Dear Crossing (20 page)

Roth stuck his head out his office door. “Waverly, Paige, Schiller…in my office.”

From across the room, Paige looked up and followed them inside.

“What’s up, Captain?” Paige asked.

In typical fashion, Roth didn’t mince words. “I just got off the phone with Chief Newell in Widmer. Tomorrow, Schiller’s heading leaving for an undetermined amount of time. Paige, you’re taking his place working with Waverly until he gets back. Either of you have a problem with that? No? Good.” He turned to Ray. “Schiller, try to get back soon. Paige, put what you can on hold. Waverly, you bring him up to speed. Any questions?” He waited two seconds. “All right, then get out of here and get back to work.”

Lovell Paige wheeled around as they filed out of the office. “What the hell? You’re leaving, Schiller?”

“With any luck it’ll only be for a few days,” Ray told him.

“Good. Any longer with Waverly might be too big a strain on my delicate constitution,” he joked.

Waverly clamped a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “I love you, too, Lovell. Just to show you how much, how’d you like to get Dana Danforth back here for another interview tomorrow?”

A smile lit up his face. “You talking about that sexy number you had in here yesterday?”

“That’s her,” Ray said. “She’s not easy to pin down.”

“Ray and I have to be in court in the morning,” Waverly told Paige. “Gotta work around that. You wanna take a crack at it?”

“No prob,” Paige said. “Consider it done.”

29

Lovell Paige had managed to get Dana Danforth to agree to another interview. The next day, the prospect of having another opportunity to question her was the only bright spot in an otherwise dismal day for Ray. He and Waverly cringed as the judge gave Nick Vincent a $750 fine, a year of probation and a mandatory course in anger management.

Anger management, Ray mused. Nick Vincent could have used it when he and Waverly had put Plan B into motion. Nick strung together an impressive list of Class A profanities as they snapped the cuffs on him and had him transferred to Widmer’s county jail. They realized the forty-eight hour reprieve might not be nearly enough time to convince the county attorney to prosecute him on the basis of what they had, but it was the best they could do.

They spent the rest of the afternoon filling Paige in on the investigation while checking and rechecking every detail that might advance the case. None did.

As admitted lovers, contacts between Danforth and Davis, both in person and by phone, were to be expected. They couldn’t find any evidence of communication between Paul Davis and Nick Vincent. And despite the high-end goodies found in Nick’s apartment, there was no evidence any money had ever changed hands between them. The expensive items, conspicuous in their shabby surroundings, were the likely result of criminal activity not yet attributed to him.

Late in the afternoon, Dana Danforth sat in the interview room, looking more annoyed than worried. With her thick mane of hair loosely arranged at the crown of her head, wavy tendrils dangled along her neck and temples, a study in casual chic. “This is a waste of time,” she insisted. “I already answered these questions. I told you Paul was with me the night his wife was killed.”

“The two of you may have been together,” Ray said, “but not in Minneapolis.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and he went to Widmer together that Saturday night, didn’t you?”

“You’re crazy.”

“You say you’ve been together for two years,” Ray said. “You don’t strike me as the type of woman who settles for second billing. Not for long anyway.”

“What do you call two frickin’ years?”

“That’s my point. You had to be sick of it, especially with no end to the wait in sight. Most cheaters have no intention of leaving their wives. They’ve got too much to lose—money, property, their kids. In Paul Davis’s case, he’s got the presidency of ACC and his entire career to consider.”

Dana casually removed a watch link from a loop of her raspberry-red, alpaca turtleneck. “Once Chet Stockton steps aside that will change.”

“But no one knows how much longer that’ll take—you included.” Ray’s eyes lingered on the slim legs jutting beneath the hem of her short, linen skirt, and forced himself to turn away. “I imagine you were at the end of your patience, isn’t that right?”

She glared at him in silence.

“Even if Davis wanted to leave his wife, he didn’t dare. The two of you coming up with a plan to get her out of the way isn’t much of a stretch.”

“Neither of us had anything to do with it.”

“I’m more inclined to believe in his innocence than yours. He’s spent a lifetime getting where he is. It’s not likely he’d throw everything away for you. You, on the other hand, had a lot to gain by getting his wife out of the picture, but not much on the downside…unless you consider a murder conviction a negative thing.”

