Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 01 - Murder Off the Books (16 page)

Chapter 22

“Dan?” Rachel struggled through the doorway, her arms filled with grocery bags, purse, and a tote bag filled with the office mail. She was hoping that she’d get a chance to review it later in the day. She kicked the door closed behind her.

“In here.”

“I could use some help,” she called, leaning against the door while she tried to shrug off her coat without putting down the cumbersome bags. With a heavy sigh, she moved through the living room and stopped in the kitchen to stow the milk and yogurt in the refrigerator. The rest she left on the counter.

“Hope you got some food. I’m starved.”

Rachel walked into the den to find her brother moving the computer’s mouse as he rapidly surfed from one website to another.

“You really should get DSL, Rach,” he said without bothering to look up. “This dial-up service is a dinosaur. Actually this whole computer must have been built in the stone ages. I can’t believe you haven’t upgraded
….”

“It all costs money and that doesn’t grow on trees,” Rachel muttered. She could feel her stomach starting to roil as she saw the dirty plates and glasses strewn over the desk and on the floor.

“I finished off the ice cream. I’m not crazy about Swiss Chocolate. You know I’ve always preferred pistachio.”

She took a deep breath, struggling for control.

“Hey, did you pick up any mustard? You’re out and I sure hope you got some….”

“Shut up Dan. Shut up this minute before I pick you up and throw your pistachio-loving, mustard-eating ass out the door to the wolves or the D.C. police or anybody else who’ll have you,” Rachel exploded, her hands flailing in frustration.

She could see his hand freeze momentarily and then slowly move the mouse again, skimming through a document onscreen.

“And if you don’t turn around and talk to me, I’ll throw that dinosaur of a computer out the door with you
!”

Dan pushed the chair back and turned to face his sister. “You really have to calm down, Rach. You spazzing isn’t–”

She crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Dan’s shirt, and hauled him to his feet. “I’ve had it. You understand? I’ve had all I’m going to take from you. How dare you involve me and my son in your screwed-up life. Sam’s cutting classes to save his precious uncle, who for all I know has killed two people in cold blood, stolen a half million dollars, and God knows what else. Damn it, Dan, I’ve had it with you. I want you out of here. Get out! Get out and leave me and Sam in peace.”

The rant left her breathless. Suddenly Rachel didn’t think her legs were going to support her. The room began closing in. As she started to slip to the floor, she felt a pair of strong arms envelop her and set her on the sofa.

“Don’t move.” She could barely hear him, his voice sounded so far away.

“Drink this.” A chilled tumbler was pressed into her hands.

She gulped it down and then pressed the cool glass to her forehead.

Dan sank down next to her and they sat in silence for several moments.

“I’m sorry.” Dan began to speak, his tone soft and hesitant. “This is a mess. I never wanted you and Sam to get hurt or involved. I’ve screwed up royally, but I swear Rachel, I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t taken any money, and if you don’t believe me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

She opened her eyes and stared into her brother’s blue eyes. Eyes so much like their grandfather’s. Eyes clear of deception–void of any trace of the violence it would have taken to kill not just one but two people.

“Hush.” Rachel grabbed her brother’s hand. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t kill anybody and that you didn’t steal the money from the college. I was just scared and tired and frustrated. It doesn’t help that you’ve been acting like this is some kind of game.”

“I’m sorry. I-I guess I figured if I pretended it wasn’t so serious it wouldn’t be real,” Dan said, his eyes now glued to the floor. “I don’t know what the hell to do.”

“Turn yourself in,” Rachel implored, squeezing his hand. “Turn yourself in. It’s all that’s left.”

“I can’t. If I’m locked up, they’ll stop looking for the real killer,” Dan insisted. “I’ve just got to buy some time to figure out what really happened; to figure out who’s behind all this.”

Rachel silently considered his reasoning. “I’ll give you until Tuesday. If we can’t find out who the killer is by then–or at least come up with another suspect–promise me you’ll turn yourself in. I’ll talk to Aunt Ella and we’ll get you the best lawyer in D.C.” She reached out a hand and ruffled his hair, smiling as he grimaced. “You always were her favorite. I know she’ll mortgage the farm if that’s the only way to pay the legal fees.”

Dan drew in a sharp breath and then nodded. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Tell me what you know,” Rachel said, sitting up and reaching for the yellow pad and pen on the coffee table. “Start at the beginning.”

***

Ray opened the door and wondered for a moment if he’d stepped inside a giant marshmallow. Paint particles seemed to hang in the air, giving the room a surreal feel. The sight of the ugly orange carpet beneath his feet was actually reassuring.

Ding, ding, ding!
 The bell hit a high note and hung there. The teen winced at the clamor. His arrival at Sullivan Investigations had been announced.

