Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

“I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Why?”

“The circumstances aren’t right. I was in her apartment after she disappeared and that box wasn’t there. I came back later and the box was there. I think someone set her up.”

“How do you know she didn’t put the box there?”

“It’s complicated,” I said. I gave her the CliffsNotes version of the last few days’ events. “She disappeared because she was scared. I don’t think she would have come back to the apartment under those circumstances, certainly not to place incriminating evidence in plain view in her apartment. I can’t prove she didn’t do it, but I don’t think she did.”

“And you left her at a motel? Shouldn’t you keep her with you?”

“I have a room there, too, but I can’t be her babysitter. As long as she stays out of sight, I think she’ll probably be OK.”

“You don’t think she’ll run?”

“I don’t think so. I really think she was desperate.”

“Hmmm.” Jamila sounded unconvinced.

“Have you spoken to the bank’s counsel?” I asked.

“Yeah. They think they can get kicked from the case. They’re claiming no responsibility for your client’s actions.”

I knew it. Shit. “My client has no money.”

“Maybe she does and you don’t know it.”

I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

“You know,” Jamila added. “The bank could choose to settle.”

“That’s always an option.”

“I guess it depends on how strong a case they think they have.”

“Or how willing they are to throw money at the problem to make it go away,” I said. “I’m sure they’d like to keep the security breach quiet.”

“Mmmm.” I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. “God, I hate litigation,” she said.

“I sympathize. If that boyfriend of hers were still alive, Melanie might have avoided all this.”

“Mighty thoughtless of him, to let himself get whacked like that.”

“Yeah. The big jerk.”

“I’d better run. I’ve got a conference call.”

I made my next call to Aces High, after getting the number from directory assistance. Several rings later, a woman picked up.

“Hi, is Conrad Ash there?”

“Who?”

“Connie Ash. The owner.”