Every Move She Makes (22 page)

"I have ..." she looked at the watch dangling from the gold band on her
wrist, "approximately fifty-five minutes before I'm due in another
meeting." "What exactly do you know about the last occupants of the
building next to your storage warehouse?" I asked her. Sounded good.

"Actually, nothing."

"Nothing?" So much for my intelligent line of questioning. I needed to
regroup, and so pulled out my small notebook from my pocket. "Do you
know who would know?" I asked, jotting her answer down as though I found
it of great importance. "Dexter. If you like, I can call him up here." I
flipped back a few pages to my earlier notes-to when Dexter Kenugard let
Scolari and me into the building on the day we found the Ice Man.

"Earthquake '89-two tenants-leather goods, export," was what I had
written. Scrawled beneath that, in Scolari's writing, was "Hx-DK." He'd
underlined "Hx" three times. Doodling, or some fleeting thought? Dex, I
realized. We'd been talking about Dexter Keringard's history, not the
building's. I remembered Scolari's attitude toward Dex. And his
intimation that Dex's past with the department was far more checkered
than Dex would have anyone believe. Scolari had taken my notebook,
presumably to write notes about the extension cord. At the time, I
figured he was merely avoiding having to speak to Dex. Now I wondered if
he had written this for his benefit, or mine. After making a note to
myself to look up Dex's case involving the homicide in Narcotics, I
glanced at Torrance. He gave no indication of whether or not he cared if
Mrs. Hilliard asked Dex to come in. I did. "Yes. I wouldn't mind talking
to him. That would be fine." She called her secretary to make the
arrangements, and said it would be several minutes, as he had to drive
in from the north office. "Great. In the meantime, is there anything at
all you can tell us about the body we found? Any suspicions? neories?"

In the years I'd been a cop, this sort of open ended question either
netted me far-fetched bullshit or nothing at all. Every once in a while,
however, I got lucky. The key was to not rush the interviewee. Let them
fill the gap of silence. Six seconds was usually all it took. I counted.

Hilliard shook her head.

I waited. Two seconds to go. "No," she finally said. "It was a total
surprise." She lifted her drink to her lips. Maybe she needed a more
direct approach. "Could it be related to Hilliard Pharmaceutical?" Her
glass nearly slipped from her hands, and a bit of vodka and tonic
sloshed, but didn't spill. "How clumsy of me. I probably shouldn't be
drinking at all. Not with the pills I'm taking." I underlined "Hilliard"

in my notes and wrote, "Connection?" I was curious about her reaction,
but knew better than to push the issue. I didn't want her to throw us
out of her office. I smiled, then turned to Torrance. "I don't really
have any more questions until Mister Kermgard arrives. Unless there was
something you needed to speak with Mrs. Hilliard about?"

"Actually, there is," he said.

I wasn't sure, but just before he pulled out his own notebook, from the
corner of my eye I thought I saw Josephine Hilliard breathe a sigh of
relief. "Mrs. Hilliard," he continued. "What I'm about to ask you is of
a sensitive nature, and I want you to understand, I don't mean to
offend. However, it's imperative that you be entirely truthful with me."

"Of course," she said, relaxing into her desk chair once more.

What, exactly, was your relationship with Doctor Mea'd'-Scolari?"

Josephine Hilliard picked up a sterling lighter, and then a cigarette
from a mahogany box on her desk. For several seconds she didn't move,
speak, or seemingly even take a breath. Just stared at the two items in
her hands.

"Where exactly will this information go?" she finally asked.

"At the moment, it's confidential. But if it is pertinent to our
investigation, it could end up in the report, and possibly even be
brought out at the trial-should we eventually arrest a suspect." "I
see." She lit the cigarette, inhaled once, then set it in a crystal
ashtray, watching the smoke drift up. We waited. Outside, the bay
shimmered gray as the sun descended into the four o'clock fog bank
rolling in from the Pacific.

"Why must you know?" she finally asked.

"I believe it may have something to do with why the doctor was
killed."

"We were very close ... friends."

"How close, Mrs. Hilliard?" She pressed her lips together, glanced over
at the neat bottles of booze lined up in her liquor cabinet, then said,
"We were lovers." "Who knew about this?" Torrance's voice was soft, full
of understanding. I looked over at him and saw his face was filled with
concern, as though he knew what it was like. I wondered if he did. "At
first, no one," she answered. "Patricia wanted it that way. And so did
I."

"And then?"

"She wanted to tell her husband. I told her I didn't think it was a good
idea. He didn't seem like the type that would take such news in a calm
manner." She was right about that.

