Jackson felt anger growing inside him, a black heat that bubbled in his blood. “Money and power aren’t important enough to me to kill for them.”
“Some people think you can never have too much of both.”
“I’m not one of them. Everything about the Amalgamated case was on the up-and-up. Adam Jones’s father was addicted to cocaine, alcohol and gambling. Left in the man’s control, Amalgamated Industries would have gone bankrupt in less than a year. Adam did what he had to do.”
“And, by doing so, he wound up a very rich man.”
“Are you prepared to charge me with a crime, Detective?”
“Not right this minute.”
Jackson rose. “Then I’m ending this chat.”
He turned and was halfway to the door when Law said, “If money isn’t important to you, why did you take out an insurance policy on your uncle?”
Jackson froze. He blinked, then turned. “I didn’t.”
“This says differently.” Rising, Law drew folded papers out of the inside pocket of his suit coat, then laid them on the table. Locking his gaze with Jackson’s, the cop nudged the papers his way. “A policy for one million dollars on Joe Colton’s life. Sole beneficiary, Jackson Colton.”
A cold fist of dread settled in Jackson’s stomach as he walked back to the table. Through sheer will, his hand remained steady when he lifted the policy. “I’ve never seen this before.”
“The insurance agent who sold it disagrees. I put together a photo lineup using head shots from the newspaper’s society page. Those pictures are public domain, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“The agent picked your photo. Says he’s positive you’re the man who purchased the policy.”
“He’s mistaken.”
“Says he’ll testify to that in court.”
Jackson looked up slowly. “Are we going to court, Detective?”
Law slid a hip onto the edge of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Anything’s possible.”
Jackson’s mind worked while he studied the policy. “This is dated three weeks ago. If I’d wanted to collect money on my uncle’s death, I would have had to purchase this policy before the attempts on his life. The first being eleven months ago at his birthday party.”
“And the second four months ago,” Law added. “The timing occurred to me, too. Maybe to deflect suspicion from yourself, the first two attempts on your uncle’s life were intended to be just that. Attempts. You wait awhile, take out the policy, then the next time you shoot, you aim to kill.” Law gave him a slow smile. “Third time’s a charm.”
“You’re way off base.”
“Growing up, you spent a lot of time on your aunt and uncle’s ranch. You and your cousins used to target shoot on the banks of the Noyo River. Word is, you’re proficient with all types of firearms.”
And you’re proficient in doing your homework. “That doesn’t prove I tried to kill my uncle.”
“True.”
“How was this policy paid for?”
“Cashier’s check. No way to track the money.” The cop nodded toward the papers still in Jackson’s hand. “The purchaser’s signature is on the last page. We could clear up all this tonight if you’d give me a handwriting sample for comparison.”
Jackson braced himself as he flipped through the pages. Even before he saw the signature, the sick feeling in his gut told him it would be close to his. It was. Nearly identical.
He replaced the policy on the table. At this point, he would have advised any person in his same situation to keep his mouth shut and seek counsel.
“This isn’t my signature,” he said.
“Looks like yours.”
“It’s not.” The anger already heating his blood intensified. “Apparently the man who purchased the policy disguised himself to look a great deal like me, too. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to set me up.”
Law cocked his head. “Why would someone do that, Mr. Colton?”
“To divert suspicion away from himself. Someone wants my uncle dead. It will be a lot easier to make that happen if your attention is focused on me.”
“An interesting theory.”
“It’s more than a theory, it’s the truth. I know, because I didn’t try to murder my uncle.” Jackson stared at Law, his jaw rigidly set while his mind worked. “There’s no way you stumbled onto that policy,” he said after a moment. “And you didn’t just happen to find out I’m the attorney of record on the Amalgamated case. Someone tossed all that into your lap. Suppose you tell me who that was? That will go a long way in telling me who’s behind this.”
Law kept his gaze locked with Jackson’s. “I can’t give you information acquired during an interview or through investigative procedure. As an attorney, you know that.”
“I also know if you were going to charge me with anything, you’d have done so by now.”
“That law degree of yours is coming in handy. You’re right, I’m not charging you with anything. Not yet.” Law plucked the policy off the table, refolded it. “You planning on leaving Prosperino anytime soon?”
Jackson slid his hands into his pockets, then clenched them into fists. At this point, he wasn’t charged with anything, nor was he a material witness to a crime. Therefore, Law had no power to keep him in Prosperino. If he walked out the door, climbed into his Porsche and headed back to San Diego tonight, the cop couldn’t do anything about it. Legally.
Jackson exhaled a slow breath. All that could change later on. If he did leave town, Law might be able to use his departure as circumstantial evidence that he’d fled the jurisdiction after becoming aware he was a suspect in two attempted murders. Law had the taped proof he’d made his suspect aware of that fact.
“I’m staying in Prosperino,” Jackson said evenly. He turned and headed for the door. Pausing, he looked across his shoulder. “I’ll be at my aunt and uncle’s until I find out who decided I should take the fall for this.”
Law nodded while reaching for the tape recorder. “If your travel plans change, give me a call.”
The anger he’d strapped in broke free as Jackson walked out of the building and into the adjacent dimly lit parking lot. He took exception at being accused of trying to murder a man he loved and respected. And he had one hell of a problem with being set up!
He unlocked the Porsche, climbed inside; the engine roared to life when he twisted the key. Hands clenched on the steering wheel, he pulled out of the lot, swung in and out of evening traffic, then punched the Porsche into high gear when he reached open road.
Dammit, he didn’t need this. He had stayed in Prosperino after his sister Liza’s wedding to decide if he wanted to continue working with his father. Now, here he was, contemplating a future that might involve jail.
Jackson shoved a hand through his dark hair as the red Porsche slashed up the highway like a bolt of fiery lightning. To his way of thinking, things were either right or unquestionably wrong; he disliked intensely any murky in-betweens. This evening, Detective Law had shoved him into dark, murky water. He didn’t intend on getting sucked under.
He was an attorney. He knew how to tear apart a case to get to the facts. His case was no different. All he needed was to figure out where to start.
As he drove, he began to sift his conversation