Page 85 of The Alibi Club

“And Ott is going away?”

Detective Roverson paused and looked hard at Cliff before answering. “He is in custody, and after processing will probably be back in prison after his arraignment. Three strikes, hell, Ott has like nineteen.”

Cliff was relieved and eased up a bit. He sat back in his chair and girded himself for the questioning, the charges, and the coming re-incarceration. Some things for ex-cons were inevitable. He’d been a lifelong criminal. No one would believe he was innocent of this heist, given that his entire life had been in service to pulling crimes exactly like this. He was headed on an inexorable path back to prison.

The detective started. “Why were you at Piccolo Saturday night?”

“Dinner for Six. I was on a group blind date.”

The detective pushed his notebook aside, folded his hands. He wants to listen, Cliff thought.

“Do you know Melvyn Ott?”

“Yes, we did a job together before. Once. We both went to prison for it.”

“Seems Melvyn is a little sloppy.”

Cliff nodded. Sloppy, violent, impulsive.

“You went missing for twenty minutes. You told officers on the scene that you were locked in the freezer.”

“I was. Locked in by the waitress. I managed to climb out through the vent before I froze to death.”

The door opened and a younger officer handed Detective Roverson a large file. He sifted through and brought out a series of large blue-and-white papers. He began to unfold them in front of Cliff. He knew those papers.

“Can you tell me why we found these schematics of the very house that was burgled Saturday night inside your apartment?”

Cliff sat up. “So this is for certain the house that was burgled?” Cliff leaned forward, putting the last piece together as he stared at the schematics. The detective nodded.

When Cliff was fourteen years old, his father took him to get his intelligence tested after he discovered that he could solve a Rubik’s Cube in under a minute, finish the crossword puzzle every Sunday, and was doing other kids’ homework for money. He scored 161, genius level. So, when his intelligence kicked in at that moment, he was astounded he had not put it together sooner.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning,” Detective Roverson said. “Tell me about Melvyn Ott.”

“I’m not quite sure that’s the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” Detective Roverson leaned in.

Cliff smiled as, like a fog lifting, the picture in front of him became crystal clear. If he was right, Cliff marveled at the plan, the sheer audacity, the scheming it required.

“For starters, this isn’t Duncan Reeve’s house.”

Detective Roverson stared at him for a moment. “Tell me more.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Showdown

JAMIE

Dating, it has been said, is a numbers game. The more dates you go on, the better the chances are of meeting someone who could be “The One” or at least someone like it. Jamie had also learned that the fail rate for blind dates was roughly 72 percent. Steep odds. As for group blind dates? Even higher. But what were the odds of romantic success when you added a bombing, a lock- down, SWAT team presence, the death of a diner, a heist, an attempted murder, and one of the blind date attendees being hauled away in a police cruiser? Astronomical.

Jamie contemplated this while standing in front of her bathroom mirror looking at the bruises on her neck from where Melvyn Ott had tried to strangle the life out of her—again. She gingerly rubbed cream into the purple marks and wondered if she’d even be alive if it weren’t for Cliff.

Cliff. Heat rose to her cheeks when she thought about how he had wrestled Ott off her, risking his own life in the process. How he held her afterward, how her heart raced when he gazed at her, how her skin grew hot at his touch, but soon that rush mixed with her guilt for accusing him. She still wasn’t entirely sure he was innocent. But, did it matter?

Cliff was an ex-con. Master thief. Possible liar. Tardy. Those weren’t just red flags. Those were full-blown five-alarm disaster area flags. Her mother would be appalled.

Which was one point in his favor.