Murder.Com (15 page)

     
The man leaped to his feet.
 
"Yes sir."

     
"I'm Detective Hoffman, and this is my partner Detective Maxhimer."

     
Conners nodded toward both men.

     
Cliff scooted into Bud's chair behind the desk while Tom stood at the side.

     
"You may sit down, Mr. Conners," Cliff began.
 
"We've just had the files unlocked on Mr. Nevers' computer.
 
They appear to be the accounting books of this company.
 
I know you've made a statement to the police already.
 
Is there anything else you'd like to add?"
 

     
"No sir.
 
I've already explained that I'd talked with Mr. Nevers about the computer crash the day before he died.
 
My data got lost.
 
And now my back-up disk has disappeared."

     
"Sounds like quite a coincidence, doesn't it?"
 
Cliff asked.

     
Conners jumped up.
 
"I resent that.
 
I've been with this company for ten years.
 
I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my job."

     
Cliff lifted a hand and motioned for the man to calm down.
 
"No one's accusing you of anything."

     
Beads of sweat formed on Conners' forehead.
 
"All I can tell you is that I've done nothing wrong."

     
"Have you talked to Mr. Weber?"

     
Conners stopped mopping his forehead with his handkerchief and looked at Cliff with a puzzled expression.
 
"No.
 
Why should I?"

     
"Just wondered if you told him about the ABC Wafer Company?"

     
The man's face paled and his Adam's apple worked up and down above his collar.
 
"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

     
Cliff nodded.
 
"Okay, Mr. Conners, you can go.
 
But stay available if we need to talk later."

     
Conners scurried from the room, still dabbing his face.

     
Tom turned off the recorder and leaned against the desk.
 
"I do believe that man is scared to death."

     
"Wouldn't you be?
 
Your boss murdered.
 
A computer crash at a very convenient time.
 
Your back-up disk disappears.
 
Looks like someone is trying to point the finger at the little guy."

     
Tom nodded.
 
"Yeah, or the little guy is as guilty as sin."
 
He glanced at his watch.
 
"The auditor should be at the station any minute now.
 
We better get going."

     
Cliff raised his brows as they walked to the car.
 
"Well, you got a lot done today.
 
You should rise before the sun every morning," he chuckled.
 
"So you can beat the traffic.
 
It did you a world of good."

     
Tom grinned at Cliff's dry wit.

     
The two detectives had no sooner entered Tom's office when a sharp rap sounded on the facing of the door.
 
They both turned.
 
A tall grinning black man stood in the doorway.

     
"Hello.
 
I'm John Graves, auditor from Hames and Goode.
 
I'm supposed to meet Detective Tom Hoffman."

     
Tom stepped forward and extended his hand.
 
"I'm Detective Hoffman.
 
Nice meeting you.
 
This is my sidekick, Detective Maxhimer.

     
The three men gathered around the desk as Graves removed the ledgers from his valise.
 
While he stacked them on the desk, Cliff placed the printouts from Bud's computer next to them.
 
After explaining what they wanted and the comparisons that needed to be made, the detectives left.
 
Several hours later, Cliff and Tom returned to the office.
 
Cliff shoved a wisp of loose hair back under his golf hat and leaned against the desk.
 
"Well, Graves.
 
What can you tell so far?"

     
John stood and stretched his tall lanky body, his hands almost touching the ceiling.
 
"So far, I haven't found any discrepancies.
 
You guys sure there's a problem?"

     
Tom looked puzzled.
 
"What about the ABC Wafer Company?"

     
"Haven't found a mention of that company anywhere, but I'm not through yet.
 
It might turn up."

     
Tom rubbed the stubble on his chin.
 
"Doesn't make sense.
 
Crane claimed the company was listed and that he had pointed it out to Nevers.
 
Why would he lie?"

     
Cliff pulled the record book toward him.
 
"Unless these are dummy books."

     
Graves thumped the book with his finger.
 
"That's been known to happen.
 
However, all the disks my company has and the printouts you gave me coincide with this written record."

     
Tom scratched his head.
 
"How about Ken Weber's computer printouts?
 
Do they also match?"

     
"Yes.
 
Everything matches so far."

     
"Well, I'd cover my ass too," Cliff growled.
 
"Especially since Bud Nevers is dead and can't confirm what he'd been told.

     
"I don't know what's going on," Graves said.
 
"But I can tell you the accountant takes the figures he gets and puts them down.
 
He might not discover things aren't adding up until the end of the quarter, six months or even a year later.
 
And even then, some companies send bills late, haven't paid them or get behind.
 
