Targeted: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 3)

by Marjorie Doering

  Ray grinned. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tuck the napkin into my collar, all right? Now, what’ve you got?”

  “First off,” Waverly said, “I find myself liking Amy Conley.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me; she’s easy to like.”

  “Yeah, but that means diddly, and we both know it. I’ve met some crazies who could’ve charmed a belly laugh out of Mona Lisa,” he said, stirring cream and artificial sweetener into his coffee. “By the way, your friend managed to post bail after the preliminary hearing this morning.”

  “I know,” Ray said. “I checked.”

  Waverly’s eyes did a slow roll. “Just so you know, she has her late husband to thank for being able to manage that. The guy must’ve known a thing or two about money management because their mortgage is all but paid off on that house in Elliot Park—done in just a little over two years’ time, buddy. And if it hadn’t been for all the renovations he had done on that place and the equity involved, her pretty, little ass would still be parked in a jail cell.”

  “Nearly paid off in two years? How?”

  Waverly chuckled. “That had me wondering, too. I figured maybe he printed his own currency. It turns out he was a member of the ‘silver spoon’ set. His father’s a corporate exec at a huge auto parts business in Springfield, Missouri. Got that from Amy Conley. I talked with her again this morning, but I suppose you know that already, too.”

  Ray didn’t confirm or deny it. “Has she come up with any names—anyone who might’ve wanted her husband dead?”

  “Nope,” Waverly said, licking butter from the fringe of his mustache. “But then husbands don’t always keep their wives informed about that sort of thing. As fast as those two tied the knot, it’s not likely your friend knew a hell of a lot about the guy to begin with.”

  “Good point.”

  “Ray, just so you know, Amy Conley is the sole beneficiary of her husband’s life insurance policy. She stands to collect a quarter of a million bucks.”

  There was a subtle lift of Ray’s eyebrows. “With pockets as deep as his, I’m surprised it wasn’t for more.”

  “Hey, even with pockets as deep as his, you reach the bottom at some point. Anyway, people get killed for a hell of a lot less every day.”

  The waitress returned with their food. “Here you go. Anything else I can get for you?”

  “We’re good,” Ray said. “Thanks.”

  She left their table, and Waverly dug into his meal. “Man,” he said, smacking his lips, “this is as good as Phyllis’s, and she’s no slouch. Eat up, buddy.”

  “Let me run something by you first. The no-forced-entry issue… Maybe there was no forced entry because it wasn’t necessary. Amy had been drinking. It could be as simple as her having forgotten to lock the door when she got home.”

  “And I suppose you think she won’t jump on that explanation if I bring it up,” Waverly grumbled.

  “What if she does? I’m saying it’s a possibility, that’s all.”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s also possible she killed her husband, or let someone in to do it for her.”

  “Bullshit. I don’t believe she did either. Something’s wrong.”

  “Look,” Waverly said, “she lured her husband home with that email, and he wound up dead. I’d say that’s seriously wrong.” He continued before Ray could object. “And if you’re not going to eat that stew, here’s something else for you to chew on. As business partners, Larry Benedict and Hugh Conley took out million-dollar life insurance policies on each other.”

  “Well, hell… Then Larry Benedict stands to gain a lot more from Hugh Conley’s death than Amy does,” Ray said.

  “Sure, but according to my notes, Larry Benedict was winging his way to Jacksonville at the time of the shooting. All the same, I’m not ruling out his involvement.”

  “You’ve lost me, Dick.”

  “Take a young, good-looking woman like Amy Conley, saddle her with a controlling heel of a husband, and who’s to say the bed-hopping didn’t go both ways? Factor in a bit of wifely revenge and who better to bed down with than the husband’s boss?”

  “Wait a minute. If—”

  Waverly gave Ray a ‘hand hush’. “Think about it, buddy. Teaming up with Benedict to kill her husband would make a lot of sense. Each of them has something to gain. She gets rid of her cheating, abusive husband and, if she gets acquitted, she stands to make a cool quarter ‘mil’ off his life insurance. You’ve gotta agree that’s not bad for starters. And with a windfall of that size, she’d have no trouble staying in that house of hers.

