Dear Crossing (3 page)

“Was she…?” The unspoken word seemed to catch in Paul Davis’s throat.

“There was no sexual assault,” Woody told him. “So far, we haven’t been able to establish a motive.”

“Who would kill her?” Davis’s voice cracked. “For what reason?”

Ray stepped closer. “We hoped you might be able to tell us.”

“I have no idea. None.”

“Is there someone who might’ve held a grudge of some sort? Someone who might stand to gain something by her death?”

Davis hesitated, his expression changing subtly. “No, nobody.”

“Don’t be too quick to rule that out,” Ray said. “When you’ve had a chance to think—”

“How?” The question gushed out of Davis’s mouth. “How was she killed? I mean…” He couldn’t finish.

“Her left arm was severed by an axe,” Woody said, “…just below the elbow.”

Davis rocked forward and back. “Oh, dear God.”

“We’re very sorry for your loss, Mr. Davis.”

Several moments passed in silence. Ray went to the water cooler, filled a paper cup and offered it to him.

Davis took it in a trembling hand, emptying the cup in a single gulp. “When did this happen?”

“We estimate the time of death was between ten and twelve last night,” Ray said.

“The time of death…” Davis said the words as though he were testing the feel of them on his tongue.

“The medical examiner will be able to pinpoint it more accurately after the autopsy.”

The paper cup slipped from Davis’s fingers. “Is an autopsy necessary?”

“I’m afraid so,” Woody said.

Davis’s knuckles whitened around the arms of the chair. “An axe you said. That man…The one Valerie hired…He—”

“We’ve checked his story,” Woody told him. “He was in town the entire evening—nowhere near your lake home at that time. Several men are willing to swear he was with them at a local bar from 9:00 p.m. until closing. He never left the entire night.”

“The axe is his,” Ray added, “but he’s not our man. After he took that tree down for you on Saturday, he forgot his axe on your property. When he came back for it this morning, he discovered your wife’s body.”

Davis’s shoulders sagged.

Woody moved to his side. “I wish we could make this easier for you. All I can do is promise that we’ll find out who did this.”

Davis’s voice steadied. “Has anyone notified Valerie’s father?”

“No, Mr. Stockton hasn’t been informed yet.” Woody slipped his hands into his pockets. “I understand that your father-in-law is in frail health. We thought it might be better coming from someone closer to him—someone who might know the best way to break the news, but if you’d rather have us—”

“No, you’re right. I’ll do it.” He stood, preparing to leave.

“Sir,” Woody said, “we need to ask you a few more questions.”

“Now?”

“I’m sorry. The sooner we fill in the missing pieces of this puzzle, the sooner we’ll be able to make some headway. We can’t afford to wait.”

Davis reseated himself. “Then ask your questions.” He draped his forearms over the chair’s metal armrests.

On the opposite side of the desk, Woody mirrored his pose. “According to one of my officers, you were at home with your wife yesterday—Saturday morning.”

“Yes, I was there.”

“When did you and your wife arrive?”

“On Friday. She left Minneapolis earlier in the day. I came up later.”

“What time?”

“I arrived around eleven. Maybe a little later.”

“So, you drove up separately.”

“Yes. I returned to Minneapolis Saturday morning.”

“What time?”

“I didn’t check, but it was early. I was in a hurry to get back to the Cities.”

“I see,” Woody said. “But when you left your house, Officer Cooper recalls you saying you were going into Widmer.”

“Yes, I forgot. That’s right. I did make a short stop in town first.”

“And when did you return to the house?”

“I didn’t. I still haven’t.”

“You didn’t go back to your summer house at all on Saturday?”

“No. That’s what I just said.”

Ray stepped forward. “What was the purpose of your side trip into town yesterday morning?”

“What?” Davis’s annoyance was evident. “What difference does it make?”

“It’s a simple question. Would you answer, please?”

“What bearing does that have on my wife’s death?”

“Mr. Davis,” Ray persisted, “why did you go into town?”

“I don’t see the point of your question.” Davis glared at the two of them. “All right, fine. I wanted a cup of coffee before I left. I stopped at that little café on Main Street—The Copper Kettle.”

“Why didn’t you just have coffee at home with your wife?”

