Schwartz slid to the edge of his chair. “He was coming at me. Was I supposed to wait until I was busted up and bloody before protecting myself?”
Ray sat down, pulled his chair up close to Schwartz, and leaned forward until he was in his face. “If Winchell was coming at you, he must’ve been walking backward. He was struck from behind.”
Schwartz slumped in his seat. “It was what I had to do to protect myself. I only meant to knock him out long enough to call 9-1-1 for help.”
“Hey, you struck him in the back of the head three times,” Ray said. “Three damn times.”
“I knew if he got up again, he’d make good on his threat. I needed to make sure he was really out for a while.”
“Well,” Waverly said, getting to his feet, “you did a damn fine job of that. After you laid his head open, no way was he getting up again… not ever. Here’s the thing, Frank. Winchell might not have been the sharpest tack in the box, but if he wanted to steal your money, he’d have come up with a better way of doing it than showing up at your door and demanding that you fork it over.”
“To me,” Ray said, “it sounds like it was a collection call. For what, Frank—killing Georgia?”
The Adam’s apple on Schwartz’s throat bobbed up and down like it was on a bungee cord. “You’re crazy. Winchell came to my house, demanding money. He threatened to kill me. What I did was justifiable. Once I realized he was dead, it scared the hell out of me. Yes, I panicked. But Georgia’s murder…? I had nothing to do with that. Nothing,” Schwartz insisted.
“Listen,” Waverly told him, “what you did goes beyond freaking out. You gathered up your passport and all the cash you’d squirreled away in the safes at your home and office— more than you keep at your bank. It’s no wonder we didn’t find any large withdrawals; you paid Winchell out of what you had on hand. The passport makes it clear you had every intention of making a run for it. When someone kills in self-defense, their first thought isn’t to leave the country.”
Schwartz dropped against the back of his seat. “I’m not saying any more until I talk to a lawyer.”
Once Ray pulled into his garage in Eden Prairie, he sat there listening to the door rumble down behind him. For a minute or two, he sat with his eyes closed, his head against the headrest. The opening of the connecting door between the kitchen and garage didn’t alert him to Gail’s presence. It was the slight movement of the car as she got inside with him that got his attention.
“What are you doing out here, Ray?”
He gave Gail a barely there smile and laid his head against the headrest again. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing, and it feels great.”
“I’ll bet.” A long moment of silence filled the car before Gail reached over and stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers. “Hungry? I kept some food warm for you, honey.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “You’re terrific, you know that?”
“That’s what you keep telling me.” She took his hand in hers. “So, would you like something to eat?”
“No, thanks. I’m wiped out, babe. Too tired to eat. Too tired to get my butt out of this car. I guess I have to do it eventually, though. Are Joey and the girls still up?”
Gail shook her head. “I just put Joey to bed. Laurie’s at a movie with her friends, and Krista’s sleeping over at Patty Johnson’s tonight. So, if it’s peace and quiet you want, you’ve got it, hon.” Her smile evolved into a quiet laugh. “Is that enough to get you into the house?”
Ray laughed and got out. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and opened the door to the kitchen for her. Inside, he turned to her. “Two of the kids away… just you and me, and I’ve got a serious energy crisis. My timing sucks.”
“Tonight, we both just need to relax… nothing else.” Gail said nothing more until the silence got too loud to ignore. “I watched the evening news, Ray. I saw you and Dick on video at that sporting goods store.”
He looked at her in surprise. “I thought we managed to avoid the cameras.”
“Wrong.” Gail told him. Her smile faded. “You know, I’ve come to really despise those pre-program teasers the news shows use. They said there was a hostage situation and shots fired at F.S. Sporting Goods today. It wasn’t a homicide call, but somehow I knew you were involved. I don’t know how I knew exactly, but I did and I was left hanging. Until I saw you and Dick leaving the store on the news video, my heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode. I was terrified not knowing if you had been wounded or killed, Ray.”
“It didn’t occur to me you’d have any idea I was even there.”
