Shadow Tag

by Marjorie Swift Doering

  “Screw them.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Greenway said. “If they turn this into a homicide case, who do you think they’re going to be looking at? You were in the building the night Paul killed himself; you told me so yourself. And thanks to our claim that he won the election, they think you were next in line for the presidency. They’re likely to make something out of that and run with it.”

  “Let them.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Look. In the end, they’ll have to rule Paul’s death a suicide because that’s what it was.”

  “But in the meantime—”

  “In the meantime, we play out the hand we’ve dealt ourselves.”

  “You’re playing with fire,” Greenway warned him.

  “It’s my neck on the line, not yours or anyone else’s. ACC is just a sideline to you and the others, but as president of this company, the choice is mine to make. I expect you to respect my decision.”

  “It’s damn reckless.”

  “And you think going to the police isn’t? Have you even considered that we could all end up facing charges for providing false statements?”

  Greenway looked away, at a loss for an immediate answer.

  “I didn’t think so. I want to hear I can expect the board’s cooperation.”

  “I can’t promise that. The board’s loyalty is to the company, not to you, Ed. You’ve done nothing to earn it yet.” Greenway headed to the door. “I’ll relay your feelings to the others.”

  As the door closed between them, Costales muttered, “You do that, Larry.” The knot in his stomach tightened. Greenway was right; the board wouldn’t turn to him for direction. It would turn to one of its own, Stuart Felton, Chairman of the Board. He’d have to meet with Felton, but not now. He checked his watch. With only a few minutes left before his meeting, he had time enough for one quick stop.

  On the way to the conference room, he stepped through the doorway of his old office. Denise Freeport looked up from her desk with eyes so dark, they matched her raven hair. “Well, well. What brings you by?”

  “The graph for last year’s manufacturing quotas…where is it?”

  She made no move toward the files. “I don’t work for you anymore, remember? Get it yourself.”

  He checked through the open door of the inner office. Thankfully, Furman, his replacement, was out. “I don’t have time for this, Denise.”

  She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you have your little Miss Wirth fetch it?”

  “I forgot about it. Look,” he said, closing the hallway door, “no more of these stupid games. Give me the graph; I have a meeting.”

  “Frankly, Ed, I don’t care if you have a hemorrhage.”

  “Damn it, Denise, I’m sick of your tantrums.”

  “Am I supposed to care?” She flipped her black hair over a shoulder. “You dropped me like a hot rock at the first mention of commitment. First you kicked me out of your bed and then out of the job that should have been mine.”

  “The graph, Denise.”

  “You know, Ed, I thought you might actually have cared for me.” She unfolded her arms and leaned closer. “Don’t worry, though. I’m over it…and you.”

  “Glad to hear it. The graph, please.”

  “Still,” she went on, “our relationship is one thing; the job, on the other hand, is something else entirely. Frankly, it was no big loss when my husband walked out on me after he found out about us. Financially, though, it’s pretty tough covering my expenses on my income alone.” Freeport stood and leaned across the desk. “I damn well earned the job as your administrative assistant, and the raise that goes with it.”

  “I already explained this to you.” It made no difference before, but he tried again. “Paul succeeding Chet Stockton was a foregone conclusion. When Chet died, it made perfect sense to have his retiring assistant train Jillian to take over the job. Jillian’s a quick study. She knows what she’s doing, and she’s damn good at it. That works in my favor. I’m not replacing her—not with you or anyone else. Is that clear?”

  “As clear as the fact that you’re sleeping with her.”

  “For God’s sake, Denise—”

  “Who do you think you’re kidding, Ed? No one advances as fast as she has without purposely tripping when the boss starts chasing her around his desk.”

  “I’m done playing this game with you.” Costales moved to the metal file cabinet behind her. He opened one drawer, flipping through the folders, then another, locating the needed graph. “You’ll get no more apologies from me, Denise.” He slammed the drawer. “Either you shut up and do your job or I’ll see to it you that you don’t work in this office or any other at ACC. Period.” He turned his wrist and did a quick time check. “Do you understand?”

  He was late.

  7

  Ray and Waverly had barely gotten back to the station when a young, lean African-American man approached Ray’s desk. “Detective Schiller?”

  “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Todd Gaines.”

  “Mr. Gaines.” Ray caught Waverly’s eye, summoning him from across the room with a subtle jerk of his head.

  Waverly cut a conversation short and joined him. “What’s up?”

  Ray shorthanded the introduction. “Detective Waverly…Todd Gaines.”

  “Finally,” Waverly said, shaking Gaines’s hand. The phones were ringing off their hooks, and people were milling around the desks; it was as chaotic as downtown at rush hour. “What d’ya say we talk where we can actually hear each other.”

  Closing the door of an interview room behind them, Ray said, “We were at your place when you drove off earlier. You knew, right?”

  Gaines sat down, head bowed. “Yeah. I figured as much from the looks of your car; it stands out in a neighborhood like mine.”

