Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) (16 page)

Leaving the scene in the care of the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, they got back in their car and resumed their interrupted trip to the Kingsley Security Agency.

“Best damn detour I ever took,” Waverly said, shooting a smile at Ray. He cut across two lanes of traffic to a chorus of blaring horns.

Ray cringed. “The sand on the boardroom floor was driving me crazy. If it hadn’t been for the ashtray stand at the gas station, we’d still be in the dark. One shot to kill Davis, another fired into the stand to leave gunpowder residue on his hand. A neat suicide scenario.”

“Yeah,” Waverly said. “Johnson busting his hump hauling that huge, frickin’ ashtray around nearly paid off. If the second shot hadn’t left sand at Davis’s feet, we’d still be scratching our heads over the extra empty chamber in his gun. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard; before all the smoking bans, there’d have been two or three of those stands on every floor.”

“Yeah,” Ray said, “but then I wouldn’t have gotten to see that look on Kitwell’s face. I wouldn’t have missed that for anything.”

The Kingsley Security Agency office wasn’t much larger than Ray’s cramped apartment, but it was far better organized. Ms. Stokes, Kingsley’s secretary/office manager was the epitome of efficiency. When she left to get Michael Johnson’s personnel file for them, Waverly declared her as ugly as a mud fence. Ray shut him up with an elbow to the ribs as she returned.

She stood in front of them as rigid as a cigar store Indian. “It seems Mr. Johnson has been with us for roughly four and a half months. I see no notations added to his file. Everything seems to be in order.”

Ray glanced at the folder in her hands. “No complaints filed against him?”

“None.” She ran her hand possessively over the file. “Is Mr. Johnson in some sort of trouble?”

“No, ma’am,” Waverly said.

She cocked an eyebrow. “I understand your reluctance to divulge that information, Detective, but considering this company’s line of business, you can understand my concern.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then there’s no need for concern regarding Mr. Johnson?”

“No, ma’am,” Waverly said again. “No problem.”

She focused on him with puddle-brown eyes as she handed the folder to him. “Be sure to return that to me when you’re finished.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Waverly scanned the first page of Johnson’s application form. A moment later, he flipped the page and sucked a noisy breath through his teeth. “Holy shit, Ray.”

Appalled, Ms. Stokes scowled at them from her desk across the room.

Ray offered a quick “sorry” on Waverly’s behalf and turned to check it out. “What’ve you got?” He read the information at the end of Dick’s index finger and echoed, “Holy shit.”

19

“Yeah, I looked,” Waverly repeated for the third time, “and ‘bam’ there it was: in case of emergency notify Jillian Wirth. Relationship: stepdaughter. Jillian Wirth for God’s sake. Holy crap, Ray, that opens up a whole new can of worms—hell, night crawlers.”

Ray adjusted his sun visor as Waverly turned the car into the sun. “Maybe Gaines was right. If one of the people he heard on the eighteenth floor the night Davis was killed was a woman, it could’ve been her.”

“Right. I’m getting this picture in my head, buddy: the Wirth chick comes in that night with Johnson at the front desk. She’s his stepdaughter, so what the hell…he gives her a pass on signing the logbook. She goes up, gets in an argument with her boss, he winds up dead, and Wirth beats feet out of the building. Later, Johnson goes to get himself a drink and finds Davis with his brains blown out. He puts two and two together and tries to make it look like suicide to protect her.”

“It’s a definite possibility. Still, for her to use Johnson’s gun, knowing it could be traced back to him makes her either stupid or about as cold-blooded as they come.”

“Yeah, well, she’s definitely not stupid.”

“As for motive, the rumors could be right. An office romance… Things go wrong…”

“Yeah,” Waverly said. “They have a lover’s quarrel, she gets her mitts on her stepdaddy’s .38 and it’s bye-bye Davis.” A rusty, white Chevy Impala veered into their lane. Waverly braked hard and laid on the horn, still talking. “What do you wanna bet the blood outside the boardroom door was hers? Damn,” he said. “I should’ve picked that bloody bandage out of her office wastebasket the other day. We could’ve had the lab do a DNA comparison.”

“That’s long gone by now. Forget it. We can find another source of her DNA if push comes to shove. Didn’t Wirth and Johnson’s connection come up during initial questioning?”

“Why would it?”

“I guess you’re right,” Ray said. “There’d have been no reason to ask, but if Wirth was involved in the shooting, she and Johnson had every reason to keep that information to themselves. I’m having trouble picturing her pulling the trigger, though.”

“Wirth’s gorgeous kisser and hot body haven’t got you wearing blinders, have they, buddy?”

Ray gave him a withering look. “Give me a break.”

“Just checking.” Waverly’s face contorted. “I just remembered something. Damn. I must be getting old. I did an interview with her early on. I remember mentioning Michael Johnson by name. It wasn’t a big deal; it just came up in passing. But, clear as day, I remember her giving me a big, doe-eyed ‘Who?’”

The hairs raised on the back of Ray’s neck. “You’re sure about that?”

“Positive. I should’ve been on that like stink on shit five minutes ago.”

“That kind of intentional misdirection says a lot. Johnson’s got to be involved one way or another,” Ray said. “He may be the one who pulled the trigger like we thought before, or maybe he’s covering for her. Now we just have to figure out which it is.”

Waverly flipped his turn signal on, simultaneously pulling into the next lane. A horn blared behind him.

“Mind if I ask you something?” Ray asked.

“What?”

“Where the hell did you learn to drive?”

“The Ben-Hur School of Driving,” he said, grinning. “Hey, take it easy, will ya? I’ve been driving forever and haven’t had an accident yet.”

“Which only goes to prove miracles still happen.”

