If this was her expert advice, Kerri wasn’t impressed. Did she think they were idiots?

“We checked all the properties owned by the Abbotts,” Falco said. “We haven’t located anything owned by Sela or her mother. Though we do have reason to believe the mother lived in Birmingham maybe forty or so years ago. We also think the mother may have been treated for some sort of health issue in Mexico City. This may or may not be relevant, but we’re missing two years in Sela Abbott’s life right after college. It’s possible she and her mother were south of the border for a while, which might clear up the missing years.”

Cross cut a look between them. “Sounds like there’s a lot you don’t know.”

Falco shrugged. “Can you ever know enough?”

Kerri kept her mouth shut, but she imagined her face spoke loudly of how she felt about the woman’s smart-ass retorts. How was this helpful? She and Falco would be talking about this in the car.

“Send me a text with the mother’s details,” Cross announced with an exaggerated sigh. “If she owned any property around here, I’ll find it. I’ll look into the south-of-the-border thing too.”

“We already checked with the property records office,” Kerri interjected. She was well versed in how to track down the details on property. In this case, the we was actually Falco and his friend in property records.

Cross laughed, the sound rusty, as if she rarely made it. “Look, Detective, you’ve done this long enough to know things aren’t always where they’re supposed to be.”

How the hell did she know how long Kerri had done this?

“Whatever you can find will be useful, I’m sure,” Kerri said instead of telling her to screw off.

Cross blew out a lungful of smoke. “Like I told Falco, you better watch your step. You’re dealing with people who are accustomed to making whatever they want happen, no matter the cost.”

“Powerful people, for sure,” Kerri agreed with a fake smile.

“Scary people,” Cross corrected. “Thompson and York are part of the untouchables. You mess with them, you end up dead or worse—wishing you were dead.”

“Are you suggesting,” Kerri countered, her hands settling on her hips in challenge, “that Sela Abbott and her family are dead because of Thompson and York?” If the woman had a point, she needed to make it instead of throwing out accusations. They needed evidence, not more theories.

Cross tapped out her cigarette in the pot of a dead plant. “I’m not suggesting anything, Detective. I’m telling you that if the murders were what they wanted, that’s what happened. Making the connection to that desire or need or whatever-the-hell motive prompted the decision is your job, not mine. It’s your case.” She shrugged. “I’m just suggesting you be careful so you don’t end up dead too.”

Wow. “Well, okay. Thanks for the warning.” She turned to Falco. She was ready to go. “Anything else you want to ask?”

More of that rusty laughter. “I told you not to waste your time or mine, Falco. She’s one of them. She sees what she expects to see.”

Kerri turned to the other woman, took a couple of steps in her direction. “What exactly does that mean, Cross?”

“Devlin,” Falco warned.

Cross took the final step between them, putting her nose to nose with Kerri. “It means, Devlin, that you were raised up among the good working folks who never got into trouble or had really bad things happen to them. You went to school and church like a good girl, trained to be a cop under the tutelage of the old regimen. You’ve worked as a cop for well over a decade, been a detective for the better part of that. You see what they trained you to see. That’s all I’m saying.”

Kerri turned to Falco. “This has certainly been illuminating, but I think that’s my cue to go.”

Before Kerri could turn away, Cross gave her one more piece of advice. “Open your eyes, Devlin. You’ll be surprised what you see.”

45

5:00 p.m.

Thompson Building

Richard Arrington Boulevard

“Cross seems like a burnout,” Kerri said frankly. She glanced over at the reception desk and the woman seated behind it who had been on the phone since Kerri announced that she and Falco needed to see Mr. Thompson. “How long does it take to determine if the guy is available?”

Falco leaned his head toward Kerri. “She’s waiting for someone to tell her what to say.”

“Guess so.” She’d suggested they have a seat in the plush seating area, but Kerri had decided to stand as a reminder that her time was short.

“Cross is complicated,” Falco said. “Not exactly a burnout.”

“How does she stay in good graces with the department with an attitude like that?” The woman was seriously jaded.

“I think maybe they’re afraid to cut her loose.”

Kerri turned to him. “Afraid?”

He shrugged in that guy sort of nonchalant way. “Like I said, she knows stuff.”

“Detectives.” The receptionist smiled in their direction.

Kerri headed for her desk, hopeful their luck with interviewing Theo Thompson was about to change.

The woman’s smile faded as they reached her. “I’m afraid Mr. Thompson is still in a meeting across town. Would you like to leave a message for his assistant?”

“No,” Kerri said with a faux smile. “We’ll wait.” She turned around and marched back to the seating area. Falco did the same.

The receptionist got back on the phone.

“Some senator he’s going to make,” Falco said. “You can’t ever talk to him.”

“It’s scary how much we think alike,” Kerri noted.

Falco chuckled. “Great minds.”

The receptionist stood, and this time she walked over to where they waited. “Mr. Thompson’s chief of staff, Mrs. Thompson, is in. She is happy to speak with you. She’s waiting in the small conference room, if you’re agreeable.”

“We can do that,” Kerri said without hesitation. Of course, she’d already spoken to the wife and come away with the idea that the woman didn’t like Sela Abbott. Maybe Kerri would give her something to really dislike this time.

The receptionist led the way across the lobby and to the left beyond the open doors to a large meeting or conference room. The final door at the end of the corridor stood open, and she paused and gestured for them to go in.

Falco thanked the receptionist and followed Kerri inside. Mrs. Thompson waited at the table that held court in the center of the room. Like everything else in the building, the room had an air of vintage elegance, not unlike the lady who stood as they approached.

“What a surprise to see you again. How can I help you today, Detectives?”

Kerri said, “We still have questions about the Abbott case.”

“Of course. Please sit. If you’d like water or some other refreshment, let me know. The Thompsons have always been supportive of the BPD. We like to help anyway we can. We donate generously every year.”

Kerri took the nearest chair as Mrs. Thompson resumed her own. Falco pulled out a chair next to Kerri.

“Has Ben’s wife been found? We’ve all been praying for her safe return.”

Kerri would just bet she had been praying. Apparently the lady had changed her tune about Sela, or maybe she’d decided that sharing her disdain was not in her best interest. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”

“We’ve tried several times to meet with Mr. Thompson,” Falco interjected. “We have questions for him specifically.”

Suzanne Thompson nodded. “I hope you understand that my husband is very busy just now. But I’m happy to answer whatever questions you have. You may not be aware, but I’m his chief of staff. I spent the past two decades serving as his father’s chief of staff. I can assure you I’m qualified to speak on his behalf.”

Kerri decided to play her ace right at the start. She removed the photo from her jacket pocket and placed it on the table in front of Thompson. “Do you know the woman in the photo?”

She didn’t have to look at Falco to know he would be surprised by her move. But not nearly as surprised as Suzanne Thompson. Her face drained of color, and she looked exactly as if she’d seen a ghost.

“I’m . . . I’m not sure.” She reorganized her face into one of intense concentration. “She looks vaguely familiar.”

“That is your husband with her,” Falco pointed out.

“Yes.” The single word was like an icicle, cold, brittle, ready to slip from its precious grip on whatever edge was holding it and shatter into a million pieces.

“Perhaps she was someone from his office,” Kerri suggested.

The wife continued to stare at the photograph. Her husband’s arm was draped over the woman’s shoulder; the woman’s was wound around his waist. The scene was an obviously intimate one.

“We found it going through some old case files,” Falco ad-libbed. “We thought Mr. Thompson might be able to help us identify her.”

Thompson looked from Falco to Kerri. “You don’t know who she is?”