Web of Silence
The Ray Schiller Series
Book 4
Marjorie Swift Doering
Copyright
Web of Silence
Copyright 2016 Marjorie Swift Doering
All rights reserved
Cover by Tanja Grubisic
'[email protected]'
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the writer’s imagination and have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The use of the names of real persons, places, organizations or products is for literary purposes only and does not change the entirely fictitious nature of this work.
Acknowledgements
As always, I want to thank my family and friends wholeheartedly for their continuing support and encouragement along this bumpy path I’ve chosen for myself. The writing journey is full of potholes and road hazards, but the scenery along the way is fantastic.
As for my readers, what can I say? You rock! You’re like hitchhikers I stop to pick up on the way to visit my characters. I’m grateful that you keep coming back for return visits. I love having your company.
To Donna White Glaser, Dave Tindell, Helen Block, and Jodie Swanson: you’re the best writing critique partners I could want, and I’m tremendously grateful to each of you.
Naturally, a special heartfelt thank you goes to my friend and police procedural consultant, Al Mueller, who left the harsh world of homicide investigation for his love of photography. The skill and artistry of his work capture nature, wildlife and more so the rest of us can stop and truly enjoy their beauty at our leisure. Go to Muddy River Photography to see a sampling of his amazing photography.
For Rick, my brother. You’re loved more than you already know.
ALSO BY MARJORIE SWIFT DOERING
The Ray Schiller Series:
Dear Crossing
Shadow Tag
Targeted
And: Mosaic – An anthology of short stories by ten talented authors
Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgements
ALSO BY MARJORIE SWIFT DOERING
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
About the Author
1
The lull before the storm—
Minneapolis, Minnesota – September
I want Nathan at 9 tomorrow.
Elena Dunn read her ex-husband’s text message and wanted to scream. Unfortunately that was no longer an option. It hadn’t been for years. The attack that had cost Elena her voice had created emotional damages that went far deeper than the wound which left the five-inch scar across her throat.
For twenty-six of her thirty years, she had lived by the simple but comforting philosophy that every cloud had a silver lining. She had survived the brutal attack four years earlier, but her long-held philosophy had not.
She texted back. We agreed on 11.
Moments later his reply appeared. By then the day’s half over. Make it 9.
Elena’s answer was concise. No. Too early. Having issued her final word on the subject, she set the phone down in anger. The last thing she had time for was another drawn-out argument over the exchange of their four-year-old son Nathan.
He was at the kitchen table, an elbow propped on its surface, a cheek resting in the palm of his hand. The peas on his dinner plate were untouched.
Elena’s hands moved with deft grace. What’s wrong with your peas?
Nathan responded by shoving his plate aside in silence.
Elena “signed” and shook her head. No, talk to me.
In a clear voice, Nathan announced, “They’re yucky.”
While not the answer she wanted, at least he’d said it aloud--a small but welcome victory of sorts. Although the boy was perfectly capable of speaking, he seldom did. It was a cause of concern and a serious bone of contention between Elena and Dave.
“Can I watch a movie?” he asked, racing to the living room.
Elena rewarded his verbalization by following him and starting the latest Disney DVD she pulled from a cabinet. She swept a hank of her son’s dark hair aside and planted a kiss on his forehead as the doorbell rang.
Answering the bell, Elena did a quick check through the peephole and flung the door open. Stepping aside, she tapped the back of her wrist as her friend Georgia stepped inside.
“I know, I know,” Georgia said. “Sorry I’m late, Lainey. The time kind of got away from me.” She looked toward the living room and called out, “Hi, Nate.”
He spun around and looked at Georgia like he’d been sucking on a lemon. “Mommy, where’s Kayla?”
Her hands moving with well-practiced ease, she issued a mild scolding. Don’t be rude. Kayla can’t babysit tonight.
Sulking, he turned his attention to the movie once more as Elena gave Georgia an apologetic shake of the head.
“It’s okay. When I was a kid, I had a favorite sitter, too. Nate and I will be fine.” She took another look at Elena. “Why are you still in your robe?” Georgia hustled her into the bedroom. “Get a move on. You don’t want to screw things up by being late for your first date with this guy.”
Elena discarded her robe and slipped into the white, sheath dress laid out on the bed.
“Okay, so tell me,” Georgia said. “Which category does this man fit into? One: available. Two: available and respectable. Three: available, respectable and desirable. Four: none of the above.”
Smiling, Elena zipped the dress and held up three fingers.
Georgia laughed. “I’ll be damned. Threes are far and few between.”
If anyone would know, it would probably be Georgia Schwartz. A woman with a quick smile, a warm heart and a propensity for marrying the wrong men, at thirty-five, she’d already gone through three marriages, each ex-husband richer than the last. Georgia was prepared to look for a fourth prospect—one whose last name would be an improvement over the one she’d been burdened with for the past twenty-three months. Men were drawn to Georgia like bees to honey. It wasn’t likely to take her long.
