Ghost Times Two (14 page)

Sam kept his deep voice calm, reassuring. “For the moment, we will appreciate everyone who works here remaining present.
Detective Smith will be thoughtful when he speaks with Mrs. Graham.” Sam cleared his throat. “For those of you who are not aware of the circumstances, Doug Graham was killed by a gunshot last night at his home. Megan Wynn was at the Graham home when police arrived—”

Megan's heart-shaped face was utterly still, but her body tensed.

Brewster Layton gave Megan an affirmative nod. Lou's eyebrows rose in surprise. Anita appeared shocked. Nancy shook her head back and forth as if bewildered. Geraldine's gaze was speculative. Sharon half turned to stare at Megan, her eyes wide.

Megan elevated her chin.

“—in response to a nine-one-one call reporting a man shot. Ms. Wynn told police she was summoned to the house by a text message from Mr. Graham. She drove to his house, parked in the driveway, followed the instructions in the text to enter the house from the terrace. She reported finding Mr. Graham dead in a leather chair facing a television screen. The television was turned on. She denies calling nine-one-one, told investigating officers she saw no one at the house. We are here to interview everyone who was in contact with Mr. Graham yesterday. In addition, we will investigate the apparent break-in discovered this morning. Who can tell me more about the ring that may be missing?”

No one spoke.

Geraldine raised an eyebrow. “Might as well lay it out on the table. Hell of it is, we all thought we were having fun.” She described the previous morning, the bigger-than-life oilman hoisting the ring case, lid raised, for everyone to see. “He said Mr. Graham paid a hundred thousand dollars for the ring.”

Brewster swung toward Sharon King. “Was the ring in Doug's desk last night?”

“It was there in midafternoon. I don't know about last night.”

“What time did Mr. Graham leave the office?”

She glanced about, but no one else appeared eager to speak. “About ten to five, I believe.”

“Was he carrying the ring with him?”

She gave a slight shrug. “I have no idea. I suppose it could have been in his pocket.” But her answer was almost mechanical. She was clearly struggling with shock. But so were they all.

Yesterday in this hallway Jack Sherman hoisted a ruby red ring case in one big hand amid gasps of eager interest. Today the ring seemed unimportant, faraway, a footnote.

Brewster Layton's eyes were sunk in a thin face, his lips in a tight, hard line. Sharon King's long slender fingers clenched and unclenched. Lou Raymond's sweet mouth trembled. Anita Davis kept shaking her head, as if this moment were a bad dream that would soon end. Anita wasn't disheveled today. She'd obviously taken some pains with her appearance, chestnut curls tidily brushed, makeup neatly applied. Her white peasant blouse was crisp, her skirt wrinkle free, but she looked tense and worried. Geraldine Jackson was like a flag at half-mast, her unaccustomed gravity making her look older. Nancy Murray's eyes darted up and down the hallway. Was she remembering yesterday morning? Megan's expression was thoughtful. Was she thinking about the ring and what its disappearance might mean?

More sounds at the back door. Two crime techs entered, each carrying a small black case. One was a wiry man likely no taller than
five feet five with a mop of fire red hair. His companion could have been a lineman on any coach's team, well over six feet, pushing three hundred pounds, bald-headed with small blue eyes. The two men walked up to the chief. I wondered how many big guy–little guy jokes they'd heard. On closer inspection, the little man looked tough as a boot and only a fool would tangle with the big man.

Sam was brisk. “Fingerprints. Photographs. Check the contents of the center desk drawer. Save and catalog everything in it.”

I was pleased Sam hadn't forgotten the crumpled notes Doug Graham had written yesterday morning and I'd retrieved from the wastebasket and placed in the drawer, which reminded me that the ring case had definitely been there late last night.

Sam jerked a thumb. Johnny Cain nodded and led the techs to Doug Graham's office, held the door for them. They stepped inside. The door closed firmly.

“Lou, check Doug's appointments.” Brewster Layton sounded weary. “Call and cancel. In fact, I think it would be good if all appointments were canceled today. As soon as each person has spoken to the police, you are free to leave. The office is closed for the day.”

