.” He bowed his head in acquiescence. “Is that short for Catherine?”

“Yes. And now that I’ve answered a couple of your questions, you get to answer one of mine. Other than saving my life, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for the killer of a man named Solomon Tutuola.” To Cat’s credit, she never blinked, but inside she was screaming. “And you’re asking me because…?”

Luis sighed. She wasn’t going to help him. All right. He could work with that.

“A few weeks ago, this man, Tutuola, was murdered in our city. He was shot several times, and then his body and his home were burned to the ground.”

Cat didn’t comment. Didn’t look away.

Luis shrugged. “We found a business card belonging to Mark Presley in his possession.”

Now Cat’s eyes registered an understanding. Son of a bitch. How ironic that the man she’d taken down for murder was about to do her in for the same.

“Ah…I see you recognize that name,” Luis said.

Cat’s disdain was obvious. “If you know anything about that man, then you know my connection to him. Of course I recognize the name. The sorry bastard killed my best friend and dumped her body into a ravine like a bag of trash. She was carrying his child.”

Luis dipped his head slightly, as if acknowledging her grief. “Yes. This I was told. I am sorry for your loss.”

“So am I,” Cat said. “What does Marsha’s death have to do with your dead man?”

“I understand that you were in Mexico when you went after Presley?”

“Yes. We caught him in an abandoned hacienda outside Nuevo Laredo. You can check with the authorities there. The arrest was on the up and up.”

“Yes, yes, this I also know.”

Cat’s brow knitted. “I still don’t understand.” “We think that my dead man and your killer were together.”

Cat’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well…there was another man with Presley, but I never saw him. My husband…my partner at the time, was the one who saw him. They had a gunfight inside the hacienda while I was at the back of the house taking Presley into custody. The bastard ran out the back when the gunfire began in the front. You should talk to Wilson about him. He’ll be here soon.”

Luis was confused. If this woman was guilty, she was about the best liar he’d ever met. He needed to try this from another angle. The money. People always reacted to the mention of money.

“There was another thing. When Tutuola came to Chihuahua, several people saw him flashing around money. Large amounts of money that he kept in a bag in the trunk of his car. Did you know anything about that money?”

Cat frowned. “Why would I? Maybe it was what Presley paid him for helping get him out of the States. You could probably get an interview with Presley if you requested it. They can’t fry the bastard until all his appeals have expired.”

Again Luis was confused. Maybe he’d been wrong all along about her. “This money, Mrs. McKay—”

“Cat,” she said, then winced when a wave of weakness washed over her. Luis saw her go pale. “Are you all right?”

She looked at him as if he were sitting in the chair with his brains in his hands.

“No. Actually, I’m not. A shit-faced druggie pumped a bullet into me today, but do continue. It’s helping me think of something but the pain.”

Now Luis felt like a jerk. Maybe he should come back when she was better.

“If you wish, we can have this conversation later, say tomorrow, or the next day, after you’ve had a chance to recover a bit.”

Cat leaned forward, fixing him with a cold, angry stare.

“In truth, I don’t wish to have this conversation at all. It reminds me of a very painful time in my life. However, since you’ve come so far to have it, please go on. I’m sure I’ll survive. I’ve been through worse.”

“With regards to Tutuola’s money, it was too much to be a payoff. I am speaking of millions.”

Again Cat seemed to suddenly connect.

“Ah…then that might be the money Presley took out of his company safe.”

The last thing he’d expected was for her to acknowledge the presence of a large sum of money. Especially if she’d killed to get it. Again, she’d confused him.

“And how do you come to know of this money?”

Cat shifted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable spot but obviously not out of nervousness.

“When Marsha disappeared, I knew Presley had killed her, but I couldn’t make the authorities believe me. So I hired a friend, who shall remain nameless, to bug everything he could that belonged to Presley. We bugged clothing and cars and everything we could get to in his office. My friend also told me that there was what he figured to be around two million dollars in the company safe.”

Luis interrupted. “Your friend broke into Presley’s safe?”

“He has many skills,” she said, then continued. “He slipped a couple of bugs in between the stacks of bills. When Presley escaped, I followed him through a computer system connected to those particular bugs. I followed him all the way to Nuevo Laredo. As for the money, assuming he had it with him when the hacienda caught on fire, I figured the money burned with it.”

Luis didn’t know what to say. She had all the answers. And for some

reason that bothered him. She had too many answers. “The man who was murdered in my city had suffered recent burns.”

“If all you say is correct, then what’s left to figure out? You know where your dead man was injured. In that fire. You know where he got his money. From Mark Presley. Probably figured himself lucky when Presley got arrested and left it behind.”

“But I still don’t know who killed him or why—or where the money went.” Cat swallowed.

Luis saw the muscles work in her throat and in that moment knew he’d been right all along. She’d killed him. But how did he get her to say it?

While he was struggling with another way to go at her, his gaze fell back on her throat. He decided that if he got her talking about something else, she might lose her focus and let something slip.

He pointed to her throat.

“You have quite a scar. May I ask how you got it?”

Cat’s eyes narrowed angrily. “That’s a really rude question to ask a woman who’s spent most of her life trying to ignore it. However, since you’ve asked so nicely, of course I would be happy to share a bit of my life history. When I was thirteen years old a man broke into our home, cut my throat and slashed my father to ribbons in front of me, and I couldn’t call for help. I thought I would die. When I came to in a hospital and found

out I was still alive, but orphaned, I was sorry that I hadn’t.”

