“There was an affair,” she suggested.
“It was far more than an affair,” he contended. “Lance gave Seth’s friend Cherry a coveted position, and it cost him dearly.”
“Mr. Legard lost a major star because of Henderson’s mistake,” Finley began. “Do you believe the incident was in any way related to his murder?”
He shrugged, made a “Who knows?” face. “I certainly can’t say for sure, but there was a lot of bad blood between the two after. Lance made it his mission to ruin Henderson. Not that anyone could blame him. This was a multimillion-dollar loss at the time. Considering the star in question and the heights his career has reached, perhaps well into the billions.”
“If you would, explain how Legard ruined Henderson.” It was fairly easy to guess, but she wanted the facts.
“Oh, it was very simple. He shared the disgrace with everyone who was anyone in the business.” Collins leaned forward. “Discreetly, of course. Henderson was eventually edged out of the business. He retired early. Became a recluse until his death.” He knocked back a slug of scotch. “Most believe he got exactly what he deserved.”
Talk about motive for murder. From her research into Henderson’s background, he had once been a very wealthy man. Yet his last-known personal net worth was scarcely above the poverty level. Whatever had remained of his wealth after the Prescott trap, his wife had taken. The two never divorced, but they lived apart for the final years of his life. She took what she wanted, and he’d let her.
“Do you have reason to believe Seth Henderson had anything to do with Legard’s murder?”
Silence expanded in the air for a beat or two as Collins visibly considered the question.
Drama, Finley decided. Mr. Collins liked drama. It was the reason he lived in this exotic and elaborate downtown condo and the impetus for his “look at me” manner. He adored being the center of attention and, more importantly, in the know. Several of his so-called friends had plugged him similarly on social media.
“I really don’t believe so. Seth didn’t have the stomach for that sort of thing. His wife, Gloria—now there’s a different story. She would eat her own children alive if it meant surviving.”
“One last question,” Finley said, deciding to leave the seeds of uncertainty she’d sown to germinate. “Why didn’t you mention this incident to the police at the time of the murder?”
He nodded solemnly. “I’ve asked myself that question many times. As you can imagine, I’ve wondered if his death was a mere random act of violence. How does such an important and influential life end so randomly?” He closed his eyes a moment for effect. “Such a waste. Anyway . . .” He drew in a breath and met Finley’s gaze. “I suppose I was in a sort of shock. They found Holmes almost immediately with his Jag. The story seemed clear cut. Eventually, the man confessed. The P-trap thing felt trivial at that point.”
“What exactly did Ms. Prescott do for Legard Records?” Sophia hadn’t gone into detail as to what she did.
Alex smiled patiently as if she were a child who simply didn’t understand. “Well, I was his professional assistant. His right hand, so to speak. Cherry was his personal assistant and all that it implies.”
Plain enough. “Cherry Prescott, is she still around?”
“Oh ho ho, yes.” He snorted. “The way I hear it, she had a bad row to hoe for a few years after the murder, but she never gave up. A few months ago, she won the lottery. She is now the wife of Elton Inglewood.”
Local movie producer. Not exactly Hollywood royalty but a big shot in the business. “Do you have her contact information?”
His smile was smug. “I have the contact info on everyone who’s anyone in this town, dear girl. I’ll text you her info.”
Finley pulled a business card from her bag. She placed it on the glass coffee table that stood between them. “I appreciate it. If you think of anything else at all that might be useful in finding the truth, please call me.”
He produced another of those smug smiles, his right forefinger roving up and down his nearly empty glass. “Do you want the truth, or do you want evidence that protects your client?”
Finley produced a fake smile of her own. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
This was why she would never be a good defense attorney. The truth was what mattered to a prosecutor. Justice. The Judge had drilled that concept into Finley’s head her entire life. This was also why even when her probation was lifted, Jack would never have her work for him as an attorney.