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

by Marjorie Doering

  “I can stay later if you want.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she said. “I’ll put the Sloppy Joes on hold and fix something nice for supper. The kids might not like that, but oh well.”

  The weight he’d been carrying around on his shoulders all day was made lighter by the genuine pleasure in Gail’s voice. “Sloppy Joes are fine—whatever you feel like making.”

  He issued an invitation on impulse. “Here’s an idea, babe. If you want to ask Laurie to watch Krista and Joey for a couple of hours, they can have their Sloppy Joes and I’ll take you out someplace nice for dinner.”

  “I’d like that, Ray, but two nights in a row?”

  He laughed. “You can never have too much of a good thing, hon.”

  “Tell that to our checkbook.”

  “Okay,” Ray said. “If you’d rather, we can hold off and do it some other time.”

  For comic effect, Gail gave him an over-exaggerated sigh. “It really stinks being responsible. Don’t worry, though. I’ll come up with something terrific for you tonight.”

  Ray’s grin carried over into his voice. “Are you talking about dinner or later?”

  Her tone matched his to a T. “Maybe both.”

  For Ray, no pharmaceutical company could compete with the restorative powers of that conversation. He drove home, trying to convince himself he’d been making something out of nothing.

  He couldn’t pinpoint the aroma coming from the house when he pulled into the garage, but his mouth began to water. Whatever Gail was cooking was making him hungry. He got out and stopped only long enough to snag a bag of freshly dry-cleaned clothes off the hook over the back passenger door of the SUV and plucked a candy wrapper and another stray piece of paper off the floorboard at the same time. He stuck them inside his jacket pocket as he stepped into the unoccupied kitchen.

  “Hi, babe,” he shouted. “It’s me. I brought in the drycleaning.” Ray took a quick look inside the oven. Sour Cream Chicken Enchiladas! Gail hadn’t made those in ages. A guilt gift? He chuckled to himself. Paranoia sucks.

  36

  “Gotta say,” Waverly told Ray the next afternoon, “you’re a lot more relaxed today than yesterday. You know something I don’t?”

  Ray wished he could say the same for Waverly. “No, but spending time with Gail and the kids last night helped. That’s been happening way too little lately.” He flipped his sand art gift from Gail over and watched the grains of sand gracefully drift downward, forming graceful, almost alien landscapes. “Nice, huh?”

  “Yeah, kinda hypnotic.” Waverly turned away without further comment.

  “So, what do you want to do next, Dick?”

  “Not much we can do for now. We better come up with something soon or this case is gonna grind to a standstill before you know it. I can’t believe the bank records didn’t turn up anything.” Waverly stood and stretched. His beach ball belly had shrunk to the size of a nearly deflated soccer ball. Proving old habits die hard, Waverly automatically reached for his missing mustache, then jammed his hands in his pockets.

  “How long are you going to keep doing that?” Ray asked. “Why don’t you just grow the damn thing back?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Waverly poo-pooed him.

  Ray shook his head and reached for the phone ringing on his desk. “Schiller.” His back straightened, coming away from the back of his chair. “Seriously? Where?” He scrawled an address on the corner of an envelope and laughed. “Yeah, so what else is new? It’s in impound, right? Good. I don’t suppose they’ll find any prints, but maybe we’ll get lucky. Did they say where it was?” He added another line of writing below the other. “All right, thanks.”

  “The Regal?” Waverly said before Ray even hung up.

  “You got it.” Ray tossed his pen on the desk and rubbed his hands over his face. “Two seventeen-year-old kids were caught driving it down North Fourth Avenue near the Riverwalk Apartments. When the stop was made, they had bolt cutters, a crowbar, and a screwdriver on the passenger-side floorboard.”

  Waverly moved to the edge of his chair. “So they stole a banged-up ‘perdiddle’ to get them to their next burglary. What were they thinking?”

  Ray laughed. “They got stopped for the broken lights. Remember, we’re talking seventeen year olds here, Dick. They don’t think, they just do.”

  “Yeah, but if you’re gonna use a stolen car to get you to the site of your next burglary, you oughta at least have the brains to pick one that won’t get you pulled over.”