“Woman’s intuition,” she said. “Don’t underestimate it. If there’s a next time, you have to promise you’ll call me to let me know you’re all right.”
“I’m sorry. I will.”
“Do I have your word?”
“I promise.”
As he slipped his jacket off, Gail took it from him and went to hang it up. Seconds later she came back, still holding the garment and flung her arms around his neck.
“What’s wrong, babe? You’re shaking.”
She stepped back and held the jacket up between them. He watched in silence as she put her index finger through a hole in its right side—a bullet hole no more than an inch below the sleeve.
The air left Ray’s lungs. “Well… damn.”
42
Sunday—a day meant for rest, but not for Ray. He’d lain awake a good portion of the night, thinking about how close he’d come to taking a bullet. The rest of the night, he spent counting his blessings.
On the way to the station, he swung by F.S. Sporting Goods. The store was open for business, run by workers earning their pay from what was essentially a sinking ship. Twenty minutes later, he left with new information that quickened his footsteps.
Schwartz sat cooling his heels in the county jail while Ray and Waverly made and received phone calls, chased down leads, and spoke to individuals whose names they’d never heard before. By the time they sat down to eat supper at Keys, they were prepared for another round with Schwartz in the interrogation room, this time with his attorney present.
Ray watched Waverly dig into a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes. “It’s good to see you eating something.”
Waverly winked. “You offered to pay. How could I pass that up?” He tucked a forkful of potatoes into his cheek. “I hoped the lab would’ve had better news about that gun Schwartz was waving around yesterday.”
“I didn’t expect a ballistics match,” Ray said, savoring the aroma of his Cajun-style pork chop as he took a last bite. “I couldn’t see Schwartz letting himself get caught with the murder weapon like that.”
“Me either, but stranger things have happened.”
Waverly shoved his plate away. “That’s it for me. I’m done.”
Ray picked up the bill and pulled out his wallet. “You’re not a cheap date, but you’re a better-than-average partner.”
Waverly raised his cup in a salute. “Right back at ya, buddy.” He chugged the last of his coffee and set the cup down as his smile faded. “My daughter leaves for home on Wednesday.” The mood at the table changed instantly. “Since she’s been here, she’s been checking into home health care options for Phyllis.”
“It’s gotten to that point?” Ray asked.
Waverly shook his head. “It’s not all that bad, but I feel better knowing someone’s there with her when I’m not.”
“Yeah, I can understand that. So how’s it going, Dick?”
“Good. Barbara’s got us set up with someone. If the time comes, we can upgrade the service if necessary. It’s gonna give Barbara and me some peace of mind, but Phyllis is fighting us all the way on it.” He got up from the table and shoved his chair in. “Feistiest damn woman I’ve ever known.” He tossed a couple of bills on the table. “I’ve got the tip, Ray. You ready to go?”
“Yeah. Let’s go talk to Schwartz and his lawyer.”
They squared off inside the inte
rrogation room, Ray and Waverly on one side of the table, Schwartz and his attorney on the other.
When the lawyer introduced himself, Waverly had to stifle a laugh. He leaned near Ray’s ear and said, “Bruce Blatz—it sounds a water balloon hitting the ground.”
“Detectives,” Blatz said, “let’s get down to business. I’ve spoken with my client and he’s given me a thorough account of the situation. Steve Winchell’s criminal record indicates he had a history of aggression and violence. He sought my client out, not the other way around. Mr. Schwartz simply found himself in a volatile situation and reacted with the kind of force he believed was necessary to save his life.”
Waverly snorted. “And without calling for help, he left the man he’d beaten with a golf club lying in his home, dying or dead.”
“That goes toward showing his state of mind following the incident,” Blatz said. “He was distraught, confused.”
Ray spoke up. “There’s no evidence your client was harmed in any way—not a bruise, not a scratch. Nothing, Mr. Blatz. The only attack was the one your client carried out on Steve Winchell.”
