Web of Silence: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 4)

by Marjorie Doering

  Butkus laughed. “He’s built like some kind of movie action hero. Looks like the Marlboro man from those old cigarette ads. You know the type. He draws women like flies.”

  Standing within earshot, the bartender added, “I’ve seen the guy in action. He’s a real prick.”

  “Was Printz here Friday night?”

  The bartender nodded. “Sure was.”

  “What about the woman?” Waverly asked.

  “Yeah, her too. She joined him about half an hour after he showed up. Real pretty.”

  “A knockout,” Butkus said. “Printz was yammering away at me when she came over and joined him here at the bar. He did the introduction thing. Elaine… Ellen. Something like that,”

  Butkus said. “She didn’t say a word. I thought that was odd, but Printz, that jerk, didn’t bother to tell me she couldn’t talk. She finally showed me a text she typed on her phone to let me know she could hear but couldn’t speak. I could see she was embarrassed. I felt bad for her—a nice woman like that stuck with an ass like Printz.”

  “Then what?” Ray asked.

  “He took her to a table, ordered drinks and a nice meal. I could see him yakking away at her while she texted replies to his phone. It was sort of weird, but I guess you do what you’ve got to do. But the whole time they were sitting there, the jackass never stopped scoping out other women. Hell,” Butkus said, “there were times she’d text something to him and have to rap on the table to get his attention to read it. I saw the whole thing from right here at the bar.”

  “What time did they leave?” Ray asked.

  Butkus laughed. “Who—him or her?”

  “They didn’t leave together?”

  “No, and it was a thing of beauty,” Butkus told them. “I’m glad I got to see it.”

  “See what?” Waverly asked.

  “The way she left,” Butkus said. “It tickled the hell out of me.” He laughed and drained the bottle dry. “It was around eleven, I think. She must’ve had all she could take. She stood up, grabbed her purse and coat, grabbed his cell phone, dropped it into his vodka tonic and walked out the door. I wanted to give her a standing ovation.”

  Ray’s heartbeat quickened. “How did Printz react?”

  “It didn’t even faze him. At least I got to see it. Now I can die happy.”

  “So Printz didn’t go after her—yell—insist she pay for a new phone?” Ray asked. “Nothing like that?”

  Butkus shook his head. “He just pulled his phone out of his drink, dried it off, and went looking for another pretty face and hot body.”

  The bartender spoke up. “Printz hung around until… it had to be close to midnight, maybe a little later than that.”

  Ray and Waverly stepped away for a quick huddle.

  “Printz could’ve made it downtown in around ten minutes,” Ray said. “That would fit with Lundquist’s estimated T.O.D.”

  “Yeah,” Waverly agreed. “He might not have followed her immediately, but he might’ve driven there afterward, if she mentioned where she was headed.”

  The bartender motioned to get their attention. “If it’s any help, Printz was three sheets to the wind going on four when he left. I had to call a cab to take him home.”

  “Which company?” Ray asked.

  “Cities Taxi.”

  Ray and Waverly thanked Butkus and the bartender and returned to their car. They waited in the parking lot while Waverly contacted the cab company.

  “Well?” Ray said when he hung up.

  “Printz wasn’t faking it. He puked all over the back seat of the cab. The driver had to help him to his door.”

  Stomach turning, Ray was instantly sorry he’d asked. “So we’re back to square one.”

  “No, we’ve eliminated this Printz guy, Ray. That’s progress.”

  “Great. One down only 400,000 to go… give or take a few.”

  “Hey, gimme a break, buddy. It’s something. Now we know Elena Dunn saw Printz and Lundquist on Friday night.” Waverly buckled his seatbelt and stroked his mustache. “That woman sure gets around.”

  Ray checked his notes and started the car. “Christine Dahl is next on the list, but according to her answering machine, she won’t be home for a few days. Her message was something like, ‘This is Christine. Let me know what’s up and I’ll get back to you on Friday.’”

  “Prob’ly left a note on her door, too: ‘Not home. Let yourself in.’”

