by Vella Day
A small man, with steel gray hair, Mr. Davis was impeccably dressed, looking every bit like a big time financial advisor.
The wiry money manager held out his hand. “We meet again, Detective. Do you have news about Carl’s death? He’s sorely missed around here.” He motioned Derek to take a seat in his richly paneled office that smelled of new leather.
“No, but hopefully soon.” Derek didn’t want to discuss the difficulty in determining the cause of death in an apparent suicide of one of his workers. Something about the man’s fall from the twentieth floor of a high rise bothered Derek. Like why carry cash and credit cards when you’re committing suicide? You can’t take it with you.
Winston Davis tugged on his coat jacket and straightened his tie. “Over the phone you asked about Justin being at my party.”
“Yes. I trust he told you about his girlfriend’s death.”
“Yes, such a shame. I told him to take time off, but he said being by himself was too hard.”
Derek could relate. “Could you tell me what time Justin arrived at your house?” Pen poised, Derek waited for an answer.
The boss straightened, and his face tightened. “Is Justin a suspect in the girl’s death? I thought she committed suicide. Isn’t that what the news reported?”
Shit. The man was smart. Derek had no authority to investigate Rayne’s death since the Captain had ruled her death a suicide. “Yes, but I’m trying to get a handle on when Rayne died. She was my sister.”
Relief flooded Mr. Davis’s face. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Davis picked up a silver pen from his desk and twirled the ballpoint over his knuckles in a fluid movement. “Well, if I remember correctly, Justin arrived at my house around six or so, though I didn’t look at my watch. I do recall it was before diner, because Justin volunteered to put the barbeque sauce on the ribs.”
“What was his frame of mind?”
He cocked his brows before drawing them into a pinch. “To be quite honest, he seemed rather agitated. I asked him if there was something on his mind, but all he said was that he’d had a hard day. Nothing more.”
“Anything else stand out in your mind about his behavior?” If he’d fought with Rayne, Derek could see why he was upset.
“As a matter of fact, Justin started to drink rather heavily as soon as he walked in the door, which was not his usual M.O.” Mr. Davis shot him a small grin. Derek didn’t react. “To be frank, he drank so much he passed out.”
Derek tried not to let the rush of disappointment show in his body language. If Justin was that drunk, he couldn’t have murdered his sister at eight thirty. “What time was this?”
“Seven thirty, eight.”
“Then what happened?”
“Dave Crafton and I woke him up from the sofa and half walked, half dragged him to my spare bedroom. We told him to sleep it off.”
“And what time did Justin wake up?”
Mr. Davis glanced up to the right as if reenacting the evening. “Most of the guests had left, so I’d have to say around eleven thirty. He looked a little worse for wear when he appeared, but he was sober enough to drive himself home.”
Damn. Justin had an airtight alibi. “Thank you for your time.”
They shook hands. “If I can be of help, let me know,” Mr. Davis said. “And keep me informed of anything you learn about Carl’s death. He was a valuable broker.”
As Derek located his car in the parking garage, the gas fumes and heat nearly choked him. His hand was on the door handle when his spirit guide’s words came back to him: Don’t try to wake the person who is pretending to sleep.
Holy shit. Could Justin have faked being drunk? He was out of sight for several hours while the party raged on. Perhaps he snuck out of the house, killed Rayne, and then returned.
The guides were right. Justin was pretending to sleep. And here Bladen thought he’d created the perfect alibi.
4
The next morning, Derek needed to see Billy. Like himself, he imagined the poor kid was a mess. Derek never imagined seventy-two hours could change his life so much, but the moment Rayne died, a part of him had died too.
He’d called ahead to Billy’s school before crossing the Bay to make sure his nephew would be able to leave class for an hour or so.
“If you’ll wait here, Mr. Benally, I’ll have someone get your nephew,” the gray haired receptionist said with a disapproving glare.
“Thanks.”
