Celeste Files: Unlocked (19 page)

“Did the family leave?”

“Yep, I’ve got a patrol car following them.”

Clay turned to her. “Mind giving me a ride? We’ve got a fifteen-minute drive, and I’d like to hear more about your visions.”

Chapter 12

SURPRISED BY THE detective’s genuine interest in her psychic skills, and curious to hear his take on what had just transpired at the funeral home, Celeste agreed to drive Clay back to the precinct. Once they were in the car, she realized she wasn’t going to be asking any questions. Before Clay buckled his seatbelt, he was drilling her about her first vision. After she explained what details she remembered from Sandra’s murder, he dragged in a deep breath.

“How is it you couldn’t
see
the killer?” he asked. “And what about Tracy Saunders? George said you couldn’t see her killer, either.”

“That’s a question I keep asking myself,” Celeste admitted, then parked in the spot Clay had suggested. “It’s weird that I can see so many details in my visions, yet when it comes to the killer I can only feel its anger and hatred.”

“
Its
?” he asked, reaching for the door handle.

She shrugged. “Obviously a flesh and blood person murdered Sandra and Tracy. But the killer I saw didn’t resemble a man or a woman. It was like an entity of some sort.” She let out a shaky chuckle. “Sounds crazy, huh?”

“A little.” He grinned. “After being a detective for over twenty years, I’m used to crazy.” He opened the door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with so you can go home to your family.”

She followed Clay into Chicago’s 19th District, then into a small viewing room. A female uniformed officer fiddled with the equipment stacked on a table in front of a one-way mirror. On the other side of the mirror, Dale sat at a metal table looking pissed off at the world. “Where’s George?” Celeste asked.

“He couldn’t make it,” Clay said.

Disappointed and nervous, she glanced back to the mirror. “You’re sure Dale can’t see me?”

“No one being interviewed knows you’re in here,” the officer said.

Clay placed a hand on the doorknob. “Relax. I’m going to leave you with Officer Moran while my partner and I conduct the interviews.”

“And I should be doing what?”

“Whatever it is you do.”

She looked to the ceiling and shook her head. When she met Clay’s gaze she said, “I’m sure George explained that I’m a psychic, not a mind reader. I can’t get inside peoples’ heads.”

He smiled. “He did, and I understand. But you are our only witness to the two murders.” He stepped away from the door. “My colleagues aren’t expecting much from you. Honestly, neither am I.”

Her temper spiked. She pulled her keys from her coat pocket and moved toward the door. “Then don’t waste my time.”

Clay caught her by the forearm. “Let me rephrase. I’m one of those cops who’ll give anything a shot if it means I can close a case. If there’s a chance you can pick up a familiar phrase the killer used, or maybe their body language is similar to what you saw in your visions, we could use those things to dig deeper into that person’s background. You claimed to see two women die. I don’t know if I believe it, but I’m not going to discount it. Just watch and listen. When we’re finished with the interviews, we’ll talk.” He let go of her arm. “And if you have nothing to add, don’t worry about it.”

How could she not worry? She’d spent the majority of her life living in a small town. The people there either believed in her, or thought she was as nutty as her mom. She didn’t want to look like a fool, or have Clay’s colleagues laughing behind her back or giving him a hard time for putting a modicum amount of faith in a psychic.

“For whatever it’s worth,” Officer Moran began, “I think psychics are cool. You’re not going to hear me talking smack about you, no matter the outcome.”

Clay opened the door. “See? We’re all good.” He smiled. “I’ll catch you in a bit.”

After he closed the door, Officer Moran pulled out the chair next to hers. “Have a seat and enjoy the show.”

Keeping her coat on and her purse tight to her chest, she sat next to the woman. “Thank you, officer.”

“Since we’ll be here for a while, let’s get rid of the officer bit. My name’s Jamie.” She adjusted the video camera, just as Clay and his partner stepped into the interview room.

“Where are the others?” Celeste asked.

