“Someone at Logan’s told me she gave one to everybody who worked there.” He hoped Nick would take it as an easy out.
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe that was it. Like I said, I can’t remember.”
Ray tried another approach. “If the two of you have no personal connection, why do you carry her picture with you?”
“Babes. Other chicks see a photo like that in your wallet and they fall all over themselves trying to show up the competition. I don’t get it, but it works. Try it sometime.”
Ray shook his head in disgust. “I’m done here, Dick. What about you?”
“For now, I guess.” To Nick, Waverly said, “Ms. Danforth will be flattered to hear you’re using her photo as date bait. Then again, maybe not.”
Nick didn’t seem to hear him. It looked like he had something much more important on his mind.
Waverly and Ray excused themselves and stepped out of the room.
Ray started with an open-ended “Well?”
“McDonnell’s right. We’ve got circumstantial evidence up the wazoo, but it might not be enough.”
“You’re not suggesting we let him go.”
“Hell, no,” Waverly said. “I’m saying we hold off—try to give forensics some time to come up with something more concrete.”
“His assault hearing is tomorrow morning,” Ray said. “A decent judgment might give us that.”
“Maybe, but don’t count on it.”
“The guy’s a definite flight risk,” Ray pointed out. “Crummy job. Crummy apartment. Nothing worth sticking around for. How do you want to play this?”
“Best case scenario…Nick gets jail time, we get a grace period, and forensics comes up with enough for a murder conviction.”
“And if Nick walks?”
“Before he gets out of the courthouse, we slap the cuffs on him, hold him on suspicion of murder and transfer him back to Widmer’s jurisdiction.”
“The county jail.” Ray said, under his breath. “That could be a crap shoot, too. The County Attorney will only have forty-eight hours to either charge him or let him go.”
“Like you said, a crap shoot,” Waverly agreed. “Forensics better turn up some hard evidence in a hurry.” He gave his waistband another tug. “We got a plan then?”
“Yeah,” Ray said. “Not a great one, but it’s all we’ve got.”
28
Several hours later Ray’s cell phone demanded his attention. A quick glance told him it was Woody. Battling the dread in the pit of his stomach, he answered, needing to know what had happened to Neil.
Ray bypassed the formalities. “What did you find out?”
“I just left the hospital,” Woody said. “It looks like the woman’s going to make it.”
“Good. Were you able to talk to her?”
“Yeah.” Anger colored Woody’s reply. “It was a totally, stupid, avoidable accident. Her husband turned to watch an eagle feeding in a field across the way. Their SUV ran off the pavement. The way she described it, her husband over-corrected. He veered into the other lane, and…”
“And hit Neil,” Ray finished for him.
“It must’ve happened so fast that he didn’t see it coming or had no time to react. There’s no indication that he swerved or hit the brakes. The SUV’s tracks confirm the woman’s account.”
Ray didn’t respond.
“Neil died instantly, Ray. Must have. I don’t think he suffered.”
“That’s something, I suppose.”
Neither of them spoke for what seemed like minutes.
“You’re not going to want to hear this,” Woody said, breaking the silence at last, “but I need you back in Widmer.”
“When? For how long?”
“Like yesterday. We were already shorthanded when I sent you to Minneapolis. An hour ago Rodgers called in. He fell off a ladder at home and broke a leg. With Neil and Rodgers out now, too, I need you here. Calls are up. Manpower’s down.”
“What about getting temporary backup?”
“I tried that. Things are tight all over; no one’s falling all over themselves to share personnel right now. I’m working on it. In the meantime, I need you here until I can work things out.”
“How long will that take?”
“With any luck, a couple of days, hopefully not more than three or four, but that’s a guess, not a promise.” Woody dug his heels in a little deeper. “You say this Waverly guy you’re working with is good. Let him hold down the fort until you get back. You’ll just have to communicate by long distance until this gets sorted out.”