“Back here!”

Ray stepped around a pile of empty paint cans and made his way carefully into the back room, finding the girl he’d met the night before standing on the top of a ladder wielding a dripping paint roller.

“Hi. I was hoping
….” He hesitated until JJ gave a nod for him to continue. “I was hoping to talk to Mr. Sullivan about some work he’s doing for me. But mainly I wanted to make sure Whiskey is okay.” Ray held up a cellophane bag. “I brought some of her favorite treats.”

He watched as JJ pushed the roller as far as she could reach without falling–a three foot strip of the ceiling–a shower of texture and paint descending with each stroke.

When she didn’t respond, he ventured a little further into the room. “Is Mr. Sullivan around?”

JJ dipped the paint roller in the bucket balanced on the top of the ladder. “Do you see him anywhere?”

Ray blushed then stepped to the middle of the room and laughed. “Not unless you painted him too. Where’s Whiskey?”

“They are both smart enough to be elsewhere. God, I hate painting ceilings.”

“Aren’t the fumes getting to you? Do the windows open?”

“Only with a brick,” she responded, leaning out and pushing the roller over another dingy strip of ceiling.

Ray walked over to the large window facing the street. Banging strategically on the corners, he managed to loosen the decades old paint enough to open the window. Cool air flooded the room.

***

As he finished his story, Dan ran his hand through his hair, leaving the ends sticking up in different directions.

“Anyway, I was a little surprised that I got the job since my degree in American Lit doesn’t exactly qualify me to be an assistant comptroller, but my interviews seemed to go okay, and I figured that Jack Starling had given me a good recommendation. I told myself that it was just some good karma finally coming my way. And once I got the job, frankly, the work wasn’t that hard. It was boring and repetitive, but not particularly challenging.”

“What did you think of Vince Malwick?” Rachel asked.

“A real son-of-a-bitch. From day one, I didn’t like the guy. I mean I wouldn’t have killed him,” Dan interjected hurriedly.

Rachel waved him along.

“Anyway, he had a mean streak, but he seemed to know the business and was more than willing to let me do the grunt work. He was also perfectly happy to take the credit for anything good I did. I didn’t mind until I developed some software to keep better track of the accounts payable. He presented it as his own to the President. I’d never have known except
….” Dan stopped.

“How’d you find out?” Rachel pressed.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hedged.

“Did someone tell you? Was it your girlfriend? The one you were going on a cruise with?” Rachel demanded.

“How exactly did the cops find out about the cruise?” he asked defensively.

“The paperwork in your desk. When the cops were building an embezzlement case against you, it sure didn’t look good that you were buying a new car and going to
Aruba.” Rachel sighed.

“And they told you?”

“How else do you think I found out about it? Every time I turn around I’ve got a cop or a private detective one step behind me with your name on their lips.”

“That was my money. I earned every dime,” he protested. “I didn’t steal anything.”

“I know that. And you know that.” She raised her chin and stared into his eyes. “But think about how it looked.”

“I didn’t know when I was buying the car and booking the vacation that I had to worry about how it would look to the police,” Dan insisted. “I didn’t know some psycho was going to start shooting and stealing money the minute I signed on the dotted line.”

“Who is she? The woman you were going away with?”

Dan shook his head. “It’s not important. She didn’t do anything wrong either.”

“Listen, little brother, you don’t know what’s important and what’s not. And you don’t know if your girlfriend’s involved or not.”

“She’s not,” he said flatly. “And I’m not giving you her name so you can offer her up to your detective friend. I care about her and I’m not bringing her into this anymore than she already is.”

“Well, okay. I mean, Dan Thayer says that the mystery woman is innocent so that clears that right up. For God’s sakes, Dan, who the hell is this woman? What is she to you?”

“It’s just somebody I met at the college. It didn’t start out as a serious relationship, but now after… Anyway, I sure as hell don’t think she deserves to be dragged into this mess.”

“Is it somebody named Lenore?”

“Who told you that?”

“Her name keeps coming up. Is she your girlfriend?”

“Leave her out of it. None of that has anything to do with the missing money or the murders.”

“That’s just fine, Sir Galahad, but if your girlfriend is the one who told you that Malwick was grabbing credit for your software, then I’ve got to assume that she’s pretty high up in the administration. She may know more than you think.” Rachel glared at her brother who matched her steely gaze.

“I didn’t say–”

Suddenly the doorbell rang, followed by the sound of someone trying to open the front door.

“It’s not locked,” Rachel whispered, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh, God. Dan, you’ve got to–”

The two siblings started to rise, eyes scurrying around the room looking for a hiding place.

