Gray Area: The Case of the Hellhound Homicide (Gray Gaynes Book 2)

by R. L. Akers

  There were so many different responses Gray could make to that statement, but he decided to check his phone's text messaging app instead. Sure enough, he'd missed a message from the ME sometime in the last twenty minutes. "Precipitin and DNA tests take time," Gray said vaguely, "but I just received confirmation that the type of blood found at the scene — assuming it's indeed human — matches Edgar Weiss."

  DeLancy froze. "Ed?"

  Gray nodded, watching the other man carefully. "According to the blood bank, he's the only donor from your company with AB-negative blood."

  The executive settled heavily into his desk chair. "Ed Weiss is dead?" he asked, his shock appearing quite genuine to Gray's eyes.

  "We don't know that," Gray said with a sigh. He was starting to understand the frustration the ME had shown him last night. "It'll be at least a few days before DNA testing can confirm." He continued watching the other man. "You seem surprised by this."

  "I assumed... I mean, it was Charlie's office."

  Interesting. Apparently, the possibility of losing Edgar Weiss merited a more emotional response than did the possibility of losing Charles Blake. Gray remembered what Lloyd — or was it Boyd?—had said about DeLancy blocking Blake's repeated attempts to have Weiss fired. "Are you close?" he asked, deliberately using the present tense. "You and Mr. Weiss?"

  DeLancy blinked. "I... no. Well, not especially. He was here since the beginning, you know..." DeLancy trailed off, chewing his lip, very obviously distracted. "Sorry, I need to make some phone calls."

  It was Gray's turn to blink. "I'd really rather we finish this interview first." Not that he could force the issue, but it couldn't hurt to try.

  "Yes, but—"

  "Look," Gray reiterated, "we really don't know for sure yet that the blood is Weiss's. And even if it is, we don't know that he's dead."

  DeLancy eyed Gray for a long time, then finally leaned back in his chair, removing his hand from where it had been hovering over the phone. He was clearly still distracted, but it seemed an invitation to continue with the interview.

  "Mr. DeLancy," Gray proceeded. "Can you tell me why Mr. Weiss might have been in Mr. Blake's office?"

  The silver-haired man nodded slowly, as if finding the words to say. "It... well, it wasn't going to be Charlie's office much longer."

  "No one else I've talked to mentioned—"

  "I know, I know," DeLancy said dismissively. "They don't know yet. No one knows except the leadership. We made the decision Friday afternoon."

  Gray spoke slowly, making sure he understood. "You made the decision to let Mr. Weiss have Mr. Blake's office? Or to—"

  DeLancy focused on the detective long enough to deliver a withering look. "No, to give him Charlie's job. Vice President of Development." He glanced away. "The office was just a perk. Only four corners, you know."

  "And what happens to Mr. Blake?"

  "Charlie would stay on as Ed's number-two — they would, in essence, swap jobs. Charlie..." DeLancy sighed. "Charlie just doesn't have the vision to run that department any longer. But Ed's full of ideas — I get the picture that Charlie's been stomping down on some of those ideas for a long time."

  Gray dutifully captured all of this in his note-taking app. If he hadn't before, Charles Blake certainly looked like a very promising suspect now, assuming Weiss was indeed the victim. "So Mr. Blake is a programmer too?"

  DeLancy blinked. "No. Why?"

  "Well... I understand that Mr. Weiss has been your company's lead developer for years. A developer is a computer programmer, right?"

  "That's right."

  "So if they swap jobs and Blake becomes lead developer, how does that work if he's not a developer?"

  DeLancy belatedly recognized Gray's confusion. "Well... lead developer is more of a middle manager, I guess. Part-time developer, part-time supervisor."

  Gray waited for DeLancy to say more — it still sounded like Blake was a terrible fit for the job, unqualified for half of his main duties — but no further explanation was forthcoming. It seemed DeLancy's focus was drifting away again.

  "I heard there's bad blood between them?" Gray asked. "Between Blake and Weiss?"

  DeLancy shook himself. "Yes, I suppose... Okay, yeah, I guess that's no secret. They hate each other."

