Deadly Target (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 6)

by Renee Pawlish

  “Forgiving?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good word.” She picked at something under her fingernail as she talked. “My mom doesn’t know everything about Cody. I mean, he is clean, at least as far as I know.” She looked up at him. “And he would tell me the truth. He and I got along really good. He was cool, you know?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “The thing is, Cody and his roommate were dealing. I don’t know how much, but I know it was pretty good money. Cody bought some nice headphones, and a really good laptop and phone, and he was also gambling some. My parents don’t know about that. He would hide things if they went to his apartment. I kept telling him that he needed to be careful, and as far as I know he was.” She paused. “Don’t tell my parents, okay? I don’t want them to know.”

  “How did you know? He told you?”

  She nodded. “Well, and …”

  “He sold to you, too?”

  “He gave me some stuff. Just some weed and ecstasy, no big deal.”

  Spats ignored that. “Did Cody say anything about who was supplying him the drugs?”

  She shook her head, then glanced over her shoulder. He knew he didn’t have much more time with her.

  “No, he never gave me a real name, just some guy named Shrimp.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “Really?”

  Spats sipped some Coke. “His roommate told me.”

  She swore, then turned red. “Man, Austin can’t keep his mouth shut.”

  Spats eyed her. “Right now, I need to know everything.”

  She thought about that. “There was one night, I went with Cody when he bought some pills from Shrimp. Cody didn’t want to take me at first, because he said it would be dangerous. But I told him I was curious.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “It wasn’t dangerous at all. We drove over to Colorado Boulevard, and the guy came out of a building near a 7-11. Cody left me in the car, talked to this guy, paid him, and took the drugs. The guy went back in the building, and Cody came back to the car. That was it.”

  “Describe the guy for me.”

  She fiddled with the salt shaker. “It was a few months back. He had black hair, kind of spiky, and he’s got a tattoo that runs up the side of his neck.”

  “You’re sure Cody never used a real name for Shrimp?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Spats thought for a second. “Did Shrimp ever threaten Cody?”

  She put the shaker down. “Cody did tell me in the last week or so that he was getting nervous around Shrimp. I kinda wonder if Cody was thinking that it was time to stop dealing, but Austin wanted to sell even more.” She sneered, scrunching up her nose. “Austin thinks he’s some kind of cool guy out of the movies, you know, the ones that take on the drug dealers, that kind of thing. He’s actually not that tough. Cody was worried that they were getting in too deep, but Austin wanted to keep going. That was what their fights were about.”

  Spats stared at her, sensing there was more. She finally went on.

  “That last fight, Cody was super-pissed at Austin because Austin told Shrimp they wanted fentanyl, and Austin was expecting Cody to help pay for it. Cody was pissed, said that Austin didn’t have a right to ask him for that, and that they shouldn’t be dealing fentanyl. That’s what they were arguing about. Austin said that Cody needed to ante up or they were going to be in trouble with Shrimp.” She snorted. “It was the exact thing Cody was worried about. You get in too deep with those guys, and you’re in trouble. They hold all the cards. That’s what Cody would say. He knew that Shrimp would just as soon kill him as look at him. Cody was worried that Shrimp would come to the apartment, or somehow threaten him, so he gave Austin the money. But he told Austin that was it.” She picked at her nail again. “Cody was looking to get another roommate, or move somewhere else. But he was also worried about what Austin would do.”

  Spats was thinking through everything she’d said. Austin had said Cody was the one in trouble with Shrimp, but Caitlyn contradicted that. Spats tended to believe her. “Would Austin kill Cody?” he asked bluntly.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Like I said, Austin thinks he’s tough, but I don’t think he’d do anything to Cody or anyone else.”

  “What about hiring someone?”

  “I guess he could try, but I don’t think so.”

  “What about Shrimp? Did Cody tell you anything more about him?”

  “No, just that he wasn’t the type that you wanted to mess with.”

  “Would Shrimp shoot Cody?”

