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  Not that it was any of his business, but Derek replied, “My wife’s car is in the shop.” He took a small mirror from his pocket and checked his hair.

  “I need to go over a few things. Why don’t you have the corporate car service pick her up?”

  Derek had spent all fucking day trapped in partner meetings. What else could Marty have to talk about? He took a deep breath and suppressed his frustration. “What did you need?”

  “One thing is I want to know how it went with Pietre’s stepdaughter last night,” Marty said.

  “Not as well as I hoped,” Derek admitted. “Reece is pussy-whipped. He said if I wanted an introduction to Pietre, I’d have to ask McNamara.”

  “Well, did you speak with her about it?”

  “Every time I tried to swing the conversation to politics, she interrupted and changed the subject. She’s a real ball-buster.”

  Marty sat on one of the white suede chairs in front of Derek’s monstrous glass desk. “She’s a private eye, right?”

  Derek nodded, wondering what was taking Melissa so damn long with the flight info.

  “What if we throw some work her way and try to bridge a relationship?”

  It wasn’t a bad idea. He glanced at his watch and opened his office door. “Melissa? Any day now.”

  “There aren’t any Vancouver Air Canada flights arriving at six o’clock,” she said.

  Fuck, how could this day get any worse? he thought.

  “I checked international, and there’s a six o’clock Air Canada flight arriving from LAX.”

  “That must be it.” Derek leaned over and checked Melissa’s screen. “Gabriella said West Coast. It never occurred to me she was talking about the US. I assumed it was Vancouver.”

  Marty had followed and was hovering beside him, crowding into Melissa’s cubicle. “You don’t know where your sister-in-law lives?”

  His partner’s nosiness always bugged the shit out of him. Years ago, Marty had appointed himself the patriarch of the firm, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

  “No, I’ve never met her.” He hoped his tone was professional. “It’s Air Canada from the West Coast at six o’clock so it must be that one.”

  Marty and Melissa exchanged a bemused look. “If you’ve never met her,” Marty argued, “how are you going to recognize her? Do you have her cell number?”

  He studied his partner. “Mary, I don’t recall asking you to be my father. I’ll see her outside arrivals. Stop worrying about it.”

  “Melissa,” Marty said, “you better call Gabriella. It’ll be a waste of time if he ends up going for nothing.”

  “I tried his wife already, but she didn’t pick up her cell or the home phone.”

  “She’s at work,” Derek snapped. “There’s no need to bother her.”

  Melissa lowered her eyes and wrung her hands together. “Oh, I tried her office. She doesn’t work there any longer.”

  He felt the proverbial straw breaking his back. “That fucking bitch,” he roared. “I’ll kill her! All she had to do was keep it together for a few more days.”

  Marty put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Derek, calm down. You don’t know what happened. Maybe they downsized. Talk to Gabriella before you jump to conclusions.”

  He imagined dollar bills with wings flying out of his grasp. “I planned to approach Jack Belinski about contributing to the campaign,” he yelled. “The man isn’t going to throw money my way after firing my fucking wife.”

  Everything was falling apart. Once his plan was in motion, Jack would have been sympathetic toward his plight, bending over backwards to help. The useless, fucking gash. He couldn’t believe it. He should have done something about her sooner.

  “Look,” Marty said, “use the drive to the airport to gather your thoughts. We’ll figure something out about the fundraising. Family, my friend, is all that matters. If they fired her, she’s bound to be upset and will need your support. Now, about Pietre, do you want me to see what business we can swing to McNamara?”

  “We’re a corporate firm. What work do we have for a PI?”

  “Well, I’m not sure but I’ll talk to partners. It’s going to be great exposure for our firm if you can snag a government seat.”

  Why was it he couldn’t do anything for himself? Everything was about the fucking firm. Everything was a reflection on the firm or in the best interest of the firm. Derek was bloody sick of it.