Hilliard took another drag from her cigarette, then

stubbed it out in the ashtray. "I was the one who told her that she
should just ask for a divorce. Not reveal our relationship. I told her
that, in time, he'd get over her, and then it wouldn't ..." She cleared
her throat. "Well, it wouldn't be such a blow to his ego. Patricia told
me he had a temper, and frankly, it worried me." She eyed the liquor
cabinet again, and this time temptation won out. She got up and mixed
herself another drink. Torrance and I said nothing. After she took a
fortifying sip, she continued. "If you want a theory on that murder,
Inspector," she said, her gaze directed at me, "I think he did it. I
think she told him, and he killed her for it. The night she was
murdered, she called me, and told me that she wasn't sure if she should
meet with him. She was afraid." The intercom on her desk buzzed, and she
answered it. Apparently, Dexter had arrived and was waiting outside. She
took another drink, then looked Torrance directly in the eye. "As far as
anyone here knows, the doctor and I were merely close friends. I'd just
as soon keep it that way." Torrance nodded to her as the door burst
open, slammed against the wall. Her husband entered, impeccably dressed
in a gray silk suit, black turtleneck, and black tasseled loafers. His
tanned face set off his white hair and mustache to perfection. "Josie,
what the goddamn hell do you think you're doing?" He stormed past us to
her desk, slapped a newspaper on it. "For Christ's sake. I leave town
for one night-"

"We have guests," Josephine said, cutting him off.

She stood, waving her hand toward us. "Of course you remember Inspector
Gillespie and Lieutenant Torrance?" He turned and faced us, his apparent
anger masked with a look of polite neutrality, reminding me of that
night we'd first met at the rain forest fundraiser given by Paolini.

I'd overheard him and Paolini speaking on the balcony about Paolini's
associate, Antonio Foust. But the moment they noticed I was listening,
they changed the subject. I never did find out why they brought up
Foust's name. Nor had I actually ever met Foust face-to face, but I was
told he was there. I'd gathered my final evidence at that party to put
Paolini away, and whatever he and Hilliard had discussed remained a
secret. Evan Hilliard shook hands with both of us, then said to his
wife, "I need to speak with you the moment you're free." Before leaving,
Evan picked up the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. I caught a
glimpse of the heading on the newsprint, enough to see that he carried a
section of the Chronicle. The word MERGER was just visible, and I
recalled Skyler's announcement of the merger on Channel Two News. Had
his wife made a premature announcement while he was gone? And why would
it matter? Not thirty seconds after he exited, the door was swung open
again, this time by Dex, his face bent over a clipboard filled with
papers. "About the rain forest report to Montgard ..." He looked up,
saw me, then smiled. "Ka-Inspector Gillespie." He held the clipboard
against his chest. "What can I do for you?" "I was hoping you might tell
us about the storage building?" I asked. "What you know of it?" His
fingers started a cadence on the back of the clipboard. "Not much more
than I already told you. The building was procured for us by a Realtor.

As far as I knew, it was already divided in half, and since we didn't
need the other half, we employed a property management company to rent
it out. Wells and Stern, I believe. I'm sure they'd have records on the
renters." I jotted it down in my notebook, then asked Torrance, "You got
anything?"

"Not at the moment."

"That should do it," I said, glancing at my watch. It was ten after
four. I wanted to get home, shower, and sprawl out on my couch. Alone.

Torrance and I stood.

"We'll get back to you if there are further questions."

"Yes, do," Josephine said, looking distinctly relieved that we were
leaving.

Torrance and I moved past Dex. "Goodbye, Inspectors , he said.

Torrance opened the door. "There is one thing," I said, turning back.

"You wouldn't happen to know who it is we found in your warehouse?" Dex
met my gaze head-on. As a cop he'd have been intimidating. He was still
so now. "Not the faintest." "If you should think of something, either of
you, call." Dex glanced at his watch. "If you'll excuse me, I'm late."

He rushed past us and out the door. Torrance and I left as well, and
just before I closed the door behind us, I caught a glimpse of Josephine
Hilliard draining her drink. "What do you think?" I asked Torrance in
the elevator. "I think Mrs. Hilliard knows something she'd rather we
knew nothing about." "My thoughts exactly. I'm even more curious about
what her husband was so ticked off about. He looked
ready to strangle her. Something about the merger.

Might be worth picking up a copy of the Chronicle to find out."

"Damn," Torrance replied once we were outside.

I glanced at him, and he nodded to the car. The right rear tire. Flat. I
A group of kids were watching us from the end of the street. When they
saw us looking, they took off running. Torrance crouched to inspect the
tire. "Slashed," he said, running his finger over the cut in the black
sidewall.

"I wonder if those were our culprits," I said, nodding toward the
corner.

Torrance popped the trunk and pulled out the spare. Normally we'd call
for someone from the Corp yard to do it, but neither of us felt like
waiting around. It was easier to do it ourselves. While Torrance changed
the tire, I telephoned the Hall to see if Giovanni's had called back
with info on who had ordered the pizza.

"Anything?" Torrance asked after I disconnected.

"So far, nothing. The manager has two more tapes to lookup." I watched
him tighten the lug nuts. Cars zipped past on the street beside us.

"What do you know about Dex Kermgard's history with the PD?" "About what
everyone else does," he said with a final twist of the tire iron. He
threw it into the trunk, then hefted the flat tire in after it.

"Something on your mind?" I showed him the bit Scolari had left in my
notebook. He eyed the paper while he wiped the grime from his hands on a
couple of napkins I'd dug out of the glove box.

"We can look up the case when we get back," he said.