Page 26 of Thicker Than Water
He hands it to Julia, and I squint over her shoulder at print that’s mockingly small.
“For seizing Mr. Larkin’s computer and his financial records from the last three years.”
“Financial records?” I spit out. “What the hell do you need those for?”
He ignores my question to address Julia instead. “Tax records, as well as credit card and bank statements. If you don’t have hard copies, you can turn them over electronically.” He pulls a flash drive from the pocket of his suit, holds it up like a winning hand in poker.
“Again—whydo you need that?” I ask. “How could that possibly help you?”
“Mrs. Larkin?” Beck says. Julia’s still staring at the warrant, and I don’t know if she’s even registered his voice. “If you could lead the way please?”
“Lead the way?” I repeat. “You want her to escort you like you’re fucking guests?”
And it’s that—the swearing, I think—that jump-starts Julia’s attention. She’s seen me curse at cops before, like the time one pulled me over for going five miles over the speed limit when a guy in a growling pickup had just blown past me, or the time one hit on me while writing me a ticket for a broken taillight.Are you fucking kidding me?I asked both times, prompting Julia to seize my hand—same as she does now.
Her skin is cold against mine, her eyes almost pleading. “Cool your fire.”
But unlike those times in the car—when Ihadbeen speeding, when my taillighthadneeded to be replaced—the mantra’s power fizzles out, like a hose only trickling water.
“My fire’s pretty fucking warranted,” I mutter. Then I hurl my gaze onto Beck. “There’s an actual killer, somewhere out there, roaming free, and instead of searching for them, you’re standing here asking for—” I laugh, a grating, scraping sound. “For my brother’staxes?”
“We can search for everything ourselves,” he says, sidestepping my question, avoiding the accusation of incompetence, “but this will go a lot easier if we have your cooperation.”
“You do,” Julia says before I can respond. “Everything’s upstairs, you can follow me.”
My mouth drops open. “Jules.”
Music blares from the kitchen. My phone’s ringtone—“Call Me Maybe”—sends me stomping away from the door, Carly Rae’s bouncy vocals needing to be silenced. But when I see Lou Ackerman’s name on the screen, I accept the call.
“The cops are here with a warrant,” I say. Their footsteps thud up the stairs. I picture their shoes tracking dirt on the floral runner my mother once installed.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. I just got off the phone with the PD. They want his computer and financial records.”
“Butwhy?”
“My assumption is they’re looking for motive, other connections between Gavin and Jason besides Integrity Plus. Now, is there anything you can think of that they might find?”
“Formotive?” Heat rockets through me. My eyes fall on the receipt Julia found in Jason’s pants. I snatch it up, shove it in my pocket, glance toward the front hall to make sure no one saw.
“For possible connections,” Lou says.
“I’m telling you, Lou, Jason hardly ever talks about Gavin. That’s why this is so ridiculous. I mean, what do they think they’re going to find on his computer? A Word document with a ten-point murder plan? And in his credit card statements? A charge at Joann Fabric for the thread from Gavin’s lips?”
“The statements and tax records are for motive, too. I don’t know the specifics, but it seems there’s a possibility Gavin was involved in some shady financial dealings.”
“Okay, and why would that have anything to do with Ja—”
I stop before I finish my brother’s name. Because that phrase,shady financial dealings, has pinged against a memory: Wyatt in bed last night, telling me about the man who accosted Gavin a week before his murder. He wasfinancially motivated, Wyatt said, but he hustled me away from the subject as soon as I pressed for more.
“If Gavin was doing something shady,” I tell Lou, “Jason wouldn’t go near it,especiallyif it had to do with money. He’s way too responsible. Like, pays-his-bills-the-second-they-come-in responsible. And he definitely wouldn’t do anything illegal. One time, at this barbecuehe and Julia had, his friend wanted to play blackjack for money, and Jason literally googled whether gambling at home was legal in Connecticut.”
Lou chuckles. “Smart man.”
“Sure—smart, lame, tomato, motato. My point is: if Gavin had some financial scheme going on, Jason’s not the one with ties to it, and the police should be looking at whoever does, because maybethey’rethe real killer.”
Before I continue, I turn toward the entryway, making sure Julia can’t hear me. She isn’t there, of course. She’s upstairs, giving the cops hercooperation. Still, I lower my voice.
“Please don’t repeat this in front of Julia, but I talked to my ex, who’s a cop, and he said that someone recently attacked Gavin—verbally, but still—and it seemed to have to do with money. He also said the guy had an alibi for the murder,” I admit, “but it still seems like the police should be looking closer at him.”