He guessed he should have explained why he needed to pull Billy from class, but speaking his sister’s name to the headmaster had caused enough pain.
Derek studied the waiting area. Scores of photos of skinny recruits, dressed in uniform, lined the walls. Every picture was straight and dust free. They could use a few cadets at his precinct to play maid, especially in Seinkievitz’s corner. The guy always left his stacked Krispy Kreme donut boxes next to his desk for days on end, and the man’s mess drove Derek crazy.
“Uncle Derek. What are you doing here?” Derek jerked out of his fog. A mixture of worry and embarrassment crossed the kid’s face.
“I thought we’d have a little chat.” Derek stood and looked down at his nephew who was already close to six feet. Soon, they’d be looking eye-to-eye, and pride swelled.
Billy’s eyes turned stormy. “About what?”
“Come on. Your headmaster gave me permission to take you out for some ice cream.”
His lips curled. “Ice cream is for babies.”
Why was Billy making this so difficult? “Look, I need to talk to you. We can’t do it here.” Derek gestured to the few cadets who were milling near the office door, not to mention the formidable receptionist.
Defeat seeped out of him. “Okay. How about Wendy’s? I could eat a Frosty, I suppose.”
“Wendy’s it is.”
Billy rolled his eyes, not buying his cheery attitude. In silence they strode out to his car.
“Can I drive?” Billy asked with sudden enthusiasm when they reached the truck.
“You’re too young. Get in.”
Legs straight, lips in a thin line, Billy’s hand froze on the handle. “I’m fifteen. I have my permit. Mom let me drive when we were together.”
Derek nearly caved. “Maybe on the ride back.”
Billy’s shoulders relaxed. “Whatever.” He dipped his head and slid onto the passenger seat.
Derek started the engine and switched on the AC before pulling out into the heavy traffic. He wasn’t good at beating around the bush, so he dove right in. “I need to know about your mom’s mindset before you...found her.”
Sadness shadowed Billy’s face. He turned away and looked out the window. “How should I know? I told you I wasn’t home when she shot herself.”
“Can you tell me what you do know?” Derek took the first left turn and pulled into the right lane.
“She was going to have a baby.” The kid lifted one shoulder as if having a brother or sister wasn’t a big deal.
Derek was glad Rayne had confided in Billy. “And how did that make you feel?”
Billy whipped back toward Derek. “What, you some shrink now?”
Derek held his temper. “Billy, listen. I’m just trying to find out if your mother would have killed herself, or rather could have killed herself.”
“You saw her. She had a gun in her hand. Your gun. The one you gave her.”
His gut soured from the immense guilt. “Billy, I made sure your mom had training.” His explanation seemed weak even to him.
Derek relaxed his clenched grip as he pulled to a stop at the light. Needing to explain, he twisted toward his nephew. “Son, there are ways to make murder look like suicide.”
“I’m not your son,” the kid shot back. His bitterness squeezed Derek’s already damaged heart.
“It’s a figure of speech.” Though Derek wouldn’t mind having a son like Billy. “What I’m asking is, do you think your mom was depressed o
r upset enough to take her own life?” Derek held his breath for the answer.
Billy’s brow pinched, as he seemed to consider the question. “Well, she was acting kind of strange.”
“Care to elaborate?”
He shrugged, and then braced his feet up on the dashboard. Derek refrained from telling him to sit up straight. Billy dropped his feet leaving sandy smudges on the dash.
“She was being really nice to me for a change.”
Hardly a characteristic of the chronically depressed. “In what way?”
“I came home for the weekend because I wanted to go to Chris’s birthday party. He’s my best friend, you know. Mom said okay. She didn’t care I wanted to spend the night.”
“And that was unusual?”
The light turned green, and Derek kept to the right, occasionally glancing over at his nephew to get a read on him.
“Yeah. We always argued when I wanted to go out with my friends. But not last Saturday. She was all smiley and stuff.” Billy leaned forward and cranked up the air. Derek didn’t comment. “Then she told me about the baby. I told her I didn’t care if she had a kid as long as I didn’t have to take care of it.”
