“What?” Ernie asked.
“It’s funny you ask about this room,” she said. “I came in to clean it, but it was already clean. If the bed had been slept in, I couldn’t tell.” She pointed to the bathroom. “None of the soaps or shampoo had been used, and there was no trash in any of the cans.” She shrugged. “It was as if no one had been in the room at all. I went ahead and cleaned the room again, changed the sheets, and switched out the toiletries.”
Ernie glanced at Edinburgh. “Do you think Mr. Smith used the room?”
Edinburgh shrugged. “I couldn’t say for sure because we don’t have cameras up here.”
Rosa spoke up. “Someone had been in the room. It had a different smell, not the cleaners we use. And the bedspread did look slightly used, like someone had sat down on it. Other than that, I don’t know.”
Ernie glanced at Oakley, then back to Rosa. “Okay, anything else? Did you see the man?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”
Ernie thanked her for her time, and she left. He turned back to Oakley, who shrugged.
“Nothing else here,” Oakley said.
Ernie and Oakley stepped back into the hall, and Edinburgh shut the door.
“I don’t know what you hoped to find,” Edinburgh said, “but I’m sorry you didn’t.”
Ernie and Oakley didn’t answer. The pristine room might be a clue. They rode the elevator down in silence, and they joined Lattimore back in Edinburgh’s office.
“I’m still not seeing Smith on any other surveillance video,” Lattimore said. “But I’ll keep looking.” He gestured at the laptop. “I’ll get a copy of all the video.”
Ernie nodded and turned to Edinburgh. “If anybody has more information about Joe Smith, please let us know.” He handed him a business card.
“Absolutely,” Edinburgh said. “We don’t want any problems with any of our guests.”
Ernie thanked him, and he and Oakley left. As they walked outside, they stopped at Oakley’s car. He turned to look at Ernie.
“Did you hear what the cleaning lady said? The room had been scrubbed, so there’d be no evidence of our man there. Sounds like we’re dealing with a professional.”
Ernie nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Whoever was there cleaned the room. We won’t have a prayer in hell of getting Smith’s fingerprints, or any other evidence, I’m guessing. Whoever Joe Smith is, he’ll have made sure of that.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nick Armistead’s best friend, Tyler Deffenbaugh, worked at a healthcare company in Westminster, a suburb north of downtown. Spats left Ernie and Oakley, headed up Interstate 25, and was soon caught in a snare of traffic. When he got to 104th Avenue, he drove west and stopped at Heidi’s Brooklyn Deli for a quick lunch. After he snarfed down a Heidi’s Club, he got back on the road and was soon parking in front of a three-story office building near Huron Street. When he walked into CompraHealth, he went to the front desk and asked for Deffenbaugh. The receptionist nodded.
“You’re the detective? Roland Youngfield? Tyler’s expecting you.” She pointed with a manicured fingernail toward a hall. “Go down there. It’s the third door on the right.”
Spats thanked her and headed in the direction she’d indicated. He came to an open door and looked inside. A man with curly dark hair was sitting behind a desk. He looked up, saw Spats, and waved for him to come in.
“You’re Detective Youngfield?” Deffenbaugh had a deep voice and piercing gray eyes.
Spats nodded, stepped into the office, and shut the door behind him.
“Have a seat,” Deffenbaugh said.
Spats sat down across from Deffenbaugh and studied him. Deffenbaugh’s eyes drooped. As if to punctuate that fatigue, Deffenbaugh stifled a yawn.
“Sorry, I got back into town late last night.”
“You’ve talked to Rachel Armistead?” Spats asked.
He nodded. “She’s absolutely devastated. She got hold of me in India and told me what had happened. I went to her place straight from the airport.” He shook his head sadly. “I couldn’t believe what happened to Nick. It’s just … shocking.”
Spats studied him. “What exactly did you hear?”
He rested an elbow on the arm of the chair. “That he was shot right in front of Rachel.” He swore. “I mean, who would do such a thing?”
