Dear Crossing (The Ray Schiller Series)

by Doering, Marjorie

  “ACC, one of Minneapolis’s largest employers, was founded by Chester Stockton in…”

  “Aw, damn it.”

  30

  Needing to see the site of Neil’s accident for himself, Ray had taken a County W after leaving the interstate. The pavement cut a straight, broad swath through outlying farmland, the gently rolling fields still unplanted. Vivid reminders of the loss already marked the accident site in the form of small white crosses and colorful bouquets.

  Deep scars left by the Dodge Durango’s tires were still visible in the loose soil of the roadway’s shoulder. The sharp angle of the vehicle’s trajectory into Neil’s lane conveyed the driver’s panicked reaction and loss of control. From the point of impact, a trail of black tire marks detailed the squad car’s skewed path. The road had been cleared of debris and blood, but memories of past accident scenes assaulted Ray in merciless waves.

  Steeling himself, Ray drove from there to Speltz’s garage. In a fenced-off lot at the edge of the property, Neil’s mangled squad car sat beside the blue Durango. The heavier SUV sustained less damage but had spared only one of its two passengers. Somewhere people had to be down on their knees, thanking God that the survivor had been one of their family, one of their friends.

  Had it been possible, Ray would have exchanged the woman’s life for Neil’s without a second thought. The unspoken admission riddled him with guilt. The woman was a wife, probably a mother, a grandmother, a person cherished by many. Neil, though, still had a lifetime ahead of him. He was young, bright, full of potential and no less loved. Of that, Ray was certain. He drove away from Speltz’s garage, heartsick.

  Before checking in with Woody, Ray found Laurie and Krista playing with friends at a favorite park near their school. Gathering his daughters into the car, the three of them swung by Bixby’s for three double scoop ice cream cones. Afterward, he dropped the girls off curbside at home.

  Gail got something, too—a phone call saying he was back. On the phone, Gail tried to comfort Ray over Neil’s death. She sympathized with his frustration over being brought back to Widmer so abruptly. In her characteristic way, she’d consoled him. Damn her.

  Now, hours later, Ray downed his first scotch. It flowed down his throat like an amber river. It wouldn’t obliterate the lingering images of Neil’s crumpled squad car, but it might at least blur them for a while. He was pouring a second drink when his phone rang—a Minneapolis number.

  Ray skipped the hello. “Perfect timing, Dick. I just finished a partial shift. Haven’t even kicked my shoes off yet.”

  “Newell put you to work already? Crap. You didn’t even get time to catch your breath. Hey, you heard about Chet Stockton, right?”

  “Yeah, halfway home. Wish we could’ve given him some closure before he died. He deserved that.”

  “What we deserve and what we get,” Waverly said, “are usually two different things—like the forty-eight hours we’re getting to keep Nick Vincent in your county lockup. Time’s slipping through our fingers. Like we figured, your County Attorney’s grousing about it being a circumstantial case. We need more hard evidence in a hurry.”

  Ray blew a liquor-tainted breath across the mouthpiece. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Oh, after you left today, Paige and I went to ACC and cornered Paul Davis. He admitted to his affair with Dana Danforth, not that he had much choice after she spilled the beans.”

  “What about his wife’s affair? Did you find out if he knew about it or not?”

  “Like you said—he’s an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. If she did, he isn’t admitting it. Can’t say I blame him, though. The wife comes clean; the husband comes unglued. It happens all the time. Hell, in his place, I’d deny it, too. He’s gotta know we’d jump all over that. Either way, he’s in deep shit. He might’ve killed his wife over her affair or because of his own. Maybe some of each.” Waverly sighed at the other end of the line. “The trouble is, it’s Nick Vincent who was there, and we still can’t make a connection between him and Davis.”

  “Let’s not forget Ed Costales,” Ray said. “He could be involved in this up to his eyeballs. Whether he was looking to advance his love life or his career, Valerie Davis shot him down. Still no alibi?” he asked.