“They’re being held in separate rooms until it’s their turn to be interviewed.” Jamie glanced at her. “Clay said one of the suspects is a friend of yours.”

She nodded and pointed toward the mirror. “This guy is her husband.”

“Too bad.”

Before Celeste had the chance to ask why Jamie thought that, Clay started the interview. “Mr. Graney, where were you late Tuesday night?” Clay asked.

“At home,” Dale answered. “With my wife and daughter.”

“What about Wednesday?” Clay’s partner asked.

“I didn’t catch the other detective’s name,” Celeste whispered.

Jamie grinned. “He’s Detective Ben Mathews. And you don’t need to whisper. The suspect can’t hear you.”

Dale clenched his jaw. “Are you accusing me of killing my mother-in-law?”

Clay held up his hands. “No one is accusing you of anything. We’re just talking.”

“Talking a lot of bullshit.” Dale rested both of his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands. “Look, Sandra didn’t like me. Honestly, I didn’t like her, either. She was always in our business, thought that Kelly could do better than me, that our house was shit, that I didn’t earn enough.” He dropped his hands. “I bust my ass every single day. I’m up for a promotion come April. If I get it, I’ll have the opportunity to run my department. It’s no secret Sandra and I didn’t get along. But I wouldn’t jeopardize my career and kill a woman who was already dying. What’s the point?”

“How about money?” Mathews asked. “I’d say over four hundred thousand dollars is a valid point.” He shrugged. “’Cause that’s about what your wife will inherit. I imagine that amount of money would help out a guy who’s only bringing in one hundred and fifty grand a year. Then there’s your debt.”

“Yeah,” Clay began, “you and your wife have been having some fun with the credit cards.”

Dale narrowed his eyes. “We have debt, who doesn’t?” He leaned back in his chair. “Don’t waste my time. Check our credit, I don’t give a shit. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Do you think Sandra did?” Clay asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you own a gun?” Mathews asked, instead.

Dale frowned. “I thought Sandra died of an overdose.”

Mathews sat at the edge of the desk. “Just answer the question.”

“No gun.”

“Okay, then tell us what you know about Tracy Saunders?”

Dale’s face contorted in confusion. “Who?”

“She died the same day Sandra did,” Clay said. “What’s interesting is that Tracy was Sandra’s daughter.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dale looked between both detectives. “Holy shit. Are you telling me Sandra had a kid no one knew about?”

“That’s right. According to the medical examiner, Tracy Saunders died sometime between Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. Can you tell us where you were during those times?”

Dale rolled his eyes. “Tuesday, I went to work and didn’t get home until around six.”

“And Wednesday?”

“I was at work.”

“All day?” Mathews asked.

Dale shifted his eyes to the desk. “Look, I work hard—”

“So you’d said. Just answer the question or should we call your supervisor and confirm your whereabouts?”

Dale’s face reddened as he shook his head. “Fine. I wasn’t at work in the afternoon, but I
was
there in the morning.”

“Where were you in the afternoon, Mr. Graney?”

“La Quinta Inn on South Franklin Street.” Dale pushed a hand through his hair. “With my girlfriend.”

Both detectives looked at each other, then Clay asked, “What time?”

“We met around one and I left at four-thirty, after Kelly called to tell me Sandra died.”

Clay placed a pad of paper and a pen in front of Dale. “We’ll need your girlfriend’s name, the room number you stayed in and a receipt. We’ll also need your supervisor’s contact information.”

Dale picked up the pen. “Are you going to tell my wife?” he asked, the guilt crossing his face matching Celeste’s. Oh, my God. Now Kelly would not only have to deal with knowing someone had murdered her mother, but also a philandering husband.

“That she has a secret half-sister whose been murdered, or that her husband cheated on her?” Detective Mathews asked.

“In other words,” Clay began, “murder trumps affair.”

“That’s all for now, Mr. Graney,” Mathews said. “You’re free to go.”

