Kill Shot (26 page)

Oz took a breath and gave her a steady look. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Mr. Jobe needs to answer some questions at the station. Would you ask him to come out please?”

Tight-lipped, Laurel turned and left the room, returning a short time later with Hobart Jobe leaning heavily on her shoulder.

“Gentleman,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “I can’t imagine what more I can offer you in the way of information. I’ve called my attorney and he’ll be meeting us at your station house, this time without delay.”

“That will be fine, sir.” Oz fought to keep his face impassive. “Let me help you, Mr. Jobe.” He held out his hand to offer assistance.

Laurel clung to him and he patted her shoulder. “You just can’t do this. My husband is Hobart Jobe. Don’t you understand?” She looked at Oz, her face contorted by grief with two rivulets of black mascara streaking down her cheeks.

Oz led Hobart to the elevator, glancing back to see Laurel Jobe collapse on a delicate antique settee, sobbing hysterically. As the elevator doors closed, shutting out the sounds of his wife’s heartbreak, Hobart Jobe leaned back against the wall with a smile on his face.

#

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

As the two women embraced, Micki felt a surge of longing rush through her insides, leaving her hollow and shaken. She had no idea how to bridge the ocean of anger and resentment she harbored toward her mother or the hurt she knew Nancy felt towards her.

“Sit down,” Nancy gestured to the swing. “Or do you want to come inside?”

“No, this is fine, Mom.” Micki eased onto the wooden swing beside her mother.

Nancy clasped her hands together, released them and then clasped them again. “Just yesterday, Angela and I were talking about how nice it is that you and Oz are back together.” She leaned toward Micki, suddenly serious. “You didn’t break up again, did you?”

Micki patted her on her arm. “No, Mom. We didn’t break up. In fact, I have a scoop for you.” She raised her left hand in front of her mother’s face, flashing the ring. “We’re engaged. You’re the first to know.”

Nancy grinned for the first time in so long it hit Micki like a slap. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother’s smile.

Nancy met her gaze briefly and then looked away. “I’m really glad you’re together again. You two are meant to be, just like Roger and me.”

At the mention of her father’s name a stricture formed in Micki’s throat, preventing her from speaking. A picture of her handsome, robust father sprang into her mind and she was riddled with sadness.

“You know, we were high school sweethearts. We got married right after graduation. We were so poor then. Your father worked at the tire repair shop and I got a job at the five-and-dime. We didn’t have anything, except each other.”

Micki watched her mother’s face change, her eyes at once more alive in the memory of her lost love. She swallowed the bitter taste at the back of her throat. “Mom, why didn’t you let me see him?”

Nancy jerked her attention back to her daughter. The sadness and pain in her eyes were like a wave washing back to sea as she withdrew into herself.

Micki cleared her throat and plunged on. “I know you and dad loved each other more than anyone else, but why did you shut me out? I loved him, too.”

Nancy covered her face with both hands, weeping softly. “I knew it was a mistake,” she sobbed. “But it was what Roger wanted.”

A jolt of pain hit Micki, stronger than the punch Luka had dealt her. “Daddy didn’t want to see me?”

Nancy turned to face her, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. “Oh, baby, your father loved you so much, but he didn’t want you to see him die. He wanted you to remember him the way he was before...before the cancer weakened him. Before it killed him a little more each day.”

A flash of anger roiled up from her gut where it had lived for so long. “So you sent me away?”

“We sent you to your Aunt Veronica’s because Roger thought it was best for you. He didn’t want you saddened by his passing. He wanted you to have a happy life.”

“Mom, I was miserable. I thought neither one of you loved me enough to include me in your little circle. It was just you and him.”

“I’m sorry,” Nancy said. “I was only trying to give your father what he wanted. He wanted to die at home, but he wanted to protect you from the ugliness of his death.”

Micki sat, chewing her lip. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I was brought home for the funeral and you didn’t even notice that I was bleeding from every pore. You didn’t care about my pain.”

“I cared, but I didn’t know how to deal with my own pain, let alone yours. I was exhausted from taking care of your father night and day. I felt guilty because I felt relieved that he wasn’t suffering any more, but I missed him so much.”

“I could have helped you,” Micki whispered.

“Please forgive me. I was trying to give him what he wanted.” Nancy’s eyes implored her to comprehend the pain she’d suffered.

“I understand, Mom. You lost your husband, your love. But I lost my father and you wouldn’t let me mourn him even when I got to come home. Everything was gone. All memories were packed up or given away. And you wouldn’t let me talk about him. I’ve been so angry with you for so long.”

