Murder with a Twist (6 page)

“I
'm going to talk to Will Dorner next, the other guy from Dan's group,” Duncan said, “and after that the girl, whose name is Cindy Whitaker. I want you to come out when Cindy is done and find a way to get close to all of them.”

“Why?”

“I'd rather not say.”

“Fair enough.” I knew he wanted to see what kind of reactions I had when I was near them. What I didn't know was why, or what he was looking for. And, I realized, that was probably for the best. At least that way I couldn't be accused of being swayed by the power of suggestion, though as I stared at Duncan's smiling face and warm brown eyes through the glass, I definitely felt swayed. Except, the types of suggestions that were running through my mind had nothing to do with the crime we were investigating.

Duncan left the interrogation room and returned a few minutes later with a tall, attractive fellow who had a thick head of brown hair with a shock that liked to fall down over one of his hazel eyes, and a typically masculine build: broad shoulders, narrow hips, and muscular arms. In response to Duncan's questions, he stated that his name was Will Dorner, and that he had worked for Stratford and Weber for a little over four years. He spoke easily and freely, and there was a relaxed confidence in his body language that told me he was comfortable around other people. He had a strong Boston accent, and when he spoke it triggered a sweet vanilla taste that bordered on being overpowering, kind of like eating a too-rich dessert. The flavor sensations I get are typically bursts of taste that hit hard and fade fast, but occasionally they linger. That was the case with Will and it created an interesting medley of flavors in my mouth when his voice's lingering flavor mixed with the various chocolate tastes that Duncan's voice always triggered for me.

Duncan ran Will through the same basic litany of questions he'd used on Theo, questions about the firm, the peer groups, how well he knew his coworkers, and whether he'd ever been inside Dan Thornton's apartment. Will answered each question without hesitation, providing basic minimal information, but never once providing more information than was asked for. He sat slightly slumped in the chair, one arm casually tossed over the back of it, his legs extended out to the side, his ankles crossed. The fingers on the hand of the arm that hung over the back of the chair were beating a gentle rhythm on the frame. The other hand was also in constant motion as Will played with a fifty-cent piece, flipping it back and forth between his fingers and occasionally rubbing his thumb along its edge. Aside from these nervous activities, he appeared to be someone who didn't have a care in the world. At one point, he looked over at the window and I could have sworn he was looking right at me. He flashed a little know-it-all grin, gave a slight nod of his head, and then turned his attention back to Duncan. Even though Duncan had told me the glass was a mirror on the other side, I reared back, unsettled by Will's glance.

His voice maintained its overly sweet flavor until Duncan asked him if he'd ever stolen anything. Unlike Theo, Will didn't answer right away. His hands stopped moving and he narrowed his eyes at Duncan before saying, “Are you asking me if I've ever stolen anything in my entire life?”

“Have you?” Duncan asked.

“Sure,” Will said with a shrug. “When I was a kid, I used to take money from my father's dresser drawer and use it to buy candy. And I remember getting into trouble for stealing a kid's watch once when I was in grade school.”

“How about on the job?” Duncan asked. “Have you ever stolen from an employer?”

“Hell no,” Will said, looking indignant. His voice took on a salty, almost bitter, taste. He straightened up in the chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And, frankly, I resent you asking that question. I thought you wanted to talk to me about Dan. From what I heard, he's the one who stole the money. Don't try to drag me into it.”

“So it's common knowledge at Stratford and Weber that money is missing?” Duncan asked.

“Yeah, there was an internal audit at the end of last month and rumors have been circulating ever since. Everyone has been on pins and needles. And then we heard about Dan.”

“So you think Dan took the money?”

“That's what I heard.” It was a cagey answer, one that didn't require an out-and-out lie on his part if he was involved, but that also didn't implicate anyone else. The flavor of his voice when he said it was an odd mix of sweet vanilla and salt, like the taste of a salted pecan eaten in a spoonful of ice cream sundae.

I had the distinct impression that Will Dorner was a smooth operator, someone who was used to being able to sway people to his opinions and confident in his ability to do so. Given more time, I feared he would become one of those people who could lie easily and without guilt. But he hadn't made it to that stage yet. He was good, but I thought there was still enough self-awareness when he lied for me to be able to pick up on it. I spoke into the mike and gave Duncan some directions. He acknowledged that he'd heard me with a slight nod.

“Tell me exactly what it is you heard about Dan Thornton,” Duncan said.

“Shelly told Cindy that he hanged himself and left a note that said he was sorry for taking people's money. Supposedly the note said something about borrowing the money and thinking he could make it back.”

Once again I had to admire Will's ability to avoid an actual lie.

“Do you think Dan Thornton hanged himself?” Duncan asked.

Will hesitated before answering this time, chewing his lower lip and frowning as he thought about what to say. “Are you suggesting he didn't?” he said finally.

Damn! The kid was smarter than I'd given him credit for.

“I'm not suggesting anything,” Duncan said, keeping his own voice even. “I'm simply asking you if you think Dan Thornton was the type of person who would hang himself.”