  "Considering their history—and the fact that Blake doesn't seem well suited to taking Weiss's position — I'm surprised you would keep Blake on at all."

  The company president cocked his head, studying Gray for a moment. "Does that have any bearing on your investigation?"

  Gray shrugged. "I'm not commenting on how you run your business. Your decision to keep Mr. Blake just doesn't make any sense to me, at first glance — I don't know if it matters to my case or not." Gray smiled disarmingly. "I don't mean to suggest it's suspicious, just that you've got me curious."

  DeLancy sighed, then glanced around as if to confirm there was no one else in the office. "Let's just say that if I fire Blake, he's due a huge severance. He, uh... He doesn't get that if he quits."

  "Ahh," Gray said, with a note of new understanding. That did make sense. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then finally targeted the elephant in the room. "So. Do you think there's a chance Charles Blake might have attacked Edgar Weiss for stealing his job?" DeLancy didn't immediately answer, so Gray went on. "Either intentionally or because he lost control? I've heard Mr. Blake has a problem with his temper." If Gray had trusted the security logs, which indicated Blake had never entered the office yesterday, this line of questioning wouldn't be worth pursuing; but since Gray didn't trust them, and since DeLancy didn't know the logs apparently absolved Blake, he let the question stand.

  DeLancy looked exceedingly uncomfortable. "Well... I suppose it's possible Charlie would react that way. He's been known to—" He interrupted himself. "It doesn't matter, though. Charlie didn't even know yet. Nobody knew. I was going to tell him when he came in today, then put out a memo to the rest of the company."

  "You said the company leadership knew. Who is that?"

  "Well, me and the other vice presidents — Jonas Gadding and Vincent Turrell. And of course Ed was there. That's it." DeLancy paused. "Well, and Katy too." He waved a dismissive hand. "My secretary."

  Gray frowned. That name sounded familiar... As he flipped open the printout of yesterday's security logs, he reflected that it was a good thing he was still able to recognize names, if not faces too. Ah, there it was — Katy Cogan, access at 2:20 p.m. Gray was slightly more inclined to trust what the logs did tell him as opposed to what they didn't, though he knew he should question all of it. "Miss Cogan is your secretary," he repeated, making a note. "Is it normal for her to be here on a Sunday?"

  DeLancy shrugged. "It happens." Leaning forward, he seized his computer mouse and moved it about, clicking several times, his eyes intent on a screen that was facing away from Gray. "Yeah, Katy sent an email at around 2:30 yesterday. Notes from our meeting on Friday, which included a list of all the goals we'd established for Ed." The executive's eyes returned to Gray. "She promised to send that out before leaving on Friday. Guess she forgot to do that, then remembered yesterday." His expression grew sardonic. "I suppose that has a bearing on your case also?"

  "So," Gray said, ignoring the dig. "Five people knew about Weiss's promotion. Is it possible one of them told Charles Blake about it?"

  "Anything's possible, I guess."

  "A few moments ago, when I asked how Mr. Blake might react to this news, you started to tell me something — that Charles Blake has been known to... what?"

  The company president fell silent, looking at Gray thoughtfully.

  "Have you ever known Charles Blake to act violently in the past?"

  "You know," DeLancy said finally, "I think it would be best if I say nothing further on this subject, at least until I have my lawyer present."

  Gray looked up from his notes in surprise. "Do you have something to hide, Mr. DeLancy?"

  "What? No!" The other man paused
. "I just... I have a business to run here. If I've lost Ed, I can no longer afford to lose Charlie too..." He trailed off, then clamped his mouth firmly shut.

  Gray stared at the executive, astounded. Had Arnold DeLancy just implied what Gray thought he'd implied? That his business was more important to him than bringing a possible murderer to justice? Gray left that question unspoken but furiously took down some notes on his phone. The silence was clearly too much for DeLancy, but — just as clearly — the man couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't make it worse. So he sat very awkwardly as Gray tapped his notes.

  Finally, Gray spoke up, changing the subject to something safer in hopes of getting the guy talking again. "What exactly does ATC do? What type of business are you in?"

