“That asshole.”
“At least this time it sounds like she’s done taking his shit.”
“We thought that last time. I guess we can hope.”
“The rest is just more of the same. Anyway, I just wanted to get your okay on something while I had the chance.”
“An okay on what?”
“I bumped into Doc Lewis. He asked what he should do with that wrench we found in Kramer’s barn. I told him I’d drop by his office and pick it up when I get a chance. There’s no point in us hanging onto it anymore, is there?”
It felt like unfinished business, but Ray forced himself to let it go. “No, we’ve already done all we can with it.”
“Okay. I probably won’t get around to doing it today, but I’ll run it over to Kramer’s farm and give it to his son.”
“I’m surprised he’s still there.”
“Me, too. It looks like he’s going to hang around until he gets rid of everything that isn’t nailed down. He’s already sold off half of Hank’s herd to other dairy farmers. If he can’t find buyers for the rest, he’ll probably call some livestock outfit to take them off his hands. The way Hank felt about his cows, he’ll be spinning in his grave. Some out-of-town realtor is already handling the property listing. He’s got the farm equipment and tools listed for sale in area papers.”
“Doesn’t he have a job to get back to?”
“I did a little digging. He owns—well, co-owns a construction company—a failing company from the looks of it. I suppose his partner’s holding down the fort until he gets back. That could explain his big rush to sell everything. Once he divvies up the proceeds, his share will probably go toward trying to salvage his business.”
“Makes sense. Go ahead and give him the wrench. Let him sell the damn thing. It’s not doing us any good.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of it. Gotta go, Ray. ’Bye.”
Ray heard, “Officer Schiller?” It was a throaty purr—the kind that got men’s juices flowing. He turned. “Yes,” he said, “and you’re…”
“Dana Danforth.”
There was a brief lull in the office chatter as, around the room, men turned to get a look. He caught Waverly’s eye and waved him over. “You’re a hard woman to track down, Ms. Danforth.”
“Not intentionally.”
Waverly joined them, overhearing their last comments. “I’m Detective Waverly, Ms. Danforth.”
She extended her hand as though she were offering him a gift. “Nice to meet you. Both of you.” Dana draped her coat over an arm. The fit of her black skirt said it was custom tailored. A teal-green, ribbed knit sweater gently hugged every contour.
Karan, Kors, Dolce and Gabbana. The names flitted through Ray’s head. He knew some of the names found on designer labels—he hadn’t been living under a rock—but what he knew or cared about fashion wouldn’t fill a thimble. Regardless, one thing was clear: her clothes hadn’t come from a mainstream department store.
Eyes followed as they went to an interview room.
Waverly opened the door. “In here, Ms. Danforth. Have a seat.”
With the grace of dandelion fluff drifting on a breeze, she lowered herself onto a chair. She laid the coat across her lap, her hands folded on top.
“Would you like me to take that for you?” Waverly asked.
“No, thank you. This is fine.”
Ray watched, transfixed. “Ms. Danforth, we hear you’re a singer. Is that right?”
“What?”
“Were we misinformed?”
“No, but I’d like to know who you’ve been talking to about me.”
Waverly dropped into the chair across from her. “We had some trouble contacting you, so we talked with some of your old co-workers at Logan’s.”
“Logan’s. That hole. That had to be a huge waste of your time.” She paused, seeming to want verification. Getting none, she continued. “What this is all about?”
Damn, why does she look familiar? Ray caught himself staring and turned away. “We’re investigating the murder of Valerie Davis.”
“So why do you want to talk to me?”
“We think you may have some pertinent information.”
“Me?” she said, hand to her chest. “Why?”
“Because of your relationship with Paul Davis.”
“What relationship?”
“You tell us,” Waverly said. “Phone records show he called you the morning of his wife’s murder. A short call, but it’s apparent you know each other.”
She thrust her chin up. “He must’ve misdialed.”
“It doesn’t take a minute and seventeen seconds to realize you’ve reached the wrong number,” Ray said.
Her composure cracking, Dana began to pick at her nail polish.
“We can check to see if he’s made other calls to you,” he said. “Why make us wade through all that red tape?”
Still silent, she turned away.
“I’ve got to tell you,” Ray said, “pointless busy work makes me really cranky.”
“All right. Paul and I are friends. After seeing me perform one night, he took an interest.”
“I’ll bet.”
“In my singing career.”
“Then, you’re saying he’s what? A mentor?”
“A mentor and friend, yes.”
“As a mentor, he must really suck,” Waverly said. “According to our information, you haven’t had a singing engagement since you left Logan’s two years ago.”
“Sometimes it’s smart to move slow—look for the right time—the right opportunity.”
Waverly cut loose with a belly laugh. “You’re in the wrong line of work. You oughta be a comedienne. God knows you’ve got me laughing.”
“Go screw yourself.”
“See? There you go again.” Waverly turned off his smile like a light switch. “The truth is there’s no record of you having a job of any kind these last two years. Time to be straight with us, Ms. Danforth. Under the circumstances, it’s pretty damn odd that you’re living like you do where you do. You can tell us, or maybe the IRS. They might be curious, too.”