  Waverly loosened his tie. “Gotta tell ya, Todd, that really pissed me off. In fact, that you’ve been giving me the slip for a while more than pisses me off; it makes me downright suspicious. You have something to hide, Todd?” When Gaines didn’t answer, Waverly took a deep breath and dropped into the chair opposite him, his voice suddenly low and sympathetic. “Tell us what happened between you and Paul Davis that night. Maybe we can help.”

  “Hey, man, save the psychological bullshit. I had nothing to do with what happened to Paul Davis.”

  “Then why were you dodging us?” Ray asked.

  “I’ve been watching the papers, waiting to see if it was a suicide or not.”

  “Waiting why?” Ray asked. “What’s going on, Todd?”

  He hunched a shoulder. “When I found out about Mr. Davis being found dead the next day, it got me to thinking about stuff I heard that night.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “You know, stuff. Things like footsteps…voices. It got me wondering if any of it was connected to what happened. If it was suicide, there’d be no point in bringing it up, so I decided to wait. What’s been taking you so damn long, man?” They stared at him without a word. He shook his head as seconds passed in silence. “There’s a problem, isn’t there?” He leaned against the chair’s backrest and crossed his arms. “Hell, what I heard was probably nothing, anyway.”

  “Let us decide that,” Ray said. “These noises… Tell us about them.”

  Gaines sucked in a deep breath. “I started my rounds that night at eleven. Sort of surprised me to see Mr. Costales at his desk; it was the first time I’d seen him there after hours.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  Gaines shook his head. “He glanced at me and went back to whatever it was he was doing. I made my rounds again about an hour later. Sometime in between, Mr. Davis had shown up. I found him banging around in a file cabinet in his office, mad as hell. I asked if everything was all right. He gave me a look that made me sorry I asked. He kind of snarled an answer—said he was fine, and I moved along.”

  “So Davis and Costales were both in th
e building at the same time.”

  “For a while I guess, but after I left Mr. Davis, I walked back past Costales’s office again and he’d already cleared out.”

  “Did you see either of them again that night?” Ray asked.

  “Uh-uh. I told you Mr. Costales left; his office was dark.”

  “And you didn’t see Paul Davis again during any of your other security checks?”

  Gaines bowed his head. “I didn’t make any more.”

  “What?” Waverly looked at him from beneath his untamed eyebrows.

  “I had final exams the next day; I had to do some heavy-duty studying.”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling us you never took another look around?”

  “Damn it,” Gaines said, “I wasn’t even supposed to be working that night. I told them I couldn’t do it.”

  “Who?” Ray asked.

  “Kingsley Security. I told them, but they said they’d fire my ass if I didn’t get over there. I didn’t have much choice. I went, but after the first couple rounds, I shut myself in one of the offices and spent the rest of my shift studying.”

  “So, a man died because you kept your face buried in your textbooks.” Ray’s tone offered neither understanding nor forgiveness. “Hell, no wonder you didn’t want to talk to us. I wouldn’t want to admit that either.”

  Waverly sucked air through his teeth. “That’s real shitty, kid.”

  “Hey, I’m not proud of it, but it was the first time I let studying keep me from doing my job—the only time, man. It never mattered before; what were the odds it would make any difference that night?”

  “Beats me, kid,” Waverly said. “All I know is that your timing really sucks.”

  “Hey, if ACC’s security system wasn’t a fucking joke, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal: three security guards for the whole building; a crummy handful of security cameras set up hit-or-miss…a couple out back in the parking lot, none on the front door. I mean come on, give me a break.”

  According to their information, Gaines was right. In fact, modernizing the security system had been a major point of contention between Chet Stockton and Paul Davis. It didn’t escape Ray’s sense of irony that it was one battle Davis shouldn’t have conceded to his father-in-law. He moved on. “Those things you say you heard... Give us the details.”

  Gaines exhaled a pent-up breath. “You ever been in the ACC building? Never mind,” he said. “Stupid question. With the marble floors in the hallways, it’s practically impossible not to hear when people come and go, especially at that time of night with nothing going on. Not usually, anyway.”

  “So, you heard footsteps,” Ray said. “When?”

  “Sometime after midnight. By that time the cleaning crew and Mr. Costales had all cleared out, so, at first I thought it was just me and Mr. Davis up there.”

  “You say at first. What changed your mind?” Ray asked.

  “I heard voices.”

  “Did you recognize them?”

  “One was Mr. Davis. I don’t have a clue who the other one was.”

  “What were they saying?”

  “I couldn’t make out the words.” His face clouded. “The talking stopped, a door slammed and I heard someone walk back to the elevator. Kinda quick, light footsteps. I thought it could’ve been a woman, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”

  “The door slamming…” Ray said. “Could it have been something else? A gunshot maybe?”

  “Shit, man, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Waverly jotted down notes as Ray continued. “You didn’t even catch a glimpse of this person?”

  “I told you, I was studying. I didn’t look. The security guard in the front lobby was supposed to be keeping track of who came and went. I didn’t see any reason to check it out myself.”

  Ray shook his head in disgust. “Keep going.”

  “Later on I heard someone else in the hall.”

  “A third person?”

