Murder.com

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

Tom shook his head. “No, they weren't allowed back into this office after Bud's death."

  Cliff put the folder back into the file cabinet. “Well, if your theory is right, someone got in here. They snooped around, then wiped everything down."

  Tom leaned back in the chair and dropped his hands to his lap. “Wonder what they were looking for?"

  “Ever get those locked files open on the computer?"

  “No. Got a man coming to do that in the morning."

  “Well, I think you better go pick Mrs. Nevers’ brain some more. Now that we've got a murder on our hands, we've got to find out what happened before his death. Someone had a bone to pick with him. While you're doing that, I'm going to get some search warrants."

  Tom raised a brow. “Oh? What are you planning to search?"

  “Not sure just yet. But I want them ready."

  “Okay.” Tom chuckled. “By the way, I talked with several people at the country club and many saw Bud and Ken there Saturday before and directly after their golf game. But I didn't find anyone who saw either of them after twelve-thirty that afternoon."

  “Well, so far Ken's story is holding up.” Cliff checked his watch. “Let's say we meet here at six this evening."

  Tom stood. “Sounds good."

  After Cliff left, Tom shrugged into his jacket, locked the office and went to the parking lot. He climbed into his car, whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and placed a call to Angie.

  * * * *

  Angie stood looking thoughtfully out the bedroom window after Tom's call. The letter from Melinda lay on the bed. She'd reread it several times, trying to figure out what this woman had to tell her. But her mind remained a blank. When she saw the Buick crest the hill, she slipped the envelope into her dresser drawer and went downstairs.

  Tom gave her a quick reassuring hug. “You look good, Angie. Glad to see you up and around."

  “Thanks. I decided to get my life back on track."

  He furrowed his brow. “I hope the questions I have to ask won't be too painful."

  She led him into the study. “Can I fix you something to drink?"

  “Nothing alcoholic. I'm on duty."

  Angie opened the small refrigerator under the wet bar, pulled out two sodas, filled some glasses with ice, then joined him on the couch. She looked into his eyes. “I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to have to answer questions. Bud's murderer has to be found."

  “I'm glad you feel that way. I can't stand to see you go through much more."

  She patted him on the knee. “You're very kind, Tom. But, go ahead. What do you need to know?"

  “I want you to think back over the past several months and try to remember anything unusual that Bud might have said or done."

  She frowned and lowered her gaze.

  Tom studied her, feeling she had something on her mind but didn't want to talk about it. “I don't expect you to come up with anything at this moment. But I want you to think about it. And if something pops into your mind, regardless of how small it might be, please give me a call."

  “I'd forgotten about the young intern Bud had working for him this summer. I think he's already gone back east to school. But he drove Bud nuts."

  “How?"

  “He had too much energy and wanted to learn everything about the company. He had his nose in every corner until some of the employees complained."

  “Do you know his name?

  She shook her head. “No. I'm sure it's in the records, he got paid. But Bud never made any derogatory or negative statements about the young man. In fact, he complimented him shortly before he left. Told me that the kid had gone through the books with a fine-tooth comb and pointed out some areas where they could update their bookkeeping."

  Her statement piqued Tom's interest and he made a note in his notebook. “Anything else off the top of your head?"

  Angie tapped her chin with a finger. “No. Not at the moment. But if I think of anything I'll let you know.” Then she gazed at Tom in silence until it made him uneasy.

  “What's bothering you?"

  “Do you actually think someone at work killed Bud?"

  Not wanting to comment on that subject, Tom stood and glanced at his watch. “We don't know, Angie, but I'm meeting Detective Maxhimer at Bud's office. Take care of yourself. I'll call tomorrow."

  Stunned by Tom's implications, she slumped down on the couch, forgetting to accompany him to the door. Until now, she'd thought the murderer would have been a stranger, like Melinda. But, no. It had to be a man. A woman the size of Melinda would have had a hard time struggling with Bud's limp body. That is, unless she had an accomplice.

