A Grand Murder

by Stacy Verdick Case

  Her face betrayed no emotion as she spoke. Louise—ever the sphinx.

  An uncontrollable rush of excitement surged through my veins.

  “Putz it is,” I said. “Let’s go nail the bastard to the wall.”

  The ride up in the elevator was interminable. I shifted from one foot to the other like a child doing the potty dance.

  It was time to take down the bad guy. Throw him in irons. Drag him to the hoosegow. Lock his lying, cheating, murdering butt in jail.

  I lived for this moment. The pay off for the long hours away from my husband was the moment we removed a killer from our streets. A concrete road marker I could point to and say, “see I made a difference.”

  I pulled my gun from its holster, switched off the safety, and then slipped it back into place.

  Louise cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “You never can tell,” I said. “It can’t hurt to be prepared. It can kill you to not be prepared.”

  I raised my eyebrows, and rocked on my heels. Usually Louise gave the safety lectures and I barged recklessly in to make an arrest.

  She pushed her jacket back, took her Glock from the holster, checked the clip, loaded the chamber, then put the gun back.

  “Point taken.”

  The doors opened with no elevator bell ding. I always wanted a ding to announce my arrival. Especially during a monumental moment like this.

  Stanley and Forster’s receptionist was in the middle of a conversation, regarding the merits of some brand of nail polish versus another brand, when we stepped up to her desk. She held up a finger for us to wait until she was done with the great nail polish debate.

  The waiting area was already full of people, some filled out job applications, some talked on cell phones. The whole place vibrated with the thrum of commerce. It looked like Stanley and Forster would recover nicely.

  “Should we just go in,” I said and drummed my paintless, short, fingernails on the reception desk.

  “Detectives, we weren’t expecting you today.”

  Louise and I turned in unison to see Tracy emerging from the second elevator bay. See, if there had been an elevator ding we would have known she had arrived. She hefted a large, tan leather bag up over her shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She ran her hand through her red hair. For some reason she looked ten years younger than the first time we met her only two days ago. Maybe it was because she was smiling as bright as the sun on a clear winter day.

  “Good morning, Tracy,” Louise said. “How was the party at your friend’s last night?”

  Always the cordial one.

  I’d forgotten we’d even seen her last night. So much had happened in the last twelve hours that it was hard to keep track of what happened when and who we’d seen where.

  “It was alright. Thanks for asking.”

  Tracy huffed and puffed like a twelve pack a day smoker who had just conquered a flight of stairs, but I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t like she’d climbed up the elevator shaft.

  “What are you two doing here this morning?” she asked breathless.

  I looked at Louise and she looked at me. Neither of us wanted to broadcast our purpose to the gathered mass. No telling who knew Carter and who might feel the need to warn him.

  “We’re here in an official capacity,” I said.

  “I guessed that much. Did you have more questions for me?” She heaved her bag up on her shoulder again.

  I realized that the bag must be the reason she was breathing so hard. The weight of the bag pulled at her shoulder and she listed to her right.

  “No,” Louise said. “We’re done asking questions.”

  “Then why else would you be here?”

  Her brows drew together and she shifted her gaze between the two of us, searching for an answer. Then her eyes flicked down to Louise’s hip.

  My gaze followed hers. The edge of Louise’s jacket had gotten hooked on her holster, and the butt of her gun was clearly visible.

  The smile dropped from her face.

  “I can take you back to the executive hallway,” she said. “We can talk privately there.”

  She opened the flap of her bag, pulled her white security card from an inside pocket, and opened the door to the main work area.

  The card.

  The security card had been significant at one time.

  The card logged what time everyone entered and left the building. My mind ran through the details we’d accumulated over the last two days.

  We stepped into the quiet office. Partitioned drones worked away, without a second glance at us. They had no idea that in a few minutes all hell would break loose again. After the last few days, maybe the arrest of Philip Carter would be only a small blip on their radar of disruptions.

  “Can you tell me what’s happening?” Tracy said.

  My mind raced through the last few days. The old mental computer slotted the facts into place, one after the other.

  Then a thought pricked at my consciousness. There is something wrong with the security cards.

  The three of us wove through the cubicles toward the back wall.

  “We’re here to make an arrest,” Louise said. “We have a warrant for our suspect.”

  The thought on the edge of my consciousness nagged at me again. Carter wasn’t here when Forster was murdered. The security card proved that.

  “You’re ready to make an arrest so soon?” Tracy asked. “I thought it would take longer. At least a few weeks or more. It always seems like forever before there’s an arrest on the news.”

  “Sometimes it takes longer than other times,” Louise said. “Then there are times the evidence is so overwhelming it makes our jobs easy.”

  “I see.”

  Tracy led us to the executive hallway where Stanley and Forster’s offices were located.

  “I’ve been working in here trying to sort everything out since Mr. Forster’s murder. I’ll move upstairs once everything is made right,” she said. “I’ve been trying to make everything right.”

  Tracy seemed to trip over her own feet and dropped her security card. When she bent over to pick up the plastic card, her bag gapped open.