This can really screw the accountant up.
 
All he can do is watch a pattern take form.
 
Then he might go in and warn the boss that something smells fishy.
 
It might take him months to figure out the problem.
 
Computers are making a lot of this much easier, but it's still difficult."

     
Tom rocked from his heels to his toes several times while staring at the papers strewn across the desk.
 
"How far did you get?"

     
John bent over the book and checked the dates.
 
"These records cover a five year period.
 
I have two more years to bring it up to date."

     
Cliff drummed his fingers on the desk.
 
"We're going to leave you alone for a while longer.
 
How much time do you need?"

     
Graves checked his watch.
 
"Shouldn't take more than three or four hours.
 
I'll let you guys know if there are any problems when you check back with me.
 
If it's going to take longer, I'll get back here first thing in the morning to finish up."

     
Tom nodded.
 
"Sounds good.
 
We'll see you later."

     
The two detectives closed the door behind them.

Chapter Thirteen

     
Angie spent the rest of the afternoon trying to forget the encounter at Dr. Parker's office.
 
She stopped at the beauty parlor, had her hair done and got a manicure.
 
Afterwards she shopped for clothes that wouldn't remind her of Bud every time she dressed in the morning.
 
The hours passed rapidly and she headed home around five pm.

     
She was turning up the street leading to the gate when an older-model white Toyota Celica raced past her, kicking up dust from the side of the road.
 
Angie jerked her head around in time to catch another glimpse before the car swerved around the corner.
 
She pulled at her lower lip with her teeth.
 
She'd have sworn that was the car Melinda drove away from Dr. Parker's office.
 
Why would she be in this area?

     
Angie glanced at the gate before pushing her remote control.
 
It appeared tightly closed.
 
Now, don't go getting all paranoid, she scolded herself.
 
Continuing up the driveway, she parked in the garage and carried her bundles inside.
 
Expecting to see Marty in the kitchen, she called her name, but received no answer.
 
That's odd.
 
She would normally be in here fixing dinner.
 
Concerned over Marty's health, she decided to walk over, instead of calling her on the phone.

     
When she reached the cottage, she knocked softly on the slightly opened door.
 
Hearing muffled sobs, she shoved the door open.
 
"Marty!" she gasped.

     
Marty was curled in a fetal position on the floor, blood pouring from her nose.
 
Angie raced to her and knelt by her side.
 
"Dear God!
 
What happened?"

     
"I-I don't know, Mrs. Nevers.
 
I must have blacked out from too much booze and hit my head.
 
It hurts something awful."

     
"Don't move."
 
She reached for the phone.
 
"I'm calling an ambulance."

     
But before she could dial, Marty raised herself up and waved a bloody hand.
 
"No! No!
 
Please don't call.
 
I'll be fine, just banged my nose good.
 
I'll be okay."
 
She staggered to her feet and headed for the bathroom.

     
Angie hung up, but remained frozen to the spot.
 
A small white envelope tucked partially under the telephone grabbed her attention.
 
She immediately recognized the handwriting and picked it up.
 
Turning slowly, she found Marty staring at her from the doorway of the bathroom, her eyes wide over the washcloth covering her nose.

     
"Why do you have a letter here addressed to Bud?"
 
Angie asked, holding up the envelope.

     
Marty slumped against the doorframe, sobs shaking her body.

     
By this time, Angie had slipped the folded sheet out of the envelope and read aloud.
 
"If the payments stop, you'll be sorry.
 
So you better contact me soon.
 
Melinda."

     
Angie felt that familiar spine-tingling sensation.
 
Her hands trembled as she fumbled for a chair.
 
She pushed back the stray hair that had fallen into her face, then slowly raised her eyes as pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
 
"You're Melinda's mother, aren't you?"

     
Marty nodded and choked out, "Yes."

     
Angie rose and walked out of the cottage in a daze.
 
When she reached the house, she stormed up the stairs to her bedroom and yanked all the pictures of Bud off the wall and hurled them into the wastebasket.
 
"You son-of-a-bitch!" she cried.
 
"Right under my nose you screwed our housekeeper.
 
You knew I wanted a baby so bad.
 
You bastard!
 
No wonder you didn't want to adopt.
 
You already had a beautiful daughter."

     
She flung herself across the bed and wept.
 
After her tears were spent, she retrieved the pictures from the trash and piled them on the dresser.
 
"Didn't you know I'd have given anything for a baby?" she whispered.
 
"I wouldn't have cared where it came from.
 
And to think this child has your blood."