  He had expected the question to come as a relief to DeLancy, but the company president didn't appear any less stressed when he answered. But at least he answered. "We're a provider of cloud-based data protection solutions."

  "Uh... what does that mean?"

  "It means we're an online backup service. We cater mostly to personal and home-office users. Our service lets them backup their photos, documents, and emails for a small monthly fee. If their computer ever crashes or they delete something accidentally, our software makes it easy to recover what they've lost."

  Gray explored that topic for several more minutes, then probed in other directions. It was clear that Arnold DeLancy remained very distracted, however, and more than once — despite Gray's assurances that Ed Weiss may yet be alive and well — he caught DeLancy eyeing the phone longingly.

  There was only so much the detective could ask the man, however, and they'd already been talking half an hour. Gray eventually stood to leave. "One last question before I go, Mr. DeLancy."

  At this, the president did look relieved.

  "Can you give me a rough idea as to Weiss and Blake's annual income?

  The president stared. "How is that relevant?"

  Gray shrugged eloquently. "We couldn't help but notice that both men live in very exclusive buildings. I suppose that makes sense for Mr. Blake as a long-time executive of this company. But you said Mr. Weiss was middle management?"

  "Ed's been here even longer than Charlie," DeLancy blustered. "He got in on the ground floor with profit sharing, and the company's done very well for itself." Without waiting for a response, DeLancy strode to the double doors and threw one open. "Ah, Katy. About time you showed up." He glanced at his watch. "It's past 8:30. Find out if Weiss or Blake have arrived."

  Gray approached the door, extending his hand to shake DeLancy's and thank him for his time. Instead, his attention was arrested by the young woman seated at the secretary's desk outside DeLancy's office door.

  He wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at her when she finally returned the phone to its cradle and glanced up. "The receptionist says neither Mr. Weiss nor Mr. Blake have arrived yet."

  DeLancy swore under his breath. "Both of them should have been here long before now." For a time, during his interview with Gray, the man had lost some of his overbearing ugliness; now, though, his intimidating executive persona was back, fixed firmly in place. He noticed Gray's still-extended hand and shook it, then seemed to notice where Gray was staring. A glint entered his eye. "Hot little number, isn't she?" he said quietly. "Eye candy." He clapped Gray on the shoulder, then headed back to his desk.

  Standing in that doorway, staring at DeLancy's assistant, Gray swallowed hard. Her hair was like silk, her face smattered with more than its fair share of freckles. Her eyes lit up and her cheeks dimpled as she treated him to a vibrant smile.

  She was the spitting image of his wife, Rose.

  Grayson Gaynes had met Rose Moynihan three years prior, on one of CUNY's many campuses in the city. Several years his junior, she'd been finishing her last semester in the university's studio art program; he'd been a uniformed cop taking a break from his foot patrol to buy coffee at the campus food court.

  While waiting in line, he had found himself staring at a strange sculpture on a nearby pedestal. There were works of art spread throughout the food court, an exhibition put on by the art students, but this... piece, for lack of a better word... was truly riveting, and more than a little disturbing. It consisted of a human eye the size of a beach ball, with images plastered all over the ball's inside surface; the images — a seamless collage of human violence and hatred — were visible only through the giant transparent iris. He'd learned later this was one of her pieces.

  Gray became aware of snickers from behind him. The sound of porcine snorting, a whispered comment about the smell of bacon, a much louder round of guffaws. He'd gritted his teeth. How original: a pack of brats who felt the need to prove their mettle, as if making pig references in proximity to a police officer automatically conveyed badass status. Tempting as it would have been to put them in their place, however, he really didn't have the time; he needed to buy his coffee and get back to his patrol route. So he'd stayed face-forward, giving no sign he was aware of their mockery.

  That was when he heard her voice for the very first time.

  She tore into the hecklers with a ferocity that did make him turn around. In an artful turn of phrase that Gray could never quite recall, she asked them how a man who spent his days protecting them from rapists and murderers deserved to receive their scorn in return. By the time she was finished, the offenders were slinking away, red-faced, heads down. There was even scattered applause from the other students in line, though Gray had always thought they were simply grateful at the drastic decrease in their wait time for coffee.

