A Grand Murder Page 10

  Probably some bimbo he met at Park Place, a bar he and his buddies would meet at for a drink on Friday nights.

  He’d have no problem getting away with an affair. He knew I didn’t know where his job sites were from one job to the next. Where did he say that mall was this morning? I couldn’t remember.

  His cell phone was always on him. We’d had arguments about why he couldn’t shut the damn thing off at least while we go grocery shopping (on the rare occasions when I actually went grocery shopping).

  Where the hell could he be?

  My cell started vibrating on my hip. Probably the chief wanting to know what we learned from Digs.

  “Yeah,” I said. “O’Brien here.”

  “O’Brien here, too,” Gavin’s cheery voice came down the line. “Hi honey, how’s your day?”

  I heard saws screaming in the background and relief flooded through me. At least he was at work and not in some bimbo’s bedroom.

  “Hang on honey. I can’t hear very well. Let me hop into the cab of the truck.”

  I heard the door slam, cutting off the background noise.

  “There we go,” he said. “Sorry I missed your call. I didn’t hear my phone over the saw.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m just glad to hear your voice. I miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” he said. “You still think you’ll be home for dinner?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Feels like we’re treading water here and not getting closer to the shore.”

  My faith in Louise’s theory was shaky at best.

  “I’m going to say tonight’s a don’t—wait—up—for—me night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, honey.”

  Damn it felt good just to listen to his voice.

  “I’ll wait up for you anyway, and when you get home I’ll give you a foot rub. I saw the boots you put on this morning. Your feet have got to be killing you by now.”

  He knew me so well.

  “They are and a foot rub sounds so good,” I said. “I can’t wait.”

  “I have to get back to work. I’ll see you tonight,” he said. “I love you, sweetie.”

  “I love you too.”

  I heard the chirp of him pushing the end button on his cell and he was gone. Damn, I loved that man.

  “What sounds so good?”

  Louise had eavesdropped on most if not all of my conversation.

  “A foot rub.”

  “For you?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “Don’t you feel bad that he does physical work all day long and you’re the one who gets a massage?”

  “No.” I hesitated and thought about what she said. “Well, I didn’t until you put it that way.”

  “That man is too good for you.”

  I made a mental note that Gavin would get the rub down of his life when I got home.

  “Let’s go talk to Mr. Philip Carter and see if we can get somewhere today.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Once again, we were in attendance at Stanley and Forster. After all the time we’d spent here in the last couple days, I was as comfortable in this office as I was in my own.

  Even the ghost—pallid receptionist began to warm up a little. She greeted us with a cheery smile.

  “Who do you need this time?”

  “Philip Carter,” I said.

  “You got it.”

  She punched a couple keys and then said into her operator headset. “Mr. Carter, the cops are here for you.”

  By how fast the operator ended the call, Philip Carter didn’t seem particularly surprised to hear that there were police waiting to see him. I think I might have asked what they wanted.

  “Have a seat,” she said. “He’ll be down to see you in just a minute.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  She retrieved a tube of lipstick from her purse and made fish faces in a compact mirror as she applied the diva—pink lipstick. Part of me wanted to know how much she got paid.

  The waiting room was full of people who were now watching Louise and me like we’d just dropped our pants and peed on the floor. Cops are nobody’s friends until you need one.

  Even then, there’s never one around, as the old adage goes. We’d heard that lament repeatedly in our careers: Where were you guys when this was happening? It’s hard for people to believe that we’re not psychic enough to know when a crime will be committed.

  People are nervous and suspicious around cops. Whenever someone at a dinner party finds out what I do, they try to convince me that they’re an upstanding citizen, which always makes me wonder what it is they’ve done.

  Louise nudged me and nodded her head toward the doorway leading into the office.

  “This has got to be Carter.”

  I looked up to see a six—foot, overly tanned, well—built, dark—haired man walk into the waiting area.

  “Mr. Carter?” Louise asked.

  He gave a curt nod and turned back through the doorway without a word.

  Louise and I looked at each other.

  “I guess he wants us to follow him,” I said.

  His behavior was so bizarre I wasn’t entirely sure what we were supposed to do. This wasn’t a typical greeting.

  Then again, nothing about the Stanley—Forster murder case had been typical so far. The nature of this case was making me long for a good old gang murder.

  “After you.” Louise held her hand out toward the door, palm up, and then bowed a little at the waist.

  I stepped through the doorway to the office, in time to see Carter disappear behind another door across the room, not far away.

  “Where the hell is he going?”

  I hustled to the entrance Carter had just ducked into. I opened the door and stuck my head into an empty conference room.

  I stopped.

  Louise stood behind me. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s not in here.”

  “What?”

  “I saw him go into this room, but he’s gone.”

  I stood to one side to let her see into the empty conference room.

  “Do you think there’s another hidden door somewhere?”

  “God damn it.” In frustration Louise shoved the door open with all the force she could manage. Instead of hearing the wood bang against drywall, there was a sickening thud.