  “The car’s in impound.” Ray shoved the envelope toward Waverly. “Take a look at that second address on there.”

  Waverly read it and raised his eyes. “What about it?”

  “The kids claim that’s where they found the Regal. Not the best area. They say they found it unlocked with a window rolled down and the key in the ignition. If that doesn’t say, ‘Take me, I’m yours,’ then nothing does,” Ray said.

  “Unless my mental GPS is off, isn’t that about a mile from Steve Winchell’s home address, buddy?”

  “Your GPS is fine. And that distance makes it an easy walk to his place.”

  Waverly’s head bobbed. “Winchell could’ve gotten his hands on that car key as easily as anyone else at Dunn Motors, but why would he? And if Dunn hired him for the hit, it still doesn’t make sense that he’d have had him use a car off his own lot.”

  “Let’s go have a nice heart-to-heart talk with Steve Winchell, and see if we can find out,” Ray said.

  Rhonda Stark saw Ray and Waverly come through the door of the dealership. She feigned concern and clamped a hand to her chest, laughing. “Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up today.”

  “And miss seeing you?” Waverly said. “Never.”

  Ray wasn’t in a joking mood. “We’re here to see your boyfriend… Steve Winchell.” He added his name in case the list needed narrowing down. “Is he out back in the shop?”

  She leaned across the counter, providing an unobstructed view of her cleavage. “No. I don’t know where he is.”

  “Can you page him?” Waverly asked. “You got a speaker system or something?”

  “We do,” she said, tossing strands of red hair over her shoulders. “It won’t do any good, though. Steve isn’t here.”

  “Day off?” Ray asked.

  “No.”

  “Sick?” he said, trying again.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Look,” Ray told her. “We’re not here to play Twenty-One Questions. Do you know why he didn’t come to work or don’t you?”

  A sulky pout replaced her smile. “I’m not his mother. He just didn’t show up today. That’s all I know.”

  “Is that typical for him?”

  She shrugged.

  As Ray’s nostrils flared, Waverly took over. “Ms. Stark, we’re detectives not dentists. We don’t like pulling teeth. If you don’t spit out what you know, we’re going to assume you’re being intentionally evasive.”

  “Hey,” she said, “I’m telling you what I know. Steve has ditched work a couple times, but he’s always called in before.”

  “He didn’t today?” Ray asked.

  “No, but why should he? He knows Dave lets him get away with murder.”

  Ray bit his tongue.

  “So,” Waverly said, “if you don’t know where he is today, maybe you can tell us where he was last Friday night.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know that either.” Stark took a breath so deep, her chest seemed to expand another cup size. “I wanted to go out, but Steve brushed me off. He said he had other plans.”

  “What kind of plans?” Ray asked.

  “He got all bent out of shape when I asked, so I didn’t push it. ‘Mr. Charm,’ you know?”

  “Does he own a handgun?” Waverly asked.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “What’s this all about anyway?”

  “Ms. Stark,” Ray said, “does he own a gun?”

  �
�It’s not allowed.”

  “So, I take it you know about his record.”

  “Sure. So what?”

  Ray said, “Now answer my question. Does he own a gun?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Is your boss around?”

  “In his office.”

  They went down the hall. Ray rapped on the door and walked in. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Not really, but as long as you’re in already… Any sign of my Buick Regal yet?”

  “It’s been found, but it’s in impound,” Waverly said. “You can have it back after they give it a good going-over. Fingerprinting, that sort of thing. In any case,” he went on, “making repairs prob’ly won’t be worth your trouble. You might as well take whatever your insurance company will give you.”

  “I figured as much.” Dunn unclenched his jaw muscles. “Have a seat.”

  Waverly pulled up the nearest chair. “Thanks. Sore back today. I’d get one of those gizmos where you hang yourself upside down by the ankles, but I’d prob’ly wind up dislocating my knees and measuring a foot taller.”

  Impatient, Ray said, “Mr. Dunn, we’re interested in talking to your head mechanic.”

  “He’s not here today.”