“What does this man look like?” Georgia asked.
Elena held up six fingers, then two. At face level, she held her hands two feet apart and drew them down in a V shape, smiling and rolling her eyes in a dreamy fashion.
“Six-foot-two with a great build? Hot damn, girl. That’s great.” She checked her watch. “For now, though, you’d better forget about that and finish dressing.”
Although punctual by nature, Elena found herself in no particular hurry. “Alone” and “lonely” were two different things. Having or not having a man in her life didn’t define her.
The alimony and child support agreed to in the divorce settlement had be
en generous. The house she’d been awarded was more than adequate. Despite Dave’s ability to provide their son with a grander home and greater financial advantages, Nathan was living in a safe, stable, loving environment. Elena tried to convince herself no judge could overlook or contest that.
Still, with Dave going for an adjustment to their shared custody arrangement, Nathan’s lagging verbal communication was a serious concern. TV and radio were poor substitutes for instilling normal conversational skills. Most children grew up in households brimming over with verbal give-and-take. That was something Elena couldn’t offer Nathan.
Dave could.
And in his care, their son couldn’t avoid reprimands by simply turning his head away or closing his eyes as he sometimes did with her.
Elena ran a brush through her blond, chin-length hair, then completed her outfit with a pair of diamond stud earrings, a matching pendant and a pair of sky-high heels. Finished, she spun around for Georgia’s perusal.
“You look absolutely beautiful.”
Elena shrugged skeptically.
“Don’t argue with me,” Georgia told her. “You’re positively gorgeous.”
Taking a final look in the mirror, she tilted her head back and ran her fingers over the scar at the top of her throat. For one horrific instant, it was as though the weeks, the months, the years had been stripped away. The terror she’d experienced then seemed to radiate through her fingertips like an electrical charge. The breath caught in her throat as she saw the rage in her attacker’s face once more, the glint of light on the blade as he drew it back and swung it left to right. She felt the pressure of its sharp edge as…
Georgia’s voice jolted her back to the present.
“You should stop worrying about that scar. No one but you notices it.” Georgia paused. “Lainey, you’re trembling. Are you all right?”
Nodding, Elena forced a smile.
Georgia followed her from the room and nearly bumped into her as she stopped short to read another incoming text message from Dave.
Georgia read it over Elena’s shoulder. Don’t worry about dropping Nathan off. I’ll come by at 9 to pick him up.
Elena didn’t send a reply.
“Your next custody hearing is coming up soon, isn’t it?” Georgia asked.
Elena held up five fingers.
“Five weeks?” Georgia asked, checking. “Well, put it out of your mind for now and have a good time tonight.”
Elena hurried to give Nathan a hug and a kiss before leaving. She lifted his chin, forcing him to focus on her and signed, You be good. She gave him a hug and slipped into her coat.
Georgia followed her to the back door in the kitchen, watching as Elena hurried to her car. “Hey,” Georgia called after her, “you didn’t tell me this hunk’s name.”
Out of time, Elena tapped the back of her wrist again and waved goodbye.
“Have fun, Lainey,” Georgia called after her. “And you really do look stunning.”
Elena threw a kiss in Georgia’s direction and got into her car.
Locking the kitchen door after her, Georgia returned to Nathan. “Well, it looks like it’s you and me tonight, Nate.”
With a none-too-subtle pout in his voice, he pointed at the TV screen and said, “Shh. I’m watching this.”
“A little rude,” she said, ruffling his hair, “but at least you said it. Good job.”
She sat down cross-legged on the floor beside him. “Oh, Lord,” she groaned, tugging at the waistband of her skinny jeans. “I should’ve worn Spandex for this gig.”
As Nathan slipped back into his characteristic silence, she prepared to hold up both ends of the conversation.
“Carry on, Nate,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She got up again and made certain the front door was locked. As she joined him on the floor again, Georgia tickled the boy. He rolled on the floor, giggling, as she announced, “All safe and sound. Snug as a bug in a rug.”
2
Seven hours later
Ray Schiller prayed he was dreaming. When the phone rang a second time, he rolled over, opened one eyelid and checked the clock on his nightstand: 2:05 AM. Barely in bed long enough to warm his side of the mattress, he grabbed the receiver and let it dangle several inches off the floor.
There was a muffled “Detective Schiller? Hello? Are you there, Detective?”
He lifted the phone to his ear, trying to get his body in sync with his brain. “I’m here. Go ahead.” Moments later he asked, “Where?” He sat up with an effort that made him feel like he’d been ‘Velcroed’ to the bed. “I’m on my way.”