Davis hitched himself to the front of his seat. “This is asinine. Where I chose to have my morning coffee is completely irrelevant.”

“Had you and your wife parted on less than friendly terms, Mr. Davis?”

“No, Officer Schiller, we did not.”

“But you arrived late on Friday night, left early on Saturday morning and never returned to say goodbye to your wife. Sounds to me like the two of you may have parted badly.”

Color flooded Davis’s face. “Whatever it is you’re getting at, I suggest you watch your step.”

Ray’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not in your boardroom now. This is our playing field.”

Davis’s voice rasped, “See here, you—”

“Hold on a second.” Woody threw a warning glance at Ray. “Mr. Davis, we’re doing our job. Under the circumstances, would you want us to do any less?”

“You have no right to imply—”

“I know the questions sound harsh, but we have to ask.”

“I had nothing to do with Valerie’s death.”

The chair creaked as Woody leaned closer. “Mr. Davis, sometimes we can get farther by eliminating people than by incriminating them. In order to do that, we need answers to these questions.”

Davis loosened his grip on the chair’s armrests.

“So, how about it?” Ray asked. “Had the two of you argued?”

“No.”

“Then why the short stay?”

“I had business in Minneapolis.”

“Business? On a Saturday?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Do you make a habit of conducting business on weekends?”

Woody held his hand up. “Just a minute, Ray. Mr. Davis, why don’t you just tell us in your own words what happened Friday and Saturday.”

“All right, but it’s pointless.” Davis cleared his throat. “I joined Valerie on Friday evening around eleven. We spent the night together talking until—I don’t know, one, maybe two in the morning. When I got up on Saturday, she was still sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her by rummaging around in the kitchen, making coffee.” He dropped his face into his hands. “I just wanted to let her sleep.”

“Take your time,” Woody said.

Davis’s dark eyes shifted. “I thought I’d run into town rather than chance disturbing her. Afterward, I drove back to Minneapolis. That’s it. There’s nothing more to tell.”

“And you didn’t return to Widmer until now?”

“No. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

Ray tried a new angle of attack. “Why did the two of you drive up separately?”

Davis shifted in his seat. “Frankly, I hadn’t planned on coming to Widmer at all this weekend. I was obligated to attend a retirement party for a longtime ACC ad executive. A black-tie affair. Valerie hated those events. She joked about ACC’s retirement parties—about how they didn’t
really
drag on forever—that they just felt that way. She had me make her excuses to her father and drove here to our summer house that morning. She doesn’t…didn’t like driving at night.”

Woody nodded. “So she drove up alone.”

“Yes. She wanted to get a start on sprucing the house up for the summer.”

“Last year,” Ray said, “your wife seemed to spend a lot of weekends here by herself.”

“My schedule often forces me to stay in the Cities. Occasionally, Valerie would stay there with me. Frequently, she chose to come to the summer house to relax by herself.”

“So, what changed your mind
this
weekend?”

“Pardon me?”

“About joining your wife Friday night. What made you decide to do that?”

“It was just an impulse.”

“It’s a long drive. That must have been some impulse.”

“Is there anything wrong with that, Officer Schiller?”

“No, but I was just wondering…Maybe you’d begun to question how your wife was occupying her time up here alone all those weekends. Maybe you decided to find out for yourself—decided to check up on her.”

Davis sprang to his feet. “You have no right to suggest that she was—”

“I’m not saying anything was going on, but if there was some doubt in your mind, it might explain your sudden urge to show up unexpectedly. Frankly, Mr. Davis, if your wife was involved with someone else, we’d have another source of information. Maybe another suspect.”

“
Another
suspect? You’re saying you think I killed Valerie?”

Woody intervened. “We have to touch all the bases, Mr. Davis. We know this is very difficult for you, but the sooner we sort through all of this—”

Davis pointed at Ray. “He has no right to imply that my wife…To suggest that Valerie would ever…” He dropped back into his chair. “He has no right to talk that way.”

Woody turned to Ray, his expression conveying a silent command to back off. He took over Ray’s line of questioning himself. “Had there been any trouble between you and your wife?”

“Whatever troubles we had, Chief Newell, it would never have come to this. I would never harm Valerie let alone kill her.”