  “What the hell?” she said.

  Philip Carter fell out from behind the door. He landed face down on the floor, without the slightest attempt to break his fall.

  Neither of us made a move toward him.

  He didn’t move.

  Louise pressed her hands into the small of her back. “Why the hell was he hiding back there?”

  “Maybe you should ask him,” I said.

  Still neither of us moved. We just stared at Philip Carter, unconscious at our feet.

  “I am not taking any of the blame for this. This one’s all yours, Louise. I think you killed him.”

  “Shit.”

  She stepped into the conference room and dragged me in behind her. Then she stuck her head out and checked to make sure no one saw us before she closed the door.

  Louise rolled Carter onto his back, then leaned over and put her ear by his nose.

  “Sir?” She shook his shoulder. “Mr. Carter?”

  This time she shook him with enough force to make his head flop around like a rag doll.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to jar a victim like that, Louise. What if you broke his neck?”

  “Shut up,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Her fingers probed for a pulse on his wrist.

  “Seriously, if you broke his neck –”

  “I didn’t break his neck. It was an accident.”

  “He doesn’t look good.” I plopped my ass into a soft conference chair and leaned over him to get a better look.

  Blood ran from Carter’s nose, down his cheek and into his hair.

  “At the v
ery least you broke his nose.”

  I took my left boot off and rubbed the pad of my foot.

  “I didn’t break his nose. The fall did,” Louise said. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “My feet really ache today for some reason.”

  “Maybe you should go a day without wearing stilt heels.”

  “Right. I’m going to do that like you’re going to go a week without having your nails done.”

  She held up her middle finger.

  “Yes, your nails are beautiful.”

  “Fuck you, Catherine. Get over here and help me get him into a chair. He’s not dead, just unconscious.”

  I limped over and helped drag him up.

  “Put him in the chair,” Louise said.

  We hoisted him up and aimed his backside at a conference chair. Both of us let go at the same time. Carter hit the chair at an angle, and it wheeled out from under him.

  Before we could get our hands on his arms, the back of Carter’s head slammed against the edge of the hard, wooden conference table.

  “Whoops,” I said.

  We pulled him up again. If Carter was alive, he’d have one hell of a headache when he woke up.

  “Use your foot as a brake behind the wheels,” I said. “That should keep the chair from getting away from us again.”

  We finally wrangled Carter’s limp body into the seat. His head slumped against his chest. Blood dripped onto the front of his suit.

  He was going to sue the hell out of us when he woke up. If he didn’t have us thrown in jail, or off the force, he’d at least get us for the cost of his dry—cleaning.

  Louise rolled a chair up next to his.

  “Mr. Carter?”

  She tapped him on the cheek like you see people do on television.

  “Good, maybe we should throw water on him, too.”

  “Shut up, Catherine.”

  “Maybe if you smacked him really hard. That will wake him up.”

  “Shut up, Catherine!”

  “If someone slapped me, it’d wake me up.”

  I’m pretty sure Louise was reaching for her gun when she stood up. She probably would have shot me too except the door to the conference room opened.

  Louise and I stood shoulder to shoulder, like Lucy and Ethel, trying to hide what we’d done. Mel came in, followed by Tracy.

  Neither of us moved. We gaped at the two women without uttering a word.

  Tracy held up a first aid kit and smiled.

  “We thought you could use some help.”

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  Mel pointed to a little black ball hanging from the ceiling like a bat.

  “Another security camera?” Louise said.

  “You got it, sweetie.”

  “Just what did you see?” Louise asked and slid down into a chair.

  “Everything.” Mel snickered behind her hand. “Don’t worry, sweetie. It wasn’t your fault at all. He was hiding behind the door. He does it to everyone he meets with. Carter hides back there, and when the unsuspecting soul comes in, he starts talking and scares them.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because he’s an ass.” Tracy banged the small metal first aid kit down on the table.

  “Yeah,” Mel agreed. “He was bound to get clocked one day. I’m just glad I was here to see it.”

  A low throaty laugh shook Mel’s solid frame. “You should have seen your face, sweetie. It was priceless.”

  “Thanks.” Louise’s face darkened to crimson. I’d never seen her sit so hunched over. It was almost as if Louise were trying to crawl down into her shoes.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Mel said. The tape will accidentally be erased.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said and fidgeted under Mel’s adoring gaze. “I’ll take full responsibility for what happened here.”

  “It’s already done, sweetie. So don’t even think about it twice.”

  Tracy broke open an ampoule of smelling salts and ran it under Carter’s bloody nose. He coughed and choked; awake but not completely focused.

  I took the ampoule from Tracy.

  “You two should go,” I said. “It’s better if we’re the only ones here. If there’s going to be hell to pay, we’ll pay it. You two don’t need to get any on you.”

  Mel cast a reluctant glance at Louise, who nodded her agreement to my suggestion. They left and closed the door behind them.

  I took a quick look at Louise to see if she was ready. She nodded and I swiped the smelling salts under his nose again.