  “Not so far. You know, I got to thinkin’. Davis hasn’t mentioned Ed Costales once. Maybe he really doesn’t know about the affair.”

  “Either that,” Ray said, “or he still hasn’t figured out it was Costales she was sleeping with. Regardless, Costales threw him under the bus.”

  “Yeah, pretty slick. But by telling us he got dumped, he basically threw himself under the same bus. This whole case has me pissed off,” Waverly said. “Especially Danforth. Every word comes out of her mouth sideways. She had as much to gain as anybody. The only smart thing she’s done so far is refuse to take a polygraph test. In the meantime, we’re stumbling around playing pin the tail on the killer.”

  “She’s fast on her feet, but Danforth will trip herself up eventually.” Through the mouthpiece, Ray could practically feel the force of Waverly’s sigh.

  “Listen, buddy, I’ll get back to you when I know more. I’ve gotta get goin’. It’s pretty late and Phyllis is keeping my supper cold for me.”

  “Cold?”

  “Yeah. Taco salad. Mine will prob’ly come without the tortilla shell. Hell, I’ll be lucky if it comes with meat and cheese.”

  Ray shook his head. “Talk to you later. Hey,” he said, grinning, “when you stop at a drive-thru on your way home, have an extra burger for me.”

  Waverly laughed. “I planned to.”

  On automatic pilot, Ray raised the glass of scotch to his lips as they hung up. Catching himself doing it without any conscious thought troubled him. He’d known too many cops who did the same thing and wound up flushing their careers down the drain. He poured the drink into the kitchen sink and recapped the bottle, setting it inside the cupboard beside three mismatched coffee mugs. Its pull remained strong.

  Putting distance between himself and temptation, he threw his jacket on and drove to Twelfth and Belmont. He pulled into the station’s lot and parked in his usual spot. As Ray climbed out of his car, Frank Cooper came down the front steps, pulling a jacket over his uniform.

  “Ray, what’re you doing here?”

  “My apartment walls were closing in on me. Thought I’d drop by and see what’s going on.”

  Cooper kept moving. “I’m headed to the Sumner’s place. You want to ride along?”

  “What’s going on over there?” he asked, piling into the seat beside him.

  “Nothing I hope.” Cooper started the car and turned toward Lake Hadley. “Lydia Sumner called from her sister’s place in Seattle. She says her husband planned to spend the week here while she was away. She hasn’t been able to get in touch with him for two days.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind.”

  “She says no one’s seen him or heard from him. I hope he’s not at the bottom of the lake.”

  Ray lit a cigarette.

  “Neil said you quit.”

  “I did.” Ray took another drag. “I’ll get it right one of these times.”

  “Yeah, it was the same with me.” Cooper adjusted the rearview. “Christ, I can’t believe the kid’s gone. One second Neil’s here and the next…” He shook his head. “What a hell of a thing.”

  “Coop, what was he doing out on W?”

  “Irene said he’d gone out to Kramer’s place. His timing really sucked. Poor kid.”

  Ray’s throat tightened, knowing Neil had probably gone to return the wrench.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence until they reached the Sumners’ driveway. The house was dark—outdoor lights off, no lights or signs of activity inside. Parked in front of the two-car garage, Cooper got out. “I’ll go check.”

  Ray watched while he rang the doorbell, each time with more insistence. Cooper banged on the door with the side of his fist, calling the old man’s name.

  “
Coop, take that way,” he said, climbing out and pointing to the right. “I’ll go around this side and meet you in back.”

  A garbage can sat out alongside the garage’s stone exterior. A few cans, coffee grounds, bottles and newspapers lay scattered on the bottom. Sumner had been there. The flashlight beam he directed through a garage window reflected off a fender of the man’s Camry.

  From the other side of the house he heard, “Over here, Ray.”

  He sprinted around the corner where Cooper stood waiting for him. “What’d you find?”

  “Got a busted window here. I don’t see any glass on the ground; it must’ve been broken from the outside.” Cooper pointed at a branch lying on the ground several feet away. “The high winds yesterday might’ve done it.”

