Kerri hit the brakes and skidded to a stop, ending up sideways across the road.

“Whoa, Devlin.” Falco put his phone away and looked around. “What did I miss?”

Kerri pointed the Wagoneer in the necessary direction and headed after the other vehicle. “Black Escalade. José Cortez is the driver.”

They followed the Escalade to the Iris warehouse. Cortez was exiting the SUV when they parked next to him, cutting him off from the warehouse entrance.

Falco was out before the vehicle stopped rocking. “José Cortez, I’m Detective Falco, and this is my partner, Detective Devlin. We have a few questions for you.”

Kerri had skirted the hood by then. She stood on one side of Cortez, and Falco stood on the other. He looked ready to bolt.

“This will only take a moment of your time, Mr. Cortez,” Kerri reassured him with the best smile she could muster.

“What’s going on here?”

A female had exited the warehouse and was headed their way. She looked to be in her forties. Brunette hair. Medium build. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, along with fashionable slides.

Kerri introduced herself and Falco to the woman, who didn’t bother returning the pleasantry. “We have questions for Mr. Cortez.”

The woman braced her hands on her hips. “Mr. Cortez is my employee, and he’s already late. I suggest the two of you schedule a time with him for after work. Right now, he needs to get inside before he ends up in the unemployment line.”

They made no move to stop the man when he followed his boss’s order. Until they could prove Cortez was somehow involved in criminal activity, they didn’t want to cost him his job.

“May I have your name, ma’am?” Kerri asked. “I’ll need an explanation to give my boss for why we didn’t interview Mr. Cortez.” This was a lie, but the other woman had no way of knowing this.

“Elizabeth Grant. COO of Iris. Google me. That’ll give you the rest of what you need.” She turned her back and walked into the warehouse.

“Friendly,” Falco muttered.

Kerri scoffed. “About as friendly as a rattlesnake.”

“Considering the Cortez connection,” Falco said as they climbed back into the Wagoneer, “I say we do some digging into this Iris Cosmetics.”

“Start with the boss,” Kerri suggested. “Shit rolls downhill, but it typically starts at the top.”

Was it coincidence that José Cortez worked in one of the Taylor warehouses?

Had to be.

Kerri tried to shake the idea, but it wasn’t budging. Not with the other facts she knew about Cortez.

One—he and his wife had appeared out of nowhere in August of last year.

Two—the high-end vehicle was purchased at the same time.

Three—Alice and the death of her parents seemed to be the catalyst for both.

Could the murders of Walsh and Kurtz be somehow tied to the Cortez family?

Was that even feasible, or was Kerri sifting through all the scattered facts and theories to reach the conclusion that suited her most? Needing to find answers so desperately, she was putting two and two together and coming up with ten?

Stop & Shop

Birmingham, 1:50 p.m.

Kerri wasn’t sure she could eat, but Falco had insisted. She stared at the less-than-appetizing offerings beyond the greasy glass of the display case. Overcooked chicken. Potato wedges. The smell of stale cooking oil had her stomach churning.

Falco joined her. “This might be safer.” He passed her a can of beanie weenies.

“You’re right.” She noted the drinks in his hand. “Crackers?”

He lifted his head in acknowledgment before disappearing down one of the three aisles to hunt down crackers. Kerri moved to the cash register and placed the can on the counter. Falco appeared and unloaded his selections. The soft drinks, another can of beanie weenies, crackers, and a couple of packs of Twinkies.

“The lunch of champions,” Kerri muttered.

“Damn straight,” her partner confirmed.

“Is that it?” The man behind the Plexiglas shifted his attention from Kerri to Falco and back, his darkly tinted glasses concealing his eyes.

“That’s it.” Falco retrieved his wallet to pay.

When Kerri would have insisted on paying her part, a breaking news bulletin flashed on the ancient flat-panel TV hanging above and behind the guy. Mayor Emma Warren and Leland Walsh stood at a podium.

“Hey, turn that up,” Kerri said, jerking her head toward the screen.

The guy had Falco’s money in his hand and seemed more interested in settling their bill than catering to Kerri’s wishes.

“Turn it up,” Falco echoed more sharply.

The guy huffed a sigh and grabbed the remote.

“With every passing hour,” the mayor was saying, “the likelihood of finding those responsible for the murder of Asher Walsh grows dimmer, more fleeting. The Walsh family is now offering a one-million-dollar reward to anyone who provides information leading to the arrest and subsequent prosecution of those involved.”

“Holy shit,” Falco murmured.

“My sentiments exactly,” Kerri agreed.

Reporters shouted questions at the mayor as the hotline numbers scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Leland Walsh stared somberly at the camera. Behind him, scarcely in the frame, his wife stood next to Agent Mason Cross. The expression she wore might have been pain, but Kerri sensed it was something else. Fury, maybe.

Why was the mother of the victim unhappy, possibly even angry about offering a reward?

“I guess the Walshes don’t trust the task force to get the job done,” Falco said as he accepted his change from the guy in the dark glasses.

Kerri hummed an uh-huh as she stared at the screen. There was just something wrong with that picture.

Maybe money was more important to Lana Walsh than Kerri had estimated.

23

2:00 p.m.

Brighton Academy

Seventh Avenue

Birmingham

Tori sat on the gym floor and watched the other girls in her class playing basketball. Everyone but Sarah. She hadn’t come to school today. Tori had told the coach she had awful cramps so she could sit out.

The only cramps she had were in her chest. Everyone was still talking about her. Brendal’s funeral was on Sunday, and the whole school now thought Tori was responsible for what had happened.