Dear Crossing (The Ray Schiller Series)

by Doering, Marjorie

  Davis shifted in his seat. “Frankly, I hadn’t planned on coming to Widmer at all this weekend. I was obligated to attend a retirement party for a longtime ACC ad executive. A black-tie affair. Valerie hated those events. She joked about ACC’s retirement parties—about how they didn’t really drag on forever—that they just felt that way. She had me make her excuses to her father and drove here to our summer house that morning. She doesn’t…didn’t like driving at night.”

  Woody nodded. “So she drove up alone.”

  “Yes. She wanted to get a start on sprucing the house up for the summer.”

  “Last year,” Ray said, “your wife seemed to spend a lot of weekends here by herself.”

  “My schedule often forces me to stay in the Cities. Occasionally, Valerie would stay there with me. Frequently, she chose to come to the summer house to relax by herself.”

  “So, what changed your mind this weekend?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “About joining your wife Friday night. What made you decide to do that?”

  “It was just an impulse.”

  “It’s a long drive. That must have been some impulse.”

  “Is there anything wrong with that, Officer Schiller?”

  “No, but I was just wondering…Maybe you’d begun to question how your wife was occupying her time up here alone all those weekends. Maybe you decided to find out for yourself—decided to check up on her.”

  Davis sprang to his feet. “You have no right to suggest that she was—”

  “I’m not saying anything was going on, but if there was some doubt in your mind, it might explain your sudden urge to show up unexpectedly. Frankly, Mr. Davis, if your wife was involved with someone else, we’d have another source of information. Maybe another suspect.”

  “Another suspect? You’re saying you think I killed Valerie?”

  Woody intervened. “We have to touch all the bases, Mr. Davis. We know this is very difficult for you, but the sooner we sort through all of this—”

  Davis pointed at Ray. “He has no right to imply that my wife…To suggest that Valerie would ever…” He dropped back into his chair. “He has no right to talk that way.”

  Woody turned to Ray, his expression conveying a silent command to back off. He took over Ray’s line of questioning himself. “Had there been any trouble between you and your wife?”

  “Whatever troubles we had, Chief Newell, it would never have come to this. I would never harm Valerie let alone kill her.”

  “What about having her killed?” Ray said. “Might you have done that?”

  “You bastard.” Davis rose again, noticeably unsteady. “I won’t put up with any more of this. If I’m under arrest, tell me now, otherwise I’m leaving.”

  Woody stepped from behind his desk. “Ray, leave the office for a minute.”

  Jaws clenched, Ray walked out, shutting the door a few decibels shy of a slam.

  Davis glared at Woody. “Am I under arrest?”

  “No, sir, you’re not. I can only imagine what you’re going through, but try to understand that, as difficult as this is for you, your goal and ours is the same. We want to find the person responsible for your wife’s death.”

  Head bowed, Paul Davis leaned on the chair. “I can’t believe this is happening. What am I going to do without her? Friday night I drove from Minneapolis just to see her—to talk with her.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  Davis seated himself again. “Months ago, Valerie’s father announced his intention to retire in June. On Friday night at Keeling’s retirement party, without warning, Chet blindsided me by rescinding his plans.”

  The door opened. Ray stood on the other side, waiting to be allowed back inside. Woody waved him in.

  Taking no notice, Davis continued. “It’s not the first time Chet’s snatched the brass ring out of my hands.”

  “So you came to enlist your wife’s help?” Woody asked.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. From time to time, her father and I squabbled over business differences. Valerie acted as my sounding board. She refused to take sides, but she was always willing to listen. Just talking things over with her helped me sort everything through.”

  Ray had no trouble picking up on the conversation. “So, you’re next in line for the presidency of your father-in-law’s company?”

  “The final decision belongs to the stockholders and the Board of Directors, but it’s no secret that Chet’s been grooming me to succeed him. His backing will virtually guarantee my election.”

  “Then you have his full support?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How long were you and Valerie married?”

