Jeremy started to leave, but Brewster stopped him before he reached the door. “You might want to stay; see how this works,” he said, and waved him into a folding chair situated near an oversized map of the county. Jeremy sidled over to the chair and seemingly self-conscious sat down.
Pescoli turned her head into the case again. She and Alvarez stood, together, at the table, and Alvarez walked everyone through the investigation, from the moment that Grayson had been shot until this afternoon when Manny Douglas had brought in the plastic bag with its contents.
The officers around the table listened and sipped coffee, and one or two scribbled notes. Watershed chewed gum thoughtfully, and Zoller used her small tablet computer. For the most part, the officers’ eyes never left Alvarez as she spoke.
She was wrapping it up. “. . . so we’ll wait for any evidence that can be found on the envelope and keep on running down tips as they come in. We’re looking for a couple of suspects, specifically Maurice Verdago and Vincent Samuels, the brother of the judge.”
“He’s not actually a suspect,” Pescoli clarified, “but he’s missing and we want to know where he is.” There were a few questions, some discussion among the officers, but in the end, they left the room not knowing any more than they had when they entered.
Jeremy lingered, cleaning up the coffee cups and gum wrappers, and Pescoli stopped to say, “I’ll see you at home, but it’ll probably be late.”
“How late?”
“I wish I knew.”
She started walking toward her office when Brewster waved her into his. She took one step inside and nearly stumbled. The walls of his office were bare, his desk cleared, boxes stacked in one corner.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m moving into Grayson’s office,” he said matter-of-factly and her stomach nearly hit the floor.
“Why? Did something happen?” Surely if Grayson had taken a turn for the worse, she would have heard about it.
“I’ll move back once he can come back to work. But the truth of the matter is, even if he makes a full recovery, it’s going to be weeks, or more likely months, before he’s ready to take over his responsibilities again. Things are pretty tight here already and we’ll need to find a temporary undersheriff, who’ll occupy this office.” He gestured to the interior of the small room he’d claimed for over a decade. “But that’s not why I called you in,” he said, balancing one hip on the corner of his desk. “While Alvarez was explaining the case and talking about Maurice Verdago, I had a little epiphany.”
“I thought they were always pretty large.”
He nodded, one side of his mouth curving up. “I suppose. Anyway, did you know that Verdago was a local boy? He grew up around here. Always had a temper, always got into fights, and they kept escalating until he attacked his brother-in-law.”
“Maybe before. We’re looking into an old cold case. Missing person, presumed dead. Maurice’s name came up.”
“Oh, right. I remember that. Joey . . . Langly?”
“Lundeen.”
“That’s right.” He snapped his fingers.
“I’ve looked through the files. Nothing solid there. At least at first glance.”
Brewster frowned. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Verdago always was a hothead and my guess is his temperament didn’t improve much in prison.”
“So, you knew him personally?” This was news to her. Unsettling news.
“No, no . . . he’s younger than I am, but my brother knew him, and you know what, Maurice, at one time, was close friends with Vincent Samuels.”
Pescoli blinked. “The judge’s missing brother.”
“I think they may have served together in Iraq.”
In her mind’s eye she saw the sword Cee-Cee Piquard had unwrapped in her home, a sword identical to the one mounted on the wall in Georges Piquard’s den. “I thought Vincent Samuels served with Georges Piquard.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Then . . . ?”
Brewster was nodding and, as if anticipating her next question, said, “I served with Georges too. We were old friends. But he stayed in longer than I did and that’s when he buddied up with the man who would become his brother-in-law.”
“And Verdago.”