Buying Time (41 page)

Flanagan gripped both arms of his chair. “And why would he do that for you?”

Erickson wished he’d taken the time to ask himself the same question weeks ago. “At the time, I assumed he did it out of loyalty.”

“That’s an awful lot of loyalty. I don’t know anyone loyal enough to commit murder for me.”

“He had another reason,” Erickson said. “I just didn’t realize it at the time, but Becker wanted the chairmanship of the firm. He wanted me to get the AG job simply to clear the way for him to step into my shoes. He was always reluctant about becoming my deputy. After I got the job, I think he set out to personally destroy me.”

“So Becker killed your wife?”

“No, my stepdaughter, Ashley, killed Claire.”

“Forgive me,” Flanagan said, leaning over the patio table, “but I think I need a stiff drink.”

Erickson returned from the kitchen with two bottles of beer. “Unfortunately,” he said with a wry smile, “I’ve consumed all the hard liquor in the house.”

He continued with his story and when he was done, Flanagan spent thirty minutes peppering him with questions.

“Tell me something,” Flanagan said. “Why does Ashley hate you so much?”

Erickson absently tapped the beer bottle with his index finger. “She was quite a handful when Claire and I got married. She resented my being in their lives. Claire couldn’t control her so we decided to send her off to boarding school. Ashley, however, blames me for that decision.”

“What evidence do you have that Ashley killed her mother?”

“None, really.”

“Then it’s possible Becker actually did it?”

Erickson shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

He could almost see the wheels turning in Flanagan’s head. The best criminal attorneys didn’t care about guilt or innocence. For them, the intellectual challenge came from winning an unwinnable case.

“From a defense perspective,” Flanagan said, “it’s easier to prove reasonable doubt when there’s another plausible suspect to point the finger at.”

“Well, we have at least two. Both Becker and Ashley have strong motives.”

“If we point a finger at Becker as the murderer,” Flanagan continued, “the plot to kill Claire will no doubt come to light. That would make you an accessory.”

Flanagan stopped and took a long pull on his beer. “For your sake, let’s hope Ashley did kill her mother. If she didn’t and Becker goes down for murder, you could, too.”

D
re knew that it wouldn’t take long for Britney to fold. Depriving her of food and water for three hours and twenty-two minutes was all it took.

Angela and Waverly were sitting in front of the TV eating a pepperoni pizza delivered by Domino’s when Britney started pleading. “You can’t just let me starve.”

Dre looked over at her. “Yes, we can.”

“I need to go to the bathroom!”

“Guess you’ll have to hold it until you tell us what we want to know.”

“I already told you, I don’t know anything!”

Both Angela and Waverly had begun to think that maybe she didn’t, but Dre wasn’t buying her denials. “I think you do,” he repeatedly challenged her.

It went back and forth like that until the pizza was almost gone. Britney finally started talking once they untied her and gave a slice of pizza and a bathroom break.

“How did you end up at that church meeting where you met me?” Waverly asked.

“My boyfriend told me to go.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

“His name’s Ricardo. Ricardo Montoya.”

“Why’d he want you to go?”

“He runs this scam, okay? I don’t have cancer. The medical records I gave you were fakes. But even if they had been real, I wasn’t sick enough to qualify for one of those policies. Ricardo figured you would buy my sob story and sell my policy anyway. And you did.”

“I helped you because I felt sorry for you,” Waverly said. “You’re the only client I ever did that for.” From the look on his face, the betrayal still hadn’t sunk in.

Britney smiled. “Guess that makes me a pretty good actress, huh?”

“How can we get in contact with Ricardo?” Dre asked.

“His number’s in my phone. He’s the one I gave the address to.”

“Where does he live?” Dre asked.

“He lives in Vegas. When he comes to L.A., he usually stays at my place.”

“What’s Ricardo’s line of work?”

“He’s a dealer. Primarily meth, occasionally crack. Can I have something to drink?”

“Not until we’re done,” Dre said. “So was Ricardo killin’ Waverly’s clients after he bought their policies?”