  “We already heard,” Waverly said. “That might not be purely coincidental.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think Steve is involved in the shootings, do you?”

  “We intend to find out,” Ray said. “You’re aware that he has a criminal record, right?”

  “Yes, but he’s served his time and he’s a first-rate mechanic.”

  “But judging by his attitude, he’s a third-rate employee,” Ray countered.

  Dunn resituated himself in his seat. “Maybe so, but maintenance and repairs make up a sizeable part of my business, and it’s very competitive. My customers want reliable, reasonably priced service and repairs, and Steve gives me that edge. He’s one of the best in this area, and my customers know that.”

  Dunn stood. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. I was about to leave.”

  “How’s your ex-wife doing?” Ray asked.

  “Ellie’s coming along better than expected. Thanks for asking.”

  “Any word on how soon they’re releasing her?”

  “It could be as early as the next two or three days. She’ll need someone around to help out for a while, but I’ve got that covered.”

  “Her mother?” Ray asked.

  “Jeanette?” Dunn scoffed. “No… no, no. I’ve made arrangements for Ellie to have professional home care for as long as it’s needed. She’ll be at my place.”

  “Your place?” Waverly asked.

  “Soon to be our place.” Dunn beamed. “It took one catastrophe to tear us apart and this near-tragedy to bring us together again. We need each other, and Nathan needs us both. When he heard his mother is coming to live with us… Never mind,” he said, laughing. “It was one of those you-had-to-be-there moments.”

  “I hope it works out for the three of you,” Ray said.

  He and Waverly left the office, neither of them saying a word until they’d exited the building out of Rhonda Stark’s earshot.

  “Now more than ever,” Ray said, “I hope Dunn had nothing to do with this mess.”

  “You and me both. Well, we’ve got just two or three days to find out before she moves in with the guy who may have tried to have her killed. Winchell’s apartment next, buddy?”

  “Yeah. I doubt he’ll be there, but we might as well give it a try, Dick.”

  37

  Winchell’s address brought Ray and Waverly to a semi-new, five-story apartment building. Architecturally bland, the outside consisted of four gray brick walls as high as they were wide—not a pleasing design feature in sight.

  Standing outside the door marked 137, they knocked long and loud for a third time when a blocky man in his early thirties stepped into the hallway from the apartment next door.

  Ray held his hand up like a crossing guard. “Excuse me,” he said. “Any chance you know where your neighbor is?”

  “Can’t help you.”

  Ray blocked his path as he made a move to go around him. “Do you know Steve Winchell?”

  “More than I care to. Mind if I—”

  “This will only take a minute.” Ray reached for his shield, intending to identify himself.

  “Don’t bother,” the man said. “You’re MPD dicks, right?”

  “Damn, you’re good.” Waverly grinned and motioned toward himself with a thumb. “Detective Dick Waverly.” He tilted his head in Ray’s direction. “This is Detective Schiller. And you are…?”

  “Chuck Breuer.”

  “Nice to meet you, Chuck,” Waverly said. “How about answering a few questions?”

  “Will that get me out of here faster?”

  “It could,” Waverly told him. “Are you sure Winchell’s not inside?”

  “If you can’t hear music blasting from his apartment, it’s a safe bet he’s not there, okay?”

  “What can you tell us about him?” Ray asked.

  Breuer smirked. “He’s a loudmouth prick. That’s as much as I know and I don’t care to know any more. He’s got a nasty mouth and the muscle to back it up. I’m getting out of here before long anyhow, so I don’t really give a damn anymore.”

  “Are you leaving because of him?” Waverly asked.

  “We’re looking for a bigger apartment, but, yeah, he figures into it, too.”

  “We?”

  “My girlfriend and me. Look,” Breuer said, “if I don’t pick Casey up from work in the next five minutes, I’m going to be on the receiving end of a bitchfest.”

  “Okay,” Waverly told him, “go ahead. Thanks for your help.”

  Breuer hurried away with Ray and Waverly following slowly after him.

  “Well, that got us exactly nowhere,” Ray said. “Winchell might be bumming around, or he could be on the lam. Putting an ATL on him and his car is probably our best bet.”