  “If her place gets burglarized, at least it’ll be someone else’s headache. Anyway, for now that leaves us with Georgia Schwartz and Elena Dunn’s mother.” He pulled out of Redstone’s parking lot and turned eastbound. “Let’s try Georgia Schwartz first.”

  Ray made a right-hand turn and got behind a Chevy Impala. The dealership decal on the trunk read: ‘It’s a Dunn deal!’ Every time he came close to putting Dave Dunn out of his mind for a while, a dealership decal brought him front and center again.

  He crossed an intersection on an amber light. “I don’t know what Elena Dunn was up to, but one thing’s clear. After she left the Redstone, she went home or she wouldn’t have had her son with her when she drove downtown.”

  “But why take the kid when she had Georgia Schwartz looking after him?” Waverly asked.

  There was a short pause before Ray suggested, “She could’ve gone home, had a few drinks, cried on Georgia Schwartz’s shoulder about what an ass Printz was, and then got a text from Lundquist to join him after Georgia left.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Waverly said. “And by that time, she could’ve been so out of it that instead of telling him no, she took the boy along and dropped him in the theater like a load of dirty laundry. Real nice.”

  For several blocks, Ray drove, deep in thought, jockeying the car from lane to lane.

  “You’re mighty quiet all of a sudden, buddy.”

  “Just thinking. Would a few drinks have had that kind of Jekyll and Hyde effect on her?”

  “It could’ve been more than a few drinks, Ray.”

  “It would almost have to have been, because if her plan was to go back and get Nathan after her hook-up with Lundquist, it should’ve been obvious that wouldn’t work—not with the theater about to lock up for the night.”

  Waverly cursed under his breath. “I just thought of something. If Elena Dunn was as shit-faced as all that, considering those stilts she was wearing, she’d have broken her neck before she ever made it from the theater to that alley. It’s gotta be something else.”

  15

  As Ray and Waverly drove up East Lake of the Isles Parkway toward Georgia Schwartz’s address, they passed one beautiful lakefront home after another, each residence having a view of the equally opulent homes on the opposite side of Lake of the Isles.

  Waverly poked Ray in the shoulder and pointed two houses down. “That’s gotta be it. And somebody’s home; there’s a car in the driveway.”

  At the door, Waverly rang the bell, tried a second time, then a third, each interval shorter than the last. A man dressed in fashionably casual attire finally came to the door.

  “Yes?”

  Ray gave him a quick once-over. Average height. Average size. Nervous? “Mr. Schwartz?”

  “Yes, I’m Frank Schwartz. Who are you?”

  They showed their identification and introduced themselves.

  “We’d like to talk to your wife,” Ray said.

  For a moment, Schwartz stood in the doorway, speechless. “My wife… You want to talk to…” He stared at them for a long awkward moment. “Uh… Actually, Georgia and I are divorced—eight months now.”

  “Whatever,” Waverly said. “Wife, ex-wife… we’d still like to talk to her.”

  “I’m sorry, but Georgia’s not here.”

  A red flag fluttered in Ray’s head. “You’re divorced, but you’re here and she’s not?”

  “I still have a key to the place. I can prove it if you don’t believe me.” Schwartz dug a keychain from his pocket and held it aloft. In reply to t
heir stony silence, he sorted through the keys and reached for the lock with the one he’d selected.

  “Don’t bother,” Ray told him. “Where can we find your ex-wife?”

  “What’s this about?”

  Ray said, “We think she may have information on a case we’re investigating.”

  “So, how about it?” Waverly said. “You know where she is?”

  “No. I haven’t seen or talked to Georgia in over a week—closer to two.”

  “One of your ex-wife’s friends expressed some concern about her,” Ray told him. “Apparently she hasn’t been able to contact her for a couple of days now. Do you think the news about Elena might’ve depressed her enough that she might do something to herself?”

  “Suicide?” Schwartz dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “No way. She’s the most upbeat woman I know. Besides, it’s not like Elena’s dead. Rachel Beatty worries too much.”

