Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5)

by LynDee Walker

  I laughed. “Me too.”

  “I figured if all else failed, I could find you near the coffee.”

  “Always a safe bet.” I smiled. “I’m hoping Alisha left a phone number with you this morning.”

  Shelby shook her head. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I tried, but I couldn’t get one out of her. This woman was visibly distraught, and she seemed…scared. What the hell is going on at that hospital?”

  I shrugged. “I can’t make anything of it.”

  “But the dead guy from last week was a big shot doctor.”

  I paused before I nodded. “How’d you know that?”

  “Larry. He said it was the doctor who treated Bob’s wife and asked me to babysit the story.”

  Awesome. I loved Larry. Didn’t want to have to kill him. “You’re, uh, you’re keeping that to yourself, right?”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. “Of course. My days of trying to sabotage you have passed. Pinky swear.”

  She looked earnest enough, but it was still hard to buy that. “Nothing personal.” Much. “In my experience, the fewer people who know about a lead, the less likely it is to show up somewhere else before I can run it down.”

  She nodded. “Sound advice. When I make it off the copy desk, I’ll remember it.”

  I sighed. Shelby was a good writer, and I knew all she wanted was to be a reporter. It was the coveting other people’s jobs (especially mine) I didn’t love. But she really had been different lately. Benefit of the doubt isn’t my strongest suit, but I gave it all I had.

  “Someday, Shelby. Helping out and not causing trouble goes further toward earning Bob’s trust, that’s for sure.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself. Thanks.”

  I pulled a chair away from the closest table and plopped into it, sipping my coffee. “Walk me through what happened this morning.”

  “I came in early because I wanted to get a jump on the features budget for the day. We lost another copy clerk Monday. No notice.”

  “Nice. I’ve been too busy to pay attention.”

  “I seem to recall you bitching about it being slow not too long ago.”

  “I’m aware of the fact that karma fried up those words for me to chew on, thanks. Aaron White hasn’t let me forget it.”

  She snorted. “I was playing catch-up and in need of caffeine since I was here until after midnight, and when I walked past the front, this woman was sitting on the bench crying.”

  “Before eight?”

  “It might have been before seven.”

  What the ever-loving hell?

  “She was asking the janitor where to find you, so I stopped and told her you weren’t in yet and she said she should’ve figured that. The whole thing was strange. Who the hell is she? A witness?”

  “She’s the day nurse for the shooter’s wife. She’s been his biggest champion all week.”

  “Except for you,” Shelby drawled.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it. I’d do it again. Something isn’t right here.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m currently wondering if Alisha might have an idea about that.”

  Shelby’s eyes got big. “Why wouldn’t she have said before?”

  That was the sticking point. She’d seemed so earnest all week, and I have a pretty decent bullshit detector. “Maybe she learned something new.” I drug the words out, considering the possibility as I spoke.

  “From where?” Shelby got up and made herself a cup of coffee.

  “A colleague? A file? A pat—”

  I paused. A patient.

  I jumped to my feet. “I gotta run, Shelby,” I said, gulping the rest of the coffee and rinsing my mug. “Do me a favor—if anyone else comes looking for me, keep them here and call me?”

  “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  I ran for my desk, my brain on fast-forward. Shit. I’d been in and out of that hospital a dozen times, and my inner Lois Lane was screaming that I’d missed something.

  I checked the clock. Alisha would be at work in five hours, and I had a deadline in seven and two trials that needed attention if I didn’t want to be banned from the courthouse forever.

  I also had about a dozen questions for Aaron. Hoping he might answer at least a couple, I texted him a coffee request. He binged right back with a yes.

  So he wanted to know something too.

  I sent Bob an email to hold space for the trials and made tracks for the coffee shop.

  28.

  Revelations

  By the time Aaron walked into Thompson’s I had three texts from DonnaJo wanting to know why I wasn’t covering today’s action—the last one letting me know that Charlie and two radio reporters were.

  She had three defendants charged with running the biggest meth lab the PD had ever busted, and was itching to make a political statement with the trial. It would lead the metro front—three people had died in the fire someone set when the cops raided the warehouse, and her defendants had all been picked up at the scene.

  I wouldn’t miss much by talking to Aaron first, though, and Maynard was definitely my top priority.

  I’m coming, I tapped back as Aaron took a seat across from me. Emergency.

  Bing. Avoiding me won’t help you. You’ve already been served.

  Not for today, I wasn’t. And I know your “evils of drugs” speech by heart. The jury’s going to love it. Hope I make it in time to catch the end. I added a smiley and put the phone in my bag, focusing on Aaron.

  “That gag order still in effect?” I asked.

  “I’ve grown weary of giving a shit.” He sipped his latte and sighed, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop in front of him. “Look, you know as well as I do there’s something pretty messed up going on here. Not talking about it isn’t helping us. I think you might know something that would. I’d rather trust you to know what to print and what will fry my ass before someone gets away with a murder or two. So let’s talk.”