Friday, like the day before and the day before that had been long and hard. At least he’d had the satisfaction of wrapping up a difficult case, but with the seemingly endless days strung together back-to-back, the middle-of-the-night call felt downright sadistic.
He stood and dressed, then leaned over his wife. Gail’s head was nestled on her feather pillow, the comforter pulled up to her shoulders. In case she was awake enough to hear him, he said, “I’ve got to go, honey.”
Her eyes didn’t open, but she murmured, “Be careful, okay?”
“I will.” He kissed her forehead. “Love you, babe.” Before leaving the house, he did a quick check on Laurie, their thirteen year old, ten-year-old Krista and Joey, age three.
Intent on making the fifteen-minute drive to downtown Minneapolis in ten, Ray sped down the streets of Eden Prairie. By the time he reached US-212, he was nearly standing on the accelerator. Due more to sleep deprivation than urgency, he almost took the cloverleaf ramp onto MN-100 North on two tires.
He dreaded the information dump that would come, as it always did, when he arrived at the murder scene. Tonight that meant Sixth Street between First and Hennepin Avenues, which ran between the Target Center and the City Center Shopping Center.
As Ray pulled up, his partner, Detective Dick Waverly, got out of his car several vehicles away. Police officers and medical personnel were congregated on the sidewalk outside the mouth of an alley. Media vultures had already descended on the site.
“Not the way to start the morning, buddy,” Waverly said by way of a greeting.
“You won’t get any argument from me.”
They approached a nearby officer standing on the sidelines.
“What happened?” Waverly asked.
“Two victims: one male, one female. Both shot,” he said. “The woman took a bullet in the back. She’s been taken to Hennepin County Medical Center.”
Waverly looked down the alley toward a small group clustered around the second victim’s body. “Apparently the woman’s better off than that poor schmuck down there.”
“I hope that’s still true,” the cop told them. “The woman didn’t look too good when they transported her. The guy never stood a chance.”
“Got an ID on the victims?” Ray asked.
“Can’t help you there, Detective. No wallet. No purse. If they were carrying cell phones, those are missing, too. I noticed the woman has pierced ears, but I didn’t see any earrings. There was an indentation at the base of the man’s ring finger, but no ring. And judging by his tan, he’s missing a watch. Looks like a mugging.”
Impressed with the cop’s observations, Ray glanced at his nametag. “Anything else before we take a look for ourselves, Officer Fielding?”
The cop lifted his cap and scratched his head. “Yeah… he was a golfer.”
Waverly brushed a finger over his thick, walrus-style mustache. “What—are there spikes on the soles of his shoes or something?”
“No, but he’s got one of those weird tans golfers get from wearing a golf glove. One hand’s tan; the other is fish-belly white. The tan lines from the glove and watch are on his left hand and wrist, so he was probably right-handed… in case it matters.”
“If I give you a second,” Ray said, “I suppose you can tell us his handicap, too.”
“Offhand,” Fielding joked, “I’d have thought it would be his age, b
ut from the looks of the woman he was with, maybe not. She was all dolled up in a close-fitting, white dress—the kind that shows off a woman’s curves, and hers were real nice. Her shoes, though… you’d think women would get nosebleeds wearing heels that high.” He stopped to think. “Oh, yeah… one more thing: she wasn’t wearing a coat.”
Waverly thought about that for a second. “It’s kinda chilly to be without one tonight.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Fielding said. “Anyway, she’s a good-looking woman. It’s a real shame what happened to her.”
Ray grimaced. “Would it be less of a shame if she was ugly?” He looked at Waverly and muttered, “Geeze, I hate when people say that kind of crap.” Waverly gave him a whatcha-gonna-do shrug.
“Sorry,” Fielding said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Oh, here’s something weird: it looks like the mugger shot them out here on the street, not in the alley.”
“What makes you say that?” Ray asked.
“One of the woman’s shoes was found out on the sidewalk, and the one on her foot was scraped up on the back like the man’s.” He looked toward the dumpster. “They had to have been shot out here on the sidewalk and then dragged down there. The location of the blood pretty much confirms it.”
“Thanks,” Ray said.
He and Waverly started down the alley. “If Fielding’s right, maybe we’re dealing with a rank amateur.”
“If so,” Waverly said, “maybe he made some mistakes we can capitalize on.”
The coroner finished packing up his instruments as they reached the dumpster. His worry lines outnumbered his laugh lines three to one. “Detectives Schiller and Waverly… I wish I could say long time no see.”
“Yeah, that would’ve been nice,” Ray said, crouching beside the body. “What can you tell us?”
“This man had to have gone down fast and hard, and he probably saw it coming. It was a front-to-back shot straight through the heart. He’s been dead for less than two hours, maybe as little as one.”
Web of Silence: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 4) Page 1