Dear Crossing (19 page)

“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.”

“Whatd’ya wanna bet the DNA tests prove it’s Valerie Davis’s blood?” He shook his head. “You should’ve gotten rid of those boots, too, Nick.”

“Gentlemen,” McDonnell said, “I’d like to consult with my client in private.”

“Go ahead,” Ray said. “We’ll be right outside.”

27

“You okay, Ray?” Waverly asked as they stepped into the hallway.

“Crap. I was useless in there. The news about Neil…I…It’s rough.”

“Don’t worry about it. God’s truth,” Waverly said, holding up a hand. “I’d rather have you in there with me, as is, than my regular partner on his best day.”

“If that isn’t an out-and-out attempt to make me feel better, you’re in serious need of a new partner.”

“Cup of coffee?” Waverly asked.

“I doubt it’ll help.”

“Hey…couldn’t hurt.”

Waverly was draining his second cup of coffee as the door reopened. McDonnell motioned them inside. Chucking his empty Styrofoam cup into an overfilled basket, Waverly claimed his previous seat while Ray stood, arms crossed, in the middle of the cramped, colorless room.

“So,” Waverly said. “What have you two come up with?”

“My client is ready to cooperate fully.”

“It’s about time,” Ray said.

“Mr.Vincent is willing to make a formal statement confirming he was on the property the night of Valerie Davis’s murder, but in no way is that to be construed as an admission of guilt.”

Ray gritted his teeth. “So, what were you doing there, Nick—sightseeing?”

“I was casing the place, all right? I heard there were some ritzy joints around Lake Hadley—a lot of them empty eight or nine months out of the year. I decided to check it out.”

“So,” Waverly said, “in a downpour, you hopped on your Harley and headed to Widmer. The rain had to hurt like hell.”

“It stung, yeah, but I was more than halfway there before it started. I decided I’d better not put it off; the summer people would be showing up before long.”

“So you were there to target houses,” Ray said.

“Yeah. If my bike hadn’t gotten fucked up in the accident, I’d have been back in Minneapolis that night.”

“Okay, but the garage owner said your bike was up and running early the next morning. Why not leave
then
? Why’d you stick around?”

“That would’ve made it a wasted trip. I decided to stick around and check out those lake homes that night. After dark there wasn’t much chance of my being seen.”

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” Waverly scoffed. “You put your time in that cell to good use. You’ve got all the answers worked out, right?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Sure it is.”

“You might want to let him finish,” McDonnell insisted.

“Go ahead, Nick. We’ll even try to keep a straight face,” Waverly told him. “But tell me something. If you only wanted to look around, why’d you go inside Valerie Davis’s place?”

“What?” Nick’s face twisted in anger. He turned to McDonnell. “I didn’t.”

“Evidence says you did,” Ray told him. “You left footprints in an upstairs bedroom.”

Nick wiped his palms on his pants. “I never set foot in that place, not upstairs or down.”

“The mud on that carpet says different.”

“Bullshit.”

“Can you prove those prints were made by my client?” McDonnell asked.

“Boot prints were found in the soil alongside the house,” Ray explained. “It stands to reason the mud in the upstairs bedroom came from the soles of the same boots.”

McDonnell arched an eyebrow. “Is that an assumption or do you have proof?”

The image of the muddy prints on the off-white carpeting was as clear in Ray’s mind as if he were still standing in that upstairs bedroom. Obvious on the light fibers, the prints themselves were poorly defined—barely more than dirty smudges. He chose not to divulge that information. “Save the technicalities for the trial,” Ray told him.

“Tell me,” McDonnell said, “do you have solid evidence of any kind that places Mr. Vincent inside the residence? Fingerprints? DNA? Anything at all?”

“The DNA results aren’t back yet but, when push comes to shove, we don’t have to prove your client was ever inside. It doesn’t matter. Valerie Davis bled out in her home, but the attack took place outdoors, and we have proof your client was there,” Ray said.

“The blood on his boots will tell us everything we need to know,” Waverly added.

Nick slammed a fist on the tabletop. “She was already dead when I got there.”

McDonnell clamped a hand on Nick’s arm. “Nick, enough. Shut up.”

“You want to run that by us again?” Waverly asked.