  “On the record or off?”

  “Like I said—I trust you.”

  I pulled in a hitching breath. That sounded good on the surface, but a comment like that is an anvil worth of pressure for any scrupulous reporter. Run too much, and you’ve burned a good source. Run too little, and you lose the exclusive. Ugh.

  I just nodded. Above all else, I didn’t want him to leave.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Frustrating.” He glanced around and leaned forward. “I know you’ve been poking around, and I know you know Maynard was a superbrain.”

  “I know a fair bit about him. But I still don’t know for sure how he died.”

  “Strangled. The marks were faint enough to be questionable, but Miller’s friend finally found a microscopic crack on the hyoid.” I jotted that down.

  So the killer wasn’t too strong, or wasn’t an amateur.

  Kyle’s face, in Maynard’s undamaged doorway, floated through my thoughts.

  “The door wasn’t forced. So it was someone he knew,” I mused, making notes. What if our old society climber was stronger than she looked? Was it physically possible for her to strangle a grown man? I hadn’t paid attention to her hands.

  “Or someone with a key,” Aaron said.

  I’d bet Elizabeth Eason had one. Somewhere in my gut I knew I just wanted it to be her because Bob disliked her so much. That old woman might be a lot of things, but strong enough to throttle someone in a way that would bother Aaron probably wasn’t one of them.

  Who else?

  “The building management? Someone he worked with? A mistress no one knew about? A jealous husband no one knew about?” I tossed out possibilities as fast as they occurred to me.
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  “Yes.” Aaron threw up his hands. “Now do you see why I’m losing my mind?”

  I sat back in my chair. “You’re a week in and you have no leads?”

  “Not a single good one.”

  “Someone’s got a talent for covering their tracks.”

  “No shit. And someone important is determined to give the impression they want us to find out who.”

  “Explain.”

  “They sent in your friend at the ATF, which is not at all normal. But he can’t find anything that makes any sense, either. Everyone as far up the food chain as I can see is really hot on us not sharing—we’re restricted such that a lot of our normal channels of getting help are blocked.”

  “Someone wants it to look like you’re getting loads of help, when in fact they’re tying your hands.”

  “That’s the feeling I’m getting.” He sipped his coffee. “And it’s pissing me off.”

  I held his gaze for a long minute. “I trust you, Aaron. Eight years, and you’ve never screwed me out of a story. This one is a big deal to me for a lot of reasons, but if I tell you what I’m working on and it ends up on TV or the internet, I swear on my favorite heels…”

  He held up one hand. “I get it. I’m kind of in the same boat, remember? I’m trusting you too.”

  “Have y’all found much on what Maynard was working on?”

  “Not really. We tried searching the office, but there wasn’t much there even before it was burglarized. They’re still dusting for prints, but most everything has been flung into a giant shitpile I don’t have the time or the medical training to sort through.”

  I nodded. “The secretary didn’t happen to tell you if he had a tablet?”

  Aaron’s eyes widened. “I’m not sure we asked specifically, but that’s a hell of a good question.”

  “I’m thinking it wasn’t at the apartment, because if the killer was after it, wouldn’t they have taken it the night of the murder? And then why break into the office? I know I’m assuming a lot, but it’s what we have to go on.”

  Aaron nodded absently, his baby blues fixed on something behind my left shoulder.

  “What the hell was this guy into?”

  All or nothing.

  “Some folks think he was into discovering a cure for cancer.”

  His jaw fell onto the table. “Come again?”

  “It sounds crazy, but it’d certainly be worth killing for, wouldn’t it?”

  He just nodded. When he found his voice, he croaked, “Where did you get that?”

  “It’s why Ellinger wanted me in the hospital. Why he was sending me those messages. Why he wanted Maynard. He didn’t want a consultation. He thought Maynard could cure his wife.”

  “Nearly everything I have points to this guy, Nichelle.”

  “I’m telling you, Aaron, he didn’t do it. You’re better than I am at reading people. Go sit with that guy for five minutes and then come back and tell me you think he’s a killer. He deserves about forty Oscars if he was acting when I told him Maynard was dead. He’d pinned all his hopes for the love of his life’s survival on the guy. Taking hostages to get his way, absolutely. That’s pure desperation. But he didn’t kill the doc. I can’t see how it’s possible that he killed that woman, either.”

  “I’m waiting for ballistics, but the rounds were from the same kind of rifle. You think someone else shot her with the same model rifle your guy—who was sending you messages online that bothered you enough to call me, let’s not forget—was toting in the hospital right around the same time she was murdered? Whatever you’re on, don’t get caught with it. I’m low on bail money and have no favors to call in.”

  All cards on the table.

  “She worked at Evaris.”

  “I know this. Marketing.”