  “Twenty-two years.”

  “I’m impressed,” Ray said. “Being married to the boss’s daughter is a two-edged sword. Most men can’t handle it. Displease the wife—displease the father-in-law. That’s quite a juggling act.” He cocked his head. “Over twenty-two years, you must’ve dropped the balls once in a while.”

  “Meaning what? What are you insinuating?” Davis spoke to Woody although his eyes never left Ray. “I’ve had enough of this. Stop wasting your time on me, Chief Newell. I had nothing to do with killing my wife.” He stood and stormed from the office.

  Woody followed him to the station door. “Are you all right to drive?”

  “Leave me alone. I’m fine.”

  “Again, I’m very sorry about your wife. We’ll be in touch when—”

  Davis started down the steps. “Excuse me. I have arrangements to make.”

  Ray walked up behind Woody as Paul Davis got into his car. “Why are you letting him leave?”

  “I don’t see that I have a choice.” Woody pivoted to face him. “Come back into my office.”

  The window rattled in its frame as Woody slammed the door behind them. His tone was as unmistakable as the rising color in his face. “What the hell was the big idea?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why were you purposely antagonizing him?” Ray opened his mouth to answer, but Woody hadn’t finished. “Paul Davis just learned that his wife is dead. Not a nice, easy kind of dead either. It was nasty. Real nasty. And you go on an all-out attack. Damn it, Ray, what the hell were you doing?”

  “I was getting answers.”

  “Yeah, sure. Good cop/bad cop? That got us more resentment than information. No one could blame the man for bolting.”

  “That man may be nothing but a murdering bastard. He put on a good performance, though. I’ll say that for him.”

  “What makes you think it was a performance?”

  “You mean you swallowed all that bullshit?”

  “I believed him up to a point.”

  “What point is that?”

  “Don’t test me, Ray. I had you in here with me because I know where the strengths of this department lie. Pull with me or pull out.”

  Ray knew it was time to back down. He held the palms of his hands outward in false surrender. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  On the desk, a sheet of paper fluttered under the force of Woody’s sigh. “I think Davis’s reactions are the real deal. But—and this is a problem for me—he says his wife was asleep when he left Saturday morning.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Yeah. I can’t see how that would’ve been possible—not with Barton at work with his axe and chainsaw outside their bedroom window. No one sleeps through that kind of racket.”

  “Exactly. Stupid thing to lie about, though.”

  In a pitted portion of his desk, Woody tapped out a quick staccato rhythm with the worn point of a pencil. “If he’s lying, we need to find out why.”

  Ray nodded. “I’ll check his story out at the café. Maybe Amy Dexter or one of the others will remember whether or not he was even there yesterday morning.”

  “Do that.” Woody took a swig of cold coffee and grimaced. “If he’s hiding something, we need to find out what it is.”

  “Damn right
we do. I’m on it.”

  4

  Sitting in his squad car, Ray bashed the steering wheel with the heels of his hands. He knew the dressing down Woody had given him over the interview with Davis was deserved. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.

  Neil Lloyd opened the passenger door and leaned inside. “Where are you headed?”

  “The Copper Kettle.”

  “Lunch or business?”

  “Business. Why?”

  Neil slid into the passenger’s seat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going along to observe.”

  “Who? Amy Dexter? Do it on your own time, kid.”

  “I do, every chance I get. But today it’s you I want to observe.”

  “Why? Does the head honcho want me under surveillance or something?”

  “I thought I might learn something by watching you.”

  “Some other time, kid. Go on, beat it.” He jerked a thumb toward Neil’s door. “Out.”

  The rookie didn’t budge. “Everything on your terms, right?”

  “Don’t get your shorts in a knot. It’s been a rough day, you know?”

  “Heck, no,” Neil said. “Are you kidding? Why hell, it’s just been a picnic for me.”

  Neil’s sarcasm caught Ray off guard. “Hey, kid, I—”

  “It’s not kid, it’s Neil.”