“You don’t have any idea who might’ve wanted to kill Nick?”
Deffenbaugh shook his head. “No, I don’t. That’s what’s so strange about this. Nick was a good guy, not in any kind of trouble. I don’t understand.”
“How long have you known Nick?”
“We met in college, and we’ve stayed friends. We golf whenever we can, and do other things.”
“Best buds.”
Deffenbaugh nodded. “Something like that.”
Spats stared at him. “Nick wasn’t in any kind of trouble?”
“No. Why would you think he was?”
“We heard he was edgy at work this past week.”
Deffenbaugh puzzled over the question. “I don’t know about what. Nick didn’t say anything to me. He was a good guy, honest. I’d be shocked if something was going on. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Spats didn’t answer that. “What do you know about Julie Novack?”
Deffenbaugh’s spine stiffened as he tried to contain his surprise. “Who?”
Spats shook his head slowly. “We know about Nick and Julie’s affair.”
Deffenbaugh swallowed hard, his uneasiness showing. Then he locked eyes with Spats. The room was quiet, and Spats let him stew in his discomfort.
“How did you find out?” he finally asked.
“From what I understand, Julie wasn’t a very good actress. She wasn’t able to control how upset she was about Nick’s murder.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.” Deffenbaugh looked out the window. “Nick said she was in love with him.”
“And what about Nick? Was he in love with her?”
Deffenbaugh’s gaze came back to Spats. “Yes, I think he was. He was considering leaving Rachel.”
Spats tipped his head. “And yet, Rachel thought everything was perfect between them.”
“Rachel’s … naïve.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. From what Nick had said, they’d been drifting apart. He was traveling more, but even with that, Rachel didn’t seem to notice the problems. And Nick was a quiet guy.”
“He was traveling more so he could see Julie?”
Deffenbaugh nodded. “Yes.”
Spats glanced at some awards on a bookcase and a framed mountain photograph on a wall. Tasteful. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Yes.”
“And Nick?”
“He did, too.” Deffenbaugh cleared his throat. “I don’t really want to divulge his finances to you.”
“Any chance Rachel knew about the affair? Any chance she went after Nick?” The last question was out of the blue, meant to surprise Deffenbaugh.
His eyebrows shot up. “You think Rachel murdered Nick?” Spats just stared at him. “No way. Rachel adored Nick. I don’t think she knew about the affair.” He shook his head for emphasis. “No way.”
“And you’re sure Nick wasn’t in some kind of trouble, maybe with his work?”
“I’ve known Nick for over ten years, and he tells me everything. There’s no way he would be in some kind of trouble without my knowing about it.”
“Did Nick do drugs, anything like that?”
Deffenbaugh shook his head. “No. He was an occasional drinker, but that’s it.”
Spats was frustrated, wondering if there was more to Nick than Deffenbaugh was saying. “This is going to sound pointed, but if Nick was so perfect, why was he having an affair?”
He took a long time before he answered. “Things happen.” Deffenbaugh held up his hands. “An affair isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
“Hmm. I guess it depends. The person being ch
eated on might think differently.” Deffenbaugh turned red. Spats again wondered if there was more that Deffenbaugh wasn’t saying. “What about Rachel?”
Deffenbaugh pondered that. “She’s a great person.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” Spats asked, slowly and deliberately.
Deffenbaugh reached for a water bottle, sipped, and looked at Spats. He was gathering his thoughts. But for what, Spats wasn’t sure. He waited on Deffenbaugh. Voice drifted in from the hall.
“I don’t want you to think that Rachel did anything to Nick, because I know she wouldn’t. But…” Deffenbaugh hesitated.
When he didn’t say anything, Spats said, “But what?”
“I hate to have you bothering her, when I know that she’s crushed about what happened to Nick. But something was going on with her, late last week. Nick told me about it on Sunday night, right before I left for India.”
Spats leaned forward in the chair. “What?”
