Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) (29 page)

They relinquished their weapons and watched as he slipped them into the same drawer that had held his own. Waverly edged forward in his seat, but Felton waggled the gun in his direction, issuing a wordless warning.

“I’m afraid I have to ask for your cell phones, too.”

Ray tossed his down on Felton’s desk. “So what now?”

After a moment’s thought, Felton said, “The three of us are going to leave the building together.” He motioned for Waverly’s phone.

Waverly handed it over, asking, “What’ve you got in mind?”

“Just do as I say.” He slid both cell phones into the drawer beside their weapons and motioned for Waverly to join Ray. “I suggest you cooperate; I don’t want to hurt either of you.” Stepping from behind his desk, he stood in front of them. “We’re going for a ride.”

“Where to?”

“You’ll see, Detective Waverly.” His back to the door, Felton issued instructions. “Once we’re in the hallway, we’re going to take the staircase to a side door exit.” He stepped aside, making a point of displaying the gun before tucking it and his hand inside his jacket pocket. Giving them a wide berth, he motioned them to the door. “Please…don’t test me. No tricks—no heroics.” The three of them stepped into the outer office as Ray opened the door.

“Bernice,” Felton said, “cancel my appointments, will you? I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you, sir. You too.”

“Gentlemen, shall we?”

Ray and Waverly walked ahead of Felton and entered the stairwell.

“It’s an awfully long way down,” Waverly said, looking over the railing.

“Only eleven flights,” Felton said.

“Better down than up, I suppose,” Waverly grumbled.

They descended floor after floor as Felton followed ten steps behind—too far away to be taken by surprise, too close for them to dodge a bullet.

At the third floor landing, Waverly panted to a stop and turned. “Hold it a second. Either we stop for a minute so I can catch my breath, or you’re gonna have to gun me down here and now.”

“Keep moving, Detective.”

Waverly sat down. “Sorry. Can’t. I’m not going anywhere unless you expect Ray to haul my ass piggyback the rest of the way.”

“You’ve got ten seconds.”

Ray climbed two steps, trying to close the gap between himself and Felton. “Let him catch his breath, damn it.”

Backing up, Felton thrust the gun in Ray’s direction. “Step back. As for you, Detective Waverly, you’ll have time to recuperate once we’re in my car.”

“I guess that would depend on how far you’re planning to take us.”

“Far enough, Detective.”

Giving Ray an ‘I tried’ shake of the head, Waverly grabbed the railing and hoisted himself to his feet. Three floors later, a wave of summer heat washed over them as they stepped outside.

“Walk toward the front door,” Felton told them. “My car is the silver LaCrosse.” They walked to his reserved parking space, awaiting further instructions. He nodded at Ray.
“You’ll drive, Detective Schiller. Your partner and I will ride in the back. I’ll give you directions as we go.”

As they approached the car, Ray anticipated Felton’s next move. In one fluid motion, he unsnapped his handcuffs from their case and flung them across the lot. At the sound of metal clattering against asphalt, Felton looked up in time to see them slide under a blue SUV several rows away. “I’d have felt more comfortable with you cuffed to the steering wheel, but that won’t change anything. If you care about your partner’s well-being, I trust you won’t try anything else. Get behind the wheel, please.”

With Ray in the driver’s seat, Felton accompanied Waverly to the other side of the car. “Slide in behind your partner, Detective Waverly.” As he complied, Felton supervised from outside the open door. With only a single set of handcuffs at his disposal, Felton directed Ray to turn around and cuff Waverly’s wrists behind his back. As Ray faced forward again, Felton got in to Waverly’s right and passed the ignition key forward.

“Get us onto I-94 West.”

“And then?”

“That’s all you need to know for now.”

Ray maneuvered through the Minneapolis traffic, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Why did you kill Paul Davis?”

Sighing, Felton shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Obviously, denying it would be pointless. Nothing I did was planned. There was bound to be evidence left behind.” He waited for confirmation that didn’t come.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Ray said, pushing for more. “I want to know why you killed him.”

“It was self-defense.”

“Gimme a break,” Waverly grumbled.

“Maybe not self-defense in the customary sense, but I assure you it’s true in its own way.”

“I’ve met my share of cold-blooded killers,” Waverly told him, “and I admit you don’t seem like the type.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Hey, what do I know? Maybe it
was
self-defense,” Waverly said. “Talk to us. We’ll listen. It’s not like we’ve got anything else going on right now.”

From the front seat Ray said, “For the record, I listen a lot better without a gun pointed at me.”

“Sorry, it can’t be helped.” Felton followed up the apology with an abrupt “Paul Davis lost the election.” Waverly’s jaw dropped. “I thought that might surprise you,” Felton said. “It certainly did Paul.”

“You lying bastards,” Waverly said, “—the entire ACC board.”

“We had to claim he’d won; it was in the company’s best interest. If it hadn’t been for his wife’s murder so close to the election, the presidency would have been his. Considering the implications of your investigation into Valerie’s death and then that sordid business with Paul’s mistress that followed, we weren’t certain he was up to taking charge of the company. We couldn’t be sure the shareholders would continue to support ACC under his presidency if those issues came to light. In fact, it may not have mattered that he’d been their overwhelming choice in the election.”

Waverly struggled to situate himself more comfortably. “If they voted for him, how’d he come out on the short end?”

“The board has the right to override the shareholders’ vote, and we did. Based on our knowledge of what was going on behind the scenes, we elected John Stanley, another very capable ACC executive. We knew our decision was bound to create a great deal of negative reaction. I informed Paul of the board’s vote immediately, of course. Unfortunately, he held me personally responsible for his loss. He believed my influence as the director of the board had prejudiced the others. He felt I had betrayed him.”