  I saw why the bag pulled her to the right. Tracy was lugging about forty books around with her. Including one with a bright red cover.

  She opened the door to the wood—lined hallway and stood aside so Louise and I could enter.

  I went in first, then Louise. Tracy closed the door behind us.

  The nattering voice in my head screamed loudly—Carter wasn’t here when Forster was murdered.

  We were about to reach Stanley’s door when I remembered something else. I reached into my pocket and pulled out Nathan Stanley’s business card and my cell phone.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just need to call someone real quick.”

  I punched the number for Nathan’s cell phone listed on his card and waited. I heard the ring through the phone line and almost simultaneously a chirp sounded from the bag on Tracy’s shoulder.

  Dread rippled up my back and raised the hair on my head. Tracy’s eyes went wide as she realized that I knew.

  I dropped my phone, pulled my gun from its holster and brought it up just as Tracy managed to get Louise’s gun from its holster. She pushed the nine—millimeter Glock into Louise’s left temple.

  Damn it. Why hadn’t I realized it was Tracy sooner? I should have followed the instinct that told me no one was as helpful as she had been.

  Tracy used Louise as a shield so the only clear shot I had was her head, which was only a gnat’s ass away from Louise’s left ear. I held my gun steady and waited.

  “Tracy, you don’t want to do this,” I said.

  Last night my sleep—deprived memory couldn’t slot the pieces together. That’s why this investigation seemed too easy—why this arrest didn’t feel right. Carter wasn’t even in the building. He might have had motive and means
, but the opportunity had been missing.

  “You’re too early!” She shouted.

  The gun shook with the trembling of her body. I worried that her shaking fingers would fire the gun, whether she intended to or not.

  “Damn it. There’s more work to be done. I only need a little more time and then I’ll be ready.”

  “Tracy,” I put on my best negotiator’s voice. “Put the gun down and we can talk. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

  “No!”

  Her chest heaved with rapid, adrenaline charged breaths. A black, wild fire of fury had replaced the soft kindness of her eyes. I imagined a similar Jekkel and Hyde transformation when Forster had caught her ransacking Stanley’s office.

  “Tracy, you didn’t mean to kill anyone,” I said. “It was an accident. I don’t believe you wanted to kill Mr. Stanley, or Mr. Forster, and I don’t believe you want to kill us.”

  Her finger pulsed on the trigger.

  Fuck, one squeeze and Louise’s brain would be splattered over the golden wood paneling of the executive hallway.

  Louise’s face stayed placid. A sharp contrast to Tracy’s flushed cheeks.

  “Oh, I meant to kill Stanley,” she said.

  Sweat trickled from Tracy’s hairline and her eyes widened like a zombied drug addict.

  “I went to his house with every intention of killing him. I wanted that fucker to die.”

  She chewed the corner of her bottom lip, pressed her eyes closed and shook her head. I prayed she would lose her balance so I could get a clear body shot, but she stayed steady on her feet.

  “Except, when I got there I didn’t really want to go through with it. You know?” She nodded and half smiled, as if that would make me understand. “I wasn’t sure I could kill him, so I scratched the knife against the brick on his house.”

  Louise tried to lean away, but Tracy grabbed her arm and pushed the gun into the side of her head, wrinkling the skin on her temple.

  Again, Tracy chewed the corner of her bottom lip and gazed at the back of Louise’s head as if trying to decide what to do.

  I should have taken the shot while she was distracted. There might not be another chance, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk hitting Louise.

  “He heard me scratch the wall, but he just glanced in my direction. He was so fucking cocky. He probably couldn’t imagine anyone who would want to kill him hiding in the bushes. But I wanted—” Her body sagged. “I don’t know what I wanted.”

  She stiffened again and her hand shook with rage.

  “No, I do know what I wanted. I wanted him to find me. I wanted to have a fight with him. I wanted to accuse him of embezzling. I wanted to scream in his face. But he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t come look for me. He forced me to kill him!”

  Black rage resonated in every word she spoke. Tracy had lost what little sense she’d been holding onto by her fingernails.

  “What about Forster?” Louise said. “Did he force you to kill him too?”

  Tracy blinked and looked at Louise as if she just realized there was someone else in the hallway with us.

  “What?”

  “Why did you murder Forster?”

  I prayed Louise knew what she was doing. Maybe from where she was, she couldn’t see the situation like I could. From where she stood she couldn’t see the pure hatred in Tracy’s eyes.

  “I didn’t murder him.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Forster.”

  “You call stabbing a man twelve times, then writing on the wall with his blood, an accident?”

  Louise turned her head to face Tracy. The gun was pointed at her right eye.

  “I don’t think you’ll be able to convince a jury his murder was accidental.”

  Damn, Louise was brave. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to speak with a nine mil in my eye. I could barely speak just watching her.

  “Put the gun down, Tracy,” I said. “We’ll help you. We will get you a good attorney.”

  I had a clear shot at her head now that Louise had turned, but if I shot Tracy, she’d still be able to pull the trigger on Louise. Hell the impact of my shot could make her reflex shoot.