  “Now Benedict…” Waverly continued. “He’s gonna make a million bucks off Hugh Conley’s death, and just maybe he sees Conley’s widow as part of the death benefits. Not too damn shabby.” Waverly waved his fork in the air. “Gotta say, I don’t think the two of them working together is out of the question. Not at all. Nope. Not by a damn sight. I haven’t worked out the details yet, but I’m definitely gonna take a serious look at that possibility.”

  “Tell me something,” Ray said. “How do you sleep at night with crap like that in your head?”

  “Warm milk with a little pat of butter melted on the top usually does the trick.” Waverly loaded another chunk of beef on his fork. “And don’t kid a kidder, buddy. You wouldn’t be as good as you are at this job if you couldn’t see the compost for the petunias the same as I do.”

  Loyalty was a cornerstone of Ray’s character—stubbornness a major facet of his personality, but as difficult as it was to give serious consideration to Waverly’s theory about Amy and Larry Benedict, his years in law enforcement taught him anything was possible.

  “Okay,” he said. “I think you’re wrong, but do what you have to do. Go ahead and check it out.”

  “Not that I need it, but thanks for your blessing.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t interfere,” Ray reminded him.

  “But you’re still involved.”

  “Not involved,” Ray said, “concerned. The three years I spent in Widmer were some of the worst in my life. Unless you’ve got a short memory, you know that; you were around for part of it.”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, it’s Amy who got me through some of the roughest patches.”

  “Uh-huh,” Waverly said in a ‘wink-wink’ tone of voice.

  “Don’t be a jackass,” Ray said. “It had nothing to do with sex.”

  Waverly crooked an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

  “Knock it off, Dick. Amy and I had a casual friendship, nothing more. Each time I walked into the Copper Kettle and spent a few minutes talking with Amy, I felt like a drowning man finding an air pocket. It’s not a great analogy, but it’s the best I can do at the moment.”

  “Yeah, well…maybe you can come up with a better one next time.”

  “Listen, Dick. There were times I felt dangerously close to… Never mind; it doesn’t matter. The point is, Amy doesn’t have a clue how much just talking with her helped me get through the craziness back then. I feel like I owe Amy for that. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s the truth. I’m grateful to her.”

  “And the two of you never got tangled in the sheets together?” Ray stared at him over the rim of his cup without saying a word. “I knew it,” Waverly said, thumping the table with the side of a fist.

  In an instant, Ray’s mind traveled back to Widmer to a time four years earlier when he and Gail were separated. During a moment of deep need and unbearable loneliness, if only for a few minutes, the edges of his and Amy’s friendship had blurred. He still remembered the taste of Amy’s lips, the feel of her soft skin under his hands. It had taken all of his self-control to walk away from her at that critical point, but he’d done it. And he hadn’t looked back…very often.

  “Look, Dick, it was a weird situation,” Ray told him, “…a spontaneous reaction. Mostly it was a really, really bad idea, and we didn’t go through with it.”

&
nbsp; “She came to her senses, eh?” Ray didn’t correct him—didn’t tell him he’d been the one who’d backed off. “Any regrets about that?” Waverly asked.

  “Gail and I were separated, not divorced.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Waverly pointed out.

  Ray paused just long enough to gulp a swallow of coffee. “I’ve never regretted walking away, but if I said I never thought about it, I’d be lying.” He pointed a finger at him. “You never heard that, Dick. Got it?”

  “You need to ask?” Waverly clamped a hand over his heart. “You wound me deeply.”

  “Yeah, right. Anyway, it was a missed opportunity, but the right decision. I’d make the same choice again.”

  “More power to ya, buddy.”

  “Are you saying you’d follow through with it, if you ran into that kind of situation?” Ray asked.

  “Hey, what do you mean ‘if’? I attract my share of female admirers. They may be few and far between, but they do exist.”

  “Point taken,” Ray said, grinning. “So?”