Oz had to bear his frail weight when he crawled out of the back seat and support him as they climbed laboriously up the steps. Once inside, Hobart appeared to be exhausted, whether from the climb or the emotional rigors of being married to Laurel, Oz couldn’t tell.

Oz nodded. A tightening in his gut made him question whether or not he was ready for this. Qualls seemed to have confidence that he could carry it off.

Oz and Qualls entered the interrogation room, sitting opposite Jobe. Qualls placed a small recorder on the table and turned it on.

“Please state your name,” Oz said.

Slowly and deliberately, the old man intoned, “Hobart Edmond Jobe, the second.”

“Mr. Jobe,” Oz began. “You have been brought in for questioning in regard to the murder of Jason Best.” Oz cleared his throat. “You are acquainted with Jason Best, are you not?”

Hobart gave him a thin-lipped smile, his eyes knowing but his lips silent. “I think it’s best to wait for my attorney Mr. Keanes to advise me before I speak.”

“Very well, sir.” Oz and Qualls left the room, taking the recorder with them. They stationed a uniformed officer to stand guard inside the room with Jobe.

Qualls met briefly with an Assistant District Attorney before returning to his office. He caught Oz’s attention and motioned him to join him with a jerk of his head.

“I have a warrant for you to search Jobe’s home and offices.”

“What, specifically, am I looking for, sir?”

“The weapon and anything else that ties Jobe to Best’s death or to conspiracy to commit murder. I don’t think you’ll find it, but we can put more pressure on them. It’s possible that he invited Best for a meet-up and then made a hole in his skull with a small caliber bullet. Something’s bound to break loose.”

“You think he did it?” Oz stood, trying not to question Qualls authority, but unwilling to believe this frail man could have dispatched his wife’s lover so efficiently.

“Nah. I think he hired it done. See what you can find. Take a couple of the boys with you.”

“Yes, sir.” Oz gathered Vinnie and two other uniforms and they headed for the Jobe Towers in two cruisers.

Jobe’s Office Manager, Raymond Kemp, was most concerned that police personnel were rummaging through Mr. Jobe’s office in his absence.

Kemp called Jobe’s private line at the penthouse but it went straight to message. He left a terse, ass-covering communication, guaranteed to absolve him of all blame when his employer returned.

Oz had to find something that linked Jobe to the case. He didn’t think the man was capable of committing murder personally, but conspiracy to commit murder might stick. He instructed the team to search for the murder weapon, but keep their eyes open in case they stumbled upon other evidence.

He oversaw the removal of boxes of records and files, mostly relating to financial transactions. No gun was located in the process.

Oz stepped back into the manager’s office. “We’re all done here, so you can call your staff back in.”

“I sent them home for the day,” Kemp said. “No use paying people to stand around. I didn’t know how long you’d take.”

“What’s this?” Oz asked. He’d come to stand in front of a strange-looking device he’d never encountered before. It had a shiny metal disc, larger than an old LP record, with various slots cut into it. It was on a machine that turned the disc and it held a ball point pen in an upright position.

“That’s a signature machine,” Kemp said. “There are so many documents requiring Mr. Jobe’s signature that we had this made to spare him from the mundane tasks of responding to all his correspondence.”

Oz narrowed his eyes at Kemp. “So, you’re telling me that anyone could use this thing to forge Hobart Jobe’s signature on something?”

“Good gracious, no!” Kemp said, with a little laugh. “The signature machine is kept under lock and key and I’m the only person to use it.”

“But someone could sneak in here and use it without your knowing it, couldn’t they?”

Kemp’s gaze was icy. “I said under lock and key. I roll it into the vault when it’s not in use and only Mr. Jobe and I have the combination.”

“Then, you’re saying that you could put Jobe’s signature on anything you wanted to?” Oz stood over him, stone-faced.

Kelso cleared his throat, clearly nervous. “Well, I suppose, in theory, I could. But I’ve been with Mr. Jobe for many years. I would never do such a thing.”

Oz left with a wave of his hand and filed this little tidbit away in case it might lead to an important piece of the puzzle. In the meantime, he had more important fish to invite to his fish fry.

#

Micki drove around the neighborhood after she left her mother. She felt conflicted by Nancy’s story. On the one hand, relieved that her mother hadn’t been trying to deliberately exclude her from the last months of her father’s life, but conversely upset that her father thought she wasn’t grown up enough to handle his death. That he hadn’t sent for her at the end.

She recognized the Malone kids playing in their yard as she drove by. They’d grown since the last time she’d seen them, but she’d recognize members of that red-haired flock anywhere.