It was an argument Ray couldn’t win and had sense enough to concede. “I can’t leave right away. I’ve got to be in court tomorrow.” Failing to mention he’d be done early was fudging it, but he needed a few more hours to do one last thing before leaving. “It might be late afternoon before I make it back,” he told Woody.
“Okay, tomorrow afternoon then,” he said. “When we hang up, I’ll contact Captain Roth to explain the situation. I wanted to tell you first.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“See you tomorrow, Ray.”
He jammed the cell phone back in his pocket and found Waverly having a laugh with two other detectives. He pulled him aside. “There’s a problem.”
“Whose? Yours, mine or both?”
“I’m being called back to Widmer.”
“Whoa. When?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Aw, crap.” Waverly tipped his head back to access the button under his double chin. He undid it, grumbling, “How soon can you make it back here?”
“We’re talking days, minimum.”
“What?” Waverly looked around the room. “Okay, where’s the hidden camera?”
“Yeah, don’t I wish. We’re down another man in Widmer—a broken leg. Replacements are slow in coming.”
“No way to get around it?”
“If there was, I’d be all over it. This really sucks.”
“Easy, buddy. Getting personally involved in a case is a no-no, but hey, it’s happened to me, too. Just throttle back. It’s crappy, but you’ll survive.”
“I don’t like leaving you holding the bag.”
Waverly slid the knot on his blue-and-white striped tie down another inch. “I’ll muddle through until you get back.”
“Dick, is there any chance we can get the Danforth woman here for another interview before I leave? I want one more shot at her before I go.”
Roth stuck his head out his office door. “Waverly, Paige, Schiller…in my office.”
From across the room, Paige looked up and followed them inside.
“What’s up, Captain?” Paige asked.
In typical fashion, Roth didn’t mince words. “I just got off the phone with Chief Newell in Widmer. Tomorrow, Schiller’s heading leaving for an undetermined amount of time. Paige, you’re taking his place working with Waverly until he gets back. Either of you have a problem with that? No? Good.” He turned to Ray. “Schiller, try to get back soon. Paige, put what you can on hold. Waverly, you bring him up to speed. Any questions?” He waited two seconds. “All right, then get out of here and get back to work.”
Lovell Paige wheeled around as they filed out of the office. “What the hell? You’re leaving, Schiller?”
“With any luck it’ll only be for a few days,” Ray told him.
“Good. Any longer with Waverly might be too big a strain on my delicate constitution,” he joked.
Waverly clamped a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “I love you, too, Lovell. Just to show you how much, how’d you like to get Dana Danforth back here for another interview tomorrow?”
A smile lit up his face. “You talking about that sexy number you had in here yesterday?”
“That’s her,” Ray said. “She’s not easy to pin down.”
“Ray and I have to be in court in the morning,” Waverly told Paige. “Gotta work around that. You wanna take a crack at it?”
“No prob,” Paig
e said. “Consider it done.”
29
Lovell Paige had managed to get Dana Danforth to agree to another interview. The next day, the prospect of having another opportunity to question her was the only bright spot in an otherwise dismal day for Ray. He and Waverly cringed as the judge gave Nick Vincent a $750 fine, a year of probation and a mandatory course in anger management.
Anger management, Ray mused. Nick Vincent could have used it when he and Waverly had put Plan B into motion. Nick strung together an impressive list of Class A profanities as they snapped the cuffs on him and had him transferred to Widmer’s county jail. They realized the forty-eight hour reprieve might not be nearly enough time to convince the county attorney to prosecute him on the basis of what they had, but it was the best they could do.
They spent the rest of the afternoon filling Paige in on the investigation while checking and rechecking every detail that might advance the case. None did.
As admitted lovers, contacts between Danforth and Davis, both in person and by phone, were to be expected. They couldn’t find any evidence of communication between Paul Davis and Nick Vincent. And despite the high-end goodies found in Nick’s apartment, there was no evidence any money had ever changed hands between them. The expensive items, conspicuous in their shabby surroundings, were the likely result of criminal activity not yet attributed to him.