“I'd say yes, given that, from what I heard, he did exactly that.”

“And do you also think he stole money from the firm? Yes or no, please.”

“Yes,” Will said after a moment of hesitation. He was still leaning forward, elbows on his knees, but his feet tapped nervously, making it clear that he didn't like what Duncan was doing.

I said something into the mike and Duncan responded accordingly.

“Did you have anything to do with Dan Thornton's death or the money he stole?” he asked. Will opened his mouth to answer but before he could, Duncan added, “Yes or no, please.”

“No.” His answer, short as it was, tasted bitter and briny, like a mouthful of seaweed soaked in salt water.

“He didn't like that last question,” I said through the mike. “His voice is different all of a sudden, but I can't be sure if he's actually involved or just angry that he's a suspect.”

Duncan switched gears then, asking Will about his social life and the time he spent with his coworkers outside of the firm. Will talked about the group's outings, naming a couple of places they liked to go, and verified Dan and Theo's gaming sessions.

Whenever Will mentioned Cindy's name during this discussion, I detected a change in his voice that made me suspect something. I was about to share my suspicions with Duncan, but before I could, Duncan showed me that we were both thinking along the same lines.

That's when Dan Thornton's case got really interesting.

“A
re you dating Cindy Whitaker?” Duncan asked Will.

“No,” Will said, and his voice turned bitter-tasting again, though without the brine this time. “It's against work rules to date someone in your group,” he added.

“Ah, so you two are keeping it under wraps then,” Duncan said. “We have no interest in sharing this information with your bosses, but I need you to be honest with me. If we find out you are lying about one thing, no matter how trivial, it makes everything you say suspect. So tell the truth . . . your relationship with Cindy is more than one of simple coworkers or friends, isn't it?”

Will tensed up in his chair; his cheek muscles twitched and his fingers fidgeted. After a few seconds, his facial muscles relaxed and he slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, okay,” he said with a smarmy smile. “I'm doing Cindy Whitaker. But I mean, have you seen her?” he asked, his eyes growing big. “That's one hot package.”

When Duncan asked Will where he was this morning between the hours of two and four he said, “I was home . . . alone.”

“You mean, Cindy wasn't
doing
you this morning?”

Will had the good grace to look uncomfortable when Duncan threw his own crass word back at him, but all he said was, “No.”

Duncan dismissed Will with the same warning he had given to Theo, then he left the room and returned a short time later with Cindy Whitaker. She was a very attractive brunette with dark blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes and a killer body that, based on the way she was currently dressed, I guessed she liked to show off. Can't say I blame her. If I had her long legs, tiny waist, perky breasts, and slender hips, I'd probably dress a lot more risqué than I do. As it is, I favor jeans and blouses most of the time, and if I'm feeling a need to get dressed up, I might trade the jeans for a skirt. Since I like green and it's a color that goes well with my red hair, my wardrobe is heavily weighted toward the green end of the color spectrum. Cindy Whitaker, however, had no such restrictions and today she was wearing tight-fitting, black skinny jeans with bright red heels, and a body-hugging top cut low in front that was a kaleidoscope of colors on some sort of shiny fabric. The bright, shiny hues in the blouse were dampened some by the red bolero-style jacket she wore over it, but the overall effect was a definite eye-catcher.

In fact, it caught Duncan's eye more than I liked. And when the chocolate taste of his voice became sweeter and smoother as he started chatting with Cindy, it didn't sit well with me.

Cindy's voice had no flavor. Men's voices almost always have a flavor, but women's sometimes do and sometimes don't. Those who don't typically have an image that goes with their voices, typically undulating lines of color that sometimes appear to breathe right along with the person who is speaking. Cindy was one of those, except I'd never encountered anyone with such a specific image before. Her voice appeared in my mind as a single flame, like one might see from a steadily held cigarette lighter, blue at the bottom, yellow at the top, flickering ever so slightly with her breaths. But as soon as she finished answering the basic questions, such as who she was and where she worked, that flame grew into a roaring fire. Cindy Whitaker was hiding something; I had no doubt. And I suspected that several of the answers she gave were lies. Her interrogation went about the same as the other two with one exception. Not only was she not intimidated by anything Duncan said or asked, she appeared relaxed, composed, and amused, and she flirted with Duncan the entire time.

She answered her questions with more composure than Will had shown and she readily admitted to suspecting that Dan was the one who was stealing money. “I mean, come on,” she said. “The guy was right out of school when he was hired and the rest of us have been at this awhile. For him to earn such remarkable returns so early in his career didn't make sense. I knew something was up.”

Cindy, who had joined the firm around the same time as Will, was the only one of the three to admit that Dan's being promoted ahead of her had pissed her off. “Yeah, the guy worked hard and often put in hours way later than the rest of us, but I think that was so he could manipulate funds without being under the watchful eye of the senior partners.”

