Presumption of Guilt (10 page)

“Okay, then if he’s available, I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“How about with Mary Jane Olivetti? Did you find out any more about her death?”

“Like Scoby said, she died in a car accident.”

“Do you think there’s a connection?”

“I don’t like coincidences.”

“See if she has any relatives. Maybe they can shed some light.”

“Will do, boss.”

As soon as Dani hung up something nagged at her. She needed to tell Tommy something, but what? She struggled to remember, but her memory remained clouded from the days of medication. Soon, she drifted off to sleep, the thought lost in her slumber.

A voice whispered in her ear, “Dinner’s ready. Wake up, Dani.”

She opened her eyes and saw Doug standing over her, a worried look on his face. “You’ve been asleep for three hours. Are you feeling okay?”

Dani stretched her arms over her head, then eased them to her sides when the shooting pain reminded her of her injuries. “Just tired, I guess.” With her hands, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. The odor of garlic wafted up from the kitchen. “Is that Katie’s lasagna I smell?”

Doug nodded.

“Boy, I didn’t realize how much I missed her cooking until just this moment.” Slowly, she stood up and, with Doug’s arm around her waist, she walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Katie stood by the stove, an apron around her ample waist.

“I made your favorite,” she said when Dani entered the room. Jonah was already seated at the kitchen table. In the center stood a vase of flowers, one of the many she’d taken home from the hospital.

“It smells delicious.” Suddenly, Dani felt famished, as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“And Katie made a delectable desert, Mommy,” piped in Jonah. “Apple pie, and it’s still warm.”

Dani looked around the kitchen. With its white cabinets and rustic wood floor, vintage stove and gingham curtains, it felt like a country farmhouse rather than a suburban home just thirty minutes north of Manhattan. It was the look she’d wanted, a substitute for the second home in the country she’d once hoped to own. That was when she and Doug both worked for the United States Attorney’s Office, when their futures seemed limitless and money plentiful. That was before Jonah was born, before they learned of his condition, before she decided to drop out of the practice of law and become a full-time mother, before Doug left to become a professor at Columbia Law School. At times, when the pressure of work seemed relentless and her conflict over not being home when Jonah returned from school greatest, she looked back on those years as idyllic. There were no hard choices to be made then. Should she stay home with her child or return to work? Whatever choice she made left her with a tinge of regret. Everything for a working mother was a compromise, but one she willingly made. She couldn’t imagine life without Jonah, and she relished the satisfaction she felt in her job, especially when she succeeded in freeing an innocent person.

“Katie, why don’t you sit down and join us?” Dani said.

“Well, now, don’t mind if I do. Buddy is off at a ball game tonight. One of his friends managed to score tickets to the Yankees.”

Katie took another plate from the cabinet and silverware from a drawer, and then they all sat down around the kitchen table. Dani relished being back home with her family—Katie was like family, too—yet, as the conversation flowed, her mind kept drifting to Molly’s case. She kept thinking there was something she’d needed to tell Tommy.

“And Billy was screaming at Joey and Mrs. Radler made them both sit in the corner,” Jonah told everyone, clearly confused by the injustice to Joey.

It hit her then. After making excuses, Dani got up from the table and went into her office. She dialed Tommy’s home and when he answered, said, “Molly remembered her father and his partner arguing shortly before the murders. See what you can find out about that.”

C
HAPTER

17

A
s soon as he stepped out of the terminal, a wave of heat and humidity engulfed Tommy. He’d been to Miami before, but during the winter months, never in October. It felt like the outdoors had turned into the steam bath at his gym. With the rental car’s air-conditioning blasting, he headed east on Route 395, across the McArthur Causeway, where azure-blue water sparkled in the midday sun. Once across the causeway, he followed the turns he’d mapped out beforehand, and twenty minutes later pulled up to Quince Michaels’s home. He whistled at the enormity of the place, then fell into dazed admiration of the profusion of tropical flowers that adorned the front of the property. He’d studied flowers for years and, over time, learned to identify most. Orange milkweeds, purple coneflowers, pink powder puffs. The display was astounding.

