“Then you need to entertain the idea that Harrison was behind Victoria’s murder—and may have also been behind the murders of Denise Albright and her family.”

He blinked as if trying to comprehend her words. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak.

“It’s possible,” Max said, “that Victoria was killed because the Albright family’s grave was uncovered not ten miles from where they lived. They never left the country. Denise didn’t embezzle money from her clients. She and her family were executed.”

He honestly looked pained and stared into his empty glass. “I read about that,” he said quietly. “I think you’re way off, Max. Murder is a far cry from running a few poker games. And Harrison—he’s no saint, but I cannot even imagine him killing anyone.”

He wasn’t looking at her. Yes, he knew something.

“Yet you can imagine Stan killing Victoria.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Talk to me, Simon. I can help. Tell me the truth.”

He finally looked up at her. “The truth?” He laughed humorlessly. “Shit, Max, I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t. Go home. Leave this alone. It doesn’t concern you and Stan is dead. He killed my sister, I believe it, and you need to as well.”

“I don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He left.

Something had spooked him. The Albrights? Maybe.

Did he suspect—or know for a fact—that they had been dead all these years?

She finished her wine. She had some research to do.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Lucy went back to FBI headquarters to write up a report for her boss and figure out how she wanted to handle the information about Chavez. She couldn’t let a corrupt cop remain on the street, but she had no solid evidence that he was corrupt. And considering that Detective Douglas read her the riot act for keeping him out of the loop on the Pollero warrant, she didn’t know if he would keep the information to himself if she read him in. The last thing she wanted was for Chavez to slip away like Pollero.

This decision was well above her pay grade.

It was after five when Rachel walked by her desk. “I’m heading home since I have a really early day tomorrow. Anything I need to know before I walk out?”

“I was writing it up now,” Lucy said, though that was partly a fib. She was trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. “It’s complicated.”

“Simplify it.”

“We found Ricky Albright alive and well.”

“Where is he? What’s complicated?”