As soon as her interrogation came to a close, I hopped off my chair and made my way out to the main portion of the station. Cindy Whitaker was taking her time leaving, continuing her flirtation with Duncan. Across the room, in some scarred-up, molded plastic chairs that were lined against the wall, sat Will and Theo. The two of them watched Cindy with lovelorn, infatuated expressions that made me realize they
both
had the hots for her. Whether Cindy was interested in reciprocating either boy's interest, I couldn't tell. She was too busy focusing on Duncan at the moment.

I walked over to her and Duncan, and knew immediately that Cindy was a heavy smoker. The loud, twangy guitar sound I heard left no doubt. Perhaps even more significantly, I caught a whiff of her perfume, and in the same instant, I heard high-pitched flute music. Duncan introduced me as a consultant, giving Cindy my first name only. I appreciated his efforts to maintain some level of anonymity for me, particularly since what I was doing had the potential to be dangerous for me. To help me figure out my reaction and to keep things on a friendly note, I commented on Cindy's perfume.

“I love that fragrance you're wearing.”

“Thanks,” she said, with a fake-looking smile.

“What is it?”

“Chanel No. 5.”

We accompanied Cindy over to the chairs where Theo and Will were waiting. Though I had seen and heard both of them before, this was my first opportunity to experience what I thought of as “their space.” I typically have to have a certain level of proximity to someone in order to experience some of my synesthetic reactions, and while I believe the space I deal with has a larger perimeter than what most people think of as personal space, the basic concepts are the same. Within moments of arriving at the spot where the boys were, I knew that what Theo had said earlier about not being a regular smoker was likely true, and that Will was as heavy a smoker as Cindy.

Duncan told all three of them that he might want to talk with them again, and reminded them that they had to let him know if they needed to leave town for any reason. They then walked away—Theo trailing behind the other two—looking conspiratorial, their heads bowed together as they whispered something to one another. As they rounded a corner at the end of the hall, we heard the echo of their laughter. Though I couldn't see them, I knew the laughter came from Cindy and Will because I could see Cindy's flame and taste Will's salty sweetness. Clearly they weren't intimidated by Duncan's interrogation. Was that because they were innocent, or because they were so sure of themselves that they felt they had nothing to worry about?

Duncan looked at me and said, “Interesting group, eh?”

“That they are.”

“What's your take on them?”

“I'm pretty sure Cindy and Will are a couple, though they're trying hard to hide that fact. I think both of them are comfortably smug about things and don't rattle easily. With a little more practice, they'll both become accomplished liars. Theo is a bit starry eyed around them, in part because he has a crush on Cindy, and in part because Will is everything he isn't. All three of them are smart; in fact, I'd wager they are all smarter than most people their age. And I suspect all three of them know something about Dan Thornton and that missing money that they aren't telling.”

“Do you think they were involved with his death?”

“I'm not sure I'm ready to make that leap yet. You're asking me to condemn people based on something that may well be pseudoscience. I don't think they can be trusted, and I don't think they are necessarily nice people, but I'm not convinced they're killers. I need more time to think about it.”

“Time, we have,” Duncan said. “Jimmy has been talking to the folks in management at Stratford and Weber, and we have a forensic accountant looking through their files. It's pretty clear that there's money missing, and from what we've been told, it appears that Dan Thornton is the one who took it. But it will probably take a couple of days to sort through all the files, and to talk to the necessary people at the firm. Plus, we haven't been able to find any irregularities in Thornton's finances, so if he took the money, we don't know what he did with it. The good news is, the missing money hasn't been communicated to or noticed by any of their clients yet, so we don't need to worry that any of them might be a suspect.”

“It might be helpful to revisit Thornton's apartment with each of those three,” I said. “I'd be interested in seeing what reactions, if any, I get from them there.”

“Good idea. I'll call Jimmy and have him set it up for later today. In the meantime, my stomach is growling and I think we really do need to get a bite to eat.”

“I agree. Our last attempt didn't work out so well.”

He shot me a sidelong glance, looking worried.

“I mean, it went very well for what we did,” I said, feeling my face flush hot. I imagined it was probably the same color as my hair by now. “But we never did get to eat.”

Duncan smiled and looked relieved.

“If you're not up for a BLT, Jon was going to make a batch of his famous five-alarm chili today,” I said, mentioning my new cook.

“That sounds good, but I was hoping we might be able to go somewhere else, somewhere a little more private.”

My heartbeat sped up a notch at his suggestion. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

“Yeah . . . my place. I make a mean takeout.”

This was a big step. I hadn't yet been to Duncan's place and, in fact, had no idea where he lived other than a vague “in the neighborhood” comment he'd made once. “I could go for that,” I said, letting all the implications ride with the words. We shared a moment of staring at one another, our eyes smoldering, our hearts pounding, our breaths quickened. I could hear, see, smell, and taste Duncan's desire mixing with my own bodily sensations and it was the most exhilarating, exciting, mind-numbingly
awesome
thing I had ever felt before in my life. I felt pretty certain food would once again be low on the list of priorities.

I wasn't sure my stomach—or my heart—would survive it.

And I didn't much care.