“I don’t know anything about killing anybody. I swear.” For the first time, there was something earnest about her denial. “I’ve never known Ricardo to do anything violent. When I told him about that
L.A. Times
article, he said he couldn’t believe Waverly was killing his clients.”

“You’re lyin’,” Dre said, growing frustrated.

“I’m telling you all I know is that he helped a lot of people get insurance. Then he hired some doctor to fake their medical records and sent them to Waverly to sell their policies. Whatever money they got from selling the policy, Ricardo took half. You should probably let me call him. He’s going to think something’s up if I don’t.”

“So let him,” Waverly said bitterly. He paced back and forth across the living room.

“What do you know about this guy named Rico?” Dre asked.

“He’s so gullible,” Britney said. “There ain’t no Rico.”

Waverly stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”

“Ricardo made all those calls.”

Waverly’s face cracked with embarrassment. “What does Ricardo look like?” he asked.

“Dark hair, kinda cute. I only date cute guys.”

“What else?” Angela asked.

“Give me some soda and I’ll show you a picture of him.”

“Now, we’re getting somewhere,” Waverly said. “You have a picture of him? Where is it? Is it in your phone?”

“I’m not telling you where it is until you give me something to drink.”

“Let’s check.” Waverly grabbed Britney’s cell phone and started pushing buttons.

“It’s not in my phone,” she said calmly. “It’s on the Internet. I’m dying of thirst. Give me some soda and I’ll show it to you.”

Angela gave Britney a can of Coke and she took several sips.

“Okay,” Dre said, “now show us the picture.”

“It’s on my Facebook page,” she said.

Dre’s laptop was sitting on the coffee table. He brought up the Facebook home page. “What’s your email address and password?”

“
BootyliciousBritney
at yahoo dot com. My password is
TooHot
.”

“I’m not goin’ to say a word.” Dre pulled up the page and turned the computer around so she could see the screen. Britney had 732 Facebook friends. “Which one is he?”

“It’s the third picture down. The one of the two of us together on the beach. He’s in the orange swim trunks.”

Dre handed the laptop to Waverly. “Do you recognize him?”

“Son of a bitch!” Waverly exclaimed.

“You know him?” Dre asked.

“Yeah, I know him.” Waverly plopped onto the couch. “That’s the guy who got me into the viatical business. That’s Vincent.”

Z
ack had been sitting in his office sulking for most of the morning. He’d only come into work to clean out his desk and say his good-byes. Literally seconds after he got everything all packed up, he received a curt call from the Justice Department Personnel Office in D.C. His media liaison job was over before it started. Erickson was out and so was he.

When he started ranting about who was going to refund his deposit on the Georgetown apartment and pay to ship his furniture back to L.A., the guy hung up on him. The same thing happened when he tried to back out of the deal with the woman who was subletting his apartment. At least Barnes let him rescind his resignation.

His cell phone rang and he grudgingly answered.

“Zack, this is Angela. I need your help.”

He sprang forward in his chair. “Have you lost your mind? Where are you? You know your career is shot, right?”

He opened one of the boxes he had just taped shut and pulled out a legal pad. He wished he had a tape recorder so he could record the conversation. The story of a federal prosecutor on the run with her drug dealer-lover following the murder of a judge was the perfect plot for a blockbuster. Maybe he would get his big story after all.

“At the moment,” Angela said, “I’m more worried about staying alive than where I’ll be working next week. I really thought long and hard before calling you, Zack. But I need somebody I can trust. I hope I don’t regret making this call.”

Was Angela about to confess to something?
“Of course you can trust me,” he said, trying to contain his excitement. “What’s going on?”

“I’m close to closing in on Jon’s killer. I think his death is definitely linked to Live Now.”

Zack jotted down Angela’s words as fast as she was speaking them. He was about to be part of the takedown of a murder ring that preyed on the dying. This might not get him his own TV show, but it could mean a six-figure book deal. He was almost hyperventilating, but managed to keep writing.