“What about
having
her killed?” Ray said. “Might you have done that?”

“You bastard.” Davis rose again, noticeably unsteady. “I won’t put up with any more of this. If I’m under arrest, tell me now, otherwise I’m leaving.”

Woody stepped from behind his desk. “Ray, leave the office for a minute.”

Jaws clenched, Ray walked out, shutting the door a few decibels shy of a slam.

Davis glared at Woody. “Am I under arrest?”

“No, sir, you’re not. I can only imagine what you’re going through, but try to understand that, as difficult as this is for you, your goal and ours is the same. We want to find the person responsible for your wife’s death.”

Head bowed, Paul Davis leaned on the chair. “I can’t believe this is happening. What am I going to do without her? Friday night I drove from Minneapolis just to see her—to talk with her.”

“Any particular reason?”

Davis seated himself again. “Months ago, Valerie’s father announced his intention to retire in June. On Friday night at Keeling’s retirement party, without warning, Chet blindsided me by rescinding his plans.”

The door opened. Ray stood on the other side, waiting to be allowed back inside. Woody waved him in.

Taking no notice, Davis continued. “It’s not the first time Chet’s snatched the brass ring out of my hands.”

“So you came to enlist your wife’s help?” Woody asked.

“No, it wasn’t like that. From time to time, her father and I squabbled over business differences. Valerie acted as my sounding board. She refused to take sides, but she was always willing to listen. Just talking things over with her helped me sort everything through.”

Ray had no trouble picking up on the conversation. “So, you’re next in line for the presidency of your father-in-law’s company?”

“The final decision belongs to the stockholders and the Board of Directors, but it’s no secret that Chet’s been grooming me to succeed him. His backing will virtually guarantee my election.”

“Then you have his full support?”

“Absolutely.”

“How long were you and Valerie married?”

“Twenty-two years.”

“I’m impressed,” Ray said. “Being married to the boss’s daughter is a two-edged sword. Most men can’t handle it. Displease the wife—displease the father-in-law. That’s quite a
juggling
act.” He cocked his head. “Over twenty-two years, you must’ve dropped the balls once in a while.”

“Meaning what? What are you insinuating?” Davis spoke to Woody although his eyes never left Ray. “I’ve had enough of this. Stop wasting your time on me, Chief Newell. I had nothing to do with killing my wife.” He stood and stormed from the office.

Woody followed him to the station door. “Are you all right to drive?”

“Leave me alone. I’m fine.”

“Again, I’m very sorry about your wife. We’ll be in touch when—”

Davis started down the steps. “Excuse me. I have arrangements to make.”

Ray walked up behind Woody as Paul Davis got into his car. “Why are you letting him leave?”

“I don’t see that I have a choice.” Woody pivoted to face him. “Come back into my office.”

The window rattled in its frame as Woody slammed the door behind them. His tone was as unmistakable as the rising color in his face. “What the hell was the big idea?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why were you purposely antagonizing him?” Ray opened his mouth to answer, but Woody hadn’t finished. “Paul Davis just learned that his wife is dead. Not a nice, easy kind of dead either. It was nasty. Real nasty. And you go on an all-out attack. Damn it, Ray, what the hell were you doing?”

“I was getting answers.”

“Yeah, sure. Good cop/bad cop? That got us more resentment than information. No one could blame the man for bolting.”

“That
man
may be nothing but a murdering bastard. He put on a good performance, though. I’ll say that for him.”

“What makes you think it was a performance?”

“You mean you swallowed all that bullshit?”

“I believed him up to a point.”

“What point is that?”

“Don’t test me, Ray. I had you in here with me because I know where the strengths of this department lie. Pull with me or pull out.”

Ray knew it was time to back down. He held the palms of his hands outward in false surrender. “I’m not going anywhere.”

On the desk, a sheet of paper fluttered under the force of Woody’s sigh. “I think Davis’s reactions are the real deal. But—and this is a problem for me—he says his wife was asleep when he left Saturday morning.”

“Bingo.”

“Yeah. I can’t see how that would’ve been possible—not with Barton at work with his axe and chainsaw outside their bedroom window. No one sleeps through that kind of racket.”