It? “Did she act relieved when you didn’t put up a fuss?”
“I dunno.”
Derek gripped the wheel hard in frustration. Could the boy be any less helpful? Forcing patience into his body, he pulled into a space in the Wendy’s’ parking lot.
Billy jumped out. “Can we order first?”
“Sure,” Derek said. The smell of greasy hamburgers and fries made him hungry. Too bad he’d given up fattening food years ago.
They waited in a short line, ordered two large Frosties and took a seat by the window.
Derek prodded once more, hating to grill his nephew, but knowing he had to try. “Why don’t you tell me everything that happened on Saturday?”
Billy rolled his eyes and stuffed a large spoonful of chocolate in his mouth.
“Billy?”
The kid looked petulant. “Do we have to?”
“Yes.” This time his tone came out too sharp, but Billy didn’t seem to notice.
The kid slumped in his seat. “I don’t know what there is to tell. Justin came over around two or so, because Mom wanted to tell Grandpa about the baby. I didn’t want to go, but she wouldn’t let me stay at the house alone.” He looked out the window that opened onto the parking lot. “One minute she’s cool, and the next she treats me like I’m a freakin’ baby. I’m fifteen for God’s sake.” Billy turned back to Derek.
“Continue.” He took a small spoonful of the Frosty, pretending to eat the ice cream.
“We went to see Grandpa at the casino, and she told him about being pregnant, and then we came home.”
He doubted that was all that transpired. “Then what?”
“Mom cooked spaghetti. We ate, and then Justin drove me to Chris’s house because mom wasn’t feeling so good.”
“Did they fight before Justin took you to Chris’?”
“No.”
He took another bite of his Frosty. Damn. “Okay. So you spent the night. How did you get home on Sunday morning?”
“Chris’s mom drove me.” He slammed his cup on the table. “Jeez. What is this? The Inquisition?”
Derek ignored the kid’s surliness. “Just trying to get answers.”
Billy let out a long breath. He bit the inside of his lip, and then swiped his arm across his teary eyes. “I called home for mom to come pick me up, but there was no answer.” His lower lip trembled. “I guess she was dead by then.”
Billy dropped his head onto the table. His shoulders shook, but he didn’t make a sound. Derek wanted to gather him in his arms, but he knew Billy wouldn’t let him.
“Thank you, Billy. I appreciate you answering my questions.”
He lifted his head. “So you think someone killed her?” he asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but I’ll do my damnedest to find out.”
Billy sat up, his reddened eyes spearing Derek in the heart.
Once Billy finished his treat, Derek drove his nephew back to school. He was surprised, as well as relieved, Billy didn’t mention taking the wheel on the way back. If Billy asked, Derek knew he’d have to let him drive his truck. Right now, he wasn’t sure he was up for a teenager’s roller coaster emotions, especially when the kid was behind the wheel.
Once at school, Derek slipped out to say goodbye. Billy pressed his lips together and swallowed. Once again the urge to give his nephew a hug and tell him everything would work out, overwhelmed him. Derek walked around to Billy’s side and opened his arms. A hot tear streamed down Derek’s cheek. Billy took a step forward, and then looked around. A few kids were out by the gym at the end of the parking lot.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” Billy said as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and turned away.
Derek dropped his arms, understanding that touching in public was not allowed. Billy had made that abundantly clear in the past.
“Call me, if you need anything,” Derek said.
“Yeah.” His nephew shuffled off, and then turned around. “Uncle Derek?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for trying to find out who hurt Mom.”
Derek’s throat closed up. All he could do was nod. Before he let his grief hog tie him, he slipped back into the cab.
The sooner he could find his sister’s killer, the sooner he and Billy could begin to heal.
“What are you doing here?” Captain Vaughn asked as he loomed over Derek’s desk.