When he finally finished admiring the landscaping, Tommy walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The man who greeted him looked like he’d stepped out of a
GQ
fashion shoot. Dressed in tennis whites, he appeared to be in his mid-fifties, with wavy, silver-gray hair, a toned body, and a tan that rivaled George Hamilton’s.

“You must be Tommy Noorland.”

“I am, and thanks for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Michaels.”

“It’s Quince. No formalities here. Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of water would be appreciated. I’m not used to this humidity.”

As Michaels walked off into the kitchen, Tommy looked around the house. More like a mansion, he thought. The entry foyer led to the massive living room, with ceilings that looked at least twenty feet high and an all-glass back wall looking out over an infinity pool and even more elaborate landscaping than he’d encountered in the front of the house. There was a hot tub in one corner and a waterfall in another. Behind the pool, a dock jutted out into the very water he’d driven over a few minutes earlier. Tied up at the dock was a fifty-foot cabin cruiser.

When Michaels walked back in with a glass of water in one hand, and an iced tea in the other, Tommy said, “Nice digs.”

“I got lucky. I bought it after the housing crisis hit. Miami Beach was struck particularly hard by it. The owner had a number of properties he needed to unload, so I paid a fraction of its value. It didn’t look anything like this when I bought it. The structure was solidly built, but too small for me. I’ve doubled the size and probably doubled my investment already.”

“Nice deal.”

Michaels pointed out the back. “That’s the best thing about the house—the view. Let’s sit outside and talk. It’s too nice a day to be indoors.”

Tommy wasn’t sure that was the case—the air-conditioning felt pretty good to him—but as soon as he stepped out back, the breeze from the water made it feel ten degrees cooler.

“Have a seat.” Michaels pointed to a set of deeply cushioned chairs.

Tommy sat down and Michaels did the same.

“Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice,” Tommy said.

“Well, I’d do anything for Molly. She was like a daughter to me. Her sister, too. I’ve known them all their lives.” Michaels dropped his head down and rubbed the back of his neck. After a few moments, he looked up at Tommy. “I never believed she’d killed Joe and Sarah. So, if there’s anything I can help with, I’m there.”

Tommy opened up his briefcase and pulled out a notepad and pen. “How long were you and Joe in business together?”

“Twenty-two years. We started the company a few years after we got out of the army. We’d been friends since college. Joe had the building skills, I had the sales skills. Together we made a good team. Over time, I got pretty knowledgeable about construction, but Joe was the hands-on guy. He oversaw the work of the employees and subcontractors.”

“Did Joe put the bids together for a project?”

“We did that together, but Joe’s view carried more weight than mine, naturally. He had a better sense of what things should cost.”

Tommy wrote on his pad as Michaels spoke. It took all his concentration to keep from sitting back in the chair and just letting the cool breeze wash over him. The water had an almost hypnotic effect. For a moment, he envied his retired friends, having this lifestyle year round. He checked himself. Retired law enforcement didn’t have multimillion-dollar homes on the water. The boat alone had to have set Michaels back at least a quarter of a million.

“How did you come up with the bid for the Hudson County jail?” Tommy asked.

Michaels, who’d been rambling easily, stopped short at the question. He picked up his iced tea and took a long swallow before answering. “Like we came up with all other bids. Got estimates from our subs, priced out cost of materials, and took a guess on what our competition would bid. Then we looked at what we needed to cover our expenses and give us a reasonable profit and still come in low enough to win the bid.”

“How did you know what the other bids would be?”

“We didn’t. As I said, we made a guess. An educated guess, because we always charted what the competition bid on previous jobs.”

It sounded reasonable to Tommy. “So, what went wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

Tommy pulled out a folder from his briefcase and flipped through some pages. “You bid $72 million on the jail and the final cost was $107 million. That’s almost $23 million more than the highest bid on the jail.”