“I have some extremely confidential information that I need you to check out,” Angela said, “but Salina’s the only person I want you to discuss this with. She’s a whiz on the Internet. But with everything going on with me, I figured she’d be too afraid of losing her job if I asked her to do the research for me. Can you ask her to do it without saying it’s for me?”

Maybe
. “Tell me what’s going on first.”

“I need you to run a sheet on a
Vincent Rivera
and a
Ricardo Montoya
. Also try
Ricardo Rivera
and
Vincent Montoya
. Try the first name
Rico
, too. Then I need to find out if a company called Goldman Investments, Inc., has any connection to Live Now, The Tustin Group or any of its affiliated companies.”

“What’s Goldman Investments?”

“A company Waverly Sloan was laundering drug money through.”

“Whoaaa! How’d you find that out?”

“He’s here with me right now, spilling his guts. If I can confirm a link between the companies, then I think we can prove that Live Now and its executives are connected to the deaths of Waverly’s clients.”

“Holy cow!” Zack said.

“What about Lawrence Erickson’s wife. Did they kill her too?”

“We’re still working on that. So can you do it?”

Zack sidestepped the question. “Where are you?”

“I’m in hiding. I can’t tell you any more than that. You saw the news. Somebody is trying to kill Waverly, and maybe me, too. Will you help me?”

“Sure,” he said.

“And remember, this is just between us. Don’t tell Salina the information is for me and don’t bring anybody else in on this.”

He wasn’t stupid. “Of course.”

“I also have some telephone numbers I need you to look up.” She gave him four numbers retrieved from Britney’s cell. “I need to know as much as possible about the people connected to the numbers.”

“Whose numbers are these?” Zack asked.

“That’s what I want
you
to tell
me
.”

“It may not be easy to keep all of this under the radar.”

“I’m sure you can do it, Zack.”

Angela’s next words absolutely made his day. “When this is all said and done, it’s going to be a huge story. I might not have a job, but I will definitely have a book deal and maybe even a screenplay to sell. If you want to be part of it, I really need your help.”

Zack could almost see the hotel shootout scene on the big screen. The studio would probably want big-name actors. Brad Pitt would play him and that black guy from
The Unit
would make a decent Waverly character. Maybe Beyoncé or Jennifer Hudson could play Angela.

“I’m with you,” Zack said excitedly. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll let you know what I find out.”

E
rickson had just finished showering and changed into his gardening clothes when he heard a knock at the door. As he approached, the pounding grew louder.

“I’m coming!” he yelled. He wondered who it could be.

Mandy had just left to get a change of clothes. He felt lucky to have her. She was the only positive thing in his life right now. Later tonight, he planned to ask her to move in.

Erickson reached for the doorknob, but something made him peer through the peephole first. He saw two police officers and at least three men with TV cameras propped on their shoulders. A police cruiser was parked in the driveway and two more were double parked in front of the house.

Erickson’s fists reflexively clenched.
This can’t be happening. Are they actually going to arrest me?
This was such a travesty. He could only imagine what the neighbors were thinking.

He jerked the door open. “What do you want?”

“Mr. Erickson, we have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Claire Erickson.”

Before he could react, a uniformed officer stepped forward, pulled him outside, hurled him around and cuffed him.

“This is outrageous!” Erickson screamed. “What are you doing? I didn’t kill my wife. I’m going to sue every last one of you!”

The officer pressed Erickson’s face against the hard brick wall of his porch.

“Do you know who I am?” Erickson yelled. “You can’t treat me like this!”

The officer swung him around and the photographers rushed forward, zeroing in with their cameras.

A flash of fear raced down his spine. He needed to call Becker. No! What was he thinking? Becker had probably set up this disgraceful scene. Erickson needed his attorney, Nolan Flanagan.

He tried to calm himself. Resisting arrest would not do him any good. “Who’s in charge here?” Erickson asked.

“I am.” Detective Davis stepped forward and introduced himself.

“You don’t have to do this,” he appealed to the detective. “I would’ve come down to the station voluntarily. Why don’t you let me call my lawyer?”