“Fuck you.”

Waverly tsked. “Is that the same mouth Paul Davis kisses?”

“Fuck you, too.”

Waverly smiled. “Did you act alone?”

She sprang from her chair. “I don’t have to listen to anymore of this. I’m out of here.”

Legally, she couldn’t be forced to stay, but Ray said, “Sit down. We’re not done here.”

Dana lowered herself into the chair.

“Tell us what happened—the truth this time.”

“Go to hell.” Her tone held less conviction than before. “I was here in Minneapolis when Paul’s wife was killed. Ask him.”

“Two suspects—each of them providing an alibi for the other. Somehow I don’t find that convincing.”

She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at a dry eye. “Neither of us had anything to do with it. It was Nick.”

Ray and Waverly glanced at one another, a mixture of skepticism and anticipation on their faces. A hush fell over the room.

“Nick,” Ray repeated. “The man you claimed yesterday to barely know.”

“I was scared. I lied.”

“Scared of what?”

She looked from Ray to Waverly. “Of Nick. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Keep going. We’re listening,” Waverly told her.

“From the day I started at Logan’s, he pestered me to go out with him. Giving in turned out to be an even bigger mistake than I expected. Later on, I met Paul. We started seeing each other, and I could see the possibility of it becoming long term, maybe even permanent. I tried to end the thing with Nick…more than once.” She brought the tissue to her eyes again and gestured toward Ray’s bruised cheek. “You’ve seen what Nick’s temper is like.”

“You’re saying Nick hurt you?” Ray asked.

“No, but I thought he might. I didn’t dare push my luck.”

“How does Valerie Davis figure into this?” Waverly asked.

“Nick got wind of my relationship with Paul—knew who he was—knew he was worth a fortune. He talked about blackmailing him over our affair.”

“So, that’s where Davis’s wife came in?” Waverly asked.

“Yes, initially,” she said. “His blackmail scheme would’ve ended my relationship with Paul. I didn’t want that, so I started giving Nick cash when I could, hoping he’d settle for that. It was way less cash than he wanted, but at least he couldn’t be prosecuted for it.”

“And your payoff?” Paige asked.

“I’m still with Paul.”

“And Davis?” Waverly asked.

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“What about his money?”

“What about it? Technically,” she said, “the money I gave Nick was mine; Paul had given it to me.”

Waverly muttered, “Yeah. All on the up-and-up, right? So, what happened?”

“Nick got greedier. He wanted more money more often.”

“Okay,” Ray prompted, “I still don’t understand how Valerie Davis’s death figures into this.”

“He came up with a new plan. He realized that as
Mrs.
Davis I’d have easy access to larger amounts of money. He decided that getting rid of Valerie would speed up the transition.”

“That had to sound pretty good to you, too,” Ray said. “Maybe it was even your idea.”

“Bastard.”

Ray stood over her. “You did nothing to stop him.”

“What could I do?”

“You could’ve come forward.”

“I did…but it was too late. After I heard what happened to Valerie, I called the police in Widmer. I spoke with a Chief Newsome.”

“Newell?” Ray suggested.

“Yes, that’s it. Chief Newell.”

“The anonymous call,” Ray muttered under his breath. “Shit.”

“I couldn’t give my name,” Dana said. “If Nick found out I made that call—”

“Then you never saw him leave the Davis property on his bike that night,” Ray said.

“No. But I know his plate number.”

Ray shook his head. “You lied about all of it.”

“What difference does it make? Nick did it. How else could I make sure he got caught?” Her lower lip jutted forward in a transparent pout. “I wouldn’t be telling you any of this now if I didn’t know he locked up. He’d come after me if he found out I talked.”

They avoided Dana’s eyes.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nick’s court hearing was this morning,” Ray told her.

Eyes wide, she said, “You’re not telling me he was released.”

“He got a good Public Defender and a lenient judge.”

“Lenient, my ass,” Waverly muttered. “Must’ve been a blood relative.”

“How could you let him go?” Dana demanded.

Waverly cleared his throat. “We didn’t. He’s in a county jail for now. You don’t need to worry. He prob’ly doesn’t even know you were here.”