  “I always call you ‘kid.’”

  “No shit. Like I said, my name’s Neil.”

  “All right. Get out…Neil.”

  “You want to be a lone wolf? Go ahead. I’m tired of busting my butt where you’re concerned.”

  “Who asked you to? Look, it’s nothing personal.”

  “And that makes it all right?”

  “What’s with the attitude?”

  “I’m a cop, Ray—not as good as you yet, but a cop all the same. I’m fed up with you treating me like something you scrape off the sole of your shoe.”

  Ray stared at him for a second. “Geezus. I didn’t take you for the temperamental type.”

  Neil’s face reddened. “Son of a bitch. Okay, you go ahead and take on the world all by yourself, but that leaves you slightly outnumbered.”

  “Can’t argue that, but I kind of lost faith in the buddy system. It doesn’t work for me anymore.”

  “Forget it. I’ll tell you this much, though. For a guy who’s got his eye on the Chief’s job, you’ve got one shitty attitude. In another five or ten years you’ll be no farther ahead than you are now—probably in some other city or town, maybe even raking in payoffs or something because it’s all about you—the hell with everybody else.” Neil ignored the hard set of Ray’s jaw and the vein throbbing in his temple.

  “Shit. You figure just because your wife handed you a tough break, you’ve got an excuse to act like a jerk. Okay, so our local hardware store Handy Andy is nailing your wife somewhere between the socket sets and tub caulk. Big damn deal. It’s happened before to better men than you. Don’t take it out on me.”

  Stepping outside, Ray rounded the front of the car to the passenger’s side and grabbed Neil by the lapels of his jacket.

  “Hey, let go.”

  Ray dragged him out and hurled a fist into his face. Neil hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Latching onto his jacket again, he straddled the rookie and cocked his fist back for another blow.

  Neil threw his hands in front of his face. “All right. All right.”

  Yanking him to his feet, Ray flung him backward against the squad car, holding him in place with a forearm pressed against his chest. “Don’t you ever call me a dirty cop. Not ever.” He held fast to the front of Neil’s jacket.

  “C’mon, let go.”

  Ray slammed him against the car again. “And in case you ever want to talk about my wife again—don’t. Got that?”

  Neil wiped blood from his lips with the back of his hand. “Yeah, okay, I got it.”

  In a single motion, Ray picked Neil’s cap off the ground and flung it in his face. “Now, get out of here.”

  “Hey, Ray,” Neil said, watching him get back into his patrol car, “I’m sorry. I mean it.”

  Jaws still clenched, Ray gave Neil a grudging nod and started the engine. Thoughts of Amy Dexter diluted Ray’s residual anger. The prospect of seeing a friendly face felt nearly as important in that moment as verifying or disproving Paul Davis’s story.

  A simple stop for coffee at the Copper Kettle Saturday morning—it was a minor detail, but if Davis was caught in a lie…

  Ray accelerated through an amber traffic light.

  Woody stood just inside the doorway of the station, looking Neil over as he dusted off his cap and came up the steps. “What happened to you?”

  “I fell.” Neil tried to step around him, but Woody caught him by the arm.

  “I guess that couldn’t be called a lie exactly, but since it’s your mouth that’s bleeding and your backside that’s dirty, I’d say more than a shouting match was going on between you and Ray outside my office just now.”

  Neil brushed off the back of his pants, refusing to meet Woody’s eyes.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Neil.”

  “It’s nothing, Chief. It’s okay.”

  Woody pointed at Neil’s swelling lip. “A fellow officer hauls off and belts you in the mouth and you’re telling me it’s okay?”

  “It is. Really, Chief. Things are straightened out.”

  “It’s Ray who needs straightening out. I’ve had it with him.” Woody headed back to his office. “He gets hauled in on a drunk and disorderly…Crap. We haven’t even dealt with that yet. Then the Davis interview. Now this. I’m done with Ray’s bullshit. It might take a while to get the job done, but he’s history.”