  She’d been holding it together so far, but now her lip trembled. She grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped her eyes. “Sorry.” She took another second. “I don’t know. Maybe Cody did do something more with that dealer, or maybe Austin did. If so, I don’t know about it.”

  “What about Cody’s ex, Samantha?”

  She shook her head dismissively. “She wouldn’t do anything to Cody. She’s still in love with him.”

  “Did Cody ever mention a co-worker named Rob?”

  She went red. “Yeah. I didn’t want to say anything before, but I think Cody was dealing at work. He mentioned Rob, but I don’t remember about what.”

  Spats looked at her, for the first time with a hard gaze. “Are you telling me everything?”

  She nodded emphatically. “Yes, I am. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Did Cody ever mention the name Sarah Spillman?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Nick Armistead?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever talk to you about being in trouble with the police?”

  “No, nothing like that happened since high school.”

  “What was he involved in back then?”

  “He robbed some neighbors. Took their laptops, and some cell phones. He was a juvenile, so he got off easier.” She hesitated. “He got away with a lot, too.” She glanced away. “Don’t tell my parents, okay?”

  Spats nodded. “Okay. And you don’t know Nick Armistead or Sarah Spillman?”

  “No. You just asked me that, and I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know him, or that Spellman, or whoever. And Cody never mentioned them, either.”

  She stood up, adjusted her collar, and looked down at him. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to work. What’s your cell, in case I think of anything else?”

  Spats took a business card from his wallet and gave it to her. “Call me anytime.”

  She looked at the card almost as if she’d never seen one, and for all he knew she hadn’t. Then she put it in her pocket, turned, and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The last time Ernie had seen Lawrence Ridley, Ridley had been walking out of the station at Thirteenth and Cherokee. He and Sarah had interviewed Ridley about his participation in a bizarre murder club, for lack of a better description, that Ridley had assembled. Who could imagine a group of people who would want to commit a random murder solely for the experience of taking a human life? And Ridley was the kingpin of the whole thing. He had, in practical terms, admitted to committing murder, although he had been so careful in how he’d discussed the crimes that they hadn’t been able to pin any charges on him. Thus, he had walked free. It had been one of the most disgusting, and frustrating, cases that they’d ever worked on. Ernie had hoped that at some point, Ridley would slip up and they could nail him, but it hadn’t happened yet.

  As Ernie walked into the Belleview Tower, a silver and dark reflective glass building on Belleview Avenue, Ernie wondered how Ridley would react when he saw him. Ernie rode the elevator up to the eighth floor, where Ridley’s firm occupied an entire floor. Ernie stepped off the elevator into an open reception area that was beautifully decorated with mahogany furniture and leather chairs, and what he took to be expensive paintings of cityscapes on the walls. He crossed to a receptionist, pulled out his badge, and smiled at her.

  “I’d like to speak with Lawre
nce Ridley, please.”

  Her lips pulled into a disappointed frown, a hand to her chin. “Officer –”

  “Detective,” he interrupted, the smile still there.

  “Excuse me, Detective.” She tried for a smile herself, but it didn’t quite work. She appeared a bit perturbed. “I wish you would’ve called ahead of time. Mister Ridley is not here.”

  Ernie shook his head. “No, I know for a fact he is. When I called earlier, he was at lunch.” It was a guess as to whether Ridley had actually returned. “Please tell him that Detective Moore from Denver Homicide is here to speak with him.”

  She gave a slight tip of the head, picked up a desk phone, and dialed a number. She locked eyes with Ernie as she announced him to whoever was on the other end. Then she nodded and hung up the receiver.

  “If you could wait a couple of minutes, Mr. Ridley will see you.”

  Ernie thanked her and stepped away from the desk, but he didn’t sit down. He stood, feet apart, hands behind his back, watching her. She busied herself at the desk, but she was keeping an eye on him. Soft instrumental music was piped in from hidden speakers, and Ernie noticed a woodsy scent, something he couldn’t name, but that he thought was unpleasant. He rocked on his feet, casual, and her desk phone finally beeped. She picked it up, murmured into it, then hung up and looked at Ernie as she stood up.