“Nick didn’t know for sure, just that something was going on with her. She seemed jumpy, even scared. I asked Nick what exactly was going on and whether she knew about the affair. He said she didn’t. She just kept saying that someone wanted her to do something that she couldn’t do.”
Spats didn’t let his surprise show. “What did that mean?”
Deffenbaugh shrugged. “If Nick knew, he didn’t tell me.”
“Why not tell me this right away?”
“Because I knew you’d think Rachel was involved in something she shouldn’t have been,” Deffenbaugh said. “Maybe even think she was involved in his death. But she wasn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I know Rachel. She loved Nick. She’d never turn on him like that.”
Suddenly, Spats wasn’t so sure.
Deffenbaugh wagged a finger at him. “I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to look at Rachel as a suspect. You won’t find anything there.”
Spats cocked an eyebrow. “What was this thing someone was wanting Rachel to do?”
“Beats me.”
“So, any ideas about who might’ve killed Nick?”
“I don’t know.”
Spats was quiet for a moment. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“No, there isn’t.” Deffenbaugh sighed. “I had the whole flight back from India to think about all this. Nick was my best friend. I know he was having an affair, but sometimes those things happen.” He frowned. “But I also don’t think Rachel had anything to do with his murder. I don’t know what was going on, but she’s not a murderer.”
Deffenbaugh seemed sincere, but Spats wasn’t sure. One thing he did know. They needed to turn their focus to Rachel Armistead again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Before Oakley drove away, Spats called Ernie.
“Put me on speaker,” he said.
Ernie complied.
“How’d it go with Nick’s friend?” Oakley asked.
“It was interesting,” Spats said. He gave them a rundown of his conversation with Tyler Deffenbaugh. “Something’s going on with Rachel Armistead,” he concluded when he finished. “I don’t know whether Deffenbaugh’s hiding something about her, or he really doesn’t know. But something’s not right about her.”
Ernie thought for a moment, then made a decision. “Spats, see if you can get a warrant for Rachel’s phone records – both work and home. I want to know who she’s been talking to.”
“You got it,” Spats said.
“Oakley and I’ll go back to Rachel’s office,” Ernie said. “She’s on bereavement leave, so she won’t know we visited. I don’t want her to know we’re focusing on her. If she’s up to something bad, her co-workers might know something.”
“Keep me posted,” Spats said and ended the call.
Oakley nodded at Ernie. “I’ll meet you at Rachel’s office.” He gave Ernie her work address, and Ernie hurried to his car.
Half an hour later, Ernie was parking behind Oakley on Broadway, near 1999 Broadway, a skyscraper built around Holy Ghost Church. They paid the meters and walked past the church.
“This is an incredible building,” Oakley said as they walked into the curved high-rise. “I drive by it, but I’ve never been inside.”
“Me, neither,” Ernie said.
They pushed through glass doors, crossed a well-lit lobby to elevators, and rode up to the tenth floor. Sterling Financial Services occupied the entire floor, and a receptionist with long brown hair looked up a little cautiously when she saw both of them, as if sensing they were police. Ernie let Oakley take the lead.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
Oakley smiled at her as he showed her his badge. “Could we talk to whoever’s in charge, please?”
“That would be Veronica Jenkins.” She huffed a little, then picked up the phone. “I think she’s in a meeting.”
“It’s important,” Oakley said.
She spoke into the phone, her voice on edge. Then she hung up the phone and looked at them. “She’ll be here momentarily.”
Oakley and Ernie stepped back, neither one saying anything. They watched the receptionist, who fidgeted as she tried to work. A few minutes later, a woman in a gray business suit and heels strolled into the lobby, a frown spread across her face. Ernie and Oakley showed her their badges.
She looked directly at Oakley as she introduced herself. “What can I do for you?” Her voice was strained.
Oakley spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re investigating Nick Armistead’s death.”
“Such a terrible thing,” she said, her lips a line. “Rachel isn’t here right now, though.”
“I understand,” Oakley said. “We’d like to talk to her co-workers, please.”
Veronica crossed her arms. “Is this really necessary? I mean, I would like to help, but it would be disruptive. Can’t this be done after hours?”