  Marty draped his arm around his shoulder. “Go get your sister-in-law. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Derek shrugged off Marty’s arm. He stormed out of the office, fuming at Gabriella. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

  His wife was ruining him and any reservations he’d had over his plan evaporated. It was a case of survival of the fittest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  One Week Later: Toronto, Ontario

  Sam

  SAM AND REECE WERE lingering over a homemade — by Reece, of course — brunch. It was a gorgeous June day, and they’d decided to play hooky from work. They weren’t going to open a newspaper or check email. A full day off with no distractions.

  Reece stood and carried his plate into the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder. “What do you want to do today?”

  “How about Luminato at David Pecaut Square? We can check out some of the artists, playwrights, and filmmakers.” Sam popped the last bite of hollandaise-soaked English muffin in her mouth. The food Reece produced was almost worth the clutter that accompanied it.

  “Dinner at Paese?” Reece asked.

  “You got it. I’ll make a reservation.” Sam was picking up her cell when it rang. “McNamara.”

  “Hey Sam, Jim Stipelli.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong? Are Lisa and the kids okay?”

  “They’re fine,” he replied. “Which you’d know if you’d swallow your pride and call Lisa.”

  She grunted. “It’s complicated.”

  “So she tells me. Just give her a call, would you?”

  Sam didn’t say anything. Lisa Stipelli was, or had been, her best friend. They’d had a falling out a year ago when her friend met a smarmy self-realization guru. Sam suspected the asshole was interfering in Lisa’s marriage and had loudly voiced her concern. The ensuing argument had damaged their friendship. Sam didn’t know how to handle the conflict, so she did nothing, which was typical for her when faced with personal problems involving people’s feelings.

  “Fine, fine,” Jim said. “I don’t want to be in the middle, and I’m not calling about my wife. By the way, how’s your mother?”

  Sam turned her back to Reece, who was busy wiping down the countertops. “The same,” she mumbled.

  She’d told Reece her mother was dead because she didn’t want him to meet her. Grace suffered early-onset Alzheimer’s, but that wasn’t the reason. Her mother was as mean-spirited as she’d been when she was healthy. If they met, Grace would tell Reece what happened with Liam, he’d leave their relationship, and she wouldn’t blame him.

  “Hello? Sam? I said I’ve got a job for you.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “A murder case?”

  Jim was Toronto’s best criminal defence attorney and a pleasure to work with, but she was experiencing the usual feeling of dread when faced with a difficult case. It would be tough, whatever it was. Jim always took high-profile cases. He liked the media coverage and loved executing a legal miracle. Whatever Jim took on, most lawyers considered unwinnable.

  “Yep, client is Derek Martina. He’s a partner in a large corporate law practice, also dabbles in politics.”

  She cringed. “I’m afraid we’ve met.”

  “Oh? Well then, small world. His firm is advancing him the funds for his defence, which is where I come in. I went to law school with one of the senior partners. The cops charged Derek with first degree murder last night.”

  “Really? Who died?”

  “His wife.”

  Sam was so startled she la
ughed. “Wait, what? Gabriella Martina is dead?”

  Reece stopped loading the dishwasher and turned. She put the phone on speaker and snagged a legal pad and pen from the kitchen counter.

  “You know the whole family?” Jim asked.

  “We had dinner there last Tuesday. Reece went to university with Derek.”

  Reece wiped his hands on a dishtowel and walked over to stand beside her.

  “Sam,” Jim said, “are we dealing with a conflict of interest?”

  “You’re on speaker, Jim. No conflict of interest,” Reece assured him. “What do the police have?” He dropped the tea towel on the counter and sat at the table.

  “One piece of direct evidence and enough circumstantial to corroborate,” Jim said. “They’re still looking for her body.”

  “What’s the direct evidence?” Reece pantomimed writing, and she slid over the pad and handed him the pen.

  “A 911 call yesterday afternoon from Mrs. Martina on her home phone saying her husband had stabbed her.”

  “Oh boy,” Sam said, “but without a body, why is she presumed dead?”