Rachel pointed to the kitchen a half second before they heard a thump and a wheezing male voice. “Miz. Brenner? It’s Edgar Freed. You left your van door open. Is everything all right? I’ve got my cell phone with me and the police on speed-dial. Miz. Brenner?”

Chapter
23

“How do you know Mac?” JJ asked fifteen minutes later as she knelt down and used a screwdriver to pry open another can of paint.

“I work part-time at a kennel where he sometimes leaves his dog. Have you met Whiskey yet?”

JJ shook her head, her eyes focused on the can. “Not yet.” She got the top off and set it aside.

“Whiskey is a great dog. Irish wolfhound.”

“Yeah, well I’m not really that good with pets.” JJ glanced up. “Kennel? I thought that blonde girl said you worked at a garage.” She stood, holding up a paintbrush and a roller. “Do you have a preference?”

The teen glanced at his boots and grabbed the roller. “I’d rather be on top.”

“In your dreams,” JJ dryly responded, handing him the open can. “You’re too young for me.”

Ray blushed and climbed the ladder. “I work full-time at Mickey’s Motors. And you’re not that old. Carrie said you were taking classes at Concordia.”

“Yeah. I was. Or rather I am. Two classes this term.” JJ knelt down again and started painting the baseboards. “Since I don’t work at the college anymore, I probably won’t be able to afford to enroll in any classes next semester.”

“Why did you quit?” Ray smoothed the paint on the ceiling, his long arms allowing the roller to cover twice the distance JJ had managed.

“Well, it sure wasn’t for the money or the working conditions here,” she joked, moving down the wall a few feet and beginning on another section. “How come you’re not spending the day with your girlfriend? What’s her name? Carrie?”

“She’s not
….” Ray reloaded the roller with paint and made another long stroke across the ceiling. “Carrie is just a friend. From high school.”

“Right,” JJ scoffed. “We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.” She gave him a quick glance as he climbed down and moved the ladder over several feet. “What did you want to see Mac about?”

“I’m a client,” he responded as he climbed back up and resumed painting.

JJ grabbed a rag out of her back pocket and wiped some of the freshest paint off her hands. “Yeah. I got that much from the last time you were here.”

“It’s confidential.”

“So? I’m Mac’s assistant.” She scrubbed her cuticles, frowning at the white paint coating her blue fingernails.

Ray grinned and kept painting. “Yeah. I got that much from the last time I was here.”

“So,” JJ glared up at him, “that means you can tell me. I’m going to be typing up all his case notes anyway.”

“Then you can wait and read all about it later.” He glanced down at her, laughing when he noticed her disgruntled expression.

Irritated, she drew back her arm to throw the cleaning rag at him, but the sudden ringing of the bell on the outer office door startled her, affecting her follow through.

The rag fell short, landing on the top of one of Ray’s shiny black boots.

JJ blanched and in her scramble to her feet, tripped over the paint can she’d been using. She screeched as she landed hard on her bottom, the overturned can creating a puddle around her.

On the ladder, Ray barely noticed her pratfall, although he did take note of some of the creative combinations of expletives that followed. With the paint roller in one hand and a half-full can of paint in the other, he carefully balanced on one foot and raised the other. Shaking his foot, he tried to dislodge the rag.

The ladder creaked ominously.

“I’ve got food out here. Come and get it.” Mac’s voiced filtered into the room.

The ladder’s creak was an ominous warning. Ray stopped, freezing in place.

“Don’t move,” JJ advised, unnecessarily. She regained her footing and hurried over to the ladder, plucking the rag from his foot.

They both looked at his boot.

“Hey,” she grinned up at him, “you got lucky. No paint on the leather.”

The teen gingerly lowered his foot. The ladder groaned, but held.

“No,” Ray grumbled, “you got lucky.” His words were threatening, but amusement was beginning to etch its way across his face.

JJ shrugged and reached up to take the paint can from him. “Really? That’s a first for me. My luck has always been bad or non-existent.”

***

“I was afraid that the murderer had shown up and was holding you hostage,” Edgar repeated, sipping his second cup of coffee and declining a third chocolate cupcake or a second Twinkie.

Rachel gave the nosy old man a quick smile, fully aware that he must have been watching her house with the binoculars she could see sticking out of a pouch on the side of his walker. He’d explained his concern to her at least a half-dozen times since he’d thumped his way uninvited into her living room. “No murderer, just a ringing phone and a cat that demanded to be fed. I completely forgot I had another bag to bring in from the van.”

“Good thing I happened by then. Another five minutes and your ice cream would have melted.” The man glanced around the living room. “You sure bought a lot of groceries just for you. Six or seven bags. Eat a lot of Twinkies do you?”