“You heard me.” Nick yanked his arm out of his lawyer’s grip. “She was already dead.”

“Nick—” McDonnell reached for his shoulder.

“Keep your hands off me. I want them off my fuckin’ back. I’ll tell them exactly what happened.”

“Please do,” Waverly said. “We’re all ears.”

McDonnell sank back in his chair, his expertise no match for Nick’s hotheaded rush to self-destruction.

“That night,” Nick said, “when I got close to the Davises’s place, I hid my bike off the road where it couldn’t be seen. I walked the rest of the way to the house through the woods.”

Ray made a mental note of Nick’s claim. “Then what?”

“When I got there, there was a light on inside—like a night light or something. Real dim. Right away I knew someone was there; people put a few lights on timers when they’re trying to make it look like they’re home, not one shittin’ little light like that. The last thing I wanted was to run into anybody, so I took off.”

Ray and Waverly said nothing, drawing him out with their silence.

Nick fidgeted and continued. “It was really dark that night. Going up that little slope in the backyard, I slipped and fell on some wet grass—from the rain the night before, I figured. Later on I rode under some streetlights and got a look at my clothes. What I slipped on wasn’t rainwater; it was blood. It was all over me.”

A few deep breaths later, he continued. “When I got back to my apartment, it was late. I figured no one was around to see me, so I stripped, cleaned up and got rid of the clothes in that Dumpster. So, yeah, you’ll find Valerie Davis’s blood on my stuff, but I had nothing to do with killing her, I swear.”

McDonnell linked his fingers on the tabletop. “So,” he said, sighing, “you have Mr. Vincent’s admission that he was there. Given his explanation, with anything less than his fingerprints on that axe, you might want to reconsider rushing to charge my client with murder, assuming that’s what you had in mind.”

“Your client’s a liar,” Ray said. “He claims he arrived and left on foot, but he was seen riding off the Davises’ property on his Harley.”

Nick’s hands fisted. “That’s a crock. No one saw me do that because it didn’t happen.”

“What would anyone have to gain by making that claim?”

“I don’t know, but, sure as hell, someone lied.”

There was an uncomfortable lull.

“Are we done here?” McDonnell asked.

“One more thing,” Ray said. “Nick, how well do you know Dana Danforth?”

Nick looked like he’d been gut punched.

“Well?” Ray said. “How about it, Nick? How well do you know her? You know…the hot chick? The one whose picture you keep in your wallet.”

“Oh, you mean Lucinda Harger? She worked at Logan’s for a while. She finally changed her name, huh?”

“According to our information you still work at Logan’s. Detective Waverly and I talked to the other employees there Thursday night. Why didn’t we see you?”

“You’re not very observant?”

“Cute,” Waverly said. “Answer the question. How well do you know Dana Danforth?”

“I could pick her out of a crowd, but that’s about it.”

Trying to catch both Nick Vincent and Dana Danforth in a lie, Ray asked, “You claim to barely know her, but you carry her picture around. How did you happen to come by it?”

Nick’s jaw clenched. “I don’t remember.”

Bullshit.
“Think. What were the circumstances?”

“I said I don’t remember.”

“Someone at Logan’s told me she gave one to everybody who worked there.” He hoped Nick would take it as an easy out.

His eyes narrowed. “Maybe that was it. Like I said, I can’t remember.”

Ray tried another approach. “If the two of you have no personal connection, why do you carry her picture with you?”

“Babes. Other chicks see a photo like that in your wallet and they fall all over themselves trying to show up the competition. I don’t get it, but it works. Try it sometime.”

Ray shook his head in disgust. “I’m done here, Dick. What about you?”

“For now, I guess.” To Nick, Waverly said, “Ms. Danforth will be flattered to hear you’re using her photo as date bait. Then again, maybe not.”

Nick didn’t seem to hear him. It looked like he had something much more important on his mind.

Waverly and Ray excused themselves and stepped out of the room.

Ray started with an open-ended “Well?”

“McDonnell’s right. We’ve got circumstantial evidence up the wazoo, but it might not be enough.”

“You’re not suggesting we let him go.”

“Hell, no,” Waverly said. “I’m saying we hold off—try to give forensics some time to come up with something more concrete.”

“His assault hearing is tomorrow morning,” Ray said. “A decent judgment might give us that.”