Late in the afternoon, Dana Danforth sat in the interview room, looking more annoyed than worried. With her thick mane of hair loosely arranged at the crown of her head, wavy tendrils dangled along her neck and temples, a study in casual chic. “This is a waste of time,” she insisted. “I already answered these questions. I told you Paul was with me the night his wife was killed.”
“The two of you may have been together,” Ray said, “but not in Minneapolis.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You and he went to Widmer together that Saturday night, didn’t you?”
“You’re crazy.”
“You say you’ve been together for two years,” Ray said. “You don’t strike me as the type of woman who settles for second billing. Not for long anyway.”
“What do you call two frickin’ years?”
“That’s my point. You had to be sick of it, especially with no end to the wait in sight. Most cheaters have no intention of leaving their wives. They’ve got too much to lose—money, property, their kids. In Paul Davis’s case, he’s got the presidency of ACC and his entire career to consider.”
Dana casually removed a watch link from a loop of her raspberry-red, alpaca turtleneck. “Once Chet Stockton steps aside that will change.”
“But no one knows how much longer that’ll take—you included.” Ray’s eyes lingered on the slim legs jutting beneath the hem of her short, linen skirt, and forced himself to turn away. “I imagine you were at the end of your patience, isn’t that right?”
She glared at him in silence.
“Even if Davis wanted to leave his wife, he didn’t dare. The two of you coming up with a plan to get her out of the way isn’t much of a stretch.”
“Neither of us had anything to do with it.”
“I’m more inclined to believe in his innocence than yours. He’s spent a lifetime getting where he is. It’s not likely he’d throw everything away for you. You, on the other hand, had a lot to gain by getting his wife out of the picture, but not much on the downside…unless you consider a murder conviction a negative thing.”
“Fuck you.”
Waverly tsked. “Is that the same mouth Paul Davis kisses?”
“Fuck you, too.”
Waverly smiled. “Did you act alone?”
She sprang from her chair. “I don’t have to listen to anymore of this. I’m out of here.”
Legally, she couldn’t be forced to stay, but Ray said, “Sit down. We’re not done here.”
Dana lowered herself into the chair.
“Tell us what happened—the truth this time.”
“Go to hell.” Her tone held less conviction than before. “I was here in Minneapolis when Paul’s wife was killed. Ask him.”
“Two suspects—each of them providing an alibi for the other. Somehow I don’t find that convincing.”
She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at a dry eye. “Neither of us had anything to do with it. It was Nick.”
Ray and Waverly glanced at one another, a mixture of skepticism and anticipation on their faces. A hush fell over the room.
“Nick,” Ray repeated. “The man you claimed yesterday to barely know.”
“I was scared. I lied.”
“Scared of what?”
She looked from Ray to Waverly. “Of Nick. You don’t know him like I do.”
“Keep going. We’re listening,” Waverly told her.
“From the day I started at Logan’s, he pestered me to go out with him. Giving in turned out to be an even bigger mistake than I expected. Later on, I met Paul. We started seeing each other, and I could see the possibility of it becoming long term, maybe even permanent. I tried to end the thing with Nick…more than once.” She brought the tissue to her eyes again and gestured toward Ray’s bruised cheek. “You’ve seen what Nick’s temper is like.”
“You’re saying Nick hurt you?” Ray asked.
“No, but I thought he might. I didn’t dare push my luck.”
“How does Valerie Davis figure into this?” Waverly asked.
“Nick got wind of my relationship with Paul—knew who he was—knew he was worth a fortune. He talked about blackmailing him over our affair.”
“So, that’s where Davis’s wife came in?” Waverly asked.
“Yes, initially,” she said. “His blackmail scheme would’ve ended my relationship with Paul. I didn’t want that, so I started giving Nick cash when I could, hoping he’d settle for that. It was way less cash than he wanted, but at least he couldn’t be prosecuted for it.”