  “I think so; the footsteps sounded different—heavier.”

  “How much later?” Waverly asked.

  “Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe. A while later I heard something: a pop, like a book landing flat on a floor.”

  “And, of course, you didn’t check it out.”

  Gaines refused to meet Waverly’s eyes. “I figured it was just Michael Johnson. He was the guard on front desk duty that night.”

  Ray already knew what answer to expect, but he asked anyway. “If he was assigned there, what would he be doing on the eighteenth floor?”

  “Uh…” Gaines licked his lips, clearly reluctant to explain. “Johnson keeps liquor hidden around the building. Sometimes he leaves his station to get himself a drink.”

  “Relax. You’re not telling us anything we didn’t already hear,” Waverly said, looking up from his notepad.

  “I guess that means you already talked to Greg Chalmers.”

  “Yeah, we did.” It pleased Ray to get verification of Chalmer’s story. “So after the alleged woman came and went, you think it was Michael Johnson you heard up there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The sound like a book dropping...” Ray said. “Could that have been a gunshot?”

  “I don’t know. A door slamming, a book dropping… I suppose it could’ve been. Hell, man, I’m no expert on gunfire. The next sound could have been a gunshot, too, for all I know.”

  “There was another?”

  “Yeah, later on.”

  “Holy shit.” Ray massaged his forehead. “Okay. When was this?”

  “I can’t say how much later it was; I fell asleep.”

  Waverly sneered. “You were too damn busy studying to do your job, but you took time out for a nap?”

  Gaines whipped his head in Waverly’s direction. “Not on purpose. I was up studying for three nights; I was beat.” He turned to Ray. “Hey, man, it was the one damn time I put myself ahead of that fucking job.”

  “Just give us the rest of the details,” Ray said. “I’ve already heard your excuses.”

  “Shit,” Gaines muttered. “Like I said, I fell asleep. I can’t say for how long. When I came to, I heard more footsteps in the hall.”

  “Geezus,” Ray said. “This doesn’t sound like an office building in the middle of the night; it sounds like a goddamn parade route.” He swept a hand over his face. “Never mind, go ahead.”

  Gaines chewed his lip. “Whoever it was came and went real fast. Then fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later, I heard more footsteps, but they sounded real weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “They were slow and irregular.” He chewed on his lip a while longer. “Next I heard a muffled ‘pop’ and then, a minute later, the same weird walk back to the elevator. After that there was nothing. That was it.”

  “Thank God.” Waverly put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight.” He checked his notes. “You arrive around eleven, do rounds and see Ed Costales in his office. About an hour later, you do rounds again and see Paul Davis there—alive—and notice Costales has taken off. So far, so good?”

  Gaines nodded.

  Waverly muttered something unintelligible under his breath and flipped the page. “Then, sometime between midnight and seven in the morning, three, possibly as many as four people come and go on your floor—one possible woman and two, possibly three men. Does that about sum it up?”

  “I guess.”

  Disgusted, Waverly slapped his notebook on the table. “And the whole damn time you were hearing voices, footsteps, doors slamming, books falling, whatever, you weren’t interested enough…weren’t curious enough to take a look—not even once?” Waverly uncrossed his arms and leaned toward Gaines. “My God, kid, come on. You didn’t even peek through a crack in the door? Not one damn time, even for a second?”

  Ray stepped behind Gaines. “Sounds like a crock to me. If I’d been in that room, you couldn’t have stopped me from checking it out.”

  “All right
, I did look out a couple times, but I didn’t see anything worth mentioning.”

  Waverly leaned forward. “What’s going on—are you protecting somebody?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “What did you see—a friend maybe—and now your loyalty is holding you back?”

  Gaines mumbled a reply.

  “What?” Ray said. “Speak up.”

  “I said it was just Johnson. Both times. No big deal.”

  “Which times?” Ray demanded.

  “Just before I fell asleep, and later when I heard the strange gait coming back down the hall. That got to me. I got up and looked just as the elevator door closed behind him.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?”

  “Because Johnson’s got enough problems as it is. His drinking’s out of control. Between the time I fell asleep and when I saw him in that elevator, he got falling-down drunk. Must’ve. That’s the only thing that could explain his crazy gait. It sounded like he was having trouble walking in a straight line. I don’t think he’s ever let that happen at work before.”

  Waverly grumbled under his breath. “And you were going to keep your mouth shut while we wasted our time trying to find that out for ourselves.”

  “It was just Michael,” Gaines said. “I didn’t see any reason to involve him.”

  “Bullshit. There’s got to be more to it,” Ray said. “Is it Johnson you’re protecting or someone else?”

  “Hell, man, I just didn’t see any point in bringing Johnson into it. What would be the point? And I told you I never saw anyone else; I was cramming for my exams.”

  “That must’ve been some intense study session.” Ray stepped back in front of Gaines. “Personally, I think you’re feeding us a line of crap.”

  “Think whatever you want, man. I’d have been on it like a shot any other time, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted—not with my finals being the next day.”

  “You must be one hell of a motivated guy.”