“Okay,” I say, nodding along. “And what about this Vicky person?”
“Vicky wants Lauren Betancourt dead,” says Jane.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Eh.” Jane lifts her shoulders. “One of two reasons. Not sure which. One is that Nick started up with Lauren, too. He cheated on Vicky. So she killed Lauren, framed Nick for it, then killed Nick. Made it look like Nick committed suicide out of remorse.”
“Pretty extreme,” I say.
“Itdoessound extreme, Simon, doesn’t it?” she says, a tone that borders on mocking. “Which is why I’m not a big fan of that theory. I like my other theory better.”
“Yeah? What’s your other theory, Jane?”
“That Vicky was teamed up with someoneelsewho wanted Lauren dead,” she says, looking me square in the eye. “Maybe, for example, because Lauren wrecked his family and caused the death of his mother. Someone like that, Simon.”
“Wow.” I shake my head. “You have a vivid imagination.”
“Not that vivid. Just following the facts.”
“Oh, you havefacts.” My turn to mock.
“Some pretty good ones, in fact. For one, Nick was murdered. He didn’t kill himself. It was staged as a suicide, but it was a homicide.”
Does sheknowthat or just suspect it? What did Vicky screw up? I saw the scene myself, afterward. It looked pretty good to me. But what do I know about crime scenes?
He had drugs and booze in his system, a suicide note on his phone, a gunshot wound under his chin—that wasn’t enough? They found something that tells them Nick didn’t kill himself?
Or is she bluffing? Trying to prompt me?
“I think, one way or another,” she says, “that Vicky and her partner usedNick Caracci to kill Lauren. How they did it is unclear to me. But they needed to kill him afterward to tie up that loose end.”
“Nick was framed, you’re saying.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Sounds like something in a movie.”
“You planted that pink phone at the crime scene, Simon.”
Wow, that’s direct. She’s done being cute.
“I— What? I did what now?”
“You planted that phone.”
“What phone, Jane?”
She shows me a wide grin. “The pink phone. It was obviously placed very carefully, moved more than once with precision, so that we’d find it pretty easily but it would look technically hidden. The blood smears show that clear as day.”
“I’m not following,” I say, though I am, and I’m cursing myself for getting too cute with that damn phone. I should have slid it harder the first time to make sure it went all the way under the table, or I should have left well enough alone when it didn’t. I moved the phone a second time and basically told them what I was doing.
“If Nick was the killer, he’d never have gently moved that phone where we found it. He’d have taken it with him. Instead, we find it at the scene.”
Too much. Overload. I can’t keep straight what I’m supposed to know and not know. I’m afraid to speak. I screwed up, and I’ve put Vicky in the crosshairs as a result—that much I know.
And here I thought I could outsmart everybody with some planning and deliberation.
Andy waves his hand at me. “Anyway, you obviously have no worries, Simon, since you don’t know any of these people. You have no reason to care about Vicky Lanier. Because you don’t know her. Isn’t that right, Simon?”