  Angie rose and hurried upstairs. She snatched the letter out of the drawer and sat down on the edge of the bed near the phone. Spreading the paper out on the bedside table, she dialed the number Melinda had written. The phone rang and rang. Just as she started to hang up, a man answered.

  “Hello."

  The voice didn't sound familiar. She could hear faint tinkling music and the bustling sounds of many people. “May I ask to whom I'm speaking?"

  “Were you calling someone here at the mall? I don't see anyone standing around waiting."

  “Which mall?"

  After he told her, she slowly hung up, a plan forming in her mind. She'd be at that mall tomorrow night. She'd go early enough to research which phone had this number, and then she'd wait nearby.

  * * * *

  Tom pulled up to the Nevers building. It never ceased to amaze him how fast Cliff could get a search warrant. The building had already been cordoned off with yellow tape and the parking lot held few cars. He walked into the front reception area, slowing his pace when he saw Ken Weber grinding his fists into his hips and glaring into Cliff's face. A standoff seemed to be taking place between the two men. He didn't know if he wanted to get involved, so he hung back just within earshot and listened.

  Detective Maxhimer pointed his finger at Ken. “Mr. Weber, I'm now in charge here. I'll do what I think is necessary. A man's been murdered and it's my job to find his murderer."

  Ken's green eyes shot fire. “Well, how the hell do you think I can conduct business if the building is closed and the police are running all over?"

  “I think you'll find a way to manage things. It shouldn't take more than two days to thoroughly search the premises. If it takes longer, we'll go into the weekend and be through by Monday morning."

  Weber turned on his heel and charged back toward his office.

  Tom stepped up to Cliff. “Got a problem?"

  Cliff poked his finger in the air toward Ken's office. “That's one hell of a stubborn man. He doesn't like us around at all.” He shook his head and frowned.

  “What's eating you?"

  “He puzzles me. He doesn't seem to miss his partner. I haven't heard one word of remorse come out of his mouth."

  Tom glanced down the hall where Ken had departed. “Some people show grief in different ways."

  “Did you speak with Mrs. Nevers?"

  “Yeah. She told me Bud hired a college business major for the summer and the kid drove him crazy."

  “How's that?"

  “He asked a million question about the company, but Bud was impressed with his performance. Angie said he never had anything bad to say about the young man. Just very enthusiastic about learning about the company. But he left before Bud's death, to head back east to school. Makes me wonder if he spotted something and brought it to Nevers’ attention."

  On the way to the office, Tom spoke with Bud's secretary and asked her about the young intern. She gave him Bill Crane's name, but she only had a local address and phone number. Tom took the name of the school and his parents’ home phone number in case he needed to contact him. She'd also compiled a list of Bud's current clients, explaining that Ken had now taken them over. Her only association with the clients was limited to a greeting when they entered the office or witnessing their signatures on contracts.

  The two det
ectives settled in Bud's office where they went through the rest of the files and checked off the dissatisfied customers, deciding who would be contacted first. Cliff suddenly hit the top of the filing cabinet with his fist.

  “I feel like all I've accomplished is getting search warrants for the future. I've never felt so up in the air over a case. So far, we haven't even come close to finding a motive for the murder, much less a suspect."

  Tom nodded. “Just be patient and keep looking. Something's bound to turn up. Murderers make mistakes."

  It was after ten o'clock before the two men finally departed the building and went their separate ways. Tom turned into the driveway of the modest home that he and Sarah had bought before she became terminally ill. He'd thought of selling it several times, but the last few years he'd decided he liked the space and privacy. The thought of living in an apartment or a condo just didn't suit him.

  Making his way through the house, he pulled his already-loosened tie over his head and hung it on one of the door knobs. He slung his sport coat over the back of the dining room chair. By the time he reached the bedroom, he had his shirt off and his belt unbuckled. He sat down on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, socks and pants, then laid back on the rumpled covers.

