Every Move She Makes (37 page)

he said. "Dr. Mead-Scolari's office." Here it is, I echoed silently. Now
all I had to do was get in and find the proof watched Dexter Kermgard
fiddle with the keys, trying to fit one in the lock. With a sense of
deje vu I was reminded of that first afternoon we'd met at the
warehouse. With Scolari. I wondered where he was now. What he was
thinking. I also wondered if there was anything I could have said or
done that first day that might have changed the course of events. I'd
recognized Scolari's depression, worried about it even. What if I'd
looked for him harder? Made more of an effort than simply waiting for
him to call? A blanket of guilt descended over me, but not, I realized,
from my inactions on that particular night. I was thinking about
Scolari as though he'd killed his wife. As though he were guilty.

I wondered if he was.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Not a casual pace, but a determined,
get-the-hell-out-of-my-way stride. Josephine Hilliard approached, a look
of fury upon her face.

So much for the unofficial route.

"What is going on here, Dexter?" she asked in her cultured voice. No one
was fooled by her tone. If looks could kill, we'd be riddled with
bullets.

"This is Inspector Gillespie, and these officers-"

"I know who this is. I asked what are you doing?"

"They want to see the doctor's research office."

"Impossible.

It But-" "Mister Kermgard," she said, looking solely at me now, "has
made a terrible mistake. This office is off-limits to the public." "We
aren't the public," I said, noting her pupils, dilated, almost to the
point of completely obliterating the blue of her irises.

"Be that as it may..

"Have I introduced you to Reid Bettencourt?" I asked sweetly. "He's from
the District Attorney's office." Nice and vague. Let her think he's an
attorney. I held out the search warrant. Even though we were within our
legal rights, it helped when all parties cooperated. Reid nodded at her.

"You might want to read this," he said. "In fact, have your legal
department look it over if you want." Good boy, I thought. Not that it
made up for anything, but Reid was no fool. She looked at the document,
her hand shaking slightly. I doubt she saw a word written there. "It
will take some time to get them here. I'll have to ask you to wait. I
need to call my husband." "The waiting is over, Mrs. Hilliard," I said.

"We are going in, and we are doing it now-with or without your
cooperation. The choice is yours."

"You mean you'd break down the door?" she asked.

"If necessary," I said, letting her believe what she would. If this were
a drug bust, we'd simply handcuff everyone, then force the door.

Unfortunately, the public took a dim view when the same thing was done
to white collar types. They too easily identified with them. "Do I need
to call a team to bring in a battering ram?" She curled the document in
her fist. "Didn't Mister Kermgard tell you he does not have a key?"

"He did." I waited.

She reached into the pocket of her pleated wool trousers and pulled out
a key on a small ring, which she gave to Dexter. As he was about to turn
the lock, she stayed his hand. "I insist that we be present." "Not a
problem," I said, generous in my victory. "As long as you don't touch
anything." When she let loose of Dexter's hand, he swung open the door.

We stepped into a brightly lit white-walled room covered with posters of
jungles and rain forests. Other than the posters, it looked like any
other office two desks, a computer, low cabinets circling the
circumference, the countertops covered with papers, books, that sort of
thing. Nothing said, Look at me. I'm the reason you're here. Not that I
expected it to, especially after I'd picked up a sheet of computer paper
full of scientific garble and tried to read it. Josephine took the phone
and punched in a three-digit number. "Evan. The police are here. In
Patricia's office ... They have a warrant." Her face crumpled. "What
was I supposed to do?" She turned her back, listened, nodded. "Okay." I
directed Shipley and Markowski to search the counters and cabinets,
while Bettencourt and Torrance started on the desks. "What exactly did
the doctor do for you?" I asked Josephine after she hung up.

"Research."

"Wasn't she a pathologist?" "For the simple reason her husband
insisted," she said with some disdain. "It wasn't what she wanted to do.

I gave her the opportunity she deserved." I sorted through the
in-basket. Everything looked foreign, and I wondered if I'd ever be able
to determine anything from this venture. "What sort of opportunity?"

"She wanted to go back to school. Further her education and do something
that would help the living. Not the dead. I think she was tired of all
the bodies." Scolari's wife unhappy as a pathologist? Possible, I
supposed. Books on varying subjects lined one shelf. The titles ranged
from the massive hardback edition of the Physician Desk Reference to a
well worn, dog-eared, paperback version of A Woman Guide to Holistic
Herbs. I pulled out the books one by one, flipped through them, looking
for anything, finding nothing. "Oh, I am sorry." We all stopped to see a
tiny woman of Asian descent, perhaps fifty, maybe more, standing in the
doorway. Behind her was a cart with a trash can and cleaning supplies.

"I know no one is to be here," she said.

"I thought maybe you want me to clean?"

"No," Josephine said. "These are the police. They've come to search it.

We don't need it cleaned."

"I close it?" The woman backed into the hall.