“Maybe, but don’t count on it.”

“The guy’s a definite flight risk,” Ray pointed out. “Crummy job. Crummy apartment. Nothing worth sticking around for. How do you want to play this?”

“Best case scenario…Nick gets jail time, we get a grace period, and forensics comes up with enough for a murder conviction.”

“And if Nick walks?”

“Before he gets out of the courthouse, we slap the cuffs on him, hold him on suspicion of murder and transfer him back to Widmer’s jurisdiction.”

“The county jail.” Ray said, under his breath. “That could be a crap shoot, too. The County Attorney will only have forty-eight hours to either charge him or let him go.”

“Like you said, a crap shoot,” Waverly agreed. “Forensics better turn up some hard evidence in a hurry.” He gave his waistband another tug. “We got a plan then?”

“Yeah,” Ray said. “Not a great one, but it’s all we’ve got.”

28

Several hours later Ray’s cell phone demanded his attention. A quick glance told him it was Woody. Battling the dread in the pit of his stomach, he answered, needing to know what had happened to Neil.

Ray bypassed the formalities. “What did you find out?”

“I just left the hospital,” Woody said. “It looks like the woman’s going to make it.”

“Good. Were you able to talk to her?”

“Yeah.” Anger colored Woody’s reply. “It was a totally, stupid, avoidable accident. Her husband turned to watch an eagle feeding in a field across the way. Their SUV ran off the pavement. The way she described it, her husband over-corrected. He veered into the other lane, and…”

“And hit Neil,” Ray finished for him.

“It must’ve happened so fast that he didn’t see it coming or had no time to react. There’s no indication that he swerved or hit the brakes. The SUV’s tracks confirm the woman’s account.”

Ray didn’t respond.

“Neil died instantly, Ray. Must have. I don’t think he suffered.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

Neither of them spoke for what seemed like minutes.

“You’re not going to want to hear this,” Woody said, breaking the silence at last, “but I need you back in Widmer.”

“When? For how long?”

“Like yesterday. We were already shorthanded when I sent you to Minneapolis. An hour ago Rodgers called in. He fell off a ladder at home and broke a leg. With Neil and Rodgers out now, too, I need you here. Calls are up. Manpower’s down.”

“What about getting temporary backup?”

“I tried that. Things are tight all over; no one’s falling all over themselves to share personnel right now. I’m working on it. In the meantime, I need you here until I can work things out.”

“How long will that take?”

“With any luck, a couple of days, hopefully not more than three or four, but that’s a guess, not a promise.” Woody dug his heels in a little deeper. “You say this Waverly guy you’re working with is good. Let him hold down the fort until you get back. You’ll just have to communicate by long distance until this gets sorted out.”

It was an argument Ray couldn’t win and had sense enough to concede. “I can’t leave right away. I’ve got to be in court tomorrow.” Failing to mention he’d be done early was fudging it, but he needed a few more hours to do one last thing before leaving. “It might be late afternoon before I make it back,” he told Woody.

“Okay, tomorrow afternoon then,” he said. “When we hang up, I’ll contact Captain Roth to explain the situation. I wanted to tell you first.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow, Ray.”

He jammed the cell phone back in his pocket and found Waverly having a laugh with two other detectives. He pulled him aside. “There’s a problem.”

“Whose? Yours, mine or both?”

“I’m being called back to Widmer.”

“Whoa. When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Aw, crap.” Waverly tipped his head back to access the button under his double chin. He undid it, grumbling, “How soon can you make it back here?”

“We’re talking days, minimum.”

“What?” Waverly looked around the room. “Okay, where’s the hidden camera?”

“Yeah, don’t I wish. We’re down another man in Widmer—a broken leg. Replacements are slow in coming.”

“No way to get around it?”

“If there was, I’d be all over it. This really sucks.”

“Easy, buddy. Getting personally involved in a case is a no-no, but hey, it’s happened to me, too. Just throttle back. It’s crappy, but you’ll survive.”

“I don’t like leaving you holding the bag.”

Waverly slid the knot on his blue-and-white striped tie down another inch. “I’ll muddle through until you get back.”

“Dick, is there any chance we can get the Danforth woman here for another interview before I leave? I want one more shot at her before I go.”