  He stared at the ceiling for a few moments. Who in the hell killed Bud? And why? He felt like he'd hit a brick wall. Praying silently something would happen to shed some light on this case, he grabbed the pillow, rolled over and barely remembered to set his alarm before his eyes closed. Then the dreams began.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Thursday morning, Angie started the day with mixed feelings. She'd told no one about Melinda's letter. Sandy Weber had called last night wanting to meet for lunch today, but she didn't trust herself to keep quiet around her friend so declined the invitation. They made plans to meet the following week. Until she knew why Melinda wanted to see her, she'd keep to herself.

  Angie stood at the kitchen counter having a cup of coffee when Marty sauntered through the back door. Her shoulders drooped and she wore no smile on a sullen face. She didn't even look up and say hello.

  Stepping in front of her, Angie put a finger under Marty's chin and lifted the woeful face. “What's wrong?"

  “Sorry I'm late, Mrs. Nevers."

  “That's not what I asked.” Angie raised a brow. “I asked what's wrong? You look ill. In fact, you haven't appeared well for the last couple of days."

  Marty cast her eyes downward. “I think Mr. Nevers’ death has caught up with me. I've cried myself to sleep every night. I know how horrible this must be for you."

  Angie wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Yes, it's been devastating, but we can't bring him back. Life is for the living, so we have to stay strong and keep going. And we have to cooperate with the police and help bring his murderer to justice.” Angie felt she said this for herself as well as for the benefit of her housekeeper.

  Marty stepped out of her grasp and headed toward the coffee pot. When she raised the urn to pour a cup, her hand trembled so badly that Angie had to take it from her. “Sit down. I'll get it for you. It's my turn to wait on you."

  Hesitantly, Marty went back to the kitchen bar. She sat down and muttered, “This doesn't feel right."

  Angie smiled. “Everybody deserves a bit of pampering now and then.” She set the mug in front of Marty, then took a seat on the opposite side and studied the woman's face over the rim of her cup. Her puffy skin and bloated look indicated to Angie that she'd been hitting the sauce pretty heavily. She reached over and patted Marty's hand. “I'm worried about you. I think you're drinking too much."

  Marty frowned and diverted her gaze away from Angie. “You're right, Mrs. Nevers. I can't help myself sometimes."

  “It's going to make you ill and you know I need you now more than ever. I couldn't stand the thought of you not being here with me."

  Tears welled in Marty's eyes and she whispered, “I can't stand that thought either."

  Angie hopped down off the bar stool, put an arm around Marty and led her to the door. “Look. I want you to go home and go straight to bed. No food preparing, no nothing, just rest. And promise me you won't take a drink today.

  Marty nodded. “I promise, Mrs. Nevers, I promise."

  Angie watched with concern as her housekeeper trudged slowly across the lawn and disappeared around the corner of the garage.

  * * * *

  Tom leaped out of bed, sang loudly in the shower, then dressed. He'd slept like a log except for those dreams about Angie that haunted him night after night. He felt guilty about his growing feelings about her, which surfaced not long after Sara's death. But, he'd accepted the fact that he'd never be able to have Angie. Then Bud's death opened a gateway he'd never expected. It would take time for her to get over her loss but he had plenty of that. On the other hand, she might never accept him. That's the chance he'd take.

  He'd given up on trying to beat Cliff to work. It didn't matter how early he arrived, Cliff always got there first. Tom chuckled when he drove into the station parking lot and spotted the detective walking toward the building. Today, he wore a baseball cap. His hair protruded from the back hole like the soft down of a baby bird's first feathers. Tom beeped the horn. Maxhimer glanced up and gave a wave for him to get a move on it. The cool morning air put an invigorating pace to the men's steps as they charged inside.

  Cliff took off his jacket and hung it over his arm. “You're gonna get right on that phone, aren't you?"

  Tom grinned. “You know me pretty well."

  “Yeah. When you work with someone for close to fifteen years, you get a feel."

  Tom made himself comfortable at his desk and started making calls to Bud's unhappy clients. Cliff disappeared down the hall to his office. But it wasn't fifteen minutes before his right hand man came charging back through the door, fuming with anger.

