Steeled for Murder (24 page)

Sure enough. I heard the door open. I opened my eyes, but I didn’t look toward it. I heard footsteps coming across the room, and a shadow fell across the table.

Neat pressed pants came into view. Impeccably shined shoes. The fresh scent of mint and aftershave. Montgomery. Not Belkins.

I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or not. Montgomery probably wasn’t going to knock me around like Belkins might. But he was cold and calculated, a skilled interrogator. A more methodical, permanent threat to my freedom. Combined with Belkins’ passion to see me locked up forever, that might make a deadly combination.

Montgomery didn’t turn on the harsh light hanging over my head. He hitched one hip up on the table, resting part of his butt there, and folded his manicured hands. The polished stone in his ring winked up at me.

“I don’t suppose there’s much point in offering you a cup of coffee, is there?”

I shook my head.

“A couple of things I’d really like to know,” he said smoothly. “Like what was going on between you and Tiffany Robinson.”

I stared at the floor to the left of the table.

“You know what’s interesting?” He crossed his legs and began swinging his left leg slightly, so that unless I moved my eyes, they would be in my field of vision. I continued to stare at the same place on the floor.

I shook my head.

“Tiffany Robinson says she doesn’t even know you.”

No surprise there. She didn’t know me.

“Showed her pictures of you and everything. Said she’d never seen you before.”

I shrugged.

“The kids, now.” Light reflected off the polished surface of Montgomery’s swinging shoe. “The kids say you came to the house. Drove their mom to the hospital. Fed them and did laundry and put them to bed. Even set up a Christmas tree for them. Strange, huh?” He waited for me to answer.

“I guess.”

“I didn’t know you had a driver’s license.”

He could check that easily. Probably already had. “I don’t.”

“So if you were driving, it would be a violation of your parole.”

“Yes, sir.”

He got up and paced behind me. “The brother, Carl, he’s not quite so sure that the person he drove into town is that same as the person in the pictures I showed him. And he said he did all the driving. At least while he was around.”

“Hasn’t he got a license?”

Montgomery laughed. “Yes. And you’re not going to get me off track so easily.”

I hadn’t really expected to. But it was worth a try.

“I suspect Carl’s trying to shield you. Feels some misplaced sense of gratitude. You know the emergency room doctor said Tiffany probably would have died if she’d gotten to the hospital any later.”

I couldn’t keep myself from asking, “Is she gonna be all right?”

Behind me, Montgomery’s footsteps stopped. “What’s it to you?”

“Just wondered.” I cursed my curiosity. Especially if he wasn’t going to answer the question.

He resumed pacing. “She’s out of the hospital. Taking some kind of heavy duty antibiotics. Her mother’s staying at the house.”

Encouraged, I asked, “How’re the kids?” Wouldn’t be revealing anything; he knew I had been minding the kids.

“They’re fine. Thanks to whoever, they never even had to go into foster care. They had a good Christmas, as good as kids can have when their dad’s dead and their mom’s in the hospital.”

“Their grandmother taking care of them?”

“That’s the arrangement for the time being.” Montgomery came back around and sat on the table again. “You know all this just makes you more attractive as a suspect, don’t you?”

Here I sat, handcuffed, in a police interrogation room. Of course I knew I was still a suspect. The main suspect.

“And if he has to testify in court, I bet Carl Miller will change his story. Admit you are the person he found at his sister’s house. Wouldn’t want to risk perjury charges. Tiffany seems more certain she doesn’t know you, but I bet eventually, we could get what we wanted to know out of her.”

Probably. If pushed, Tiffany would get confused. She’d find herself agreeing to things she had no way of knowing. Or even to things she knew didn’t happen. All she’d have to do was say it once, and they’d have her. And me. Whether what she admitted to was true or not wouldn’t enter into it.

Montgomery stood up again. “Belkins asked the parole office to have you held when you showed up. That was back when he was mad because he couldn’t find you. I guess he never cancelled it.”

Thanks.

“I’m going to cut you loose. You’re lucky Belkins isn’t around this morning. He’d have wanted you locked up. But I figure we’re better off with you out on the street. More chance you’ll trip up.”

I caught my breath. “Thank you, sir.”

“I better be able to find you when I want you again.” Montgomery examined his dark, lean hands.

“Yes, sir.”

“Because I will want you again. I’m putting pieces together. When I have a clearer picture, I will definitely want to see you again.” He stepped to the door and called a guard to come get me.

Chapter 14

Midnight Monday, the beginning of a new shift. I welcomed reporting to work. Only a four-day work week, because of New Year’s. The union guys would get a paid holiday; I would only be paid for the time I worked. Better than nothing.

Everyone looked groggy and out of sorts. More than a week on the same schedule with the rest of the world. Hard to make the adjustment back. I punched in and waited for my assignment. Plating room, I hoped.

I didn’t see Kelly, but then, she didn’t need to wait for her assignment. She’d be back in the shipping room, checking out the forklift that hadn’t been used in days. Would she be happy to see me, or would she be embarrassed about how drunk she’d been when I last saw her? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, either.

John came in, clipboard in his hand. He looked around at us and frowned. Checking positions off with a stubby pencil, he called out assignments.

Plater number two went to someone called Steamboat, who picked up his things and went grumbling toward the plating room. The other three positions went to their usual operators.

I waited in uneasy silence as he read off the rest of the jobs.

“I got to talk to you, Jesse,” he said, glancing at me. His bushy eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “Just hang tight.” He disappeared through the door in the corner that led upstairs to the offices.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the shift. The factory machinery groaned to life. I stood there.

If I wasn’t on a job, I wasn’t getting paid. Nervously, I shifted my weight, clutching my lunchbox with its tuna sandwiches. Shouldn’t have indulged in that extravagance before I was sure I would be working. Peanut butter was good enough.