  “How’d you know we were talking about Rachel Beatty?” Waverly asked.

  “Because she called me at my cabin on Pelican Lake on Saturday to ask if I knew where Georgia was. I told her, ‘Just north of Florida’—one of my standard jokes. The truth is, while we were married even I had trouble keeping track of her.”

  “So you’re not concerned about her being out of touch?” Ray asked.

  “Not at all. That’s just how Georgia operates. At any given time, she’s got at least three balls in the air. She’s bound to drop one once in a while. I’d have thought Rachel would be used to that by now.”

  “How long have you been here?” Waverly asked. “I mean right now… at the house.”

  “I got here just before you. Why?”

  “Then you wouldn’t have had time to look around the house.” Waverly brushed past

  Schwartz and walked inside. “As long as we’re here, we might as well check around to make sure everything’s all right.”

  “You don’t object to us taking a quick look around, do you?” Ray asked.

  Schwartz hesitated before stepping aside. “No, I suppose not.”

  The moment they set foot inside the lavish home, Ray and Waverly began checking for anything out of the ordinary.

  Ray looked around as he talked. “Mind my asking what you’re doing here?”

  “I showed you my key,” Schwartz protested.

  “I didn’t ask how you got in, I asked why you’re here.”

  “I… I... Georgia wanted me to get something out of the house.”

  “What would that be?”

  “My… golf clubs. When I moved out, I left an old set in the basement. She asked me to get them out.”

  Ray moved through the room. “You said you’ve been at your cabin on Pelican Lake?”

  “Yes. I went there on Wednesday and drove back to my place last night.”

  Waverly walked up only inches behind him and said, “Then you prob’ly didn’t hear.”

  Startled by his proximity, Schwartz flinched. “About what?”

  “One of your ex-wife’s friends was shot,” Waverly told him.

  “Shot?” Schwartz turned to face him. “Who?”

  “Elena Dunn.”

  Schwartz’s jaw went slack. “Elena? Dave Dunn’s ex? Elena?” he repeated. “You’re kidding.”

  “That’s not the kind of thing I joke about,” Waverly said.

  “What happened? Is she all right?”

  “She will be. She’s one very lucky woman.” Waverly told him.

  “How did it happen?”

  “We’re calling it a mugging for now,” Ray said. He started moving around again. “Georgia may have some useful information. Apparently she was at Elena Dunn’s house, babysitting for the Dunn’s boy on Friday night.”

  Schwartz’s head bobbed. “Georgia has always liked kids. Loves them is more like it, but she isn’t able to have any of her own.”

  Ray moved on to the next room and a new topic. “Mr. Schwartz, how well do you know the Dunns?”

  Waverly caught Ray’s eye and indicated he was going to the basement.

  As Ray started up the stairs, Schwartz followed on his heels. “The Dunns? They’re nice people. Georgia knows them better than I do, though. I’ve done business with Dave for years. I buy my cars from him and have them serviced there, too. As far as Elena is concerned,” he added, “I met her while she was working at Dunn Motors before they got married.”

  “She worked for her husband?” Ray asked.

  “At the customer service desk. She kept at it until Dave had to replace her… at work, I mean… after her injury. You can’t work at the customer service desk if you can’t communicate with the customers. He had to hire someone who could. A real shame. I always liked Elena.” Schwartz continued following Ray from room to room. “I’m sorry to hear about the mugging.”

  When he was satisfied that things looked in order upstairs, Ray returned to the first floor.

  Schwartz ran a finger between his neck and collar. “You don’t seriously think there’s any reason for me to be worried about Georgia, do you?”

  “No, but as long as Ms. Beatty expressed a bit of concern, checking the house is just a reasonable precaution.” Ray turned around and bumped into Schwartz. “Excuse me.” He went to a utility room off the kitchen, gave it a quick check, and moved along. “Is your ex-wife prone to taking off on the spur of the moment?”

  “Sometimes she flits around like a damn butterfly.”

  Ray filed that information away in his head. “I noticed her luggage is still in the master bedroom closet.”

