Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

“Maybe Bruce arranged for someone else to kill him. Anyway, I think it’s interesting that both times I went to your apartment, I found evidence that could be used against you on the identity theft charge, and I saw Bruce’s number on your caller ID.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “You think maybe he was calling to make sure no one was home, and he put the stuff there?” She shrugged. “He has no reason to talk to me. Sometimes, I get the feeling he might actually be jealous of me. Not in any sexual sense. It’s just that Bruce and Tom were so tight. More than friends. Bruce used to help Tom out with his business. Financial stuff, marketing.”

“Does Bruce work on computers, too?”

“No, that was strictly Tom’s thing. Bruce manages a club or lounge of some sort. He lined up a project for Tom at the club and worked closely with him, setting up the system. He knows people, too.

“Tom had just moved to the area when I met him, and he told me Bruce was helping him make local contacts. I know how hard that can be. I’ve moved around a lot myself. Anyhow, Bruce hooked Tom up with the club’s owner. Real rich guy with a lot of businesses. Has an amazing house on Gibson Island. We went there once for a party.”

“Can you remember his name?”

“Conrad Ash. He goes

by Connie.”

“When I was in your apartment, I found a bar napkin with the name Connie and a phone number written on it. I assumed it was a woman.”

She smiled. “I can’t swear to it, but I think it was probably Connie Ash. He called Tom about various projects, until things started to fall apart. I think the same thing that wrecked our relationship affected his work. They had a big argument at one point, and I think Connie stopped using him after that. Even so, Bruce and Tom kept meeting at the club. They tried to be secretive about it, but it was easy to tell.” She tapped her nose. “Tom would come home, smelling like a smokehouse.”

“What did they do there?”

“Tom said they were working, but never said on what.” She arched an eyebrow. “I wondered if he was gambling or doing drugs because of all his debts. Or if there was another woman.”

Melanie fell silent for a moment, then drew her knees up and hugged them. “So, after we go to the police ... what happens?”

“They’ll book you, fingerprint you, and put you in a holding cell. At some point, they’ll question you. There’s a federal agent involved, and he may want to question you separately.”

“Will they want to hold me before the trial?”

“I’ll try to get you out on your own recognizance, but they may seek bail. You did leave the state, but I can argue you didn’t know what was going on. Hopefully, I can work something out with the prosecutor.”

She brushed her hair back from her face with one hand, looking distracted. “I have to tell you, I’m scared.”

I tried to be reassuring, but I couldn’t blame her. “They may keep you for one night, but like I said, there are factors weighing in your favor here. You have friends, a job.”

“Do I?” She grimaced, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I’ve probably lost my job. The only person who knows me well is Donna. I don’t know where I stand with her right now.”

I thought about my phone call to her. “She’s probably in a difficult position.”

“I know. I screwed up again. She’s done so much for me, and look where it’s gotten her.” She wiped the tears away fiercely, before they could reach her cheeks. “Look where it’s gotten me. I deserve everything I get.”

“Don’t say that.” The words came out like an order.

She looked at me, surprised.

“Don’t stop believing in yourself,” I said, more softly. “You can’t.”

When worse comes to worse, that’s all you have, I thought. When the whole world stops believing you, who else is there? Maybe the bank would try to leave Melanie twisting in the wind. Maybe Donna would disavow all knowledge of Melanie’s actions, to paraphrase the old Mission Impossible refrain. If it was going to get ugly, it was up to me to tell Melanie not to lose faith. Sometimes being an attorney is like that. It’s more than legal analysis—it’s like being a shrink, a priest, a spokesperson, and a lifestyle consultant, all in one.

I looked out the window. In the dark, I could see Duvall’s car. After doing his job, he’d beat a hasty retreat to his room.

“I’m going to talk to that process server,” I said, looking at her. “You all right?”

“Sure.” Melanie’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Thanks, Sam.”

I touched her arm. “We all make mistakes. You wouldn’t believe the ones I’ve made.”

Melanie looked at me, red-eyed, but smiling.