“Detective Schiller, a victim isn’t required to wait until he’s been injured before taking defensive action.”
“No, but there’s nothing to indicate your client’s actions were warranted.”
“Mr. Schwartz simply defended himself by striking the first blow.”
“And a second and third,” Waverly pointed out. “Your client bashed Winchell’s skull in… from behind.”
Blatz sighed, reached up and straightened his tie. “Intense fear can cause an excessive reaction on the part of a victim—an instinctive rather than intentional response. It’s not uncommon to experience extreme emotional chaos and confusion in the face of an impending attack… or in its aftermath.”
“You’re starting to sound more like a psychiatrist than a lawyer,” Waverly sniped. “Which are you?”
“I’m strictly a lawyer, Detective Waverly, but in my line of work, understanding human behavior is important.”
“In ours, too,” Waverly said, “but it’s our job to deal with criminal behavior, not to cover it up under three feet of bullshit.”
Blatz gave him an indulgent smile. “We’ve reached the point where it’s best to agree to disagree. The actions taken by my client after the incident with Mr. Winchell at his home clearly indicate his level of trauma.”
“Trauma my ass,” Waverly said.
Ray spoke up. “The only thing your client’s actions indicate is his guilt. Once Frank Schwartz had bludgeoned Winchell to death, he devised a plan. He gathered up his passport and all the cash at his disposal with the clear intention of leaving the country.”
“Regrettable certainly,” Blatz said.
“Regrettable?” Waverly said. “You lawyers slay me. He had a gun. He was threatening to kill the kid he took hostage. Hell… not just him, but me, my partner, and anyone else who got in his way. Your client barely missed Detective Schiller with that shot he fired.”
If Blatz told Schwartz to keep quiet, he was doing an exceptional job of following instructions.
Blatz rested a hand on Schwartz’s shoulder. “Foolhardy actions, yes, but they were the result of extreme stress. He’d not only been through a traumatic confrontation with Mr. Winchell, but you’d already made it clear to him that he was under suspicion in the death of his ex-wife. My client was justifiably alarmed.”
Waverly shook his head. “This just keeps getting better and better. You oughta be doing this act on a comedy stage.”
“Mr. Blatz,” Ray said, “Frank Schwartz was more interested in his ex-wife’s money than he was in her. He used her financial assets to get his business back on its feet again without any intention of paying it back. After she divorced him, he wanted a way to put an end to his alimony payments. That’s where Steve Winchell came in.”
Schwartz broke his silence. “Hold it. You’ve got no right to make accusations like that. You can’t prove I did any such thing.”
“We think we can,” Ray said. “And when we do, you stand to be convicted of two counts of second degree murder, one count of attempted second degree murder, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, and the list goes on. And it could get worse. The Grand Jury may increase those charges to first degree.”
“You’re bluffing,” Schwartz snarled.
Blatz clamped his hand on his client’s shoulder. “Quiet.” He looked Ray over. “What kind of evidence do you claim to have?”
A slow-spreading smile crept across Ray’s face. “It’s not a claim; it’s fact.” He turned to Schwartz. “We went through Winchell’s apartment and car with a fine-toothed comb. Care to guess what was found, Frank?” Ray’s smile broadened. “They found a money band just like the ones around the stacks of hundred dollar bills in your briefcase. The difference is, the one we found at Winchell’s place was empty. The really interesting thing, though,” he added, “is the note written on the inside. You know the one, Frank. You’re the one who wrote it.”
The attorney’s hand clutched Schwartz’s shoulder more tightly. “Fill me in,” Blatz said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Fair enough,” Ray conceded. “The note read: Discount for sloppy workmanship. Steve Winchell came to collect the rest of what you agreed to pay him for killing Georgia, isn’t that right, Frank? How much of a discount did you give yourself?”
Blatz shoved Schwartz back down in his chair as he tried to get up. “You don’t know where that money band came from, Detective Schiller. It could’ve come from anywhere and for an entirely unrelated reason.”