  “When police arrived, the house was empty. There was blood in the kitchen and bloody fingerprints on a phone hidden in the kitchen closet. She put up a hell of a fight. There’s a blood trail from the bedroom to the kitchen, and her bloody handprints are on the walls and doorframes. One of the large butcher knives is missing from the knife block. When they searched the house and grounds, they found Derek’s prints in blood on the shed door.”

  Reece was scribbling notes while Jim talked. He looked at the list and raised an eyebrow.

  “Enough blood to prove death?” Sam asked.

  “No,” Jim answered, “but there’s more evidence, and, combined with the 911 call, there’s enough to support the charge.”

  “Where did they pick him up?” she asked.

  “He came home. The police believe he wasn’t aware she called 911.”

  “They think he disposed of her body and went home to clean up,” Sam concluded.

  “That’s the gist of it. There was a shovel in his trunk and a piece of blue tarp caught on the trunk frame. Forensics found her fingerprints on the release pull and strands of hair embedded in the carpet.” Jim paused. “Guys, she wasn’t dead when she was put in the trunk.”

  “If Gabriella was alive after he stabbed her, the trunk would be covered with blood,” Sam pointed out.

  “Forensic techs say no, not if she managed to free one of her arms, but her wounds were contained inside the tarp,” Jim argued.

  “Jesus,” she muttered. “Where were the kids?”

  “The oldest boy claims he was in Montreal with friends, but the cops are still trying to verify his alibi. The middle girl was at her boyfriend’s place, and the youngest was hanging out with a friend.”

  “What other evidence have they got?” Reece was studying his notes.

  “Derek’s an inch from bankruptcy. Six months ago, he took out a life insurance policy on his wife for two million dollars. The police found Gabriella’s diary, delineating Derek’s affairs and psychological abuse. She thought he was trying to make her commit suicide.”

  “But that’s her perspective,” Sam said.

  “He made death threats,” Jim added. “In front of his partner and his assistant, Derek said he was going to, and I quote, ‘kill the bitch’.”

  “Where does Derek say he was when it happened?” Reece asked.

  “No corroborated alibi. His office verifies he left at four-forty-five. Derek claims Gabriella’s car was in the shop, and he had to meet her sister’s flight at Pearson.”

  “And where is Sis now?” Sam asked.

  “No sign of her and no Isabella on any Air Canada flight manifest.”

  “Can’t Derek reach her?” Sam finished her coffee, pushing the mug to the centre of the table.

  “He doesn’t have a phone number for her, doesn’t know if she married and changed her last name, and isn’t sure where she lives,” Jim said.

  She peered over Reece’s shoulder and watched him put a question mark beside the word ‘sister’ in his notes and underline the word. She pulled out a chair, sitting beside him, and reviewed the rest of the notes.

  “Did Derek stop for gas or coffee along the way?” she asked. “What about parking at the airport?”

  “No stops and his partner tried texting him at a little after five-thirty to remind him of a six o’clock teleconference. He didn’t respond and missed the call. Derek says he forgot his phone at home. He circled arrivals a few times and left around seven.”

  Sam slid over the pad and scribbled ‘no phone’, adding two question marks. “Derek’s business requires him to be reached 24/7. If he forgot his phone, why wouldn’t he go home and get it?”

  “He had meetings all day and didn’t have time.”

  She and Reece exchanged a bemused look. It was tough to swallow that a lawyer wouldn’t have his cell phone.

  “You can disable GPS tracking on your phone, but law enforcement can still track the history,” Reece said. “The cops are going to be able to confirm the phone’s location for the day of the alleged crime.”

  “And the fact his cell was at the house all day,” Jim said, “doesn’t help the prosecution or the defence.”

  “What about airport security?” Reece leaned back in the chair and linked his hands behind his head. “They must have noticed the car.”

  “It was crowded, there was a shift change, and a little girl lost her parents outside the taxi stand. No one can confirm or deny that Derek’s car was there. I haven’t seen them yet, but the cops have the airport surveillance tapes.”

