Carolyn Arnold - McKinley 01 - The Day Job is Murder (5 page)

It’s All Coming Together

SARA HAD A FULL COFFEE mug in one hand and her other drummed impatiently against the desk as she waited for results to fill the screen. She needed to find out what had gotten Cunningham shot. Workmates and friends didn’t provide any insight into who may have wanted him dead. Most said he stuck to himself and was a quiet man who preferred evenings home watching television. Their lead to the killer had to be drug related.

She drained back a mouthful of the brew, savoring its robust flavor. The stronger the coffee, the better. She wanted something that bit back.

The computer beeped as results filled the screen. It included the most recent drug busts and aliases. Somewhere in this list was the person they were looking for, she sensed it. Typically, she was right about these things. She even had a dream last night that told her they would find the killer today. Not that she was psychic, but she had an ability, sometimes, to sense things. She termed it strong intuition based on the compilation of facts. She was determined to solve this case, so her mind fed her that as truth. That’s how she saw it anyhow.

“Detective Cain?” Sergeant Voigt stood at the edge of her desk, a pen in his hand. “Where’s McKinley?”

“He had an appointment. He’s expected back.” Sara glanced at the clock.

Two fifteen.

“Probably any minute. His appointment was at one thirty.”

“You know Burton,” Voigt said.

“Yes, but we had to cut him loose.”

“Well, not soon enough. Seems he’s going after the department for being embarrassed at his place of work.” Voigt’s words carried reprimand but the curved edges of his mouth dampened the impact.

“You’re kidding me? We did everything by the book, Jimmy.”

“Sergeant Voigt.”

“Yes, sorry.” Sara smiled at him. She loved reporting to Voigt and couldn’t imagine a better boss. He was tough when he needed to be, but also had an understanding and relaxed nature. It was the latter that lent itself to the periodic slip of his first name.

“Anyway, Legal’s taking care of it, and it should be swept away quickly. Any more leads on the Cunningham murder?”

“Working on it right now.”

Voigt tapped the pen against his palm. “Wonderful. Let me know once you’ve got something.”

“I will.” She pressed on a smile, but the interruption had her eager to get back to the results on her screen.

As she sipped her coffee and read the reports, one name looked familiar instantly and had her heart racing.

They had their guy.

Sean’s breath uneven, his hands quaking, he read the letter.

Dear Mr. McKinley,

If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m no longer here. Don’t be sad. Don’t have any regrets. I know you are the type of person to beat yourself up over past misgivings. You have nothing to regret.

Emotion welled up in Sean’s throat and he blinked back tears.

You lived your life as you should have. You gave selflessly to others, even giving time to this old coot.

The corners of his mouth hitched upward.

You were like a son I never had and it’s why I wouldn’t leave my estate to anyone else. Find love, someone to share life with. It will give you purpose, something that no other achievement can fulfill—no matter how grand in the eyes of others.

I know you love your job. You make a difference there—you made one to me—but what I’m offering you is the world.

He glanced up again. Feelings whirled through him at such a shattering speed he couldn’t tack one down. Intuition was starting to tell him there was a lot more to Mr. Quinn than he knew.

He went back to the letter.

Never lose your gift, Sean. You can see people. You can bring kindness back to a world that has all but given up on this attribute. Money can bring one a lot of great things, but it can also bring pain. Make wise choices. Follow your heart.

And, please, from an old coot to a young man, have some fun with it.

Your friend forever,

Mr. Douglas Quinn

The room was silent, except for the sound of his heart beating in his ears. What was Quinn talking about when he mentioned money bringing great things?

“Did you read the letter in full, Mr. McKinley?” Daphne asked.

“Yes.” It took a lot to pry the single word from his throat. It felt stitched together.

“There was a lot, I’m sensing, that you didn’t know about Mr. Quinn,” she continued.

“Right now, I’m not sure if I knew him at all.” He studied her eyes, but couldn’t read them.

“Mr. Quinn owned a lot of companies.”

“He what—” No more words would form.

“He held the controlling shares in Universal Acquisitions Corporation.”

“Sounds big.”

“Huge would be a more apt description, Mr. McKinley. They buy and sell companies that are in distress. They cleared fifty-five million in their last fiscal year alone. Mr. Quinn, with all of his interests, of which there were many besides Universal, had a net worth of twenty billion dollars.”

Oh God, he was going to be sick.

