Or is she bluffing? Trying to prompt me?
“I think, one way or another,” she says, “that Vicky and her partner used Nick 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 smiles. “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.
Tate 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?”
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t know Vicky Lanier?” Jane asks.
“I . . . don’t recognize that name.”
She smiles at me.
“Okay, Simon,” she says. “We’ll be in touch.”
96
Jane
Jane and Andy don’t say a word to each other until they’re back inside their car and have driven away from Simon’s house. Andy has the wheel.
“So what do you think?” she asks. “You saw the look on his face when we mentioned Vicky’s name. I was just trying to rattle his cage.”
“And it worked,” Andy says. “That’s your real theory, isn’t it? She’s the one who helped Simon pull this off? The one on the other end of the cell-phone texts?”
“Somebody helped him, Andy. And he lit up like a firecracker when we mentioned her name.”
“So this receptionist, Emily Fielding, says this woman named Vicky Lanier and Nick were getting it on in his office,” says Andy. “And that was the last time she saw Vicky. So let’s say they’ve hooked up, they’re sleeping together. How does that fit in? If Simon’s behind all this, if he’s the puppet master, where does Vicky Lanier fit in? Why does she need to get close to Nick Caracci? How does that help Simon with his ultimate goal of killing Lauren Betancourt?”
“Well, Nick’s the patsy, right?”
“Sure, so the theory goes, but why does Vicky have to get close to him?”
“Well, to get inside his apartment to steal half his toiletry kit, if for no other reason. Maybe to get him to kill Lauren—maybe Nick did that. I don’t know all the details yet.” She wags her finger. “Yet. But you agree, we’re on to something here.”
“Oh, shit, I don’t know, Janey. I mean, Nick Caracci was probably a player, right? Good-looking guy. Rich, or at least pretending to be rich. The fact that he bangs some woman in his office? I mean, shit like that would never happen to me, but it’s not a total shock he’d have success with the ladies. It could be that and nothing more.”
Jane looks at Andy. He’s being practical, reasonable. He might well be right. With all the evidence piled up against Nick, Jane won’t be able to hold off the chief and the village president much longer. “If it’s that and nothing more,” she says, “why did Simon react like that in there when we mentioned the name Vicky Lanier?”
“No, you’re right about that. He did.” He groans. “This case is giving me a stomachache.”
“Why?”
“Because we have a slam dunk on Nick Caracci, Jane, that’s why.”