  Waverly tucked a chunk of potato in his cheek. “Hey, when you’re married to a human lie detector like Phyllis, you’ve gotta walk the straight and narrow. I don’t take any chances.”

  Ray laughed, knowing Waverly would sooner shave off his mustache than go sappy about his deep commitment to his wife. He moved on. “About the investigation, Dick…”

  Waverly sighed. “Mind if I keep eating?”

  “Go ahead. Yesterday, when I met up with you at the Conleys’, you talked about how stupid it was that Amy hadn’t used the eight hours she had to try to cover her ass.”

  “Yeah, it sure as hell wasn’t what I’d have expected.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “No damn kidding.”

  “I think someone’s trying to frame her, Dick. All that evidence was meant to be found. I checked before you got here. On Wednesday night, everyone in the place had access to that room in back; it hadn’t been reserved for her friend’s party. Some non-guest could’ve slipped something into her drink—Rohypnol, or Ketamine, GHB maybe.”

  “A date rape drug.”

  “Yeah. Amy left early because she started to feel out of it. If she was drugged rather than drunk, it would explain how she could be oblivious to her husband being murdered only feet away from her later on.”

  “So, you’re suggesting someone drugged her with that in mind.”

  “That would explain why she couldn’t remember anything. It makes perfect sense.”

  “I’d like to jump on that bandwagon with you, buddy, except there’s a problem with that theory. With his dying words, Conley identified her as the shooter. When she aimed that gun and pulled the trigger she definitely wasn’t unconscious.” Waverly went silent for a few seconds, waving his fork in the air like a conductor. “Still…”

  “What?”

  “There is something that’s been bugging me. No prints were found on the Conleys’ computer keyboard; it was wiped clean.”

  Ray’s unused fork landed on his plate with a clatter. “There you go. Amy wouldn’t have any reason to get rid of her prints on her own keyboard. It had to be someone else.”

  Nodding, Waverly picked up another roll. “But to use the computer, the killer had to know the password, which suggests it was Amy Conley. On the other hand,” he said, “one of the techs did find the password on the inside cover of a notebook kept in a drawer right below the computer.”

  “So if the crime scene techs found it that easily, someone else could have, too.”

  “It’s possible,” Waverly admitted.

  “More like probable,” Ray insisted. “This has set-up written all over it. I’ll be surprised if they don’t find Amy’s prints on the gun, too.”

  “They did. I was gonna tell you.”

  “Dick, this whole thing stinks to high heaven.”

  “Chill out, buddy. I’m not denying there’s some wiggle room here, but Hugh Conley identifying his wife as the shooter on that phone message is huge. Tell ya what,” Waverly said, “I’m not ruling anything out yet. I’ll know more when I get the results of her tests back.”

  “What tests?”

  “The tests on her blood and urine samples.”

  “When did you have those done?”

  “Yesterday. Hey, those date rape drugs disappear from the system in practically no time. You didn’t think I’d wait around till it was too late, did you?”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  “Whatd’ya mean? I just did. ”

  “Jackass.”

  “Hey, I promised to be thorough, didn’t I? I’ll let you know what I find out when the results are in.”

  Ray’s cell phone vibrated. He answered and hung up ten seconds later. “I’ve got to go.” He stood and dropped several bills on the table. “Lunch is on me.”

  “Hell, you didn’t even eat.”

  “Have them box mine up and take it home.”

  “Can’t. Phyllis packed up cottage cheese and peaches for me today—in light syrup no less. I don’t dare show up with stew.”

  “Can’t help you there.” Ray pulled his keys from his pocket and asked, “What do you plan to do next?”

  “I’m gonna talk with the staff here, then go have a word with Amy Conley’s friends and neighbors.”

  Ray nodded and turned to leave.

  “Hey. One thing before you go,” Waverly said, stopping him. “This theory of yours we’ve just been kicking around… When it comes to killing Hugh Conley, there’s gotta be about a million easier ways to go about it.” He gave Ray a squint-eyed stare. “Drugging the Conley woman, gaining access to the house, their computer, his gun… Isn’t it a lot easier to argue that Amy Conley killed the schmuck and, as a murderer, she just really sucks?”