“And he left every single penny to you, including his businesses.” Daphne smiled. “Congratulations, Mr. McKinley, you are now a billionaire.”

The air went thin. His head spun. His eyes were on Daphne but not focused on anything, or anyone, in particular.

“Mr. McKinley, are you all right?” Anita placed her hand on his forearm.

“He left me everything?”

Peter smiled. “Yes, he did.”

“Will I have to run all of his companies? Where is Universal located?”

Daphne gestured toward the man in the bowtie.

“Mr. McKinley, my name is Edward Cranston, and this is Kate Brackett,” he referred to the woman beside him, “I am the CEO for Universal. As you inquired, it is located in New York. It was Mr. Quinn’s explicit wish that you retain the controlling shares and interest in the company, however, you are not required to be involved in the daily management decisions.”

Sean didn’t know what to say.

Kate leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table, the action only amplifying her anorexic frame. “I was Mr. Quinn’s accountant and responsible for managing all of his assets. It would be appropriate that we meet once everything is taken care of. You also have the right to decide if you want to continue on as my client, which I trust you will.” She offered a subtle smile, which only flashed brief light into her eyes. “You are, of course, free to choose another financial representative.”

Sean’s head was spinning. Less than an hour ago, he had a beat-up car, a rental house, a battered couch and lived paycheck to paycheck. In a matter of minutes, he had become a multi-billionaire with businesses and accountants.

Daphne brought over a small wooden chest and placed it on the table in front of him. “This box is to be opened by you. None of us have seen the contents.”

Sean pinched the latch on the chest.

Daphne smiled as she handed him the key. “You can open this here, or in private. That is up to you. Now, we will need to take care of some paperwork. We only require about a hundred signatures.” She laughed.

He nodded, but his mind was trying to process everything. He came in a working man and he would leave never needing to work another day in his life.

He signed the paperwork, his thoughts skipping everywhere, but mainly focused on the two pieces of advice from Quinn’s letter—to find love and to follow his heart. To Sean, these two things were one and the same. But how to go about it?

“How fast will I have access to the money?” he asked.

Daphne smiled. “It will take a few days for everything to be finalized, but it’s technically yours now.”

“A few days?” Now that he had the money, he had a purchase to make as soon as possible—the most perfect birthday gift for Sara. “Is there any way I could access some of it immediately?”

What’s In A Name

CUNNINGHAM’S FACEBOOK TIMELINE SHOWED HIM complaining of “druggies” coming to his door looking for an Eddie. It turns out Eddie was also the name of a well-known drug dealer that lived one street over from Cunningham’s house.

Sara knocked on the door again. “Open up. Albany PD!”

She heard scuffling inside, footsteps going this way and that, things being moved around. She glanced behind. Two squad cars and three uniforms backed her up; one stood at the base of the stairs with his gun readied. A narcotics detective had offered to come along but she’d declined him. If things went sideways, she had enough fire power.

“Once more. Albany PD! You open up or we’re coming in.”

The deadbolt
clunked
as it was unlocked and the door opened, only the amount the chain would allow.

One eyeball looked at her through the crack.

She held up her badge. “We’re looking for Eddie.”

“He’s not here.” The guy went to close the door, but Sara pushed her boot against it to prevent that from happening.

“Let us see for ourselves.”

“No. No way.” The guy shook his head rapidly.

“We have something of his he may want back.” Sara held up a baggie of white powder—the one they had collected was coke, but this one contained icing sugar.

“It’s not ours.”

“Funny. It was taken off one of your customers.”

She pulled her leg back and the door shut, then the chain slid across and the door opened.

He kept most of his body concealed, but extended a hand. “Let me see.”

Sara handed over the baggie.

He held it in the light, and then said, “One minute.”

“Sure.”

She was thankful for one trait she possessed—patience. She also preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. It was something that she was ridiculed for in her line of work, but it secured her role as “good cop.”

Footsteps bounded back.

“This ain’t drugs, lady. It’s sugar.” He handed her back the powder and closed the door.

For some reason, hearing him say what she already knew provided a revelation. The man who shot Cunningham was carrying drugs, so he wasn’t there looking for Eddie to score—she knew what happened.

She couldn’t wait to tell Sean how close they were to solving this case. She dialed his cell but it rang to voice mail. She tried again and met with the same result, so she hung up without leaving a message.

“Hmm. That’s strange.”