Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) (7 page)

“Then why were you dodging us?” Ray asked.

“I’ve been watching the papers, waiting to see if it was a suicide or not.”

“Waiting why?” Ray asked. “What’s going on, Todd?”

He hunched a shoulder. “When I found out about Mr. Davis being found dead the next day, it got me to thinking about stuff I heard that night.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“You know, stuff. Things like footsteps…voices. It got me wondering if any of it was connected to what happened. If it was suicide, there’d be no point in bringing it up, so I decided to wait. What’s been taking you so damn long, man?” They stared at him without a word. He shook his head as seconds passed in silence. “There’s a problem, isn’t there?” He leaned against the chair’s backrest and crossed his arms. “Hell, what I heard was probably nothing, anyway.”

“Let us decide that,” Ray said. “These noises… Tell us about them.”

Gaines sucked in a deep breath. “I started my rounds that night at eleven. Sort of surprised me to see Mr. Costales at his desk; it was the first time I’d seen him there after hours.”

“Did you talk to him?”

Gaines shook his head. “He glanced at me and went back to whatever it was he was doing. I made my rounds again about an hour later. Sometime in between, Mr. Davis had shown up. I found him banging around in a file cabinet in his office, mad as hell. I asked if everything was all right. He gave me a look that made me sorry I asked. He kind of snarled an answer—said he was fine, and I moved along.”

“So Davis and Costales were both in the building at the same time.”

“For a while I guess, but after I left Mr. Davis, I walked back past Costales’s office again and he’d already cleared out.”

“Did you see either of them again that night?” Ray asked.

“Uh-uh. I told you Mr. Costales left; his office was dark.”

“And you didn’t see Paul Davis again during any of your other security checks?”

Gaines bowed his head. “I didn’t make any more.”

“What?” Waverly looked at him from beneath his untamed eyebrows.

“I had final exams the next day; I had to do some heavy-duty studying.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling us you never took another look around?”

“Damn it,” Gaines said, “I wasn’t even supposed to be working that night. I told them I couldn’t do it.”

“Who?” Ray asked.

“Kingsley Security. I told them, but they said they’d fire my ass if I didn’t get over there. I didn’t have much choice. I went, but after the first couple rounds, I shut myself in one of the offices and spent the rest of my shift studying.”

“So, a man died because you kept your face buried in your textbooks.” Ray’s tone offered neither understanding nor forgiveness. “Hell, no wonder you didn’t want to talk to us. I wouldn’t want to admit that either.”

Waverly sucked air through his teeth. “That’s real shitty, kid.”

“Hey, I’m not proud of it, but it was the first time I let studying keep me from doing my job—the
only
time, man. It never mattered before; what were the odds it would make any difference that
night?”

“Beats me, kid,” Waverly said. “All I know is that your timing really sucks.”

“Hey, if ACC’s security system wasn’t a fucking joke, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal: three security guards for the whole building; a crummy handful of security cameras set up hit-or-miss…a couple out back in the parking lot, none on the front door. I mean come on, give me a break.”

According to their information, Gaines was right. In fact, modernizing the security system had been a major point of contention between Chet Stockton and Paul Davis. It didn’t escape Ray’s sense of irony that it was one battle Davis shouldn’t have conceded to his father-in-law. He moved on. “Those things you say you heard... Give us the details.”

Gaines exhaled a pent-up breath. “You ever been in the ACC building? Never mind,” he said. “Stupid question. With the marble floors in the hallways, it’s practically impossible not to hear when people come and go, especially at that time of night with nothing going on. Not usually, anyway.”

“So, you heard footsteps,” Ray said. “When?”

“Sometime after midnight. By that time the cleaning crew and Mr. Costales had all cleared out, so, at first I thought it was just me and Mr. Davis up there.”

“You say at first. What changed your mind?” Ray asked.

“I heard voices.”

“Did you recognize them?”

“One was Mr. Davis. I don’t have a clue who the other one was.”

“What were they saying?”

“I couldn’t make out the words.” His face clouded. “The talking stopped, a door slammed and I heard someone walk back to the elevator. Kinda quick, light footsteps. I thought it could’ve been a woman, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”

“The door slamming…” Ray said. “Could it have been something else? A gunshot maybe?”

“Shit, man, I don’t know. Maybe.”

Waverly jotted down notes as Ray continued. “You didn’t even catch a glimpse of this person?”

“I told you, I was studying. I didn’t look. The security guard in the front lobby was supposed to be keeping track of who came and went. I didn’t see any reason to check it out myself.”

Ray shook his head in disgust. “Keep going.”

“Later on I heard someone else in the hall.”

“A third person?”

“I think so; the footsteps sounded different—heavier.”

“How much later?” Waverly asked.

“Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe. A while later I heard something: a pop, like a book landing flat on a floor.”

“And, of course, you didn’t check it out.”

Gaines refused to meet Waverly’s eyes. “I figured it was just Michael Johnson. He was the guard on front desk duty that night.”

Ray already knew what answer to expect, but he asked anyway. “If he was assigned there, what would he be doing on the eighteenth floor?”

“Uh…” Gaines licked his lips, clearly reluctant to explain. “Johnson keeps liquor hidden around the building. Sometimes he leaves his station to get himself a drink.”

“Relax. You’re not telling us anything we didn’t already hear,” Waverly said, looking up from his notepad.

“I guess that means you already talked to Greg Chalmers.”

“Yeah, we did.” It pleased Ray to get verification of Chalmer’s story. “So after the alleged woman came and went, you think it was Michael Johnson you heard up there?”

“Yeah.”

“The sound like a book dropping...” Ray said. “Could that have been a gunshot?”

“I don’t know. A door slamming, a book dropping… I suppose it could’ve been. Hell, man, I’m no expert on gunfire. The next sound could have been a gunshot, too, for all I know.”