  “Maybe,” Ray said. “Coop, Sumner’s car is in the garage.”

  “Oh, shit.” He drew his gun. “Front door?”

  “Yeah,” Ray said, “let’s go.”

  Ray kicked the door in and they did a thorough check of the home’s interior. No sign of a struggle, or Sumner either. Below the broken kitchen window, Ray found shards of glass lying in the sink and across the granite countertop. Of more interest was a pool of pink liquid surrounding an open bottle on the tile floor. Ray recognized the wintergreen scent instantly. Pepto Bismol. The spattered label confirmed it. At the edge of the puddle, he took note of a skid mark and a heel print a single stride away. A second heel print was less clear, the third almost undetectable.

  “Coop,” he called, “take a look at this.”

  He came from the downstairs bathroom. “What’ve you got, Ray?”

  “A couple of partial footprints.”

  Cooper checked the bottle. “Pepto Bismol. Maybe that’s what Sumner was after. It looks like he was rummaging around in his medicine cabinets. The prints are probably his.”

  “I doubt it,” Ray said. “Michael Sumner’s a big guy—too big to make leave that small a print.”

  Hope bloomed on Cooper’s face. “Maybe someone was here with him, and they left together in the other person’s car.”

  “I hope so,” Ray said. “What worries me is that his company may have come through that broken window.”

  “Shit. Where the hell is he?”

  “Only two places we haven’t looked yet,” Ray said. “You want to go check out the boathouse while I look in the garage?”

  “Geezus, maybe the old guy really is at the bottom of the lake.” With that, Cooper turned and left.

  Ray entered the garage and flipped the light switch beside the door. From a distance, the blue Camry sedan at the far side of the garage appeared to be the only occupant. As Ray approached the driver’s side window, he saw a form lying facedown across the front seat. The full head of distinctive silver-gray hair was all the identification Ray needed.

  As Ray opened the car door just as Cooper stepped into the garage. “The boat’s locked up safe and sound,” he said. The stench of decaying flesh wafted from the vehicle’s interior. Cooper clamped a hand over his mouth and nose. “Oh, God.”

  Ray hurried to close the door.

  “Michael Sumner?” Cooper asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Suicide, you think? Carbon monoxide poisoning?”

  Through the driver’s window, Ray peered into the interior. “No. The keys are in his hand, not the ignition.”

  “What the hell?” Cooper was already distancing himself. “I’ll call the station and get things moving.” He sped up as Ray reopened the Camry’s door again.

  Taking shallow breaths, Ray crouched to check the exposed soles of Sumner’s shoes. A few blades of grass, a hunk of embedded mud.

  No Pepto Bismol.

  31

  Pleased with what she saw, Dana Danforth sat brushing her hair in front of a large bedroom mirror. She tossed the brush aside. Lousy cops. They’d forced her to create another set of lies in order to protect herself. So far she’d landed on her feet but it felt more and more like she was wading through quicksand. If you’d made it look like an accident like you were supposed to, Nick, I wouldn’t have had to throw you to the wolves. Moron.

  Dana heard the front door open then crash shut. Her first thought was Nick. Her stomach twisted into a tight coil before she remembered he was still behind bars, farther away now than before.

  “Dana.” Paul’s voice, loud and demanding, did little to put her at ease.

  She rushed to wrap her arms around his neck. “You frightened me. I wasn’t sure it was you.”

  He didn’t return her embrace. “Who else would it have been?”

  She saw a brittle iciness in his eyes.

  “You bitch.” Paul gripped her shoulders in his hands and held her at arm’s length. “Did you think it was your playmate Nick?”

  She pulled away at the sound of the name. “You’ve been talking to the police.”

  “No, Dana, they’ve been talking to me. It was very enlightening. It seems there’s a lot you’ve been keeping from me.”

  “Paul, I—”

  “You’ve lied. You’ve cheated. On top of that, you ignored what I said about keeping our relationship from the police.”

  “They’d have found out sooner or later anyway.”

  “You offered me up to them on a silver platter.”

