From the front seat Ray said, “For the record, I listen a lot better without a gun pointed at me.”
“Sorry, it can’t be helped.” Felton followed up the apology with an abrupt “Paul Davis lost the election.” Waverly’s jaw dropped. “I thought that might surprise you,” Felton said. “It certainly did Paul.”
“You lying bastards,” Waverly said, “—the entire ACC board.”
“We had to claim he’d won; it was in the company’s best interest. If it hadn’t been for his wife’s murder so close to the election, the presidency would have been his. Considering the implications of your investigation into Valerie’s death and then that sordid business with Paul’s mistress that followed, we weren’t certain he was up to taking charge of the company. We couldn’t be sure the shareholders would continue to support ACC under his presidency if those issues came to light. In fact, it may not have mattered that he’d been their overwhelming choice in the election.”
Waverly struggled to situate himself more comfortably. “If they voted for him, how’d he come out on the short end?”
“The board has the right to override the shareholders’ vote, and we did. Based on our knowledge of what was going on behind the scenes, we elected John Stanley, another very capable ACC executive. We knew our decision was bound to create a great deal of negative reaction. I informed Paul of the board’s vote immediately, of course. Unfortunately, he held me personally responsible for his loss. He believed my influence as the director of the board had prejudiced the others. He felt I had betrayed him.”
“Didn’t you?” Ray asked.
“I had to weigh my professional duty to ACC against my personal loyalty to Paul. I thought he would understand that. He didn’t.”
“No wonder his shorts were in a knot,” Waverly said. “So what’s Costales doing in the president’s office? What happened to this John Stanley guy?”
“John won the election in the afternoon and suffered a major heart attack later that same day. He survived, but certainly wasn’t in any condition to take over. Despite our misgivings, Paul was our next choice.”
“So you killed him,” Waverly said.
“It was nothing like that. Paul’s taking over worried me for the reasons I gave you, but there was no question in my mind about his ability to run the company. The stockholders were about to get the candidate they wanted without ever needing to know we had overturned their vote. The backlash we expected would be totally averted. John Stanley’s heart attack seemed almost preordained.”
A police car merged into the interstate traffic from an on-ramp one hundred yards ahead. Ray eased into another lane, slowly increasing his speed to close the distance. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Felton’s attention shift forward, his expression tensing.
“Detective Schiller, don’t do anything you and your partner will regret.”
He eased up on the accelerator. “So what happened between you and Davis that night?”
Still watchful, Felton answered, “I tried, but I wasn’t able to locate Paul to tell him about the new developments. Shortly after 1:00 a.m., he contacted me to say he was at ACC. He demanded that I meet him there. Before I could get a word in, he hung up.”
“Still pissed off,” Waverly said.
“Very,” Felton agreed.
Ray caught Waverly’s eye in the rearview. “No wonder Davis was in such a rush to get rid of Wirth when she showed up unannounced.”
“Yeah,” Waverly said. “Davis didn’t want her or anyone else to know about that meeting.”
Felton looked ahead through the windshield. “Take Exit 167B up ahead. We’ll be getting on Minnesota 15 North.”
“We’re going to Elk River?” Waverly asked.
“No, farther.”
“St. Cloud? Little Falls?”
“You may as well sit back and relax, Detective Waverly. It’s going to be awhile before we get to our destination.”
“Holy mother of… How the hell far are you taking us?” Waverly squirmed. “I’m already way beyond uncomfortable. If we’re going to Timbuktu, how about cuffing my hands in front of me? Either that or at least loosen the cuffs up a little more.”
“I’m not chancing another distraction, not with your partner free to move about.”
Ray tried to create an opportunity, knowing it could be the only one they’d get. “Look, let my partner drive,” he said, taking the exit. “Point me to a spot where you want me to pull over and I’ll change places with him.”
Felton hesitated. “That’s out of the question; I’ve seen how your mind works.” He turned to Waverly. “I’m sorry, Detective, but your partner has already made it clear he can’t be trusted.”
Ray merged with the traffic and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “For God’s sake, you’ve got a gun. What is it you think we’re going to do?”
“I wouldn’t know, but I don’t intend to find out the hard way. Keep your eyes on the road and keep driving.”
Waverly shifted positions. “These cuffs are bad enough, but I’m sweating like a pig. How about opening my collar button for me? You can do that much, can’t you?”
“Detective Schiller,” he said, ignoring Waverly’s request, “could I trouble you to adjust the air conditioning, please?”
Increasingly annoyed by Felton’s unfailing courtesy even as he held them at gunpoint, Ray changed the setting. “Done,” he told him. “We’re still waiting to hear what happened once you got to ACC?”
“Yeah,” Waverly said. “You’ve got a captive audience; you might as well take advantage of it.”
“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Felton said, “but in return, I’ll expect answers to some questions of my own.”
Ray cast a glance over his shoulder. “Tell you what. We’ll be as honest with you as you are with us.”