She slouched in her chair. “It doesn’t take a genius to know what you’re getting at. The two of you have dirty minds.”
“We’re cops,” Ray said. “It comes with the territory. If Paul Davis isn’t supporting your lifestyle, how’ve you been footing the bills?”
“I saved up while I was working.”
“Get serious. It’s not like you were booked at Caesar’s Palace.”
“Maybe I invested wisely. Maybe I inherited a bundle. What would you know about my finances?”
“I know I can check them out.” Ray sighed. “We’ll find out one way or another. Why not cooperate?”
“Earn your pay. Why should I do your job for you?”
Ray fired back, “Yeah, you already work hard enough, right? I’m sure Paul Davis could vouch for that.”
Dana sat up straight, eyes flashing green fire.
“If Paul Davis goes to prison for killing his wife, your cash flow’s going to dry up, Ms. Danforth, but that could be the least of your problems.”
“What are you getting at?”
I’ve seen her before. Where, damn it? Ray struggled to bring the memory into focus as he continued. “Withholding information suggests you’ve got something to hide.”
“I’m not hiding anything. I had nothing to do with Valerie Davis’s death. Neither did Paul.”
“And you would know because…?”
“Because Paul was with me here in Minneapolis the night she was killed.”
“I’m guessing it’s safe to assume it had nothing to do with your singing career,” Ray taunted.
“All right, Paul and I are lovers. What of it?”
Finally. “Then maybe you’re covering for him by giving him an alibi. Why should I believe you?”
Her knuckles whitened. “Because it’s true. He had nothing to do with his wife’s death. Paul’s a respecta
ble businessman.”
“And a player.”
“At one time maybe, not anymore—not since we’ve been together.”
“And how long would that be?” Waverly asked.
“Since just before I quit my last singing job.”
“If it’s true, why didn’t you come forward with this alibi sooner?” Ray asked. “Why didn’t he?”
“You’re kidding, right? If you’ve been doing your homework, you already know Chet Stockton’s thinking of climbing off his throne soon. When that happens, the presidency of ACC will be up for grabs. Paul’s more afraid of losing his chance at that than he is of dodging charges in his wife’s murder. Go figure.”
Ray shook his head in disgust.
She leaned forward in a phony between-you-and-me pose. “It’s a gamble Paul’s willing to take. He didn’t kill Valerie so he’s wagering you’ll catch whoever did, and he’ll be in the clear. Letting you in on our relationship, though? No way.” Dana brought a hand up to cover her lush lips. “You won’t go public with this, will you? When Paul finds out I told you…”
Waverly studied her from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “I’m not making any promises, but we’ll try to avoid it.”
“Thank God.” Smiling, Dana tilted her head and flipped her strawberry-blonde hair over one shoulder.
The pose triggered Ray’s memory; he knew where he’d seen her face. “How well do you know Nick Vincent?”
Her expression soured. “Who says I do?”
“He carries a picture of you in his wallet.”
“Does he?” she asked. “How would you know?”
As obviously surprised by the revelation as Dana, Waverly waited for the explanation.
“Before we locked him up, Nick had to turn his belongings over for safekeeping. Your photo fell out of his wallet.”
She looked at him with doe-eyed innocence “Nick’s in jail? For what?”
“He’s got a real short fuse,” Ray said, pointing to the fresh bruise on his left cheekbone. “It’s obvious you know each other. I want to know how well.”
“It’s no big deal. Nick bartended at Logan’s when I worked there.”
“No relationship with him beyond that?”
“None.”
“Then what’s he doing with your picture?”
“I had some promotional shots done. The proofs were crap. He wanted one anyway, and I gave it to him. I’d forgotten about it.”
“And he’s still carrying that photo around in his wallet. Why? That’s got to mean something.”
“It means he needs to clean out his wallet.” Dana stood. “This is taking too much of my time. Unless you’re arresting me for something, I’m leaving.”
“That’s your right,” Ray said, “but we have a few more questions. We’d appreciate it if you’d stick around a little longer.”
“I can’t. Sorry.” Dana sashayed to the door, waiting for one of them to open it for her. Neither of them did.
“We’ll need a number where we can reach you,” Waverly said.
“Can’t help you, Detective. You’ve already got my number.”
Ray nodded. In more ways than one.
She let herself out of the interview room, swinging the coat across her shoulders like a cape. They followed, watching as she took the most direct route to the exit.
Lovell Paige strolled up. “Waverly, my man. Ray, how’s it going?” He made no secret of watching Danforth until she was out of sight. “Guys, a committee has elected me to get a name. Lay it on me. Who’s the babe?”
“Her name’s Dana Danforth,” Ray told him.
“She have something to do with your case?”
“Yeah. The question is what?”
Paige grinned. “You guys ever need surveillance on that chick, I’m your man. The department won’t even have to pay me.”
“Steer clear,” Ray told him. “She’s poison.”
“Tell you what, Lovell,” Waverly said, “you go wash your mind out with soap, then run along and tell Burke and the rest of that committee of yours to roll their tongues back up into their heads.”
