“Ah—you were already good.” Fenway smiled at McVie, then furrowed her brow. “I’m not following. Redmond Northwall chauffeurs a hired cosplayer to a hotel for one of his Monument Brothers to hook up with?”

  “Didn’t make a lot of sense to us, either,” McVie said. “So we started digging into the financials.”

  This time, it was Piper’s turn to clear her throat.

  “And by we, I mean Piper,” McVie said, then took another bite of his burrito.

  “Starting in November,” Piper said, “Haley Sinclair has been getting weekly checks from Radical Familiar for a thousand dollars. Then three weeks ago—in fact, the day after this photo was taken—she gets a check for seventy-five hundred.”

  Fenway pinched the bridge of her nose. “The company paid a grad student to have sex with one of the CEO’s secret society brothers.”

  “That’s what we thought at first, too,” McVie said. “Then Piper suggested we look into both the company financials and into Frank Mortimer’s finances.”

  “But—Piper, you just said Radical Familiar is backed by a private equity firm. Those numbers aren’t public.”

  Piper shrugged. “There are people who will share those numbers with you if you ask them the right way.”

  “I don’t think I want to hear about this,” Fenway said. “And if you didn’t obtain these legally, I can’t use any of this in court.”

  “What I can say,” Piper said, “is that Frank Mortimer celebrated his thirtieth wedding anniversary last month. And I can also say that he’s the chief financial officer of Radical Familiar.”

  “Redmond Northwall didn’t mention that at the temple. The CEO is paying for his own CFO to sleep with—” Fenway’s eyes went wide. “Is this setup for blackmail? Trying to force Frank Mortimer out?”

  “Or it could be some weird sex thing with the Monument Brotherhood,” Piper said.

  “Those are both possibilities,” McVie said.

  “But we haven’t been right about anything yet,” Piper said. “I’m still digging. Mortimer’s made some big withdrawals from his 401(k). I’m trying to figure out where that money went.”

  “Maybe paying off the blackmailer,” Fenway suggested.

  Piper shook her head. “This happened months ago. Not just his 401(k)—Mortimer liquidated some of his other assets, too. Sold some land he had up in Humboldt county.”

  “So suddenly a bunch of money is freed up from his monthly expenses.” Fenway shook her head. “And you suspect the blackmailer is the CEO of one of the biggest software firms south of Silicon Valley?”

  “That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” McVie admitted. “Northwall earns millions of dollars a year, plus the private equity firm paid him millions more when he sold the company. Why would he resort to blackmail?”

  “Gambling problem?” Fenway mused.

  Piper shook her head again. “There’s no sign of that.”

  “What do you think, then?”

  Piper grinned. “I think it’s the thrill.”

  “I’m sorry—the thrill?”

  “Think about it, Fenway. The guy’s done everything he can with money. Started a business from scratch, sold it for hundreds of millions, gets an eight-figure salary. He can take vacations anywhere he wants, he can buy any car he wants. What’s left?”

  “So you’re saying he’s blackmailing his own CFO—his own secret society brother—because he’s bored?”

  Piper bit her lip. “When you put it like that, it doesn’t seem so feasible, but that’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

  “This was three weeks ago—when Mortimer visited the Phillips-Holsen with Haley Sinclair. Any sign of blackmail payments?”

  “No. Although if Northwall is doing it just for the thrill, it could be he’s just keeping the cash. Maybe putting it in a safe deposit box or putting it in the top drawer of his desk at work.”

  Fenway crossed her arms. “So now Frank Mortimer is dead on the floor of the ballroom of the Monument Brotherhood Temple. Explain that.”

  “Confrontation with his blackmailer that got heated,” McVie said. “Northwall kills him. I don’t know how he died—gunshot? Stabbing?”

  “I suppose it could have happened like that,” Fenway admitted. “But why target the CFO? Frank and Redmond were secret society brothers. Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of bond?”

  “People break bonds all the time,” Piper said.

  Fenway frowned. “That might explain why Redmond killed Frank. But it doesn’t explain why Chad, Brad, and Tad are covering for him.”