“And your payoff?” Paige asked.
“I’m still with Paul.”
“And Davis?” Waverly asked.
“Ignorance is bliss.”
“What about his money?”
“What about it? Technically,” she said, “the money I gave Nick was mine; Paul had given it to me.”
Waverly muttered, “Yeah. All on the up-and-up, right? So, what happened?”
“Nick got greedier. He wanted more money more often.”
“Okay,” Ray prompted, “I still don’t understand how Valerie Davis’s death figures into this.”
“He came up with a new plan. He realized that as Mrs. Davis I’d have easy access to larger amounts of money. He decided that getting rid of Valerie would speed up the transition.”
“That had to sound pretty good to you, too,” Ray said. “Maybe it was even your idea.”
“Bastard.”
Ray stood over her. “You did nothing to stop him.”
“What could I do?”
“You could’ve come forward.”
“I did…but it was too late. After I heard what happened to Valerie, I called the police in Widmer. I spoke with a Chief Newsome.”
“Newell?” Ray suggested.
“Yes, that’s it. Chief Newell.”
“The anonymous call,” Ray muttered under his breath. “Shit.”
“I couldn’t give my name,” Dana said. “If Nick found out I made that call—”
“Then you never saw him leave the Davis property on his bike that night,” Ray said.
“No. But I know his plate number.”
Ray shook his head. “You lied about all of it.”
“What difference does it make? Nick did it. How else could I make sure he got caught?” Her lower lip jutted forward in a transparent pout. “I wouldn’t be telling you any of this now if I didn’t know he locked up. He’d come after me if he found out I talked.”
They avoided Dana’s eyes.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nick’s cou
rt hearing was this morning,” Ray told her.
Eyes wide, she said, “You’re not telling me he was released.”
“He got a good Public Defender and a lenient judge.”
“Lenient, my ass,” Waverly muttered. “Must’ve been a blood relative.”
“How could you let him go?” Dana demanded.
Waverly cleared his throat. “We didn’t. He’s in a county jail for now. You don’t need to worry. He prob’ly doesn’t even know you were here.”
Somehow, she didn’t look comforted.
An hour later, they’d wrapped up their interview. Ray stopped to let Captain Roth know he was on his way back to Widmer and shook a few hands in parting.
He saved Waverly for last. “Dick, thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t go closing the case without me.”
“Raymond, Raymond, Raymond. You don’t want me dragging my feet, do you?”
“Not really. It was just a thought. And, by the way, it’s just Ray,” he told him. “Says so on my birth certificate.”
“You’re kiddin’. Then you need a legitimate nickname. Your middle name…what is it?”
“Carl.”
“Man, you’re screwed.”
Ray laughed and grabbed Waverly’s hand. “Take care, Dick.” He handed a note with his phone number to him. “Keep me in the loop.”
“You can count on it.”
Waverly gave Ray’s shoulder a pat. “Have a good trip home.”
Ray went to his car, already packed up with his things. He’d said goodbye to the Staffords that morning. Gwen stood in the door of her house, waving and tugging on a bra strap, hollering “Bah, Rye” in her heavy, Texas twang. He started the engine and drove out of the lot toward Widmer, thinking about the case and what still lay ahead.
An hour later, Ray paid for a large cup of coffee from a Kwik Trip and got back behind the wheel. As he started the engine, a news broadcast caught his attention. “…the president and founder of Alliance Computer Corporation died today. Chester Stockton, whose daughter, Valerie Davis, was brutally murdered recently in Widmer, Minnesota, was rushed to Abbott Northwestern Hospital early this morning where efforts to resuscitate him failed. His death has been attributed to a massive cerebral hemorrhage. The investigation into his daughter’s death is ongoing.
Dear Crossing (The Ray Schiller Series) Page 16