  “If you’ll come with me, please.”

  She was taller than Ernie realized, and very attractive, her light blue dress revealing shapely legs. She led him down a long hall to a corner office, tapped on the door, then opened it for him. Ernie walked into a large office just as tastefully decorated as the reception area. One whole wall held sets of old case reporters and treatises, and another displayed an abstract painting. Windows opened out to the Rocky Mountains in the west. Lawrence Ridley sat behind a long dark desk, and he didn’t bother to get up when Ernie came in.

  “May I get you anything, Detective?” the receptionist asked.

  Before Ernie could answer, Ridley said, “Thank you, Abby, but we’re fine.” He narrowed his eyes at Ernie. “We won’t be very long.”

  Abby looked at Ridley, smiled, then backed out and shut the door. Ernie stood long enough that Ridley finally spoke.

  “Please sit down, Detective.” Ernie sat down in a comfortable chair across from Ridley.

  Ridley leaned back and steepled his hands. It was definitely a move of superiority on his part. He faked a smile, then said, “To what do I owe this visit?”

  Ernie studied him for a moment. He looked as Ernie had remembered him, the full head of dark hair, the same cold, calculating dark eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit, light blue shirt, and red tie, gold rings on his fingers. Ernie was sure the office décor and Ridley’s attire impressed his high-dollar clients, but all Ernie could see behind the expensive clothes was a murderer. Ernie looked around the office.

  “Nice digs,” he said.

  “I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about interior design,” Ridley said. He made a show of looking at a gold watch. “And I do have a busy schedule, so could you please tell me what this is about?”

  Ernie noticed Ridley was careful not to ask about anything in particular, so as not to suggest that he knew anything at all about the purpose of Ernie’s visit. It was a standard move that shrewd suspects used, and it didn’t impress Ernie in the least. He detested this guy.

  “How’s the Murder Guild?” Ernie said.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Ridley was unphased. “I heard some rumor about such an organization,” he tipped his head at Ernie, “as you know, but that’s all.”

  “I can imagine you weren’t happy when the Guild shut down,” Ernie said. “But I can’t see a man like you being okay with that. I bet you were furious, all that work down the drain.”

  Ridley kept a straight face, but his eyes were cold. He studied Ernie as much as Ernie was studying him. Then Ridley put his hands down.

  “I’m sure there’s a reason for this line of questioning, but I’m not sure what it is.”

  He was a shrewd lawyer, Ernie knew that. Even though he was an ambulance chaser, he was a high-class one, and made a lot of money at it, won a lot of cases. You didn’t get that far without being astute. Ridley was going to stay cautious – a good move – so Ernie decided to be direct.

  “What were you doing last night around 5:30?” Ernie asked.

  Ridley’s face was neutral. “Unless you can give me a reason why you want to know that information, I can’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “Have you heard anything about Detective Spillman?”

  “No.”

  Ernie knew he was lying. Ridley had to have seen the news about Sarah.

  “Come on,” Ernie said. “I’m sure someone of your stature pays attention to the news enough to know what happened to Detective Spillman.”

  “No, I don’t know.” The face remained a blank slate.

  “She was shot last night, about 5:30.” Ernie watched Ridley closely for any reaction, but didn’t get one. “You know how this goes. You can answer my questions now, or I can haul your ass down to the station.”

  “I had nothing to do with the detective’s shooting, if that’s what you’re implying,” Ridley said. “And you and I both know that I don’t have to go down to the station unless you have some kind of cause for that. And it doesn’t sound as if you do.”

  Ernie held up his hands. “I might find it.”