  “Did you also know she stumbled across an in-house email that had her scared shitless?”

  He shot me a Look. The kind that said he was pissed about just now hearing this. I returned it, just as annoyed with his secrecy. He held the stern face for a moment before he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I did not. What kind of email?”

  “The friend I spoke with didn’t really know. Thought Stephanie was paranoid. Didn’t ask.”

  “Damn.” His lips disappeared into a worried line, and he steepled his fingers together.

  He wasn’t saying something.

  I waited, watching theories flit across his face faster than I could count them.

  “Aaron.” I clapped my hands in front of his nose. “You there?”

  “Thinking.”

  “I have someone trying to find a backed-up copy. If you have her laptop in evidence, it’s worth trying there, too.”

  “I’ll see what they took from her apartment when I get back to the office.”

  “Speaking of evidence…” I let the sentence trail off, raising my eyebrows expectantly.

  His lifted too. “Yes?”

  “The rifle?”

  “The—oh, shit, I forgot about that.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I called down, but I never got an answer. I’ll follow up on it today.”

  “There’s no way that woman is dead by mistake. And Tom has no motive.”

  “A drug company. A dead oncologist who thought he’d found medicine’s holy grail. And a sales rep who might have known something someone didn’t want her to know. Who is also dead.” Aaron ticked off points on his fingers.

  I nodded.

  “It sounds crazy.” His flat stare told me he wasn’t so sure.

  “Don’t the really good ones always sound crazy?”

  “Where’s all that boredom we were bitching about last week?”

  “If you find it, tell it we won’t complain ever again.” I swallowed the last of my coffee. “My week has had enough excitement to last me forever.”

  “DonnaJo cornered you, huh?”

  “You knew that was coming?”

  “She’d have my ass if I warned you. But it’s not like you shouldn’t have expected it. Sorry.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Let me take a pass through the evidence room. I’ll call you later.” He sighed. “I’m so damned tired of talking to people I could cry.”

  I tipped my head to one side. “Someone who had a key to Maynard’s place. How’d Elizabeth Eason strike you?”

  “Meh. She’s a bitch, but she’s not a murderer.”

  Noted.

  Goetze. Would he have a key? Aaron’s goose chase radius was far wider than mine. I’d keep digging. I could always hand the well-to-do doc over in a few days if I needed to.

  “Thanks for coming to talk to me.” I stood.

  Aaron pushed the door open. “Damn, Nichelle.”

  Yep.

  I waved as I climbed into my car, then aimed it toward Goetze’s office. There had to be a way to get the guy alone. He was my reigning biggest question mark, and I wanted an answer.

  29.

  Greed is the new black

  The posh decor in Goetze’s front office had nothing on the doctor’s private suite. Which I found by slipping through a back door in the hallway, staying hidden, and making a couple of educated guesses. The second largest crystal chandelier I’d ever seen hung from the center of the pressed tile ceiling, over a handsome oak coffee table and a set of silk chairs. The Persian rug under them was bigger than my living room.

  A massive cherry desk filled the corner opposite the door, bookshelves lining the two walls behind it. I chose the sapphire silk armchair facing the door, crossing my legs and pulling a notebook and pen from my bag.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  Goetze entered the room with his head bent over a small laptop, closing the door behind him before he looked up. He almost dropp
ed the computer when he saw me.

  “How did you get in here?” he asked when he’d recovered his composure.

  “Doors. None of them were locked.”

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “To talk,” I said. “I have some questions I’d like for you to answer.”

  “You can schedule an appointment with the receptionist.” He stepped toward the door and moved to open it.

  “I don’t need medical care. I need information,” I said. “About David Maynard and what he’s been working on.”

  He flinched, but recovered nicely, his hand frozen to the doorknob. “What makes you think I know anything about that? I haven’t worked with David in years.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that.” I kept my tone light, holding his gaze across the wide room.

  “You break into my office and now you’re calling me a liar?” His voice rose in pitch and volume. “I’m not sure what you’re playing at, lady, but I think it’s time for you to go.” The knob made a quarter turn.

  “I wouldn’t do that if you don’t want your lunches at Frank’s Diner all over tomorrow’s front page.” The same light tone, but I added a slight edge to the words. Goetze’s eyes popped so wide I could see white all around the hazel.

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I pay close attention. And I’m guessing you’d rather not have the whole city know about it—probably especially not my friends at the PD. So have a seat, and let’s chat.”

  He stepped away from the door, but stopped well short of a chair.

  “You’re a reporter?” I nodded. “Why do you care who I have lunch with?”

  “I care about Dr. Maynard. I care even more about his research. I’m curious about how your choice of company fits into this.”

  Another step forward. “It doesn’t.”

  I sat up straight, clicking the pen out. “I think I’m going to need some elaboration there.”

  “I have no idea what David was up to. Or how he died.”