Through the deep tan, Tommy saw Michaels’s cheeks turn red. “Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m sick of this bull,” he said. “Every other day the newspapers slammed us on the cost. We explained it all to the state auditors and were cleared of any wrongdoing. I’m not talking about it anymore.”

Tommy leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. Softly, he said, “You told me you wanted to help Molly. The only way you can is to tell me about the jail.”

“But why? That’s over and done with a long time ago.”

“It wasn’t over when the Singers were murdered.”

“But still—”

“Look, I’ll be frank with you. We’ve gotten several anonymous letters saying the murders were tied to the construction of the jail.”

Michaels stood up and strode over to the dock. He looked out over the water for a long moment, then turned around and walked back to Tommy. Still standing, he said, “I worked hard my whole life for all of this. I’m enjoying my retirement. Now here you come and start poking into matters that are buried. Leave it alone. The jail had nothing to do with the murders. If I thought it did, I’d be the first person to help you hunt down the murderer. But you’re off base here. Now, I think it’s best if you leave.”

Tommy remained planted in his chair. “Just one more question. Molly heard you arguing with her father shortly before the murders. What was that about?”

“We argued all the time; I can’t say what any particular one was about. Usually over minor things. We’re both stubborn.” Michaels caught himself. “We
were
both stubborn.” A look of sadness passed over his face. “Now, really, I’m late for a tennis game. There’s nothing I can help you with.”

Tommy stood up and Michaels walked him to the front door. As they neared it, the door opened and a striking young woman in jogging shorts and sports bra walked in. Her silky brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, accentuating large eyes the color of the deep-blue inlet behind the house. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Tommy wondered if she was Michaels’s daughter.

The woman glanced at Tommy, then said to Michaels, “Oh, good, you haven’t left yet.”

“Honey, this is Tommy Noorland. He works with a lawyer trying to help Molly.”

The woman held out her hand, as slim as the rest of her body. “Glad to meet you. I’m Lisa, Quince’s wife.”

She walked off into the kitchen, and Tommy watched her rear sashay as she left. Husband standing right there or not, it was as though he had no choice in the matter. She was that spectacular. When he looked back to Michaels, Tommy was glad to see he’d been taking in the show, too. It wouldn’t likely get old, he figured.

As he shook Michaels’s hand, he said, “I know you don’t want to talk about the jail, but I thought I should let you know that HIPP has hired a forensic accountant. He’s gotten all the documents from the state and will be going through them.” With that, Tommy released the man, turned back to the door, and left.

“Lucky bastard,” Tommy muttered under his breath as he walked to his car. The gal couldn’t have been more than thirty-five, if she was even that. He wondered if Michaels had been married before and, if so, what had happened to Mrs. Michaels Number One.

He got into the rental car, started the ignition, and put the air-conditioning on full blast. Once, he would have needed to head to the county clerk’s office for his fact-checking. Now he pulled an iPad from his briefcase and typed in a real estate website. Michaels claimed he’d gotten a steal on the house. This website would tell him what he’d purchased it for. Within a few clicks, he had the number—$4.45 million. Didn’t seem like much of a steal to him, but he guessed waterfront property in Miami Beach didn’t come cheap. The original house was 2,830 square feet and didn’t have a pool. A few more clicks told him the current house was 5,850 square feet and had no mortgage. That had to have set him back a few more million at least. Add in the pool, the landscaping, the boat, and the furnishings, and it probably totaled more than $8 million. And he guessed he was being conservative. Not bad for a builder. Maybe Donald Trump made that kind of money, but he didn’t know too many other builders who did. So, where did the money come from?

He took out his cell phone and dialed Dani. “How you feeling, doll?” Although she’d gotten used to it and even laughed about it at times, Tommy knew Dani hated terms like “sweetheart,” “doll,” and “gorgeous.” He couldn’t help it. It just came out. He was a poster child for political incorrectness.

She took it in stride today. “I can actually breathe today without wanting to claw someone’s eyes out,” she said. “You finished your interview of Michaels?”

“Yep. I’m still in front of his house.”

“Anything interesting?”

“To start with, his house is more like a mansion. Big bucks there.”