  Ridley shook his head and let out a put-upon sigh. “Detective, I’m going to answer your question. Not because I have to, but because I have nothing to hide. I left here at 5:30 last evening.” He tipped his head toward the door. “My receptionist can verify that, as well as two other attorneys in the office who were with me in a meeting until then. However, I’m not going to let you bother those attorneys unless it’s absolutely necessary. When I left, I swung by my house, picked up my wife, and we went to dinner with friends at the Palace Arms, downtown.”

  “At the Brown Palace Hotel.”

  “Yes. The maître d’ knows me, and she, as well as several of the wait staff, would remember that we were there. We arrived a little after six, and we stayed until about nine. We had drinks, then dinner. Would you like to know what I had?”

  Ernie stared at him, waiting for an answer. Ridley gave another dramatic sigh.

  “I had the ribeye cap, griffin potatoes, and vegetables. I don’t know whether the chef could tell you that he knew what he cooked was specifically for me, but I’m sure you can ask him.”

  Ernie ignored the sarcasm. “And after that?”

  Ernie knew that if the alibi checked out, the later time frame wouldn’t matter, but he couldn’t resist trying to get under Ridley’s nerves.

  “My wife and I went home,” Ridley said. “What we did after that truly is none of your business.”

  Ernie couldn’t resist a smirk. “Fine. I’ll check on your alibi.”

  Ridley looked at the gold watch again. “I need to get to a meeting, so I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”

  Ernie stood up, then quickly leaned on Ridley’s desk. He smelled Ridley’s cologne and saw the slightest flicker in his eye, a nervous tic that Ernie had never seen from him in previous encounters.

  “If you did do anything to Sarah,” Ernie said, barely above a whisper, “whether it was you that pulled the trigger or someone else, I’ll find out. And I’ll take you out.”

  “Detective, I had nothing to do with her shooting.”

  Ernie stared him in the eye, not sure whether he believed him. Ernie stepped back and took his time walking to the door. He turned around and looked back at Ridley, then grabbed the doorknob, jerked open the door, and left the room. He walked back to the reception area and stopped at the front desk.

  “Abby,” he said. Before she could think, he went on. “Ridley said that he left here at 5:30 last evening. Is that true?”

  “Yes, he was here. He had
a meeting with two other attorneys, and they finished up and then left. I normally don’t stay that late, but I had some things to catch up on. Mr. Ridley went with me down to the parking garage, and we left.”

  “Thank you,” Ernie said.

  He walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and turned sideways so he could look back at her. She was busying herself at her desk, but she was also eyeing him. When the elevator arrived, he got on and turned around, then watched her until the doors slid closed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lawrence Ridley had said that he and his wife dined at the Palace Arms the previous evening, so Ernie drove downtown. The historic Brown Palace Hotel is one of Denver’s finest, with an atrium lobby with a beautiful stained-glass skylight. Ernie looked up as he walked inside. He hadn’t been in the hotel in years, but Liz had taken the girls to the Brown Palace’s traditional afternoon tea as a Christmas treat a few years ago. They’d had a good time while Ernie had stayed home and enjoyed a quiet afternoon watching football. Now Ernie crossed the atrium and walked into the Palace Arms restaurant. The open room felt regal, with small tables and blue-striped chairs, Napoleonic artifacts on the walls. He didn’t mince any words, but immediately asked the host to speak to the maître d’.

  “Yes, sir,” the host said with a slight bow. “Is there a problem?”

  Ernie shook his head and glanced around. The restaurant wasn’t crowded at this time of day, just one couple at a table in the corner. The man stared at Ernie for a moment, then backed up and walked between tables to the back. He disappeared down a hall, and returned a moment later with a woman in a dark suit.

  “I’m Sarah. May I help you?” Her smile was genuine, her curiosity as well.

  Ernie showed her his badge and got right to the point. “Are you familiar with Lawrence Ridley?”

  She nodded, unfazed by his badge. “Yes, he comes in here fairly often. He’s one of our best customers, very pleasant.”

  Ernie nodded. “Was he here last night?”