For the first time in his life Luis felt shame for the questions he asked. He had to remind himself that this was his job.

“That is terrible. I am very sorry for what happened to you. Of course, seeing the perpetrator come to justice must have given you some satisfaction.”

“They never caught him.”

For a moment Luis didn’t know what to say. “Are you serious? All these years and the case is still unsolved? Why? Did you not see his face? Could you not identify him?”

Cat’s vision blurred.

He saw her eyes suddenly brimming. He saw her swallowing hard to keep from weeping. And when she managed to pull herself together without shedding a tear, he finally began to understand the depths of her strength.

“I see his face every night when I close my eyes.”

“I am sorry. I didn’t—” He stopped. How could he apologize when he’d meant to push her? “So the police never found him.”

“No. The police didn’t find him,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. The police never found him, but she did.

“What led you to the business of bounty hunting?” he asked. “It was a job that kept me apprised of criminals and their whereabouts.”

Suddenly Luis understood. “Ah…the police stopped looking, but you didn’t, did you? You never stopped looking.”

“No.”

“You must have seen thousands and thousands of criminals over the years, and many men look alike. What was it about him that helped you separate him from the others?”

Cat hesitated. If she told the truth, he was going to know. She thought about how to answer without giving herself away. She thought of Wilson, the baby, everything she would lose. Then an image slid through her mind: her father’s face, twisted in pain. His eyes, beseeching her to forgive him for not being able to keep her safe. She couldn’t lie. Not about this. She looked down at her hands, took a deep breath, then stared straight into Luis Montoya’s eyes.

“He was tattooed. Many perps are, but it helped me sort through them.”

Luis felt the blood drain from his face. Tattoos? He thought of the booking photo of Solomon Tutuola he had out in the car. Never had he seen so many tattoos on a man.

“I have a photo of Tutuola in the car. Would you mind looking at it?” “I told you, the only man I saw at the hacienda was Mark Presley.”

Luis kept pushing, aware that he was on the verge of the answers he sought.

“Yes, I remember. But you said you looked at booking photos of tattooed men. Why wouldn’t you want to see if this man was the man you sought?”

Cat blinked and then, for the first time since they’d sat down together, looked away.

“Maybe because I’m sick and tired of the ugly side of life. Maybe because I’m going to have a baby that I don’t intend to drag through the same kind of life that I was forced to live.”

“You would want to let your father’s killer live?” “Hell, no!”

It came out before Cat thought. She took a deep breath, then closed her eyes. When she opened them, Luis Montoya was watching her every move. And then he attacked.

“So…this money that Tutuola had. It would have been nice to have some to put away for the little baby you carry.”

The disgust in her eyes was unmistakable.

“Money? You think everything in life is about the money? In my opinion, Mark Presley’s money is cursed. It’s blood money. It was worth more to Mark Presley than my friend…even more than his own child. Why on God’s

earth would someone want that fucking money?”

Luis felt as if he’d just been slapped. He tried to pursue his previous tack, but his gut was telling him he’d had it wrong. All this time and he’d been chasing the wrong reason.

This woman had killed Tutuola. He would bet his life on it. But not for money.

“So, Cat McKay…if you were me, what would you think happened to that money Tutuola had?”

“That it burned up in the fire with your dead man.” “By fire, I assume you mean the one outside Chihuahua?”

“It’s a fair assumption,” Cat said, then leaned back in the chair. Her back hurt. Her heart hurt. He knew what she’d done, and he knew that she knew it, too. But what he did with that knowledge remained to be seen.

“As I was driving through Mexico, backtracking Tutuola’s last trip, I came upon a policeman and a priest who told me how you saved a baby in the desert. It occurred to me that this adventure was much later than when you were in Nuevo Laredo, capturing this Presley. Why did you come back?”

Cat gritted her teeth as a wave of pain swept through her. She stifled a moan but was unable to hide her suffering. God, she was pissed. About as pissed as she’d ever been in her life.

“Adventure? You call finding a dead woman being chewed on by coyotes an adventure? The baby she was holding was minutes away from becoming dessert.”

Luis flushed. “Yes, yes, it was a poor choice of words. But you came back. Why?”

“As a rule, I don’t much like people. Maybe you can understand why. If not, so be it. But I do like your country. The vastness of the mountains and desserts is calming and beautiful. But after I found the dead woman, it ruined the trip…if you know what I mean.”

Her sarcasm was evident. Luis felt like a heel.

“Then I can assume your story is that you never saw Solomon Tutuola…in Nuevo Laredo.”

Cat blinked. “Right. I never saw him there.”

“And you are not a woman who would be willing to kill…for money?” Breath caught in the back of Cat’s throat. “No. Never for money.” “And that’s what you want me to believe?”

Did she want that? “Yes.”

When he stood abruptly, Cat thought that was it. This was where he

arrested her—or at least took her in for questioning. It would only be a matter of time before they found people who’d seen her in Chihuahua. But she wouldn’t go begging and screaming. When Luis stood up, so did she.

They were standing face-to-face.

Out the window, she saw Wilson coming down the driveway. She wanted to weep. She wanted to wail. Was this the last time she was going to see him as a free woman?

Luis moved toward her.

Cat had to make herself stand still. She’d never run from trouble before. She wasn’t going to start now.

Luis reached for her hand. Cat was shaking.

But instead of putting her in handcuffs, he took her hand. For a moment they stared—man to woman—eye to eye.