“There was another?”

“Yeah, later on.”

“Holy shit.” Ray massaged his forehead. “Okay. When was this?”

“I can’t say how much later it was; I fell asleep.”

Waverly sneered. “You were too damn busy studying to do your job, but you took time out for a nap?”

Gaines whipped his head in Waverly’s direction. “Not on purpose. I was up studying for three nights; I was beat.” He turned to Ray. “Hey, man, it was the one damn time I put myself ahead of that fucking job.”

“Just give us the rest of the details,” Ray said. “I’ve already heard your excuses.”

“Shit,” Gaines muttered. “Like I said, I fell asleep. I can’t say for how long. When I came to, I heard more footsteps in the hall.”

“Geezus,” Ray said. “This doesn’t sound like an office building in the middle of the night; it sounds like a goddamn parade route.” He swept a hand over his face. “Never mind, go ahead.”

Gaines chewed his lip. “Whoever it was came and went real fast. Then fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later, I heard more footsteps, but they sounded real weird.”

“Weird how?”

“They were slow and irregular.” He chewed on his lip a while longer. “Next I heard a muffled ‘pop’ and then, a minute later, the same weird walk back to the elevator. After that there was nothing. That was it.”

“Thank God.” Waverly put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. “Let’s see if I’ve got this straight.” He checked his notes. “You arrive around eleven, do rounds and see Ed Costales in his office. About an hour later, you do rounds again and see Paul Davis there—alive—and notice Costales has taken off. So far, so good?”

Gaines nodded.

Waverly muttered something unintelligible under his breath and flipped the page. “Then, sometime between midnight and seven in the morning, three, possibly as many as four people come and go on your floor—one possible woman and two, possibly three men. Does that about sum it up?”

“I guess.”

Disgusted, Waverly slapped his notebook on the table. “And the whole damn time you were hearing voices, footsteps, doors slamming, books falling, whatever, you weren’t interested enough…weren’t curious enough to take a look—not even once?” Waverly uncrossed his arms and leaned toward Gaines. “My God, kid, come on. You didn’t even peek through a crack in the door? Not one damn time, even for a second?”

Ray stepped behind Gaines. “Sounds like a crock to me. If I’d been in that room, you couldn’t have stopped me from checking it out.”

“All right, I did look out a couple times, but I didn’t see anything worth mentioning.”

Waverly leaned forward. “What’s going on—are you protecting somebody?”

“Hell, no.”

“What did you see—a friend maybe—and now your loyalty is holding you back?”

Gaines mumbled a reply.

“What?” Ray said. “Speak up.”

“I said it was just Johnson. Both times. No big deal.”

“Which times?” Ray demanded.

“Just before I fell asleep, and later when I heard the strange gait coming back down the hall. That got to me. I got up and looked just as the elevator door closed behind him.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?”

“Because Johnson’s got enough problems as it is. His drinking’s out of control. Between the time I fell asleep and when I saw him in that elevator, he got falling-down drunk. Must’ve. That’s the only thing that could explain his crazy gait. It sounded like he was having trouble walking in a straight line. I don’t think he’s ever let that happen at work before.”

Waverly grumbled under his breath. “And you were going to keep your mouth shut while we wasted our time trying to find that out for ourselves.”

“It was just Michael,” Gaines said. “I didn’t see any reason to involve him.”

“Bullshit. There’s got to be more to it,” Ray said. “Is it Johnson you’re protecting or someone else?”

“Hell, man, I just didn’t see any point in bringing Johnson into it. What would be the point? And I told you I never saw anyone else; I was cramming for my exams.”

“That must’ve been some intense study session.” Ray stepped back in front of Gaines. “Personally, I think you’re feeding us a line of crap.”

“Think whatever you want, man. I’d have been on it like a shot any other time, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted—not with my finals being the next day.”

“You must be one hell of a motivated guy.”

Anger replaced the shame in his eyes. “Let me tell you something. My grandmother raised me since I was six. There’s never been a time she didn’t hold down a job. And for the last four years she’s worked two, because even with a scholarship, the money was barely enough. I wanted to cut back on my credits so I could work and take some of the load off her, but she wouldn’t let me. ‘Just concentrate on your studies, and make me proud,’ she said. ‘I want to see you graduate.’ Six months ago, I found out she meant that literally. My grandmother’s losing her sight. Macular degeneration,” Gaines told them. “You ever hear of it?”

“I’m sorry,” Ray said. “I really am.”

“Yeah, right. Look, all I know is that her sight’s getting worse. I needed to graduate this semester, because, by next, she could be blind.” His eyes brimmed. “Pile on all the sarcasm you like, man. All she wanted was to see me get my diploma, and I was going to make damn sure that happened.”

Ray’s expression softened. “How’d you do?”

“I graduated…cum laude.”

“Congratulations.” Ray lowered himself into a chair. Okay, so the kid was mega-motivated, but damn, would a quick walk down the hall have killed him?
“Okay,” he said, “let’s go over this again. Are you positive
Ed Costales actually left the building?”

8

Ray drove back to his apartment, replaying the kid’s story in his head. It was clear Gaines was trying to fight his way upstream with his struggling grandmother in tow. If he’d been offered a shitload of money to say he hadn’t seen anything at ACC the night Davis died, maybe he’d caved to the temptation. But why the convoluted tale about who-knows-who doing God-knows-what at ACC in the middle of the night?

Waverly suggested it was all shadows and mirrors—a false show of cooperation. Ray wasn’t buying it. Gaines was smart. Why offer those bizarre details rather than a simpler, more believable explanation? Besides, the kid’s story had been unshakable. They’d gone over it with him nearly a half-dozen times, approaching it from every imaginable angle. He hadn’t missed a beat—never changed a single detail.