Brewster Layton frowned, eyes narrowed, then said quietly, “We are all struggling with the shock of Doug's death. If anyone has information that will help in the investigation, please speak to the police. Moreover, I'll ask everyone to respond to any requests the police make.” He touched his goatee. “Does anyone have any objection to a police search for the ring case?” He looked from face to face.

Sharon was clearly disinterested. “They can look in my desk. I don't care.”

Anita nodded in agreement. Nancy spoke quickly, “Sure.” Geraldine turned thumbs-up. “Feel free. I haven't had any secrets since
my second divorce.” It was a pale imitation of her usual boisterous attitude. But Lou Raymond's face turned a bright pink and she burst out, “The thief broke into Mr. Graham's office. Why look for the ring in the rest of the offices?”

Anita made a sympathetic coo. “They're just being thorough, Lou. Don't you ever watch detective shows on TV? They have to think ahead, and someday somebody might want to know why they didn't look for the ring. Just in case.”

Lou's voice wobbled. “Just in case one of us took it?”

Brewster was soothing. “No one is suggesting anyone here is involved in the theft. As Anita says, the police are just being thorough.” He looked at Sam. “That's the situation, isn't it?”

Sam's expression was genial. “We always try to be thorough.”

Megan's clear voice was crisp. “A good idea.”

“And, of course, my office as well.” Brewster's tone was wry. “No need for a warrant. Have your people look where they wish. Although I doubt a thief broke in and left without the ring.” He looked at Sam. “Use our conference room for your interviews.” He gestured toward a closed oak door midway up the hall.

Sam nodded his thanks. “Officer Cain will check all offices for signs of entry and then make a careful search for the ring case. I'll interview each person separately in the conference room. At that time, I would appreciate permission from each person to take your fingerprints.” His expression was bland. “We know members of the firm and staff often have occasion in be in various offices. The fingerprints will help us determine if there are any unidentified fingerprints in Mr. Graham's office. I trust no one has any objection?”

Brewster was quick to approve. “We will assist you in any way we can.”

Sam nodded his thanks. “Before we begin the interviews, I invite anyone to step forward if they believe they have pertinent information.”

No one moved.

Sam's genial expression didn't change. “For convenience, I will see each person in—”

The back door swung in. Blaine Smith, with a patch of sunburn on each cheek, stepped inside. He saw Megan and started up the hall, relief evident in his bony face.

Johnny Cain took a step toward him. “Sir, we are investigating a crime and the premises are currently closed.”

Blaine was pleasant, but had a look of bulldog determination, head jutting forward. “Sorry, Officer. I need to speak with Ms. Wynn.” He took three long strides, was at her side. “I just heard on the radio. They said you arrived a few minutes after nine last night.” He turned, nodded at Chief Cobb. “Hello, Sam. I went by Doug's house last night. The house was lighted. I saw his car in the drive. It was the only car in the drive.” He stopped for emphasis, held Sam's gaze. “It was a couple of minutes before nine. I rang and knocked. There was no answer.”

Megan's face brightened. “I saw the taillights of a car driving away as I arrived. Now I know why they looked familiar.”

Sam looked from one to the other, wary, possibly skeptical. “You mentioned taillights. Now you think it might have been Mr. Smith's car?” On easier days, he might have spoken of the young lawyer as Blaine. Not today. Not here.

Megan's nod was decisive. “Yes.”

Sam turned back to Blaine. “Good of you to come forward.
Please step into the conference room.” He glanced at Detective Weitz, who immediately moved toward Blaine.

The tall, gangly lawyer gripped Megan's arm. “Hell of a thing to happen. Hard for you. I'll talk to you in a little while.”

“Thank you, Blaine.” Her face and posture were suddenly stronger.

I understood. His arrival here meant she didn't have to be afraid, very afraid, that his departure from Graham's house last night implicated him. She, of course, believed what Blaine said. Would Sam Cobb? Or would Sam suspect Blaine equally with Megan?

Blaine followed Detective Weitz to the oak door.

