Lust, Money & Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

deposited them on the coffee table in front of him.
    “What’s this?” he said, sitting up.
    “All the money we spent at Rising Star, Dad. Every penny.” She leaned over and put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “You were right.”
    “About what?”
    “It’s a scam. All they do is...well, I’d rather not say. The point is, I got the money back.”
    Her father looked at the two stacks of bills in amazement.
    “I want you to put it in the bank, for college,” she said.
    Patrick gazed at his daughter with admiration in his eyes. “You’ve grown up, honey, you know that?”
     
    * * *
    In her bedroom, when Elaine took off her wet jeans, she shuddered, remembering Mr. Eskew putting his hand on her leg. Then she noticed that there were two grayish stains on the white material over the pockets, where the two bundles of bills had been.
    Even the man’s money is dirty , she thought, as she put the jeans in the laundry hamper.
    She hoped the stains would come out.
     
    * * *
    The following evening, when Elaine and her father were eating dinner, there was a knock at the door.
    “I’ll get it,” she said, rising from the table. She went to the front door and cracked it open, leaving the chain in place. The first thing she saw was the flashing of blue light on the houses across the street.
    “Is this the Brogan residence?” a man in a gray suit asked.
    “Yes.”
    He flashed some kind of badge with a star on it. “U.S. Secret Service. Open the door, ma’am.”
    Stunned, Elaine unchained the door and pulled it back. There were not one, but two men in gray suits.
    “Does Patrick Brogan live here?” one said.
    “Well...yes.” She swallowed, having a very bad feeling. “Dad,” she called, but he was already stepping up behind her.
    “What’s going on?” he said nervously.
    “Patrick Brogan?”
    “Yes...”
    “Did you deposit some cash this morning at the First National Bank branch over on Penn?”
    “Well...yeah, I did, but—”
    Handcuffs snapped around his wrists. “You’re under arrest for passing counterfeit currency.”
    The other man said, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...”
     

CHAPTER 1.3
     
    Under federal law, Patrick Brogan had committed a Class C felony, punishable by up to 12 years in prison and a fine of as much as $250,000.
    Bail was set at $500,000. He was interrogated repeatedly by local police, the Secret Service, and the FBI, but he refused to disclose where the $2,000 in counterfeit money had come from.
    A few days later, he was charged with a second crime—theft. His fingerprints had been run through the criminal database and matched a latent print taken at a crime scene two years ago, a construction site where he had worked.
    Elaine’s father was looking at a combined sentence of 25 years.
     
    * * *
    Elaine was sick with grief. She did not know what to do. Tormented by guilt, she went to the police station and tried to tell them that she had gotten the counterfeit money from the modeling agency, but they brushed her off as a distraught family member trying to protect her father.
    He refused any visitors. He wouldn’t speak to an attorney, not even a court-assigned one.
    Six days after he was arrested, Elaine was finally allowed to see her father.
    She sat down at the visiting window and waited, struggling with her emotions. A guard brought Patrick Brogan in and pointed. “Number Seven.”
    Her father walked slowly down the opposite side of the visiting booths, wearing orange prison coveralls.
    “Daddy,” she gushed, pressing her hands against the glass.
    His lips trembling, he said, “I can’t stand for you to see me like this,” in a strained voice. He wouldn’t even look up at her.
    “Please don’t be ashamed,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “Look at me, Daddy.”
    He finally raised his eyes. They were shadowed with dark rings, and his