  “Easier? Yeah,” Ray said, turning to leave. “But is it true? I doubt it.”

  7

  “I’m sorry,” Amy said again. “I should have called before I came over.”

  Her neighbor, Liz Dunham, waved off the second apology as she had the first. “Stop it. I told you there’s no need to apologize. You know you’re always welcome here.”

  They sat at Liz’s kitchen table. It was after 5:00 PM, but the middle-aged woman was still dressed in her housecoat and slippers. “Let me get you a cup of coffee.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble, Liz.”

  “It’s no trouble, sweetie. It’s still hot and probably not totally toxic yet.” Going to a cupboard, Liz stretched and grabbed a second coffee mug from the middle shelf. Taking a bottle of Hennessy from the kitchen counter, she added a generous splash of brandy to her mug before lifting it toward Amy’s.

  “None for me, Liz.”

  “It couldn’t hurt. It might even help.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Amy rested her head in her hands. “After the preliminary hearing this morning, I thought about drinking until everything faded into a nice, fuzzy blur, but then it dawned on me how much worse it would be facing reality again with a hangover.” As she let her hands drop, she bumped her mug, sloshing coffee across the table. “I’m sorry, Liz. I’m such a klutz.”

  “It’s no big deal.” Liz got a bottle of spray cleaner and a paper towel from her under-sink cabinet.

  Amy stood and reached for the cleaning supplies. “Let me take care of it; it’s my mess.”

  “You sit down and relax.” Liz soaked up the puddle, sprayed the surface and polished the tabletop to a glossy sheen. “There. See? No problem.” She ran a hand through her short, dark hair, revealing the gray roots. “Good lord. Here I am, still in my robe and I haven’t even run a comb through this mess today.”

  “Well,” Amy said, “that’s what days off are for, right? It’s not like you were expecting company; I came by uninvited.”

  “We’re not just neighbors, we’re friends,” Liz said, handing the refilled mug to her. “You don’t need an invitation.”

  Amy’s hands were tre
mbling so badly, she had to set the mug down. “The only people who’ve talked to me since I was released on bond this morning are the reporters. No one else has called or stopped by.” She gave a small, disgusted huff. “It’s obviously not for lack of interest. I could feel people watching me from their windows on my way over here.”

  “You’re imagining things.”

  “No, it’s like people are keeping an eye on me—watching my every move. Everyone’s already decided I’m guilty.”

  “Some people, maybe. I suppose that can’t be helped, but no one who knows you worth a damn could think that. And I doubt anybody is actually watching you.” Liz paused and gave a belated shrug. “Well… except maybe for that Roddinger boy you told me about.” Amy gave her a puzzled look. “You know,” Liz said, “the one who lives across from you—the one you said gives you the creeps.”

  “Oh, you mean Ronald Retzinger. Yeah, I’m sure he was watching.” An involuntary shudder rippled up her spine. Using the back of a hand, she stopped a tear before it could make its way past the corner of her eye. “I haven’t heard from Nicki or Jess yet. Have you talked with them, Liz?”

  “I tried calling a few times, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of either of them. I’m sure there’s a good reason they haven’t been in touch.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. When I didn’t hear from you either, though, I really got worried. I thought all three of you might be distancing yourselves from me.”

  “Hon, I’m sorry. You didn’t answer when I called, so I thought… well, you know…that you were still locked up. I didn’t see you get home.”

  Amy threw her head back and groaned. “Oh, Liz, I’m so stupid. I totally forgot. I unplugged my phone—even turned off my cell. I finally had to. When I left the courthouse, the reporters were all over me. Once I got home; they still wouldn’t let up.”

  “See? It’s no wonder you haven’t heard from anyone. Give it some time for things to settle down.”

  Amy bowed her head. “I…I keep seeing Hugh lying on the floor in his own blood. His eyes were open. The look on his face, Liz… It was horrible. I—”