“Sam loves them. He’s coming for a visit soon.” She glanced pointedly at the plate balanced on the man’s bony knees. “And of course I like to have something to offer people who drop in unexpectedly.”

Edgar Tweed laughed, instigating a coughing fit. He fumbled for his oxygen mask and motioned for her to turn the valve on the small tank mounted on the backpack he was wearing.

“Do you need anything else?” Rachel asked, becoming concerned at the purple tinge of his complexion. “Should I call Elinor again? See what’s keeping her?”

He shook his head. “I can walk myself back home. I’ve been trying to get into shape.”

She hid a smile, wondering what the old man was getting in shape to do.

He coughed. “Might have a part-time job lined up. I need to get around without that damn scooter chair.”

“Maybe you should start slowly. Build up your strength gradually.” She had real doubts about his ability to cross the room, much less cross the street.

He took another hit of oxygen and then laughed. “When you’re my age you don’t want to spend a lot of time getting ready to do something.”

***

JJ stuffed the empty cartons into a plastic trash bag. “I’m going down the street for more soda. Anyone else want something?”

Ray and Mac, sitting across from each other on the floor in the main office, exchanged glances. Mac jerked his head in the teen’s direction. Ray shook his head and quickly filled his mouth with the last egg roll.

Mac frowned at him. Clearing his throat, the detective said, “JJ, Ray thinks you might want to change clothes first.”

Ray started coughing and in response Mac slapped him firmly between the shoulder blades.

JJ tied a knot in the trash bag and then glanced at her paint-soaked jeans. “You don’t think this is a good look for me?”

The ringing of the office phone–normally sitting on his desk but currently located along with everything else on the orange carpet–prevented Mac from having to respond.

“I’ll get it,” the detective offered, trying to untangle his legs and stand.

JJ waved him down and walked over to answer the phone. Picking up the cordless phone, she turned towards the guys. “Sullivan and Jarrett Investigations,” she chirped, watching astonishment flash over Mac’s face.

Surprised, Ray whipped his head around and stared at the detective, laughing when he realized JJ had rendered Mac speechless.

“Yeah, that’s my last name. You’ll have to ask Mac about that.”

Mac and Ray listened attentively to JJ’s side of the conversation.

“No, Ray’s here. Been here most of the afternoon. No problem, we just finished dinner, I’ll put him on.”

JJ lowered the phone receiver, not bothering to cover the mouthpiece. “Ray, Carrie wants to talk to you. She sounds angry. I thought you said you weren’t dating?”

***

“I hope you haven’t ordered new letterhead yet,” Mac warned JJ as she walked back into the front office, her painting clothes exchanged for black leggings and a red t-shirt.

Mac was sitting with his back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He had several college yearbooks stacked beside him and one open on his lap.

“It was a joke.” JJ grinned. “Odd–Ray’s girlfriend didn’t think it was funny either.”

“You’ve got a talent for stirring up trouble,” Mac grumbled. “Ray made a run to the convenience store.” He pointed to a paper bag on the floor near the door. “There’s sodas and bottled water in the sack over there if you’re still thirsty.”

JJ walked over and opened the sack, pulling out a can of diet soda. “Did Ray take off to make nice to Carrie?”

Mac chuckled and turned the page of the yearbook. Squinting at a page of photographs, he mumbled, “The kid said something about giving someone a ride.”

She popped the top on the can and took a sip. “Want some help with what you’re doing?”

“It’s getting late. Am I going to have to pay you overtime?”

JJ crossed the room and sat down beside him on the worn shag carpet. “No overtime, but I might need to take care of some personal stuff during office hours. Is that going to be a problem?”

Mac shook his head. “Just as long as you take care of my stuff too.” He handed her a yearbook. “I stopped by the college earlier and picked these up. Look for a student named Gina Woodward. I want to know what she was into and who her friends were.”

JJ glanced at the date on the cover. “These are six years old. What does Gina Woodward have to do with
….”

He waited, watching the thoughts flicker across her face as she flipped the pages in the yearbook to the back, found the name listed in the index, and then located the correct page.

“Okay, so Gina Woodward is Gina Malwick,” JJ mused, staring at a photograph of a group of cheerleaders. “Her hair is still the same, although I think she’s had some body work since she graduated.”

“Let me see,” Mac held the book up closer to his face, the overhead fluorescent lights creating a glare on the page. “Now that’s interesting.”

JJ frowned and self-consciously tugged on her t-shirt, fluffing it out. “Surprised you care about a boob job.”

He laughed and held the book out so she could see. “I wasn’t looking at her chest. I was looking at where the photo was taken.”

JJ stared at the photo again. “Creepy. They were standing in the clock tower.”