  “Have you got Weber's home phone number?"

  Tom pulled his little black notebook from his breast pocket. “Yeah. What's the problem?"

  “Just got a call from one of the officers at the Nevers building. Ken Weber has his goddamn filing cabinet padlocked."

  Tom shook his head and recited the number as Cliff yanked the phone toward him.

  “Ken Weber,” he said sharply. While waiting, he tapped his fingers against the desk top. “Weber, Detective Maxhimer here. I need you to get your ass down here and unlock your goddamn filing cabinet or I'm having a crew take it apart.” He slammed the receiver down with a disgusted growl. “For someone who wanted this procedure to hurry along, he's the one costing us time.” Snatching off his ball cap, he shoved loose strands of hair behind his ears, then plunked the hat back on. “Come on, let's get over there and see what's happening."

  A few minutes after the detectives arrived at the Nevers building, Ken Weber stormed into his office, eyes aflame. “There's no reason for you to rummage through my files,” he stormed. “They only contain personal information about my clients."

  Cliff narrowed his steel-gray eyes. “Mr. Weber, not only are we going to go through your files, but we're going to go into your computer. In fact, we're going into every computer in this building. The president of this company has been murdered. Do you understand this is a murder investigation? We're not leaving one piece of paper unturned. And if I have to search your home, I'll do that too. And furthermore, if you keep interfering, I'll close this damn building tighter than a jug. Now get that file cabinet open so my people can get at it."

  Tom turned his back on the two men to hide his grin. Cliff never ceased to amaze him. And the astonished looks from people who didn't think the guy was tough always amused Tom.

  After Ken unlocked the padlock, he turned on his heel and left the office. His angry steps echoed down the hallway and across the tiled reception area as he slammed out the front door. Tom wondered why Ken was so uncooperative. Of course, the man had more to gain from Bud's death than anyone else in the company.

  Tom had carr
ied the list of clients with him, so he decided to finish contacting them from Bud's office. Once satisfied that none of them appeared suspect, he turned on the computer and opened Bud's calendar. He found the most interesting entry to be an appointment with the audit company for the following Tuesday.

  He gave them a call and discovered Ken Weber had canceled due to Bud's death. Tom jotted himself a note to talk to Ken about why Bud might have scheduled an audit at this time of year.

  Tom leaned back in the chair and thoughtfully stared out the window. The police had confiscated what financial records they could find from the accountant, Ryan Conners. Mr. Conners informed them that a computer blitz had wiped out all the records and they were working to get everything restored. When asked about the backup disk, Mr. Conners couldn't find it. That puzzled Tom. Mr. Conners also explained why Mr. Nevers’ and Mr. Weber's computers had not been affected. Each had their own circuits and the company had a separate line. They thought it would be a better protection policy. Tom agreed.

  Cliff charged into the room, his hair stuck out in fluffs over his ears, and he had a dirt smudge on the end of his nose. He reminded Tom of a mischievous pup. Cliff banged a fist on the desk.

  “This is the damnedest thing I've ever seen. There's something screwy going on here. This place is too perfect. Makes my hair stand on edge."

  Tom stifled a laugh. That's exactly how Cliff appeared.

  Cliff pulled himself up straight and took a deep breath. “Find anything on Nevers’ computer?"

  Tom shook his head. “Not yet. My computer buff canceled out today. He'll be here first thing in the morning."

  “Who's their audit company?"

  Tom fumbled in his pocket for his notebook. “Hames & Goode."

  “Let's get down there and have a talk with them. I have a gut feeling we're going to have to move fast. Someone's a step ahead of us and I don't like it."

  Tom grabbed his jacket and the two men left.

  * * * *

  Angie decided to leave the house at six thirty, which would allow plenty of time in case of heavy traffic and for her to find the right pay phone. Not wanting Melinda to spot her right off, she decided on a pair of designer jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. Thinking her hair might give her away, she tied a scarf around her head, then slipped on a pair of sunglasses. She examined her appearance in the mirror and decided that would do it.