  “I did what I thought was best. What right do you have to complain? You got an alibi out of it.”

  “I didn’t need your alibi, you stupid…” Paul rubbed a hand over his face. “With Chet dead, I’ve just been named acting president of ACC. Right now, I’m only a stone’s throw from making it permanent. Do you understand that? The only hurdle left is the vote of the stockholders and board of directors. If they find out about you—”

  “Why should they care? Most of them are probably having affairs, too.” The rage smoldering in his eyes forced her to back away. “Chet and Valerie are both gone now. Before long we’ll be free to see each other in public—as a couple, Paul. Before long, we can get married like we planned.”

  He looked at her long and hard, his lip curled in contempt. “Did you really think I’d ever marry you, you lying tramp?”

  She winced, his words having the impact of a physical blow.

  “I wanted to tell you about Nick, I swear. But you have no idea what he’s like. He would have—”

  “Would have what? If he intended to blackmail me or was extorting you—if he made threats against Valerie, you owed it to me to tell me. We could have done something about it. We could have worked it out.”

  She laughed in his face. “Like now?”

  “If you had told me at the start, it would’ve been different. Finding out now the way I did makes it much too late.” A deep chill frosted his voice. “I’ve always likened you, my dear, to a fine, luxury automobile: sleek lines, highly responsive performance, all the options. But I’ve always had a nagging suspicion that something was misfiring under the hood. I should have trusted my instincts. Everything you’ve told me—everything you told the police is a lie. I’d thank you for selling out this Nick Vincent character instead of me, but considering it was strictly self-serving, I don’t owe you a thing.”

  “Paul, I love you. Whatever I did, I did to keep us together.”

  “If anything was as you say, hell must truly be frozen over. You’re not a victim, you’re a manipulator. Everyone and everything you touch, you twist around to suit yourself. Why did you take up with this other man? Was it out of boredom because I couldn’t always be here? Did he give you something I couldn’t? Be honest for once.”

  “You don’t understand. Nick is capable of anything. He frightened me. I didn’t know what to do. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Paul,” she pled, “I love you.”

  He laughed. “I must have been delusional to have ever believed that. You’re nothing but a leech. A parasite.” He walked toward her. “This Nick…What was he supposed to get out of your arrangement?”

  “You’ve
got it all wrong.”

  “If I’m wrong about anything, it’s about what happened to my wife. What part did he play in Valerie’s murder?” He stepped still closer. “Did he swing that axe, or was it you, Dana?”

  Edging away, she stumbled backward into a chair. “No. I swear you’re wrong.”

  He stood over her, his hands clamped on the armrests. “You lying whore.”

  Dana shoved him aside and sprang to her feet. “I never left the Cities that weekend.”

  “Why should I believe you when all you’ve ever done is lie to me.” Paul turned to leave. “We’re finished, but this isn’t over.”

  The house of cards Dana had built tumbled around her. Her eyes flashed. “You’re right, this isn’t over. You’re not walking out on me.”

  “Watch me.” A snide smile crept across Paul’s face. “Did you seriously think I ever intended to marry you?”

  It hardly seemed to be Paul talking to her.

  “You’re hurt. You’re only talking this way because you’re angry.”

  “Think again. You…a corporate wife? I don’t think so. Not in this lifetime.”

  “I—”

  “You, my dear, are flighty, selfish and crude. Worst of all, you can’t see that.”

  She flew at him in a rage. “You son-of-a-bitch. You lousy bastard.”

  Paul blocked her blows and tossed her aside. “Thank you for making my point.” He strode to the door.

  “If you walk out on me, I’ll see to it that you pay for it.”

  He stopped halfway across the threshold. “Is that supposed to be a threat on my life?”

  “In your case, something worse.”

  “Oh, really?” he said, feigning disinterest. “What might that be?”

  Dana lit a cigarette, her anger as hot as the glowing ash. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Ah, the presidency, of course,” he said. “I see. But as you’ve already pointed out, Chet’s dead. He’s not a consideration anymore.”