  McVie furrowed his brow. “Chad…”

  “Sorry—the three other people who were at the temple. They’re all covering up for Redmond Northwall.”

  “I believe it,” Piper said. “Bros before—uh, something.”

  “I don’t,” McVie said. “Even if Redmond Northwall is the High Worshipful Master. Honesty, especially in finances, is highly valued. No one in the Monument Brotherhood would let anyone get away with the murder of one of their own, especially if the killer had been blackmailing the victim.”

  “Then why are they obstructing our investigation?” Fenway asked. Then she blinked. “What if…”

  “What?”

  “What if Frank Mortimer is stealing money from Radical Familiar?”

  McVie tilted his head. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because he’s pulling all his money out of his current life,” Fenway said, and thought briefly about her mother stealing her away to Seattle. “He doesn’t intend on retiring with his wife up north in the redwoods. He’s amassing all the capital he has—and I bet he’s getting some more.”

  “That’s a leap, Fenway.” Piper shook her head. “Even if he was thinking of leaving his wife, that doesn’t mean he’s stealing from the company. Besides, I haven’t found any international deposits yet. Not in the Cayman Islands, not in the Bahamas, not in any of those Caribbean shell companies.”

  “Then where is all that money going? He’s not carrying around suitcases of cash, right?”

  “No, but—” Piper frowned. “I’ve been focusing on the Caribbean, but there are more countries I can look at. Maybe Central America.”

  McVie took the last bite of his burrito and chewed thoughtfully. “While Piper’s researching where Frank Mortimer’s money went, I’ll make some calls. I know a few people who are still involved. See what they know. Maybe they’ve heard something.”

  “You think they’ll share it with you?”

  “Probably not. But I can ask.”

  When Fenway drove her Honda onto First Street toward the Monument Brotherhood Temple, several cruisers, their red-and-blue lights spinning, were parked at a variety of angles, one police car even up on the sidewalk next to the door.

  She parked a block away, then hurried across the street. Dez stood in front of the door, a bullhorn in her hand, several deputies flanking her. As Fenway approached, Dez raised the bullhorn with a snap of static and a squeak of feedback.

  “This is the Dominguez County Sheriff’s Office,” Dez said, the electronic bullhorn amplifying Dez’s voice. Fenway blinked. They all had Kevlar vests on.

  Behind her, a deputy hoisted a battering ram into his arms.

  “We have a warrant to search the premises,” Dez continued. “If you are inside, open the door, raise your hands above your head, and allow our deputies inside.”

  The building stayed silent.

  After a moment, Fenway hurried over to Dez.

  “I take it you got the warrant.”

  “Pretty cut and dried for Judge Harada. Dead body inside, we’re locked out. Easy call.”

  “What about the arrest warrant for Northwall?”

  “Harada said we were looking to get in the building. She thought the arrest warrant was—how did she put it?—an ‘unnecessary scare tactic.’”

  “Maybe someone mentioned how powerful the Brotherhood used to be in the county.”

  “That was me. I thought she should know what she’s getting herself into. We’ve got another deputy stationed at her house tonight, just in case.” Dez raised the bullhorn to her mouth again. “Repeat, we have a warrant to search the premises. If you do not open the door, we will break it down.”

  Fenway thought back to watching Dez break open the door of a warehouse several months before. Unlike that door, however, these doors were significantly thicker and more secure. “Think the battering ram is strong enough?”

  Dez glanced over her shoulder at the deputy holding the battering ram. “I’m not sure,” she said. “A door is only as good as its lock, though, and this lock is against a second door, not against a doorframe. There are a few other doors around the back and the sides we can try if this doesn’t work. We’ll see what we see.”

  Fenway had a moment of panic—she had forgotten to ask Dez to make sure the warrant for the Northwalls’ home included the garage. “Is another team at Redmond Northwall’s house?”

  “No. Judge Harada was reluctant to issue a warrant for his house. Said there wasn’t enough evidence to reasonably assume the murder weapon was in any specific location except the temple. Said we could come back if we didn’t find it here, though.”