“Fair enough. For the most part, everything I told you was true. Paul had to let me into the building. By the time the two of us reached the boardroom, I’d informed him about the situation with John Stanley. His reaction wasn’t what I’d expected.” Felton paused. “He was pleased with the turn of events, naturally, but not entirely satisfied; he wanted his pound of flesh.”
“Meaning what?” Ray asked.
“Paul held me responsible for his election loss and he wasn’t about to forgive and forget. Abject or otherwise, he refused to accept my apologies. Once he learned the presidency was his with or without my help, he made it clear he intended to see me ruined.”
“Hold it,” Ray said. “What do you mean with or without your help?”
“I thought it was best to inform Paul of the election results in private—a bad decision as it turned out. He wanted me to use my influence with the board to turn the decision around before the next day’s press release made the results official—demanded it, actually. He insisted that I convince the other board members to change their vote.”
“Could you have done that?” Ray asked.
“I might have been able to manage it, had I chosen to try.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Under the circumstances, I felt John Stanley was the better choice. I told Paul as much. I explained my position as tactfully as I could, but he left in a rage, threatening to resign from the company.”
“So why did he want to see you that night?” Waverly asked.
“He’d found something he could use as leverage to gain my cooperation.”
“Blackmail,” Ray said.
“Originally, yes—his silence in exchange for my help. But that changed once he found out the presidency was already his. Paul wanted to make me pay for my alleged disloyalty.”
“What did he want?”
“Everything—everything I had worked all my life for, Detective Waverly. Not money—my reputation, my company, my career. Paul wanted to see me ruined.”
“How? What did he have on you?”
“I established and built my company by taking risks, Detective Schiller. Unfortunately, tha
t trait eventually took control of my life. My wife put up with my gambling for years—longer than I had any right to expect. I promised to quit dozens of times. Eventually Joanna lost patience and divorced me. To date, I still consider her my greatest loss.”
“The ponies?” Waverly asked. “Casinos?”
“Not exclusively. Sporting events, too…even golf games with my friends.”
“I take it you’re in pretty deep,” Ray said, “if it gave Davis that much power over you.”
“Paul said that, as a member of my own company’s board of directors, he’d begun to suspect something was wrong. He’d made a point of doing some serious research after leaving that afternoon and discovered I’d been skimming money from my company’s pension fund. I intended to return every cent, but even if I had been able to do it immediately, he swore he’d see me ruined. He made it clear he meant it.”
Waverly snorted. “And you thought murder was the solution.”
“Paul was suddenly in control of my life. He was out to destroy me and everything I’d built, and I couldn’t deal with facing a prison sentence.”
“So,” Ray said, “you gambled again…this time on getting away with murder.”
“It was as though something took over. I left the boardroom and found myself outside of Ed Costales’s office. Ed’s gun was in my hand when I walked back into the boardroom. Paul sat facing away from me while I pled with him to reconsider. He didn’t have the decency to turn around and face me. I realized talking to him was useless. That’s when I stepped behind his chair, raised the gun to his temple and, God help me, I pulled the trigger.”
Ray’s tone turned cold. “You must’ve snapped out of that fugue state of yours in a damn big hurry considering you took the time to pick up that spent shell casing and tuck it in your pocket before you left the room.”
“That didn’t happen,” Felton said. “It never occurred to me.”
Ray caught himself drifting toward the shoulder of the road and adjusted the wheel. “Are you kidding me?”
“Do you think I’d have pulled the handkerchief from my pocket if I’d known the casing was there? It was as much a surprise to me as it was to you. I’ve been trying to sort it out since we left my office.”
“So what did you come up with?” Waverly asked.
“I was standing directly behind Paul when I fired the gun with my left hand. When the shell casing ejected to the right, it must have landed in the folds of my pocket handkerchief.”
“Holy mother of…” Waverly groaned. “With luck like that, it’s no wonder you took up gambling.”
Ray muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Was it your plan to frame Ed Costales by using his gun?”
“That never crossed my mind.”
“Then why did you wipe off your prints and put it back in his desk?”
“I wiped the prints off to protect myself, of course, but putting it back in his desk wasn’t meant to be at his or anyone else’s expense. If the weapon disappeared, it would have suggested there was a connection between Ed’s gun and Paul’s death. What I did seemed like the better alternative.” Felton took a quick look ahead. “Follow the signs for US-10, Detective Schiller.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Can you explain to me how in the world Jillian Wirth’s fingerprints got on that weapon?”
Ray winced, remembering how they’d dismissed her explanation. “Costales had her transfer his things to his new office—gun included.”
“A case of unfortunate timing then.”
“More like part of a long chain reaction,” Waverly said.
37
Ray took the next turn as instructed and drove past a handful of buildings scattered on either side of the highway. It looked like a half dozen other locales they had passed already.
Waverly looked out his side window. “Damn, there’s a Culver’s. I’m so thirsty I could spit cotton.”
“I have two great-grandchildren, ages three and five, who ride better than you, Detective Waverly,” Felton told him.
“Maybe so,” he said, “but have them try it in handcuffs sometime.” The Culver’s disappeared from view. “How much farther do we have to go?”