“Didn’t you?” Ray asked.

“I had to weigh my professional duty to ACC against my personal loyalty to Paul. I thought he would understand that. He didn’t.”

“No wonder his shorts were in a knot,” Waverly said. “So what’s Costales doing in the president’s office? What happened to this John Stanley guy?”

“John won the election in the afternoon and suffered a major heart attack later that same day. He survived, but certainly wasn’t in any condition to take over. Despite our misgivings, Paul was our next choice.”

“So you killed him,” Waverly said.

“It was nothing like that. Paul’s taking over worried me for the reasons I gave you, but there was no question in my mind about his ability to run the company. The stockholders were about to get the candidate they wanted without ever needing to know we had overturned their vote. The backlash we expected would be totally averted. John Stanley’s heart attack seemed almost preordained.”

A police car merged into the interstate traffic from an on-ramp one hundred yards ahead. Ray eased into another lane, slowly increasing his speed to close the distance. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Felton’s attention shift forward, his expression tensing.

“Detective Schiller, don’t do anything you and your partner will regret.”

He eased up on the accelerator. “So what happened between you and Davis that night?”

Still watchful, Felton answered, “I tried, but I wasn’t able to locate Paul to tell him about the new developments. Shortly after 1:00 a.m., he contacted me to say he was at ACC. He demanded that I meet him there. Before I could get a word in, he hung up.”

“Still pissed off,” Waverly said.

“Very,” Felton agreed.

Ray caught Waverly’s eye in the rearview. “No wonder Davis was in such a rush to get rid of Wirth when she showed up unannounced.”

“Yeah,” Waverly said. “Davis didn’t want her or anyone else to know about that meeting.”

Felton looked ahead through the windshield. “Take Exit 167B up ahead. We’ll be getting on Minnesota 15 North.”

“We’re going to Elk River?” Waverly asked.

“No, farther.”

“St. Cloud? Little Falls?”

“You may as well sit back and relax, Detective Waverly. It’s going to be awhile before we get to our destination.”

“Holy mother of… How the hell far are you taking us?” Waverly squirmed. “I’m already way beyond uncomfortable. If we’re going to Timbuktu, how about cuffing my hands in front of me? Either that or at least loosen the cuffs up a little more.”

“I’m not chancing another distraction, not with your partner free to move about.”

Ray tried to create an opportunity, knowing it could be the only one they’d get. “Look, let my partner drive,” he said, taking the exit. “Point me to a spot where you want me to pull over and I’ll change places with him.”

Felton hesitated. “That’s out of the question; I’ve seen how your mind works.” He turned to Waverly. “I’m sorry, Detective, but your partner has already made it clear he can’t be trusted.”

Ray merged with the traffic and glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “For God’s sake, you’ve got a gun. What is it you think we’re going to do?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I don’t intend to find out the hard way. Keep your eyes on the road and keep driving.”

Waverly shifted positions. “These cuffs are bad enough, but I’m sweating like a pig. How about opening my collar button for me? You can do that much, can’t you?”

“Detective Schiller,” he said, ignoring Waverly’s request, “could I trouble you to adjust the air conditioning, please?”

Increasingly annoyed by Felton’s unfailing courtesy even as he held them at gunpoint, Ray changed the setting. “Done,” he told him. “We’re still waiting to hear what happened once you got to ACC?”

“Yeah,” Waverly said. “You’ve got a captive audience; you might as well take advantage of it.”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” Felton said, “but in return, I’ll expect answers to some questions of my own.”

Ray cast a glance over his shoulder. “Tell you what. We’ll be as honest with you as you are with us.”

“Fair enough. For the most part, everything I told you was true. Paul had to let me into the building. By the time the two of us reached the boardroom, I’d informed him about the situation with John Stanley. His reaction wasn’t what I’d expected.” Felton paused. “He was pleased with the turn of events, naturally, but not entirely satisfied; he wanted his pound of flesh.”

“Meaning what?” Ray asked.

“Paul held me responsible for his election loss and he wasn’t about to forgive and forget. Abject or otherwise, he refused to accept my apologies. Once he learned the presidency was his with or without my help, he made it clear he intended to see me ruined.”

“Hold it,” Ray said. “What do you mean with or without your help?”

“I thought it was best to inform Paul of the election results in private—a bad decision as it turned out. He wanted me to use my influence with the board to turn the decision around before the next day’s press release made the results official—demanded it, actually. He insisted that I convince the other board members to change their vote.”

“Could you have done that?” Ray asked.

“I might have been able to manage it, had I chosen to try.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Under the circumstances, I felt John Stanley was the better choice. I told Paul as much. I explained my position as tactfully as I could, but he left in a rage, threatening to resign from the company.”

“So why did he want to see you that night?” Waverly asked.

“He’d found something he could use as leverage to gain my cooperation.”

“Blackmail,” Ray said.

“Originally, yes—his silence in exchange for my help. But that changed once he found out the presidency was already his. Paul wanted to make me pay for my alleged disloyalty.”

“What did he want?”

“Everything—everything I had worked all my life for, Detective Waverly. Not money—my reputation, my company, my career. Paul wanted to see me ruined.”

“How? What did he have on you?”

“I established and built my company by taking risks, Detective Schiller. Unfortunately, that trait eventually took control of my life. My wife put up with my gambling for years—longer than I had any right to expect. I promised to quit dozens of times. Eventually Joanna lost patience and divorced me. To date, I still consider her my greatest loss.”

“The ponies?” Waverly asked. “Casinos?”