  Fenway crinkled her nose. “I didn’t tell you and Sarah about my interview with Emma Northwall.”

  “Oh, that’s right—I didn’t even ask how that went.”

  “She told me that Redmond had been home just after we spoke with him. He went in the garage for about fifteen minutes and then left again.”

  Dez’s eyes went wide. “That sounds like just enough time to find a hiding place for a murder weapon.”

  “That’s what I thought too. But then Emma declined to allow me to search. Since we’re getting search warrants for both here and the Northwalls’ house, we’ll find some evidence soon enough.”

  “Do you think Emma Northwall is hiding something?”

  Fenway crossed her arms and stared down at the floor in thought. “She was on her way out the door—Piper said it was some charity fundraiser.”

  “Oh, right, the Dominguez Ocean Rescue.” Dez scratched her head. “If the Bloodstone Scepter isn’t here, we’ll go back and ask Judge Harada again. This time with the information from your interview.”

  Fenway motioned with her head to the front door. “You going to break it down?”

  “Yep.” Dez lifted the bullhorn. “This is your last warning. We have a warrant to search the premises. Stand clear of the doors.”

  Dez handed the bullhorn to Fenway, and the deputy behind Dez handed her the battering ram. Four other deputies, all in Kevlar vests, fanned out in a half-circle on the sidewalk behind Dez. Vaguely, Fenway remembered McVie saying that Dez was the best on the staff with a battering ram.

  Dez walked up to the tall, thick double doors, then turned her body slightly to the side. With a hand on each of the two handles, she swung it back just in front of her hips, and drove the ram where the two doors met, next to the lock—hard.

  A thud—higher-pitched than Fenway was expecting.

  Dez grimaced. “This door is solid.”

  She swung the battering ram again, back and forth, back and forth, then drove the ram into the door in the exact same place.

  The squealing of tires around the corner. Fenway jerked her head around. An Acura TSX braked hard just in front of a cruiser. The deputies all turned toward the Acura, with their hands on their holsters.

  “Injunction!” a woman’s voice yelled from inside the car—its driver's window was down. A piece of paper appeared out of the window.

  “Injunction?” Fenway murmured.

  “Shit,” Dez said, lowering the battering ram to rest against her hips.

  “Lynn Hayes, attorney for the Monument Brotherhood. I’ve got an order for an injunction signed by the honorable Michael J. Haggarty. You must stop breaking into the temple.”

  Fenway strode over to the car, approaching the driver’s side, and looked at the woman. She was in a brown business suit with a cream-colored blouse. Her pale face was flushed red and her dark hair was tousled.

  Lynn Hayes handed the document to Fenway. She scanned it—but it looked legitimate. Michael F. Haggarty’s signature decorated the bottom.

  Fenway looked at the deputies, warily holding their hands over their gun handles. She locked eyes with Dez and shook her head. “Stand down.”

  Chapter Five

  “This is bullshit,” Fenway said, holding the door to the coroner’s suite open for Dez.

  “I told you they had a lot of influence,” Dez said.

  Sarah stood from behind the desk. “What happened?”

  “Judge Haggarty,” Fenway said. “He’s a member of the Monument Brotherhood—at least, according to Craig. And he’s the one who signed the injunction.”

  “So you need something else,” Sarah said.

  “I don’t think Judge Haggarty will let anyone in there, no matter the evidence,” Fenway said. “If a dead body lying in the middle of the ballroom floor won’t do it, nothing will.”

  “The injunction won’t stand up to a court challenge,” Dez said, “but even if we get the injunction lifted tomorrow morning, that gives the Monument Brotherhood more than twelve hours to remove the body and clean everything up.”

  “We’re still watching the doors,” Fenway said.

  “And I’m telling you, they’ve got tunnels and underground caves and secret ancient passageways,” Dez said.

  “And a Batmobile?” asked Fenway.

  Dez ignored her. “We’ll go in there tomorrow and the ballroom floor will be so clean you could eat off it. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks there’ll be no sign of the body.”