After long moments of deliberation, Felton relented. “I’m taking you to my cabin near the Leech Lake Indian Reservation.”
“Leech Lake? Holy crap,” Waverly complained. “That’s gotta be another hundred miles from here.”
“Not quite, but close. The distance is an inconvenience, but that can’t be helped. Its location works to my advantage in this situation.”
“If you’re planning to dump our bodies there, you might want to rethink what you’re doing. Kill a cop, let alone two, and there’ll be no rock big enough for you to hide under.”
“I have no intention of harming either of you, Detective Waverly. The cabin is on a small island. In order to buy myself some time, I’ll leave you there…bound of course. Once you’ve freed yourselves, you’ll find the place is stocked with canned food and bottled water—enough to tide you over until you’re either rescued or find a way to make it off the island by yourselves. By that time, I’ll be well on my way. And please,” he added quickly, “don’t insult my intelligence by asking me where.”
The monotonous hum of tires against pavement became the only audible sound inside the vehicle. Mile after mile of countryside continued to pass by in near silence as Ray’s apprehension built. Felton’s assurances were worthless. He talked a good game, but had proven himself to be a convincing liar. Whatever lay ahead, Ray wasn’t about to let his questions go unasked. If he was going to die, he wanted the satisfaction of hearing Felton’s explanations first.
He turned onto the ramp toward St. Cloud, finally breaking the lengthy silence. “We came damn close to hauling Ed Costales in on charges. If we’d done that, had you planned to set the record straight?”
“I told myself I would, but in the meantime, I did what I could to avoid making that necessary.”
“Yeah?” Waverly said. “By doing what?”
“Understand something, Detective Waverly. We’d dodged a bullet when John Stanley had the heart attack. Paul would take over and the stockholders would be happy. But with Paul’s death, our situation became even more precarious. If the actual election results became public knowledge, his suicide would be blamed on the board. The results would have been devastating.”
“Except it wasn’t suicide,” Ray said.
“But only I knew that. The rest of the board never doubted he’d killed himself. They decided to protect the company by saying Paul had won the election—that his suicide was the result of the other recent complications in his life. We put the matter to a vote.”
“My God,” Ray said. “That’s why it took twenty minutes for Costales and the rest of you to notify authorities. You were busy conducting business.”
“Considering the circumstances, we agreed it had to be a unanimous decision.”
“Oh, by all means,” Ray said. “Parliamentary procedure takes precedence over preserving a crime scene, right? Of course, contaminating the scene worked to your advantage. You I understand, but the others—”
“They believed Paul killed himself. They didn’t see it as a crime scene.”
“Assholes,” Waverly muttered.
Felton continued without comment. “As far as Ed Costales’s welfare was concerned, I persuaded the others we had to amend our original statements to the police. Once we explained Paul had lost the election, his state of mind would support a ruling of suicide, and Ed would have been fine.”
“Not to mention that it would’ve meant you’d gotten away with murder,” Ray said. “A bit self-serving, wouldn’t you say? But just to set the record straight, Mr. Felton, amending your statements wouldn’t have changed a thing—not the bullet’s trajectory or the fact that the fatal bullet hadn’t come from the gun in his hand.”
Felton’s shoulders slumped. “The gun,” he said.
“What?”
; “That pearl-handled revolver, Detective Schiller... Where did it come from?”
Ray laughed. He laughed so hard his eyes watered; he couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t thought of it before, but now he saw the scene playing out in his head: Felton walking into the boardroom the morning after killing Paul Davis and finding a gun had mysteriously materialized in his hand. He had to have thought he’d stepped into the Twilight Zone. If Stuart Felton chose that moment to shoot him dead, Ray decided he might almost die happy. Almost.
“Was it the security guard’s,” Felton asked, “…the one who was supposed to be at the front desk?”
“It was.”
“I see,” Felton said. “You say he felt protective toward Ms. Wirth. Then I take it he made it look like suicide in order to protect her.”
“That’s right.” Ray had to ask. “When you saw the revolver in Davis’s hand, what went through your mind?”
“Initially I thought Mitch must have put it there.” A rueful smile crossed Felton’s face. “Even with his over-developed sense of responsibility, I found the notion ridiculous. Still, what else was I supposed to think? Naturally, I was in no position to ask him about it.”
“No fooling,” Waverly said.
“The note… The security guard must have left that, too, then?”
“Right.” Ray and Waverly’s eyes met briefly in the rearview, acknowledging that the note did exist. “Did you take it?” Ray asked Felton.
“I knew nothing about the note…not until much later.”
“Then who did? Mitchell Gaynor?”
Felton’s voice was nearly inaudible. “Yes, he took it.”
“Why?” Ray asked.
“For the same reason the election results were misrepresented: to protect ACC, himself and the rest of the board. Mitch assumed the note would point a damning finger at us. He said when he heard me coming, he stuffed the paper into his pocket, unread. He’d done it on an impulse. There was no criminal intent involved. In his mind, the presence or absence of a note wouldn’t change the fact that Paul had taken his own life.”
“When did he tell you all this?” Ray asked.
Shadow Tag Page 22