"Later," Mrs. Hilliard said, her facade of polite culture slipping
completely. "You were saying the doctor was unhappy," I reminded her,
looking up from my perusal of Holistic Herbs. She eyed Bettencourt, who
had sat down at the computer and was typing something into the keyboard.

I don't know why, but I did, too. I wasn't sure if I wanted him there.

"Mrs. Hilliard?" It took a moment for her to return her attention to our
conversation. "She wanted to be a pioneer. I let her use the facilities
to research her options for the future, nothing more. As far as what she
did, I had no idea. We never discussed it." From the corner of my eye, I
saw Torrance pause at her declaration. It stopped me as well. "Are you
saying she wasn't on your payroll?" She moved closer to me, lowering her
voice. "I allowed her entrance as a favor, Inspector. In truth, she sat
at that desk, searched the Internet for something, God knows what, and I
sat there," she said, pointing to the chair where Rocky Markowski
perched while he pored over papers he'd dug from the wastebasket. "We
talked.

That's it."

"She didn't work for you?" "No, Inspector. She didn't. We were simply
friends." My guess was that she thought Dex wasn't aware of their
relationship. Well, let her have her veil of secrecy, I thought,
continuing my search. I was more interested in whether her husband knew
who her bedmate was. Then again, it wouldn't hurt to get a copy of
employment records. If I found that the doctor was on her payroll, as I
believed, that would go a long way to prove the theory brought to mind
by Dex-that josephine was hiding her sexual preference because of the
possible merger. What I needed to do was net to the accounting
department down the hall. It being an open area, it wouldn't be
difficult to get into. Unfortunately, our warrant didn't exactly
cover the accounting records, its scope being more the work the doctor
was doing at Hilliard Pharmaceutical. But then, who the hell could
understand the legal crap written there? "Other documents" could loosely
be translated as accounting records, and I decided to let Josephine
believe that-should she balk at my requesting the records. But that was
down the line. We had to finish searching the doctor's office first, and
the way things appeared, we could be there all night. I looked at my
watch. Quarter after six. Torrance and Shipley were digging through
boxes of printed documents.

"You find anything in the computer?" I asked Bettencourt.

"She's got some lock on it. I'm trying to figure out the password."

"Have Markowski look at it." I should have done that in the first place.

Rocky was the closest thing we had to a computer expert, which wasn't
saying a lot, but at least it eased my mind about Reid having access to
it. "I can do this." Reid's gaze locked with mine in challenge. I
pictured him driving the Lexus, kissing Beth Skyler. I knew with a
certainty he'd taken her to Napa, and I wondered where he'd gotten the
money. Had she paid him? I supposed that was a distinct possibility.

"Rocky," I said, never taking my eye off my ex. "The keyboard."

"This is not your investigation," Reid said. He continued typing.

I wanted to rip the keyboard from beneath his fingers.

Cognizant of the many sets of eyes trained on the two of us, I decided
to end this battle quickly. I was at his side, laid the herb book on top
of the monitor with all the casualness I could muster. I put my hand on
his shoulder, leaned down, whispered so that there was absolutely no
doubt as to what he thought I suspected between him and Skyler.

"Press leak."

Reid stiffened and his face turned red. Without further argument, he
rose.

Rocky took his place and fiddled with the keyboard.

Finished with the books, I moved on to other stacks of papers, ignoring
Reid as best I could in so small a space. "I suppose what we need to do
is box this stuff. Take it with us. Do you have anything we can use,
Mrs. Hilliard?"

"I would think you'd come prepared, Inspector."

"Oh, I'm plenty prepared. All I need to do is call for more officers. We
can have a slew of them in about five minutes." I glanced at the clock.

"Maybe sooner." "Dexter," came a deep voice from the hallway, "see if
you can find the inspectors some boxes." I looked up to see Evan
Hilliard standing in the hallway, watching us.

Dex was out in a flash, probably glad to escape his boss's icy demeanor.

"Is there anything else you care for, Inspector?" he asked me. I took
the moment to appear deep in thought. "The other documents," I said.

"What other documents?" Evan Hilliard replied.

"May I?" I took the search warrant from Josephine, turned to the page
that I knew read like something in a foreign language but had the words
"other documents" listed amongst the booty we were looking for. "Right
here. I need to see your accounting department. Verify the doctor's
employment status." Evan eyed his wife, then the computer, where Rocky
diligently worked, still with no success. It could have been my
imagination, but it seemed as though he was trying to tell her
something. "It's down the hall. I'll show you." I followed Hilliard
while Torrance, a very curious look on his face, accompanied us. He knew
the ropes, knew I was full of it but, thankfully, said nothing. Hilliard
led us into the heart of the accounting office, turned on a computer,
typed in a password-at least I assumed it was a password-then opened
several files on the screen trying to get to the one he needed. "I'll
print a list of every employee. It shouldn't take more than a few
minutes." He tapped away at the keys. "There. It'll come out on that
printer over there," he said. He sat back in his chair, regarding me. "I
was trying to remember where we'd met before. It was at the fundraiser,
wasn't it? For the rain forests."