Inside the conference room was a long golden oak table with chairs at the head and foot, four on either side. A pad of paper and pen sat in front of each place. Quickly I grabbed a pad, wrote:
The ring case was in Graham's desk last night at shortly before midnight
. I ripped off the sheet as the door opened. I heard Sam's carrying voice. “After I speak with Mr. Smith, I'll see each of you in alphabetical order. Please do not make or receive any telephone calls or texts until the interviews are done.”

I felt a deeper quiver of worry. The alphabetical listing might seem simply an easy matter of order. I doubted that was Sam's reasoning. Megan Wynn would be the last person to be interviewed. Before then, Sam intended to dig for any and every scrap of information that could be negative for Megan.

I stood next to the head of the table, holding my sheet below the table surface out of sight.

Detective Weitz held the door for Blaine Smith. “Please take a seat on one side.”

Blaine walked to the near side, settled in a chair. He looked determined and combative.

Detective Weitz went around the table. She was carrying a dark briefcase. She pulled out a tape recorder, placed the black plastic machine on the table, lifted out an electronic fingerprinting machine that scanned fingerprints digitally, and positioned it to one side. She slid into a chair as Sam and Hal entered. Hal closed the door to the hall. He strolled around the table and sat next to Weitz.

Sam pulled out the end chair, lowered his bulky frame into the high-backed chair.

As soon as Sam was seated and had one hand below the surface of the table, I slipped the note into his hand. I admired Sam's presence of mind. He never changed expression, instead took a quick glance down, gave an infinitesimal nod.

I returned to the hallway. Anita, Nancy, and Lou huddled close together near the back entrance.

Brewster Layton walked up the hallway, placed a gentle hand on Sharon King's shoulder. “I'll ask Chief Cobb if he could see you first. I know how many years you've worked for Doug.”

Sharon King managed a tremulous smile. “That's all right, Mr. Layton. I want to stay and try to help. I'll see about his work, send it to you or Megan.”

“Thank you, Sharon.” He lifted his voice. “Everyone might as well go to their desk until the police are ready for you. I'll be in my office.” He turned and walked, shoulders slumping, toward his door.

Megan looked at Sharon with sympathy. “We'll all do whatever we can, Sharon. I'll be in my office.” Her face still somber and
drawn, she walked briskly to her office. She paused with her hand on the knob.

I knew she was girding for an encounter with Jimmy. I was interested to know what brought him here, other than Megan and murder, of course. But first I wanted to see if I could discover the reason for the slight bulge in Brewster Layton's jacket. When I reached his office, he was turning away from a far corner of the room. He looked like a man relieved of a burden. There was an element of satisfaction in his long face. He walked to his desk and sank into his chair.

I was pleased to see he was in his shirtsleeves. I spotted his jacket on a coat tree near the door. I watched him carefully as I eased my hand down the lapel to the pocket. The left pocket had bulged.

No bulge.

I slipped my hand into the pocket.

Empty. Nothing there.

Could I have been mistaken? Was it the right pocket?

Nothing.

I was too late. The moment I'd taken to alert Sam about the ring had been enough. Brewster Layton entered his office, closed the door, immediately removed something—a packet, a letter—from his pocket. He'd come early to the office, knowing his partner was dead. He'd had a ready explanation for fingerprints on the center drawer to Doug's desk. I was convinced Brewster arrived early intent upon removing something from Graham's desk. The material could be hidden anywhere in this room, possibly secreted deep within a file. As I struggled with disappointment, I scanned
the room. My gaze stopped at the corner where he'd stood when I'd entered. A small machine sat there.

In an instant, I was at the corner, studying the lid. There were two slots, one larger than the other. I glanced over my shoulder.

Brewster cupped his goatee, his expression intense. He looked like a man with a problem, working out how to respond. Was he struggling with a legal challenge or did he have murder on his mind?

I ran my fingers across the top of the small machine. Why had he come directly to this corner when he entered his office? His pocket was now empty. Something about this machine . . . I looked at a button marked Power. I pushed with my index finger. A loud whirr shocked me. I yanked my hand back. The whirr ceased.

Brewster's chair whacked back against the wall. He was on his feet and striding across the room.

I quickly moved out of the way, bent forward to watch.