“But not from anyone. It’s being checked, but the handwriting on that band looks like an exact match to a sample taken from your client’s office.”
“Even if he wrote the note,” Blatz said, “you can’t prove it has anything to do with a murder conspiracy.”
“Damn straight,” Schwartz said. “And before he came to my home, Steve Winchell and I never said more than a handful of words to each other, so how do you suggest we went about planning a murder? Check my computer… my phone records if you like. See for yourselves.”
“We already have,” Ray told him.
“And?”
“And you’re right,” Waverly said. “You didn’t use those to communicate with him.”
“So how could we have plotted to kill Georgia?”
“It took me a while to figure it out, and I admit it was pretty clever,” Ray said, “but it finally came to me. You used ‘car-mail’.”
“What, Detective Schiller, is car-mail?” Blatz asked.
“Your client got creative. He used his car like a carrier pigeon to exchange messages with Winchell. He’d leave a message for him inside the glovebox, under a floor mat, wherever, and then, deliver it by bringing his car in to be serviced. When he’d pick up his car, Winchell’s reply would be inside.”
Schwartz’s face went pale.
Ray turned to him. “Dunn’s courtesy car was the tipoff, Frank. It was the final step of your plan. You’d been in before to enlist Winchell’s help. Once he agreed, you had to bring your car in again in order to deliver the initial payment and the gun you said you’d provide. That left you having to make one more trip to Dunn Motors after the job was done in order to collect the gun from Winchell and give him the rest of what you agreed to pay. Being a clever man, you realized too many service visits would look suspicious, so you staged a minor accident in a parking lot. Brilliant. You could leave your car for repairs and create an alibi for yourself by taking the courtesy car to Pelican Rapids for a week while Winchell killed Georgia.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I don’t think so, Frank. When you returned the loaner, the rest of Winchell’s money was supposed to be inside, which, of course, is why you locked it and gave the keys to him rather than the service girl. Before he discovered that empty money band, you drove off with the murder weapon he’d left in your newly repaired car. You thought y
ou’d drive off, dispose of the gun, and nobody would be the wiser.”
“That’s a nice little theory,” Blatz said, “but you can’t prove any of that.”
“A jury will give serious thought to Mr. and Mrs. Grossmans’ account of the accident.”
“Who are the Grossmans?’ Blatz asked.
“It was their SUV your client used to stage the accident in the Menards parking lot off Wayzata Boulevard.”
“Staged?” Blatz said. “Based on what?”
“They’re prepared to swear in court that it was no accident—that he backed into them intentionally. When they saw his reverse lights come on, they stopped in the aisle and waited for him to pull out. They wanted his parking space, so they kept waiting, but he didn’t move. They could see him watching them, so they finally gave up and continued driving, but when they were directly behind him, he floored it and backed into them… hard.”
“That makes him a terrible driver, not a killer.”
“But in conjunction with the rest,” Ray said, “it makes perfect sense. He manufactured an accident to create a believable reason for making two more trips to Dunn Motors.”
Schwartz loosened his collar. “I didn’t do anything of the kind.”
“Sloppy workmanship or not, Winchell lived up to his end of the bargain,” Ray said. “He may have bungled the job, but you’d have been smart to pay him what he what you’d promised. He’d be alive and you wouldn’t be here.”
Schwartz had gone quiet.
His lawyer scrambled for a comeback. “What you’re saying may sound plausible, but there’s no way that’s going to hold up in court. It’s all supposition. My client had a legitimate accident, took his car in for repairs, and used a complimentary car while he was out of the Cities.
Everything else you’ve thrown into the mix is pure fantasy.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, counselor,” Waverly said. “This morning a check was run on the gun sales records at F.S. Sporting Goods —the Ruger 32 caliber pistol sales specifically—the make and model of the one that fired the bullets taken out of Elena Dunn, Georgia Schwartz and Lewis Lundquist. Two Rugers were sold there since Georgia Schwartz’s murder.”
Web of Silence: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 4) Page 27