  He shook his head and finally snapped into consciousness.

  “Mr. Carter,” I said as loud as I could without yelling.

  “What?”

  He ran a hand under his nose.

  “Are you alright, Mr. Carter?”

  He looked at his hand, then held his blood—covered palm out to me. “I’m bleeding.”

  For some reason the statement struck me as funny.

  “You sure are.”

  I laughed and nodded at him.

  He smiled for a moment, then said, “Why am I bleeding? I can’t remember . . ..”

  Louise grabbed a box of tissues from the credenza behind her, then held it out for him.

  “You fell on your face, Mr. Carter.”

  I laughed again.

  Louise shot me a dirty look.

  He looked at me and smiled again. Then Carter took a wad of tissues from the box Louise offered, and pressed them to his nose to staunch the bleeding.

  “How did I fall on my face?”

  I choked back a laugh.

  “You fainted, Mr. Carter,” I said. “Are you feeling all right now?”

  “My head hurts, but I think I’m okay.”

  He pulled the bloody tissue away, folded it to a clean spot, then reapplied the wad, and tilted his head back.

  Louise gave me a look that told me she didn’t approve of my lie. I noticed that she didn’t rush to correct me.

  “I skipped lunch today,” he said, with a pinched nasal tone to his voice. “Maybe I have low blood sugar.”

  “That’s possible, sir,” I said.

  I pinched myself in the leg to gain control of my giggles.

  “You should eat something when we’re through here.”

  “Okay, I will.” His brows drew together. “Who are you?”

  “We’re detectives,” Louise said. “We’re investigating the murders of Forster and Stanley.”

  “Oh yeah, right, right. I remember now.”

  Again, his brows drew together. He looked at me, then the blood soaked tissue, then back at me. The pieces were sliding back into place in his rattled brain.

  “Yeah, I remember,” he said. “What do you want with me?”

  “We brought Mr. Stanley’s ex—wife in for questioning this morning,” Louise said.

  “Shit. What the hell did that little fucking bitch tell you?”

  “She told us that you two are having an affair and have been for some time.”

  I reached down and pulled my boot back onto my foot.

  “Thank you for being so delicate, Detective.”

  He actually sneered at me. I don’t know why he was so pissed at me, I wasn’t the one screwing the wife of my murdered boss.

  “You can call me a bitch, too. Later.” I leaned back in my seat and returned his sneer. “Right now we’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “About what?”

  “We need you to confirm Belinda Stanley’s alibi for the night of her ex—husband’s murder.” Louise stood towering over him.

  “Yeah, I was with her.” He pressed the tissue to his nose again. “I guess me being with her gives me an alibi for that night too.” He smiled. “Works out very nice for me, doesn’t it.”

  “For Stanley’s murder,” I said. “But not for Forster’s.”

  He shot me a murderous look.

  “Do you know where your wife was that night?” Louise asked.

  “What?”<
br />
  “Your wife?” I said. “Do you know where she was that night? We’re assuming your wife wasn’t with you and Mrs. Stanley the night of the murder.”

  “Of course not. What are you saying? You don’t think Annabeth killed Nathan?”

  “We’re just investigating all avenues.”

  Louise reached into her pocket. She pulled out the mittens Digs had given us.

  “Do you recognize these mittens, Mr. Carter?”

  “Yeah, Bel makes them. I can’t stand those ugly things. My wife wears hers all the time. Says they’re the softest thing she’s ever felt.”

  “Your wife has a pair?” I asked.

  “Bel gave them to her for Christmas a year or two ago. I told Bel I’d never forgive her for making me have to look at the ugly, confetti things.”

  He grinned and licked his tongue across his lips. “But I did forgive her.”

  Tracy had nailed the description of Carter. This man was an ass.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carter,” Louise said. “The SPPD appreciates your help.”

  “No problem.”

  He looked confused as we left. I’m sure he expected more questions. Truth to tell, so had I, but Louise had a reason for the abrupt ending to the interview.

  Once on the street I turned to Louise. “So, Carter’s wife killed Stanley to frame Belinda? Why? Just because Belinda was sleeping with her husband?”

  “Looks likely, but why kill Forster?”

  She put her sunglasses on.

  “As far as I can tell, they’re not connected to him at all and as fond as I am of making leaps of logic, I can’t come up with a plausible reason. I’m not willing to believe that two murders of two executives from the same company, in twenty—four hours, are random.”

  “Maybe Philip Carter was searching the office for something that tied him or his wife to the murder and Forster stumbled in on him.”

  I shrugged.

  “You saw the tape. Forster definitely knew the killer.”

  “But we searched the office. I don’t remember coming across anything incriminating. Do you?”

  “It’s all cataloged in the office computer. We can go over everything again.”

  “I think we should. Maybe it will help us makes some sense of what we have, which at this point is nothing.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We spent the remainder of the afternoon pouring over content lists of Stanley’s office. Eventually we realized we were stumbling over one another.