“Yeah, yeah. Never mind that, buddy. It looks like we’re finally barking up the right tree; I can practically see the bear’s ass.”

Ray and Waverly had barely missed the forensics team when they arrived back at ACC. Two maintenance men were still busy sweeping up the sand in the lobby as they reentered the building. Charity Kitwell glared at them as they bypassed the reception desk and headed toward an elevator. “Excuse me,” she called after them, “there’s no point in going up; Mr. Costales is out of the office.”

“No problem; we’re not here to see him.” Ray kept moving, pleased to know her curiosity had to be eating her up alive.

The elevator rose to the eighteenth floor without a stop, but the trip seemed interminable.

This time when the doors slid open, there were no side trips, just a short walk straight to Ed Costales’s office.

Jillian Wirth sat at her desk, jotting down notes as she spoke on the phone. A look of surprise crossed her face as she ended the call and turned her attention to them. “Detective Waverly, Detective Schiller, I wasn’t told you were on your way up.”

“Sorry,” Ray said, “we didn’t give Ms. Kitwell our itinerary this time around.”

She shrugged it off. “Well, I’m afraid you’ve missed Mr. Costales. He’s—”

“It’s not Costales we’re here to see. We want to talk to
you
,” Waverly said.

“Me?” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “Why?” Her fingers slipped between the mint-green ruffles coming to a ‘V’ at her modest cleavage. “I don’t think there’s anything more I can tell you.”

“Think again,” Ray said. “You were here the night Paul Davis died, weren’t you?”

“I’ve already told you I wasn’t.”

“You’ve also said you weren’t romantically involved with him.”

“That wasn’t a lie. We worked together, that’s all.”

“How about telling us about Michael Johnson?”

“I don’t understand. Who’s Michael Johnson?”

Ray had heard enough. “Ms. Wirth, I think it’s time we move this discussion to the station.”

“I have no idea what this is all about.”

“The three of us need to have a nice, long talk,” Waverly told her. “We want you to come to the station. We can explain it there.”

“I’m working; I can’t just up and leave. Whatever’s going on will have to wait.”

Unless or until they arrested Wirth, refusing was within her rights. While they couldn’t force her to comply, convincing her to cooperate was fair play.

“Then we’ll expect to see you at the station when you’re done here today,” Ray said.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to—”

“I’m very persistent,” Ray interrupted, “but incredibly impatient. If you let us down, you can count on us being back tomorrow. Of course, we can ask our questions here and now if you don’t mind talking with your boss and co-workers around.”

“All right,” Wirth said, “I’ll be there.”

Jillian Wirth was prompt, another of her success-oriented traits. An undercurrent of fear was more noticeable than the subtle, floral fragrance she wore.

Only minutes into the interview, she began revising earlier answers.

Ray’s tone developed a sharper edge. “Then you
were
at ACC the night Paul Davis died.”

“Yes, but I swear he was alive when I left.”

“Sure he was,” Waverly said.

“This is crazy. I didn’t kill Mr. Davis.”

“Convince us,” Ray said.

Waverly kept her off balance. “Or how about telling us about Michael Johnson?”

She looked at each of them in turn. “I don’t understand what you’re after.”

“C’mon, Ms. Wirth. Are you going to sit there and deny Michael Johnson is your stepfather?”

Her jaw dropped. “Where did you—”

“His job application to Kingsley Security Agency…” Ray explained. “It lists you as his emergency contact—relationship: stepdaughter.”

Her eyes flared wider. “Damn him.” She paused. “Okay, so he’s my stepfather. So what? What does one thing have to do with the other?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Waverly said. “Let’s talk about the blood found outside the boardroom door first. It was yours, right?”

She looked away, lips pressed tightly together.

“Remember that bloody bandage you threw in the wastebasket at your office…” Ray said, “the one that came off your hand?”

Wirth remained silent.

Knowing she only needed to believe they had it, Ray said, “It’s only a matter of time before we get the results back from the crime lab. You might as well level with us.”

“How about it, Ms. Wirth,” Waverly asked, “was that blood yours?”

“All right, it was. What difference does it make?”

“How did you reopen the cut on your hand?” Ray asked. “Did it happen when you shoved your stepfather’s gun into Paul Davis’s hand?”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “My stepfather’s gun?”

“You heard me,” he told her.

Her eyes widened. “Are you talking about that pearl-handled revolver?”

“So you’re familiar with it,” Ray said.

“Growing up, I saw it a thousand times.”

“And you must have seen it again that night. Your stepfather said he brought it to ACC to show it off to the other guards.”

“I haven’t seen that gun in years.”

“Not even at his apartment?

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve never been there. I don’t even know Michael’s address.”

“If you wanted it, you could’ve accessed his personnel files.”

“Yes, I suppose, but why would I? Not only do I
not
know
where he lives, I don’t care. I washed my hands of him years ago. Michael’s nothing but an irresponsible, self-centered lush.”

“That’s an odd way to refer to the man who’s been covering for you,” Ray said.

She turned to him, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Covering for me? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“He’s denied you were ever at ACC that night—denied it more than once.”

“That’s just like him,” she said. “How incredibly stupid.”

“How do you mean?” Waverly asked.

“Why bother saying I wasn’t at ACC that night when my signature is right there in the logbook?”

Ray crossed his arms. “If it was ever there, it’s gone now.”

“Are you serious?”

“Your stepfather’s handiwork presumably—his way of trying to protect you.”

“Michael? Trying to protect
me
?” She threw her head back and laughed. “What a joke. He never looked after me when I was growing up; why start now?”

“Maybe it was his way of thanking you for saving his job. You’re the one who interceded when Davis threatened to fire him, right?”