  Sam took the pen and wrote get copies of surveillance tapes while Reece asked Jim, “How does Derek explain all the evidence?”

  “No explanation for the stuff in his trunk. As far as the diary goes, he denied his wife would keep one, claiming Gabriella is dyslexic and hates writing.”

  Reece grabbed their mugs and got up to fetch the pot of coffee. He waved the pot at her.

  She nodded and he poured her coffee. She considered the evidence. Did she want to take this case? “I hate to ask, Jim, but is there anything else?”

  “Gabriella’s car wasn’t in the shop on Wednesday,” Jim said. “It was parked at home in the garage. The service manager confirmed Derek made an appointment for regular servicing and told them to keep it overnight, stating he wouldn’t have time to pick it up before they closed. Gabriella called in the morning and rescheduled, saying she needed the car.”

  Sam studied the pad of paper. The 911 call Gabriella made was a serious problem. No wonder the police had charged Derek. “Jim, if Derek did kill her and it was planned and deliberate,” Sam said, “he did a bad job of it.”

  Reece nodded. “What about his bloody prints on the shed?”

  “Derek alleges he cut his finger when he was trying to fix the shed door. That’s the only explanation he has.” Jim paused. “The blood isn’t his. Derek is AB positive and the blood in the house and on the shed is O negative, Gabriella’s blood type. Forensics is in the process of confirming the blood is hers, but the DNA matching will take time.”

  Sam uttered a short laugh. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to take the risk of having her firm connected with something so open and closed. If she turned him down, he’d never use her again and his practice paid well. Would her firm survive if Jim pulled his business? If she earned a reputation of only taking easy cases, probably not.

  “Do they have the weapon?” On top of everything else, if the cops had a murder weapon covered in Derek’s fingerprints that would clinch the deal. She’d decline the case.

  “No, not yet. I’ve emailed you copies of the police reports and the interviews with Derek, his assistant, and his partner.”

  Reece looked confused. “Why did you take this case, Jim? The evidence is overwhelming.”

  On the other end of the phone, Jim laughed. “Innocent until proven guilty and I love a chall
enge. Sam knows that. I didn’t climb to my status by being cautious. If you want to be top dog, you have to win against insurmountable odds. Besides, with Derek’s political standing, it’s going to be high profile.”

  She again considered how to decline the case. Her firm would be in the news. The bad press over the Uthisca Bueton cult had been awful, and she didn’t want to go through that again.

  “Where is Derek now?” Reece asked.

  “In lockdown,” Jim answered. “I’m waiting to hear from the Crown.”

  Sam caught Reece’s eye and frowned, pointing at the notepad.

  “The police have the airport surveillance footage, is that right?” Reece asked Jim.

  “Correct.”

  “If they charged him with murder,” Reece said, “it means they didn’t find his car on the tapes.”

  “That’s my assumption, yes. I’ll know more when I see the rest of the paperwork and speak with the Crown.”

  “Any idea what they’ll do about bail?” Sam asked.

  “He’s an attorney and attached to the community so there’s no reason to think he won’t show up for court.” Jim paused. “But I’m not sure.”

  “Because they don’t have the body,” Sam guessed.

  “That’s right. The Crown might argue he could destroy evidence related to their investigation.”

  “Then again,” she said, “if they release him and he’s guilty, there’s a chance he’ll lead them to the body.”

  “I’m confident I can argue for release pending trial, and his business partner,” Jim paused and they heard papers rustling, “Marty Alderson, has offered to act as surety. If necessary, his firm will advance any deposit to the court that’s ordered.”

  Silence stretched out. “Well?” Jim asked. “Are you signing up for the ride?”

  Sam caught Reece’s eye, and he nodded, mouthing why not? He looked excited.

  “I guess.” She hoped her lack of enthusiasm wasn’t evident in her voice. “Usual retainer and hourly rate?”

  “Plus expenses and a five-thousand-dollar bonus if you find anything I can use to acquit him,” Jim said.