Paige turned and headed away. “You know, Waverly, you got a real knack for sucking the fun out of our jollies.”
“Zero calories,” Waverly called after him. “I’m allowed.”
Ray started toward the door. “Are you coming?”
“Where are we going?” Waverly asked, catching up.
“Back to Nick Vincent’s apartment building. Someone there has to have some useful information on him.”
“In that neighborhood? Odds are half the residents know something, but getting it out of them…?”
“Yeah, I know. A long shot. But with only an anonymous tip to go on, it’ll be a tough sell getting a search warrant for his place.”
“No kiddin’. Hey,” Waverly said, “how about detouring through a drive-thru on the way?”
“Can’t that wait?”
“Have a heart. Half a grapefruit, a poached egg and a piece of dry toast. That’s what I got for breakfast this morning. My wife’s become a food Nazi. If I don’t supplement what Phyllis feeds me, I’ll wind up looking like Fitzhugh.”
“Which one’s he?”
“You’ve seen him. He’s the guy who looks like a good fart would launch him off the ground like a jet pack.”
Ray laughed aloud. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. It felt good. “A quick stop won’t hurt, I guess. Are you about to pass out from hunger or do you think we can discuss Dana Danforth’s story on the way?”
“Trust me, for that, I’ll find the strength.”
25
Dana flung her coat on the couch. In a fit of anger, she took her high heels off and threw them across the room. A lamp took the hit, teetered and fell to the floor. For a moment, a freshly lit cigarette soothed her nerves. Paul’s gonna pitch a fit. Well, screw him. She decided it was only a matter of time before the cops found out about their relationship anyhow. As it was, she’d been surprised the secrecy surrounding their affair lasted as long as it had.
Dana took another drag of her cigarette, smiling at a happier thought. Nick, still enamored and deluded, didn’t have a clue she’d crossed him. He was still playing by her rules. He hadn’t contacted her by phone or in person since Valerie’s death—not even after his arrest. If he suspected she’d had a hand in singling him out, he’d have cracked like a peanut shell. Instead, he’d kept her out of it—hadn’t even risked drawing attention to her by calling her to bail him out. The thought of his devotion almost brought a tear to her eye.
Almost.
That they’d arrested him for assault rather than murder told her they didn’t have enough to charge him—yet. The loser wouldn’t even be behind bars if he hadn’t lost his temper and thrown a punch at that cop. Dana smiled. Nick’s naiveté was working to her advantage. As long as he was in the dark about being double-crossed, he wasn’t likely to turn on her. Ah, love.
Dana lit a second cigarette off the stub of the first before picking up the phone. She punched in the number of Paul’s private line.
“Hello.”
“Paul, it’s me.”
“I told you not to call,” he said. “I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t,” she said in a rush. “There’s something you need to know.”
“Make it fast.”
“The cops know about us.” The silence on the other end of the line grew more ominous with each passing moment. “Paul? Are you still there?”
“What the hell did you do, Dana?”
“Nothing. I—”
“Give me some time to reschedule a meeting. I’m coming over.”
There was no goodbye, just a click and the sound of dead silence.
Paul let himself in with his key and walked through Dana’s front door thirty minutes later.
Approaching with arms extended, Dana went to embrace him. “Paul, I’ve missed you so much.”
He walked past, brushing her aside. “W
hat have you done? How did the police find out about us?”
“Paul, I didn’t do anything. They tracked me down and insisted on interviewing me.”
“Why? You had to have done something for them to have made the connection between us.”
“It had to be me, right? Well, lover, this time the credit’s all yours.”
“Not likely.”
“It’s a fact.” She glared at him. “That call you made from Widmer led them straight to me. Phone records, Paul.”
“Oh, Christ. What did you tell them?”
“I denied that we’re involved, but they weren’t buying it. It made more sense to admit it and try to salvage the situation.”
“And how did you do that?”
“I told them we were here together the night Valerie was killed.” The veins stood out on his brow. “Don’t you look at me that way, Paul. You ought to be kissing my feet. You needed an alibi, and I gave it to you.”
“Are you deaf or just plain stupid, Dana? How many times have I explained it to you? I told you to let me handle this my way. The last thing I need right now is for our names to be linked.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. They don’t plan to go public with the information.”
“They don’t plan on it? Is that supposed to be reassuring?” he asked. “My God.”
“I did the best I could. It’s your fault they put it together anyway. If you hadn’t run off to see your wife and then called me from Widmer the next day—”
“Let’s not go there, Dana.”
“Fine. Just keep it in mind, because all things considered, I think I did pretty well picking up the pieces.” Her tone softened. “Besides, I don’t want to argue, Paul. I’ve missed you.” She started toward him.
He moved away. “I’ve got to get back to the office before Chet starts to wonder where I’ve gone.”
“Chet again. Do you have any idea how sick I am of always coming in second to him?”
“At this point, do you honestly think I care?” With that, Paul turned and left.
Dear Crossing (The Ray Schiller Series) Page 14