Oakley nodded. “I know this is a difficult time, but it is important.”
Veronica glanced at Ernie, and he gave her an encouraging nod. She still took a long time to answer. The receptionist stared at them.
“Of course,” Veronica finally said. “Perhaps you’d like to talk to her direct supervisor, Haley Plunkett.”
Oakley nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”
She glanced at Ernie again. “And Rachel works closely with Kasey Adams. Perhaps you’d like to talk to her, too?”
“That would be good,” Ernie said.
“We have a couple of conference rooms.” Veronica was taking charge. “What if I brought Haley and Kasey to you?”
Ernie and Oakley both nodded. She led them down a hallway, had Oakley go into one conference room, and she led Ernie to another. He sat down in a small room that was overcrowded with a round table, four chairs, and a small console in the corner. “I’ll get Kasey.”
Ernie thanked her and waited. A few minutes later, a short woman with a brown ponytail came into the room. Ernie judged her to be in her forties, with a thin face and behind wire-rimmed glasses, eyes that were narrow but wideset. She shut the door and looked at him.
Ernie stood up and introduced himself. “I appreciate your taking a little time to talk to me.”
“I’m Kasey Adams.” She sat down across from him and pushed the glasses up her nose. “Veronica didn’t say what this was about, but I assume it’s about Nick’s murder?”
Ernie nodded. “Yes, we have to look at an investigation from all angles.”
She nodded. “Yes, of course.” She put her hands in her lap and waited.
“What can you tell me about Rachel?”
“She’s a good co-worker,” she said. “I’ve known her for about five years. She’s smart and knows what she’s doing. She’s good with the clients, too.”
Ernie casually ran his palm along the edge of the table, gathering his thoughts. “So you guys talk a bit then? You know each other on a more personal level?”
“Yes, we share som
e about our lives. My family and kids, her and Nick. I can’t believe what happened to them.”
Ernie waited a moment. “Have you talked to her since Nick was killed?”
She shook her head. “No. I haven’t.”
He thought for a second. “Do you hang out much after work? Happy hour, drinks, that kind of thing?”
“Once in a while, if Nick is out of town. But generally she goes to the gym or home, and I have the kids, so there’s not a lot of time.”
“So it’s more of a work friendship.”
She thought about that. “Yeah, I guess so. She’s a nice person, though.”
“Did she talk much about her relationship with Nick?”
“Here and there. From what I can gather, they had a really good relationship. She adored him. If you look around her office, there’s lots of pictures of him.”
Ernie moved to some harder questions. “Did she ever indicate there were any problems with Nick?”
Her eyes widened. “You think there was trouble between the two of them?”
He held up his hands with a smile. “I’m just asking the question, trying to get a sense of the two of them.”
She shook her head. “No, things seemed like they were fine.”
“Even lately?”
She cleaned her glasses on the hem of her blouse as she pondered that. “I guess he’s been out of town more recently. I don’t know if that means anything, but she said she’s been going to the gym by herself lately. I thought at one point that we could get together for drinks, since he was gone, but it never seemed to happen.”
“Did she seem unhappy?”
“Maybe a little, because she’s lonely. But I don’t know for sure.” Then she frowned as she donned her glasses.
“What?” Ernie narrowed his eyes at her.
“Now that I think about it, Rachel has seemed a little stressed lately.”
“What does ‘lately’ mean?”
She stared at the door. “She seemed a little stressed out the last couple of days before Nick was killed.”
“Can you describe what you mean?”
She gave that some thought. “I think about a week or so ago, I came into her office to ask if she wanted to go to lunch, and she looked almost sick. I asked her what was going on, and she said she didn’t feel well, that it must’ve been something she ate. The only thing was, it was before lunch, and she’s not one to snack. I saw her later on, and she was upset then, too. She just seemed a little odd that day.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if that means anything, but it wasn’t really like her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her sick a day since I’ve known her.”
Deadly Target (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 6) Page 21