  “Then she’s probably running around shopping or something. Anyway, the luggage doesn’t necessarily mean anything. One time she gave a friend a ride to the airport and called me three hours later to say she’d flown to New York with her… on a whim. Never packed a thing, just showed up four days later with a dozen new outfits and the new luggage she needed to bring the clothes home in.”

  “And that’s not unusual for her?”

  “Not for Georgia.”

  “Wait.” Ray paused for a second. “If she bought new luggage on that trip, there should be two sets up there.”

  “No. She gave the old luggage to Goodwill—Louis Vuitton no less. That’s Georgia for you.”

  Ray walked into the kitchen as Waverly came from the basement.

  “Anything?” Waverly asked.

  “Everything’s in order upstairs. How about down there?”

  “It looks all right.” Waverly turned to Schwartz. “What about the garage? You have the key to that, too?”

  “Right here.” Schwartz handed his keychain over. “Help yourself.”

  Waverly left with a quick, “I’ll be right back.”

  “So,” Ray said, “was the Dunn’s divorce as amicable as yours seems to have been?”

  Schwartz wandered to a window where he could see Waverly enter the detached garage. “I don’t know. Like I said, we’re not all that close.” He took a quick look through the window.

  “Would you rather talk outside?” Ray asked.

  “What? Oh. Oh, no, that’s all right.” Schwartz’s head swiveled back in Ray’s direction. “Georgia told me the Dunns split had been friendly,” he said, forcing himself to abandon the window. “How friendly I wouldn’t know.”

  Waverly let himself back into the house. “The garage is clear.”

  Ray sensed the tension oozing from Schwartz’s body as the color began to return to his face. On his way to the front door, he handed Schwartz his card. “If you hear from your ex-wife, have her contact us.”

  “I’ll be sure to let her know.” Schwartz closed the door behind them so quickly it created a breeze.

  Once inside the car, Ray gave Waverly Frank Schwartz’s account of his ex’s quirky personality.

  “If I was married to someone who took off on the spur of the moment for four days without letting me know,” Waverly said, “I’d clip her wings… or give them a good trim at least.” He looked at the opulent homes as they drove past. “
Wonder what Schwartz does that got him one of these little shacks.”

  “Maybe he’s got a counterfeiting press in the basement,” Ray said.

  “I didn’t see one, but I didn’t see any golf clubs either.”

  16

  Fifteen minutes after leaving Frank Schwartz, Ray and Waverly pulled up outside a small but attractive, fenced-in house—the operative word being small. Wrought iron railings edged two concrete steps leading to a little entryway jutting out toward the street. To create the illusion the house was larger than it was, an arch was built into an otherwise useless fifteen-foot wall extension.

  Ray rang the doorbell, heard nothing, then knocked.

  A voice from inside grumbled, “Keep your shirt on.” The door opened wide and fast, no timidity involved. The scrawny woman on the other side of the threshold greeted them with a curt “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Seeger?” Ray said.

  “What do you want?”

  Ray and Waverly showed their badges and introduced themselves.

  “Well, it’s about time someone thought to talk to me.” Jeanette Seeger led them into her living room. “Sit wherever you want.”

  They waited until she’d selected an easy chair for herself, eliminating one of their few options. She slung one bony leg over the other, her foot swinging like a pendulum.

  “I guess mothers don’t count for much anymore. My daughter is lying in a hospital—shot down in the street, and the only one who had the decency to let me know about it was her lousy ex-husband. At least he did something right for a change.”

  “Then you are aware of what happened to your daughter,” Ray said.

  “Yes, no thanks to you people.”

  “At the time your daughter was found, there was way of knowing who she was,” Ray explained. “Once your son-in-law came to the station yesterday, we were able to make an identification based on his description and photos.”

  “He’s my ex son-in-law,” she said, pointedly. Eyes narrowing, Jeanette Seeger took a deep drag on her cigarette. “Why was he at the police station in the first place?”

  Ray handed the question off to Waverly with a furtive glance.

  Waverly didn’t mince words. “He came to file a parental abduction report.”