  Neil stepped in front of him. “You can’t do that.”

  “Watch me.” He stepped around the rookie.

  “Chief, it wasn’t his fault. Not this time.”

  Woody dropped into his chair like a lead weight. “You’ve covered for him from the start. You’ve downplayed his infractions and taken all his shit. Let Ray take his lumps for a change.”

  “Chief, I had it coming.”

  The comment brought Woody out of his seat. “You know, sometimes that Pollyanna attitude of yours annoys me about as much as Ray’s going for asshole of the year. Don’t you ever just want to beat the crap out of him?” Woody crossed his arms. “I’m not suggesting you try, but I’m curious.”

  Neil responded with a one-shoulder shrug. “I inflicted some damage out there, too.”

  A look of hope sprang to Woody’s face. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. When I stuck my jaw in front of his fist, it must’ve hurt like hell.”

  Woody threw his hands in the air. “Joke all you like, but Ray just put his butt in a sling.”

  “Chief, I made some really stupid cracks.”

  “Like what?”

  Neil lowered his head. “I’d rather not say.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice.”

  Neil shifted from one foot to the other. “I…I made some remarks about Ray’s wife and Mark Haney.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I shouldn’t have shot my mouth off, but I was so damn pissed I even made a stupid crack about him becoming a dirty cop someday.”

  Woody interlocked his fingers over his head as if he were trying to keep his skull from exploding. “Holy shit, Neil.”

  “I didn’t mean it, but—”

  “The guy helped send his own father to prison for corrup… Damn it.” He jabbed a finger into the rookie’s chest. “That information is not to leave this office. Understand?”

  “Ray’s father was a crooked cop?”

  “Toward the end. If it hadn’t been for Ray’s records from Chicago, I wouldn’t know about it either. My father never let it slip.” He poked a finger into Neil’s chest again. “Keep it to yourself. That was meant to be strictly confidential.”

  “Not a word, I swear.” Neil touched his swollen lip
and winced. “Ray really sent his own father to prison?”

  “He turned him in.”

  “But—”

  “Go on. Get back to work. I’ve already said way more than I should have.”

  Neil turned toward the door.

  “Hey…” Woody said.

  “Yeah, Chief?”

  “I can’t get into it, but Ray had his reasons for doing what he did. It cost him personally and professionally. The man was his father, but to the other men on his force, his father, right or wrong, was a cop. They had it in for Ray. There were even some who bought into that �fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree’ bullshit. Ray’s record and commendations didn’t count for anything after that.”

  Neil ran his tongue over his swollen lip. “No wonder he wanted to knock my head off.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t. Keep one thing in mind, Neil: Ray doesn’t need your sympathy; he already feels sorry enough for himself. Just don’t be too quick to judge him.”

  “Never crossed my mind.” The rookie closed the door behind him.

  “Damn boy scout.” Woody knew the information would be safe with Neil. It galled him to know it would be less about keeping his word than hero worship. “Some hero,” he scoffed. Ray was a bull in a china shop—a thorn in his side, but he was experienced and capable. He needed him.

  5

  Amy Dexter was busy scrubbing at a coffee spill on her red-and-white checkered apron when Ray stepped inside the Copper Kettle Café. The brass bell jingled over the door, turning the heads of several supper customers, but Amy didn’t look up. Even from his seat at the counter, Ray could see the spot wasn’t coming out.

  In defeat, she flicked a hand through her dark, pixie-cut hair and flung the damp towel into a corner behind the counter.�She snatched up a menu, placemat and utensils in one hand while pouring a glass of water with the other. As though directed by radar, she walked to where he sat and set the menu and other accoutrements in front of him before looking up. Her sparkling hazel eyes widened. “Ray. Hey, I haven’t seen you in over a week. I thought you started taking your business elsewhere.”

  “Why would I? The best service in town is right here.”