“What happened?” I said.
Finn gave Trey a second to fill in the blanks. When he didn’t, she started explaining. “The day Jessica Talbot was killed, Trey was second responding to the scene. The first responding, an Atlanta PD patrol officer named Joe Macklin, took an opportunity to stuff his pockets with some of the victim’s jewelry. He also altered the scene to hide the theft.”
“That did not change the other evidence,” Trey said.
“The judge thought it did. Fruit of the poisonous tree.”
“The judge was wrong. It was murder. And the murderer went free.”
Trey was on high seethe. He was certain where he could not be certain. Where he normally would have hedged with an “approximately,” he was now doubling down on wrongness and guilt.
“What does this have to do with us?” I said.
Finn’s expression turned businesslike. “I’ve been contracted by the Talbot Creative Group to investigate—discreetly—whether or not someone tried to kill Nick Talbot last night.”
Trey was not biting. “None of this concerns me.”
“It should. Your hatred of the man is well-established. There’s paperwork on it. And considering how the assassination attempt occurred…”
She trailed off, but I got the gist.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Somebody took a shot at him.”
She pointed a finger in my direction. “Bingo.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Trey said. “To accuse me of trying to kill Nicholas Talbot?”
“Of course not. Mr. Talbot is still alive, and if it had been your finger on that trigger, he wouldn’t be. Dead simple, that. But if the authorities come, and if they ask Mr. Talbot who in the area might have a reason to want to kill him, your name would go to the top of the list. With a bullet.” She smiled tightly. “You might want to be figuring out your alibi.”
Trey stared. His hands, normally open, had been clenched into tight fists. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. Whatever words he had remained locked inside. But he didn’t need to say anything. I had this one covered.
“In that case, Ms. Hudson, you’re dogging the wrong bush,” I said. “Trey was with me last night. At his place. I can vouch for his presence.”
“All night?”
“All night.”
Trey shook his head. “Most of the night. You were asleep some of the night. So you can’t verify that I was there the entire night.” He looked back at Finn. “When did the shooting take place?”
“Around ten p.m.”
Trey had been asleep then. So had I, which was a sad commentary on my evening.
“This is ridiculous,” I said. “You think Trey snuck out of bed, snuck out of his apartment, got in his freaking Ferrari, which has a decibel level of ninety-five, then drove—”
“Two point two miles via Piedmont and Powers Ferry, which at that time of night should have taken less than ten minutes. But no, I’m not suggesting Trey drove that supremely loud car anywhere near Mr. Talbot’s home. With his background, he would have left the car in Chastain Park, jogged three blocks, set up in Mr. Talbot’s backyard, then took a ping at his head before vanishing once again into the night. Round trip less than thirty minutes.”
I was incredulous. “You can’t possibly believe he did that.”
“I don’t believe it, no. But I do believe that if Mr. Talbot goes to the police, things are going to turn out badly. For me. For him. And for Trey.”
Trey closed his eyes, counted to three, and then opened them. “What do you want?”
An eminently sensible question. Finn had been waiting for it.
“Mr. Talbot wants to call the police. The Talbot Creative Group, headed by his brother Quint, does not. They want to handle it privately. I proposed a compromise.”
“Which is?”
“Mr. Talbot agreed to let me investigate instead of the police in return for an interview with you.”
Trey stared at her. “What?”
“One hour. Off the books. No recording devices. Just the two of you.”
Trey folded his arms. “And what does he think that will accomplish?”
“Perhaps he thinks you’ll confess all, I don’t know, but it makes my problem go away and it keeps you from getting dragged downtown and—”
Trey didn’t let her finish the sentence. He marched out the front door and climbed into the Ferrari. Then, as Finn and I watched, he ripped it into a three-point turn and rocketed out of the parking lot.
“Well,” I said. “So we have Trey’s opinion on that.”
Chapter Four
Finn watched the Ferrari’s taillights vanish around the corner. “I didn’t see that coming.”
I threw a hand in the air. “What did you think was going to happen? You come in here, accuse him of trying to kill someone—”
“I did not.”
“—and then you offer to take it all back if only he’ll sit down face-to-face with this man he’s convinced is a killer.”
Finn chewed her bottom lip, weighing her options. She had them, I was sure. She carried options like spare ammo, and she wasn’t sweating at all, not even in the humidity-thick confines of my shop.
“What are you really up to?” I said.
“Up to?”
“Right. This is just like Savannah. You take a job that’s got a lot of moral compromise in it, and for reasons I don’t get, pursue it with one hand and undermine it with the other.”
“I’m not undermining anything.”
“Then tell Nicholas Talbot to go to the authorities.”
“That would not be in his best interest. Trey’s either, and not just because he’ll get dragged downtown.” Her expression grew serious. “Savannah was hard on him.”
That was an understatement—Savannah had almost cracked him open. He’d followed me there against Marisa’s orders, and on the sly, an action which had gotten him suspended and almost fired. I’d been kidnapped and almost killed, and it had taken a lot of hard psychological work before Trey had let me out of his sight again. Decompensation, my brother called it. A psychological regression partly from PTSD,