  Fenway folded her arms. “This isn’t right.”

  “And what do you propose we do?” Dez said. “We don’t even have a corpse.”

  Fenway nodded. “Maybe not, but we might not need the actual body. I’ve got my notes from my initial assessment. Then if I add what happened tonight into the record, a D.A. might decide that’s good enough for a murder indictment.”

  “You do remember there are Monument Brotherhood members all throughout the county administration,” Dez said. “Your predecessor was a member. If you don’t think this’ll be an uphill battle, you’re deluding yourself.”

  “It’s a battle I’m willing to fight.” Fenway opened the door to her office and put her laptop bag on the desk. She turned to Sarah. “I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

  “I was researching Frank Mortimer. Lots of stuff doesn’t fit.”

  “Yeah—McVie had some information about Frank Mortimer, too.”

  “McVie had information about our decedent?”

  “He took on Redmond Northwall’s wife as a client.” Fenway relayed the information about the Northwalls, about Haley Sinclair, and about Frank Mortimer.

  Sarah nodded thoughtfully. “I agree,” she said slowly, “Redmond Northwall as a blackmailer doesn’t make much sense. But I think Frank Mortimer was preparing to do something big.”

  “Something big?”

  Sarah reached down and clicked on a browser window. “Here’s an online ad for his BMW. He’s withdrawn almost everything in his 401(k), in his savings accounts, and his main checking account is down to less than a thousand dollars.”

  “McVie knew about the 401(k), but this is the first I’ve heard of his bank accounts.”

  “He’s also stopped his direct deposit from his job—he’s been getting paper checks for the last month. He’s taken his own name off the credit cards he used to share with his wife, too. I’m applying for a warrant to see if he’s current on his mortgage, but I bet he hasn’t paid in a few months. His wife will be in for quite a shock.”

  “Where’s it all going?”

  “My guess is an account in the Caymans, or something equally hard-to-track. We can only get so far requesting the financial information of murder victims.”

  Fenway nodded. Piper might be able to track this using other means—though whether Fenway could use that information was debatable. She hoped Piper had found the deposits when she expanded her search to Central America. “Did he put his notice in at work?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.”

  “Travel plans?”

  “I was just about to check the major airlines.”

  Fenway turned to Dez. “Any ideas about what he might have been doing?”

  “Besides leaving his wife?” Dez shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve heard of a spouse uprooting their whole life and moving halfway around the world. It might be a shitty thing to do, but it’s not illegal.”

  Fenway chuckled. “You know, the first thing I thought of is that he was stealing from his job, but I could be overthinking it. Maybe his wife caught on to what he was doing and killed him herself.”

  “Yeah, that leapt to mind. I checked, though—she’s in Sedona at a spa retreat. Left on Saturday, doesn’t get back for two weeks. The instructor said twenty people saw her in yoga class at the time her husband was killed. Poor woman—I bet she has no idea Mortimer had liquidated their assets.”

  Sarah tilted her head. “Why would you think he’s stealing from the company?”

  Fenway laced her fingers behind her head and exhaled. “He steals from his wife like that, he won’t have a problem stealing from his company either. And I can’t think of another scenario that would explain why Redmond Northwall would drop off Haley Sinclair at a five-star hotel to sleep with his CFO. Northwall must have been trying to trap Mortimer for something.”

  “So—hold on,” Sarah said. “You’re saying that Sinclair is reporting back to Northwall? Information about his hidden bank accounts, maybe the location he’s thinking of going?”

  “Well—I’m not sure I thought it through that much. But—I suppose it’s possible.”

  Dez scratched her chin. “How much did you say Haley Sinclair received after the night in the hotel?”

  “Uh—I don’t remember.”

  “Would Piper know?”

  Fenway took out her phone and tapped the screen.

  Piper picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Fenway.”

  “Quick question,” Fenway said. “How much did Haley Sinclair receive the night after she stayed in the hotel with Frank Mortimer?”

 

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