  “If he’s in the area,” Waverly said, “the ‘attempt to locate’ should turn him up in a hurry. Red-and-black 1969 Ford Mustang GT Fastbacks aren’t something you see every day.”

  “No kidding.” Ray shoved the door open and held it for Waverly. “Let’s get the alert out. After that, we might as well call it a day.”

  “Sounds good to me, buddy.”

  While Ray drove, Waverly called in and had Dispatch issue the alert, then slipped into another of his uncharacteristic silences. It had been difficult dealing with the lack of communication posed by Elena Dunn’s coma as well as her son’s aversion to speaking, but Waverly’s silence was intentional, and it continued to fray Ray’s nerves.

  Turning down North Fourth Street toward the station, Ray said, “I’ll pull in the lot and drop you off at your car.”

  “I’ve gotta run inside before I leave,” Waverly told him. “Might as well let me out at the front door.”

  On the one-way street, a two-car opening stood open directly in front of the building. Ray pulled into the space out of the line of traffic. “See ya, Dick.”

  Wishing each other a good weekend was something they’d stopped doing ages before—almost a superstitious sort of thing. It seemed saying it guaranteed they’d be back on the job again before Monday.

  Waverly hopped out, leaned down and said, “Yeah, see ya, buddy.” With that, he closed the door and walked to the building.

  As Ray watched him disappear past the doors, he caught a glimpse of Waverly’s cell phone, lodged between the passenger’s seat and the center console. “Aw, Dick, not again.”

  He turned off the engine and plucked the phone out of the narrow gap. When he tried to slip it into his jacket pocket, it met resistance. “What the…?”

  Ray reached inside and pulled out a green Wrigley’s Doublemint gum wrapper and the other larger piece of paper he remembered picking off the floorboard of Gail’s SUV. He hadn’t taken the time to look at
it. He’d supposed it was just another bit of debris one of the girls had left behind—trash for the next wastebasket he came across.

  He started to get out of the car, but decided he’d better check the paper first in case it was something important, like a note from a teacher, or a cash prize notification from Publishers Clearing House Gail always teased she was going to receive one day. Yeah, right.

  He unfolded the paper, unsurprised by the logo at the top, but what came after it knocked the wind out of him.

  “What the… What?” He re-read it. Head braced against the car’s headrest, he forced himself to breathe. For the better part of a minute, he struggled to get his head together. What he needed was answers—straight answers. Almost involuntarily, Ray pulled his cell phone from his inside chest pocket and hit the button that would connect him with Dan Monroe, Julie’s husband.

  “Hi, Dan,” Ray said three rings later. “Am I catching you at a bad time? No? Good. Uh… I wanted to thank you personally—you and Julie—for taking care of our kids the other night. Yeah,” he said, attempting a laugh, “Gail and I enjoyed it, too. Anyway, it was a great anniversary gift. Thanks. We owe you.”

  Preliminaries out of the way, he hesitated, knowing, once asked, there was no unhearing Dan’s answer. “Did the girls have a good time on Monday? Yeah, Gail and Julie… Monday. You know… the re-decorating powwow.”

  Ray’s heart raced as he listened. “Really?” Staggered by Dan’s response, he did his best to regroup. “Yeah, maybe it was Tuesday while you were out of town then. Temporary memory malfunction. Yeah, all right. Listen, Dan, I’ve got to run, too. Give me a call one of these days. Right. Later.”

  He needed an explanation—a reasonable explanation. The pieces were starting to come together, but not in a way he was prepared to accept.

  Waverly’s phone... it was right there, daring him to check it out. Never before had it even crossed Ray’s mind to look at the personal numbers and contacts it held—not once, and he’d had the opportunity a hundred times. Privacy. That was part of the unspoken pact that existed between the two of them as partners—as friends.

  Now the unexplored information on Waverly’s phone could either cement or destroy his and Waverly’s relationship just as it could strengthen or end his marriage. The benefit of the doubt… It wasn’t an option anymore. Not this time. Ray had to know for sure or the doubt itself would do irreparable damage.