John came out of the offices. Sterling Radman tagged along behind him, having difficulty keeping up with John’s long stride. John did not look happy.

“I still say we need to put it up for bid,” John was saying. “Union’ll be all over us.”

“You let me deal with the union,” Radman said, catching up with John as he stopped in front of me.

John looked mulish. “He hasn’t finished his probationary employment; I don’t think we should give him a job like that. That training’s expensive; no guarantee we’ll get it back.”

Radman was impatient. “My problem, not yours. If he’s not done with the probation, he’s not in the union, right? Takes care of that problem.”

John shrugged. He turned toward me.

“Jesse, Mr. Radman wants you to train to be forklift driver. Day shift wants their extra driver back ASAP. And Simon doesn’t like midnights.”

I stared at them. Certainly beat being fired, which was what I’d been afraid was happening. If I were successful in the training, it would give me a very marketable, transferrable skill.

I would be successful in the training. No reason not to be.

“Okay.” Like I had a say in the decision. “When do I start?”

“Tonight,” Radman said.

“We can’t start him tonight.” John looked up at the ceiling. “He needs to go on day shift to train. About a week, maybe a week and a half. Until he passes the test.”

“I say tonight.” Radman’s face flushed. In his pristine business suit, he looked fussy and out of place out here on the production floor. “You’ve got two lift drivers on this shift; one of them can train him.”

I wasn’t at all sure I wanted Kelly to train me.

“Neither one of them is certified as a trainer,” John said. “The only one we have works day shift. He’ll have to train on day shift.”

“And I say tonight.” Mr. Radman’s teeth were clenched. “He’s not even in the union; I’ll deal with them if there’s a grievance.”

“I’m not worried about the union.” John shook his head in disgust. “State safety regs. Lift drivers have to train with a certified trainer. Five hours of classroom training. And they have to practice driving. Then they have to pass tests, paper and pencil and on the lift. Only day shift has anyone authorized to give the test. We’ll have Occupational Safety inspectors up the wazoo if we don’t follow the regs to the letter. Likely to end up with a big fine.”

It was Radman’s turn to look unhappy. “Then arrange for it tomorrow. Send him home now and have him come back at eight, when the day shift starts.”

“Sir.” I was back on my strict monitoring schedule. “I need to call my PO and get permission to switch work hours. I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it, but I can’t really work another shift until I get his okay.”

“Call now. From here.” Radman was becoming increasingly annoyed.

“All I’ll get would be an answering machine, sir,” I said. “I could leave a message, but Mr. Ramirez doesn’t start work until nine tomorrow. At the earliest.”

“He can start Wednesday morning and still get the twenty hours of training in this week. Even take the test, if he’s doing well enough,” John pointed out. “And it’ll give the day shift a chance to make arrangements to free up the trainer.”

Mr. Radman scowled.

John pushed his advantage. “They don’t just have a trainer sitting around, you know. And they like to train a few people at a time.”

“If that’s the best we can do. But I want it to happen. I don’t want a bunch of lame excuses for why it won’t work.” He turned on the heel of his expensive tasseled loafer and stalked back to the door to the offices.

John watched him go. “Damn fool,” he muttered under his breath.

“I didn’t ask for the job as lift driver.”

“I know you didn’t,” John said. “Nobody has. And he’s got a real bee in his bonnet about who drives the lifts. Insisted on Mitch, even when he wasn’t doing the job right. No good reason for it. But he’s the boss. I guess it don’t have to make sense to me.”

“What about tonight?” Don’t tell me to punch out and go home. I couldn’t afford to miss a whole shift.

John shook his head. “Packing room, I guess,” he said. “They’re a man short tonight. Go report to Greg. He’s the lead. He’ll be glad not to have pull Kelly from the lift.”

I gathered my things and started through the plating room toward shipping. Looked like I would be seeing Kelly tonight after all.

I nodded to Hank as I passed him. He was standing in front of plater two, watching Steamboat struggle with the small grids the plater was running. At least he wasn’t starting with those big heavy pieces I’d had.

“Sorry to lose you,” Hank shouted over the machinery as I passed him. “I’ll try to get you back.”

I smiled gratefully. But if Radman wanted me driving the lift, I had a feeling Hank could try all he wanted without any luck.

Pretty uncomfortable, Radman singling me out like that to learn to drive the lift. Wasn’t doing me any favors, as far as I could see. He didn’t even like me. Even seemed a little afraid of me. Kelly said he’d taken an unusual interest in Mitch. He might have been into drugs. Did he think, like Aaron, that I had access to them? He was going to be very disappointed if that were the case. I hoped that wouldn’t cost me my job.

I reported to Greg in the packing room. He looked relieved as he stepped aside to let me take over pulling shallow wire trays off the line.

“Pack fifty to a row, three rows to a layer, four layers deep.” The packing room was quieter than either the shop floor or the plating room, but he had to shout over the sound of a radio someone had set on a crate, tuned to blaring country music. He gestured at the container by his side. “Put paper between the layers. Watch your count. Lift driver’ll keep an eye on it; she’ll pull this one and put a new one in its place when you need it.”

The lift driver. Kelly. I looked around.

She was maneuvering to pick up a load. She swung the lift around and disappeared through a big door onto the loading dock without so much as glancing in my direction.

I settled in to work. Compared to the plater, this was easy. Except for the need to keep count. When I filled a container, Kelly drove up with an empty. She pulled out the full one and replaced it with the empty. I tried to catch her eye, but she didn’t acknowledge me. She dismounted, pulled out a tag for the full load, tied it on, got back on the lift, and then drove away. I missed her smile. This didn’t look good.