Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [131]
It was over.
Jeffrey was walking around whistling Dixie, stating that everything was hunky-dory and everyone should stay calm, but Hamilton saw his entire world crashing around him. Jeffrey was delusional. Money and power bought a lot of things, but it couldn’t buy some people, and it was those untouchables who had the information that would destroy them. Killing Frank Lowe yesterday had only bought them a little more time.
Which Hamilton was using to pull together his resources and disappear. He already had a false identity, a false passport, and a house in South America. He’d suggested that Richie and Jeffrey pull the plug and put their own escape plans in action. Richie was working on it, but Jeffrey balked. And that’s when Hamilton realized he’d never had an escape plan. Fool.
Judge Drake had gotten a message at the courthouse from Claire O’Brien yesterday, and it wasn’t until late last night that he’d heard about her swim in the river. Why couldn’t she have drowned like the other nosy kid? But that wasn’t the worst of it. Frank Lowe had been alive all these years. What if he’d kept a journal? Told someone? What if he’d spilled his guts to the Feds in the car?
No, if that had happened, Hamilton would be in custody already. Hamilton was the only one who knew the terms of the plea agreement because he’d been the one to arraign Frank Lowe. To protect Jeffrey, Hamilton had orchestrated the murders of Taverton and Lowe. It had been perfect . . . until now.
Frank Lowe hadn’t seen anyone except Jeffrey the night they had killed Rose Van Alden, as he’d told Taverton, and he hadn’t recognized Jeffrey until the handsome pol was running for Congress. When Lowe got arrested for home invasion robbery, he didn’t want the jail time and squealed.
They would have paid Lowe enough money to disappear, but he’d already talked to Taverton. There was no making him disappear because Taverton knew what had happened, and could go back to the official records. Find out that Hamilton had drafted Van Alden’s will and forged her signature. Find out that Hamilton had profited from Waterstone Development. Find out that they’d been so greedy, they’d set up the Delta Conservancy in order to keep her money—clean—for their political “housekeeping” activities—bribery, primarily.
Oliver Maddox had gotten close to the truth and had to die. But now too many people knew. They couldn’t kill everyone.
Hamilton sensed before he heard someone behind him.
He turned. Fear clawed up his spine.
Not him. He was a psychopath. A cold-blooded killer. Judge Hamilton only had people killed when there was no other choice. This crazy bastard had fun when he killed.
“I told you: No one touches Claire.”
“I’m leaving this afternoon,” Hamilton said. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to that girl.”
“I don’t care.”
“I have plenty of money.”
“I don’t give a shit about the money.”
Thirty years ago, Hamilton, Jeffrey, and Richie had followed their fraternity brother to the hills on the far side of Stanford’s vast property. Jeffrey had been getting a blow job in his car when he saw someone pull a body out a first-floor bedroom window and into the trunk of a car.
They’d recognized their frat brother after following him into the hills near the Dish. It was Jeffrey’s idea to dig up the grave and see who it was. It was Hamilton’s idea to take her earring. Richie wanted to blackmail him, ask for two million. The killer’s dad was one of the richest doctors in California. He’d invented some major artificial heart valve and was set for life.
Hamilton suggested they just keep the information to themselves until they needed something. Even in college, the three of them had plans that weren’t entirely