Celeste jerked back when Dale slammed his hands against the table. As he stood, he shoved the paper he’d just written on off the desk. “This is bullshit. Your ridiculous accusations could cause a problem with my marriage and—”

“Thanks again for your time,” Clay said, then nodded to the officer standing near the door.

“Looks like Dale is screwed,” Jamie said, as she stopped the video camera.

“Looks like he didn’t do it.” Celeste watched as Dale was escorted from the room. There had been times in her life where she’d wished she could be a fly on the wall. Now that she was one, she didn’t like it. She didn’t want to know anything about Dale’s affair, or that he and Kelly were having financial problems. She wanted to go back to before Sandra’s death, when she wasn’t having visions or trances and had been oblivious to her friend’s personal problems.

“Maybe,” Jamie said. “Clay and Ben will follow up on his alibis. People like to lie.”

“That makes sense. I’m wondering why the detectives didn’t ask him more about Sandra’s death. The killer wanted an item in her safe.”

Jamie glanced at her. “It’s hard to ask about this alleged item when they don’t know what it is or if it even exists.” She straightened. “Next interview is up.”

Celeste looked toward the mirror as Brandon took a seat. “I know you’re aware that I’m an attorney,” he said. “I know my rights and—”

“We’re well aware, Mr. Westfield,” Clay began, “Just as I’m sure you know that we will look into your alibi for Tuesday night and Wednesday.”

Brandon’s forehead creased. “Tuesday? Sandra committed suicide Wednesday.”

“But the daughter she gave up for adoption was murdered either late Tuesday or Wednesday morning.”

Brandon leaned back in the chair and wiped a hand down his face. “Oh, my God. Sandra had another daughter? Do my wife and her sister know?”

“If they don’t, they will shortly.”

“So how about it?” Mathews asked. “Where were you on those days?”

“Tuesday I worked late, then came home and ended up working in my office until close to midnight. Lea can verify this.”

“And Wednesday?”

Brandon drummed his fingers along the desk. “I didn’t kill Sandra or this other woman.”

“Tracy Saunders,” Clay said. “If you didn’t kill them, then you won’t mind telling us where you were. Work?”

“All morning,” Brandon answered. “After lunch I had to go to court. You can verify court records. I was there until Lea called with the news about Sandra.”

“We’ll need the contact info for your law firm and what case you were working while you were in court.” Clay placed a blank sheet of paper and a pen in front of Brandon. “Do you or your wife own a gun?”

“No guns,” Brandon said while he wrote. “Can I tell Lea about Tracy Saunders?”

“We’ll handle it, Mr. Westfield.”

He clenched his jaw. “Sandra’s death has been hard on my wife. They were very close. Finding out about a half-sister who was also murdered?” He shook his head. “This is going to devastate her. I think she’ll always wonder what other secrets Sandra kept from her.”

“How is your wife’s relationship with her sister?”

“My brother-in-law can be difficult. Dale and Lea argue whenever they’re in the same room together.” He shrugged. “Lea’s told Kelly how she feels about Dale, which only made Kelly defensive. Now Lea and Kelly aren’t as tight as they used to be.”

“How do you get along with Dale?”

Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t stand him or the way he treats Lea.”

Clay stood. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Westfield. You’ll be able to see your wife shortly.”

After Brandon was escorted from the room, Celeste looked to Jamie. “It sounds like Brandon has a solid alibi, too.”

Jamie tapped at the computer keyboard near the audio and visual equipment. “Yeah, it’s kind of hard to lie about being in court.”

Before Celeste had the chance to fully process both Brandon and Dale’s interviews, Kelly was brought into the interrogation room.

Her face was pale, her eyes glassy and bloodshot. As she took a seat, she pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her raw red nose. “I can’t believe you think my mom was murdered,” she said to the detectives. “Who would want to kill a dying woman?”

“Maybe someone who felt their inheritance might be threatened,” Detective Mathews said.