Somehow, she didn’t look comforted.

An hour later, they’d wrapped up their interview. Ray stopped to let Captain Roth know he was on his way back to Widmer and shook a few hands in parting.

He saved Waverly for last. “Dick, thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t go closing the case without me.”

“Raymond, Raymond, Raymond. You don’t want me dragging my feet, do you?”

“Not really. It was just a thought. And, by the way, it’s just Ray,” he told him. “Says so on my birth certificate.”

“You’re kiddin’. Then you need a legitimate nickname. Your middle name…what is it?”

“Carl.”

“Man, you’re screwed.”

Ray laughed and grabbed Waverly’s hand. “Take care, Dick.” He handed a note with his phone number to him. “Keep me in the loop.”

“You can count on it.”

Waverly gave Ray’s shoulder a pat. “Have a good trip home.”

Ray went to his car, already packed up with his things. He’d said goodbye to the Staffords that morning. Gwen stood in the door of her house, waving and tugging on a bra strap, hollering “Bah, Rye” in her heavy, Texas twang. He started the engine and drove out of the lot toward Widmer, thinking about the case and what still lay ahead.

An hour later, Ray paid for a large cup of coffee from a Kwik Trip and got back behind the wheel. As he started the engine, a news broadcast caught his attention. “…the president and founder of Alliance Computer Corporation died today. Chester Stockton, whose daughter, Valerie Davis, was brutally murdered recently in Widmer, Minnesota, was rushed to Abbott Northwestern Hospital early this morning where efforts to resuscitate him failed. His death has been attributed to a massive cerebral hemorrhage. The investigation into his daughter’s death is ongoing.

“ACC, one of Minneapolis’s largest employers, was founded by Chester Stockton in…”

“Aw, damn it.”

30

Needing to see the site of Neil’s accident for himself, Ray had taken a County W after leaving the interstate. The pavement cut a straight, broad swath through outlying farmland, the gently rolling fields still unplanted. Vivid reminders of the loss already marked the accident site in the form of small white crosses and colorful bouquets.

Deep scars left by the Dodge Durango’s tires were still visible in the loose soil of the roadway’s shoulder. The sharp angle of the vehicle’s trajectory into Neil’s lane conveyed the driver’s panicked reaction and loss of control. From the point of impact, a trail of black tire marks detailed the squad car’s skewed path. The road had been cleared of debris and blood, but memories of past accident scenes assaulted Ray in merciless waves.

Steeling himself, Ray drove from there to Speltz’s garage. In a fenced-off lot at the edge of the property, Neil’s mangled squad car sat beside the blue Durango. The heavier SUV sustained less damage but had spared only one of its two passengers. Somewhere people had to be down on their knees, thanking God that the survivor had been one of
their
family, one of
their
friends.

Had it been possible, Ray would have exchanged the woman’s life for Neil’s without a second thought. The unspoken admission riddled him with guilt. The woman was a wife, probably a mother, a grandmother, a person cherished by many. Neil, though, still had a lifetime ahead of him. He was young, bright, full of potential and no less loved. Of that, Ray was certain. He drove away from Speltz’s garage, heartsick.

Before checking in with Woody, Ray found Laurie and Krista playing with friends at a favorite park near their school. Gathering his daughters into the car, the three of them swung by Bixby’s for three double scoop ice cream cones. Afterward, he dropped the girls off curbside at home.

Gail got something, too—a phone call saying he was back. On the phone, Gail tried to comfort Ray over Neil’s death. She sympathized with his frustration over being brought back to Widmer so abruptly. In her characteristic way, she’d consoled him. Damn her.

Now, hours later, Ray downed his first scotch. It flowed down his throat like an amber river. It wouldn’t obliterate the lingering images of Neil’s crumpled squad car, but it might at least blur them for a while. He was pouring a second drink when his phone rang—a Minneapolis number.

Ray skipped the hello. “Perfect timing, Dick. I just finished a partial shift. Haven’t even kicked my shoes off yet.”

“Newell put you to work already? Crap. You didn’t even get time to catch your breath. Hey, you heard about Chet Stockton, right?”

“Yeah, halfway home. Wish we could’ve given him some closure before he died. He deserved that.”