“Because you generally show more compassion for the dead.”
She hesitated then said, “SAPD reports that the guy, fifty-four, was having sex with an underage prostitute when he died. They think heart attack, the girl got scared and ran. The police think the girl robbed him after he died. She was scared that her pimp would beat her senseless if she didn’t bring back any money. And yet this pervert is the victim? If the police find her, they’ll terrify her even more.” She started up the stairs. Halfway up she turned around. “I’m sorry, Sean.”
“No apologies. It’s nice to see that fire back. But I will take a rain check on what you promised.”
She smiled at him, warm and genuine with a hint of teasing. “I’m cashing in that rain check tonight.” Then she ran up the stairs.
Maybe Lucy was okay. At least she sounded like she was back on track.
Sean went to the kitchen to make her breakfast. If he didn’t feed her before she left, he knew she’d go without until lunch, and after that morning swim, she needed fuel.
CHAPTER THREE
The White Knight Motel was near the freeway, on Camp Street, not far from San Antonio PD central headquarters. It could have been cloned from any number of dives in the area—two-story crumbling structures with questionable rental and cleaning policies. Lucy had investigated a murder at a place just like the White Knight when she’d been in D.C. last year. A prostitute had been brutally murdered and Lucy had moved heaven and earth to work that case and find the killer.
This time, the john was dead, and Lucy had no sympathy.
The coroner’s van was already on site, along with several SAPD cop cars. It was barely dawn and the onlookers were mostly drunks or other guests at the motel—keeping their distance, wary of the police.
Juan had given Lucy the bare minimum of information—he’d hardly spoken to her outside of work for the two months she’d been back on duty. She’d hoped her two-week administrative leave had been enough time for her boss to forgive her, but Juan was still angry. Maybe not angry—disappointed. Somehow, that was worse.
Suck it up, Kincaid.
Before she got out of her car, she read over the brief memo Juan had emailed to her and the other agent assigned to the case, a nearly twenty-year veteran named Barry Crawford. She hadn’t partnered with Crawford before. In the six months she’d been in San Antonio, she’d noticed that Crawford was one of those agents who did his job and went home. He seemed to be smart and competent, but she couldn’t remember him ever working past five or taking an extra assignment.
Juan’s memo was brief and to the point. The deceased was Harper Worthington, owner of Harper Worthington International, a global accountancy corporation that primarily handled government contracts and audits. Because he specialized in auditing defense contractors, he had a high-level federal security clearance. In addition, he was married to Congresswoman Adeline Reyes-Worthington.
Worthington had been found dead and partially clothed in a motel room at the White Knight at approximately 1:00 A.M. by the motel manager when a taxi driver retained by Worthington insisted management check the room. The driver had been waiting for over an hour for the deceased, who had requested the pickup, and he’d witnessed a teenaged girl leaving just after midnight. When SAPD arrived and checked the deceased’s ID, they recognized the name and contacted their chief, who in turn contacted the FBI.
Juan ended with:
This case is need-to-know. I don’t have to explain the sensitivities of not only Worthington’s position as a government contractor, but the potential media interest because of his congressional ties. I expect this case to be handled with complete discretion and the utmost professionalism.
Lucy checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Sean was right, she looked tired. She added more concealer under her eyes and a touch more makeup than she usually wore before she got out of the car.
Lucy recognized Julie Peters, one of the deputy coroners. Lucy had met many of the SAPD and county staff during the two months she’d spent working on Operation Heatwave, which had culminated in hundreds of arrests of wanted fugitives through the combined efforts of all levels of law enforcement.
Julie was leaning against her van talking to one of the cops as Lucy approached. “I heard the feds were taking over,” Julie said.
“By mutual agreement,” Lucy said. “Good to see you again, Julie.”
“VIP,” Julie said and rolled her eyes. “Agent Kincaid, meet Officer Garcia. Garcia, Kincaid. She’s okay for a fed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Lucy extended her hand to Garcia.
“You should. Julie doesn’t like anyone,” Garcia said.