“Last time I checked I worked here.” His Captain had told him to take time off. Derek had tried. He’d failed. The isolation was too much to handle. “My sister didn’t kill herself. Someone murdered her,” Derek announced with total confidence. He crunched the report he held in his hands.
“I know.”
“What?” Derek stood up causing his chair to tumble backward. He stared down at his Captain. “And you didn’t fucking tell me?” Derek shouted.
Vaughn took a step back and tried to look unaffected by tugging on his gray, bushy eyebrows, a habit that drove Derek crazy. “I just received the preliminary report back. Your sister had no traces of barium and antimony on her hands.”
“No powder burns?”
“Sit down.” Vaughn dragged a chair from the next desk and sat. “Now let me ask you something. Was your sister right or left-handed?”
Derek righted the fallen chair and dropped into the seat. “Left.”
“The entry wound on the right side of her head implied your sister was right-handed.”
His mind reeled. When Derek had walked into Rayne’s home after he’d received Billy’s call, he’d stood at her feet. He never mirror-imaged the body in his mind or considered the gun was in the wrong hand. Derek looked up at his Captain. “Damn it. How could I have missed such an obvious mistake?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were in shock from seeing your sister.”
“No. I should have known. I guess my dyslexia got the best of me.”
Lame excuse. His guides had spoken to him the moment he spotted his sister, taking his mind away from the crime scene.
Derek took a sip of lukewarm coffee to wash away the lump in his throat. “Seinkievitz is the primary, right?”
Vaughn’s brows pinched hard enough to form a unibrow. “Yes, but stay out of it. You’re too close.” His Captain stood, sending the chair back with a squeak.
He ignored the Captain’s threat. “I already spoke with my sister’s boyfriend’s boss to see if his alibi held up.” Vaughn would find out sooner or later.
His brows furrowed. “And?”
“Justin Bladen, that’s the boyfriend, was drunk at a party at his boss’s house and slept it off for a few hours before emerging. Rayne was killed during that time.”
“So he couldn’t have killed your sister.”
“I’m not so sure.” He relayed his newest theory about Justin faking
the drunken routine. He left out the part about his guide’s words. Vaughn didn’t believe in his spiritual entities.
“We’ll do a follow up on Justin. Anyone else you suspect?”
“No, but remember my sister was a prosecuting attorney. Obviously, she’s made her share of enemies.”
“We’ll check out the possibilities with the parole office.” Vaughn tapped his fingers on the top of Derek’s computer monitor. “Do you have any leads on the jumper case?”
Derek was relieved not to harp on Rayne’s death. Talking about his sister’s murder caused his gut to cramp with despair, and he certainly didn’t need to break down in front of Vaughn.
“I’m still working on the case.” Derek cleared his throat. So much for not reacting to the mention of Rayne’s name. “Cause of death was from the fall, obviously, but I’m not convinced he jumped without some help.”
“Why?” The Captain’s slumped shoulders straightened.
“The guy had a great job as a broker and had just moved into his ritzy high rise. Why take a high dive?”
“Maybe the market tanked, and he lost a lot of money. Did he have any family?”
“I don’t know. I’m checking out his employment application now to see if he listed a next of kin.”
“How did his neighbors and coworkers view him?”
Derek almost enjoyed the usual drill. It gave him routine, and routine brought order. “Friendly guy, driven and obsessed with the stock market. But he was a financial analyst after all. Justin Bladen, the one who dated my sister, worked at the same firm with Vanderwall. He claimed his coworker didn’t handle the stress of the changing markets very well. Justin thought Vanderwall either had a gambling problem or was possibly into drugs. Gave me nothing concrete though. Just his hunch.”
Vaughn stroked his bushy brows again. “If what the man says is true, drugs or gambling make good motives for suicide. Keep working the angle and let me know how you want to rule his death.”
“I will.” Suicide was such a waste of life and resources.
Vaughn strode partway to his office, stopped and turned. “Benally?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you hear a friend of your sister’s also died Saturday night?”