  Gray himself was now at the front of the coffee line, and he gave his rescuer a warm smile. "Can I buy you a coffee to say thanks?"

  "No, but you can let me buy yours." And before he could object, her student charge card was in the barista's hands.

  Gray really didn't have time to stick around, but he suddenly wanted to. Knowing he had perhaps a minute before his coffee materialized on the counter, he thrust out his hand. "I'm Grayson. Er, Gray."

  "Nice to meet you, Grayson Urgray," she said, a smile pulling at her lips. She extended her own hand to grasp his, but so intently was she gazing into his eyes that she couldn't immediately find his hand. Face turning pink, she said, "I'm Rose."

  The coffee materialized on the counter.

  In an uncharacteristic display of recklessness, Gray had blurted that now he owed her far more than coffee; he would need to take her out to dinner to express his appreciation. Immediately after saying the words, he'd felt like a moron. A woman this beautiful, this passionate, would surely already belong on another man's arm. But no, her face had lit up, and she'd accepted quickly. The way Gray's hands were trembling, it was a wonder he managed to take down her phone number legibly.

  The rest, as the saying goes, was history. Gray grew to love Rose not only for her allure, but for her heart. She was a passionate idealist, an optimist, someone who managed to find unending beauty in the world around her — in the people of that world — even while doing her part to fight injustice wherever she saw it. Gray himself was not an idealist. He could never manage to separate the beauty from the hatred; it was always people who perpetrated injustice on each other, given the right opportunity. Rather than earn his contempt, however, Rose's perspective became a lifeline for him. Gray liked to joke that she saw the world through Rose-colored glasses, but he thrived on that fact. His was a job that forced him to contend with humanity's dark side — all the more so when he made detective, a year after meeting her — and her radiant outlook on life kept him from drowning in that darkness.

  And then she was murdered.

  Of all days for that terrible event to occur, it had been their wedding anniversary — their first wedding anniversary — now just four months past. They'd been picnicking in the park, drowning in each other's eyes, but Gray's memory grew disjointed after the food was finished. There'd been a man with a baseball bat, he remembered that much — a man he had recognized at t
he time, but whose face was now forever lost to him. The man had attacked them — though that memory was also gone — beating them both senseless with the bat... and Rose had succumbed to her injuries, while Gray survived to live on without her. The investigating officer had called it a mugging gone wrong, but Gray didn't believe there was anything random about the crime. He wouldn't have recognized the man if that were the case.

  But the identity of that man was far from Gray's mind now, because right now, for the first time in months, he was drowning in her eyes again.

  Gray wrenched himself from his reverie. No. This was not Rose. This was not his wife. This was... was...

  "Can I help you?" the woman asked uncertainly, her energetic smile slipping under his intense gaze.

  "Yes, I'm—" He cleared his throat, and his voice came out a little less hoarse. "I'm Detective Gray Gaynes, NYPD." He produced his shield and ID. "I'm sorry, you just... well, you reminded me of an old friend."

  Her smile returned in an instant, and Gray's heart nearly broke. Despite his inability to recognize faces since that day in the park, Rose's face alone had remained lodged in his memory. He didn't know if he had providence to thank for that, or if it was some quirk of bioengineering that allowed his memory to hold onto that one face even when all others had fled — he didn't care, so long as he was able to safeguard his memories of her. And yet, as time passed, Gray was finding that her beloved face was growing more vague in his memory. It wasn't unnatural, an effect of his injuries; it was just... time.

  But now here she was again, rising to her feet before him, proffering her hand to shake his. The déjà vu was overwhelming, and his eyes drank her in, like a man deprived of water suddenly standing before a fountain.

  No. It wasn't her, no matter what his eyes tried to tell him. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice still hoarse.

  "Katy Cogan," she said, her dimples making another appearance, then fading as she demurely tucked a strand of silken hair over her ear.

  "Right," Gray said, forcing a businesslike tone. Of course he'd known that. Katy Cogan, assistant to Arnold DeLancy. Her desk sat right outside the president's office door. "Please, sit down," he told her. He pulled up a chair from the office's small waiting area. Took a deep breath. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"