  “Accident,” she whispered. “He wasn’t supposed to be in the office. It was a mistake. I don’t remember stabbing him. I really don’t remember. Killing Forster was a mistake. I liked Mr. Forster.”

  She cried in earnest now and I understood what she’d meant the day we discovered Forster’s body. I thought she was simply upset over Forster’s death when she had repeated that it was a mistake. Now everything she’d said that day was all too clear.

  Damn it. Why hadn’t I caught on sooner?

  “I was so angry when Forster came in and he was yelling.” Perspiration beaded up on her face. “I tried to explain but he wouldn’t listen. And . . ..”

  She tightened her grip on Louise’s arm and stiffened her spine. “I’m not going to think about that right now. I can’t.”

  An eerie calm washed over Tracy. A calm, which scared me to no end.

  “Detective O’Brien, put down your gun.”

  Her voice had stopped shaking and her hand was steady. The indecision and the fire of rage in her eyes had passed.

  This calm image of Tracy was far more frightening than the wild emotional state she’d been in a minute ago. This new calm meant that Tracy had resigned herself to whatever it was she had decided to do.

  “Forget it, Tracy,” I said, not moving an inch. “There’s only one way out of this and that’s for you to put your gun down and surrender. We’ll get you the best help in the Twin Cities. I promise.”

  “I don’t want to have to hurt Detective Montgomery, but I will. I’ll hurt you too, if you don’t put your gun down.”

  I shifted my weight from my front to my back foot, in preparation for the unthinkable.

  “Think about what’s happening here, Tracy. See this moment as it really is. If you so much as twitch that trigger, I will kill you.”

  Though it wasn’t necessary, I cocked my gun for effect.

  “I never miss, Tracy.”

  She shook her head and took a step forward, pushing Louise out in front of her.

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “I need a little more time. A few more weeks that’s all and then I’ll turn myself in, I promise.”

  I stepped back in pace with her, and adjusted my sight line. Shooting Tracy was now unavoidable. The next opportunity I saw, she was going down.

  “No, Tracy,” I said. “I don’t understand. What will a few more weeks help you accomplish?”

  Another step forward.

  Another step back.

  “If I have more time, I can get this company back on its feet.”

  God, she was delusional. Did she really believe that only she stood between the success and failure of this company?

  Another step, forward and back.

  “How did you know I killed them?” She asked. “When did you figure it out?”

  Forward. Back.

  “I knew you were the murderer, when you dropped your security card.”

  Tracy halted her advance.

  Louise gave me a questioning glance.

  “Then why did you say you were here to make an arrest? Were you lying?”

  “No, we didn’t know it was you,” Louise said. “We were here for someone else.”

  “Who?” She growled through clenched teeth as if she didn’t believe a word.

  Louise swallowed hard. It was the first sign I’d seen that she was nervous.

  “Philip Carter,” Louise said.

  “How did you know that I had killed them when I dropped the security card?”

  Tracy was getting agitated and frustrated again.

  Louise gave me the, I’d like to know myself, look, mixed with a pleading, please do something fast, look.

  “The flap of your bag dropped open.” The palms of my hands were damp with sweat.

  �
��So what about it?”

  “The book.”

  Confusion flickered across her face.

  “It’s All About Winning. I couldn’t figure out what had happened to the book. Why would a murderer—”

  She flashed dark eyes at me, which let me know she didn’t approve of the moniker. I really didn’t give a fuck. I wasn’t here to make her happy.

  “Why would the murderer take that particular book? So it stuck in my head as a loose thread. Then you dropped your security card and there was the book inside your bag.”

  She paused to think about what I’d said. Then she shook her head as if she didn’t believe a word of what I was saying.

  “Why did you take the book and why did you take his cell phone, Tracy?” I asked. “Were they souvenirs of the murder?”

  “No!”

  She stepped forward again.

  “It’s All About Winning is the book that Nathan wrote his access codes in the margins and his cell phone had all the account numbers.”

  “Account numbers?”

  Reluctantly, I stepped back. I couldn’t figure out where she was pushing me or why and I couldn’t turn my head. That split second would be all she needed to turn the gun on me.

  “Oh, come on. You don’t think a company this size just suddenly loses all its money. The money has to go somewhere, Detective O’Brien.”

  She took another step forward. From the corner of my eye, I saw the edge of Stanley’s office door.

  I didn’t want to be inside an enclosed space. At least in the hallway there was a chance of someone finding us or hearing us.

  I widened the gap between us as we passed Stanley’s door. She stopped in front of the office door.

  “Stanley was skimming?” I said.

  “Nathan wasn’t just skimming. He was siphoning large amounts into private off shore accounts, running them through dummy corporations. He used the book to keep track of where all the money went. He wrote the access codes and addresses of the banks in the margins. He kept account numbers on his cell but they didn’t have names listed. He had indexed the accounts by page numbers. The book is the key to unlocking the whole thing.”

  And reason enough in her mind for murder.

  If Tracy had only gone to the police with what she knew, instead of killing Nathan Stanley. Stanley would be in jail. The company would be on its way to recovery, and she would be a hero. Instead she was a murderess staring down the barrel of my gun, facing two terms of life in prison.