A Grand Murder Page 5

  “I love you like a sister Catherine, but if you don’t stop laughing I’m going to have to shoot you.” Louise kicked her chair away from her desk and dropped into the seat. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the high back of the chair.

  “I’m so sorry.” I perched on the edge of my desk and held my aching sides. “But what you did was hysterically funny.”

  “I tripped and dropped a piece of paper.” She scowled at me, which only made me laugh harder.

  “I know, but it was so Three Stooges.” Tears rained down my face. If I didn’t get a deep breath soon, I would suffocate from laughing too hard. “You never do things so klutzy. You should have seen your face.”

  “Seriously, I will shoot you.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s be serious.” I lay down across the papers on my desk like a singer at a piano bar, and put on my serious face. “So, who killed him?”

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten in an exasperated whisper. When she was through with her Zen moment, she opened her eyes.

  “I think we have to talk to the business partner again. Every other avenue we went down brought us to a complete dead end.”

  I took a tissue from the box on the corner of my desk and dried my laugh—teared eyes. “Normally that would make sense, but what about the mittens?”

  “What?” She looked at me like my mind had left me in the lurch.

  “Digs said the killer was wearing mittens. I can’t see the old bald guy in mittens.”

  “The killer could have just as easily been wearing knitted gloves.”

  “Yeah, but even so.” I sat up and crossed my legs Indian style, as we used to call it in Girl Scouts, or at least we did the two times I went to meetings. “He doesn’t strike me as a knitted—glove kind of guy. It’s not very masculine.”

  “Neither is Mr. Forster.” She massaged the back of her neck and rolled her head from side to side.

  “Good point.” I hopped off the desk, swung around into my seat, leaned on the palm of my hand, and drummed my fingers on my cheeks. “So let’s examine what we know, shall we?”

  “You are so irritating when you’re tired.”

  “Possibly.” I nodded in earnest. “What do we have so far?”

  Another ten—second Zen moment.

  “A successful business man has been murdered.” Louise said. “That’s the start.”

  “Good. Without that we’d be home in bed right now getting some much needed sleep, or heaven forbid, home having a life of some kind. What else?”

  “Let’s go over our notes. Maybe we’ll find a lead before I kill you.”

  She took her phone from her pocket. I dug my notebook out of my purse and flipped through the pages until I found today’s notes. After this case I really should get a new notebook, every page in this one had scribbles of some kind on it. Boredom doodles, phone numbers with no names attached, case notes, and grocery lists. If I were smart, I’d get a phone like Louise’s so I could take notes, text, take pictures, but technology isn’t really my thing.

  Successful? was written on the page under my notes about the secretary—administrative assistant—or whatever the hell she was called. Then I remembered the financial report I’d read on Nathan Stanley’s desk.

  “A not—so—successful businessman was murdered,” I said. I was suddenly sobered and no longer in any mood to joke.

  “What?” Louise asked.

  “I just remembered, there was a report on the victim’s desk. Profit and loss statements, spreadsheets that showed the company’s financial status.”

  My adrenaline pumped hard through my veins. I loved the rush of finding a piece of the puzzle. A clue that sent us in a new direction we hadn’t thought of before. It made the long hours worth every second.

  “And what did the profit and loss statements say?” Louise leaned forward with interest. She could feel the rush, too.

  “I’m no expert in financial matters.” That was an understatement. I flunked math in high school twice and my checkbook is a mess. “From what I could understand from the quick look I had, the company has been operating in the red for quite awhile.”

  “I think we’re going to need to look a little deeper into Stanley and Forsters’ finances,” she said. “This adds a whole new dimension to the case. If the company was in financial trouble, the insurance policy that Forster took out on Stanley would go a long way to helping pull them out of debt.”

  “So I done good?” I grinned.

  “I’d say you did but let’s see where this juicy little tidbit leads.”

  Where the juicy tidbit led was to the Internet, to search for financial reporting information on the victim’s company. Articles about the success of the company abounded in City Business, Twin City Business and the local papers. Smiling photos of the victim and his business partner shaking hands with the mayor, governor, and other prominent community leaders accompanied the articles.

  The Economic Growth and Development Council had even given Stanley and Forster an award for their leadership in developing programs to help the economically disadvantaged in the Twin Cities.

  Now I understood why the chief was pulling the hard—ass routine on us. There had to be a line of bigwigs doing the crossed—armed, toe—tapping routine, waiting for answers on Stanley’s death.

  “If Stanley and Forster were having financial troubles, the press never got wind of it,” I said and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

  Staring at computer screens for too long made my eyes achy and bloodshot, but these days it went with the job – from reports to research, almost all of our work was done on computers. They were a curse and a blessing. My eyes might ache, but on the other hand, I could easily find names, addresses, phone numbers, and financial records the instant I needed them.

  “I don’t understand,” Louise said. “If the reports you saw were accurate, then why are all their recent reportings so good?”

  Louise turned to her computer and pulled up the company’s website. The earnings report filed with the SEC was available in the investor relation’s section.

  “Do you think they were practicing a little creative accounting?”

  “They had to be.”

  She flicked her screen off.

  “Let’s call it a day and start fresh tomorrow,” she said. “I’d like to review that file you saw on Stanley’s desk and see if we can’t make sense of this.”

  The clock in my front entryway struck 9:30 as I finally rolled through the door. I tossed my keys on the entry table and hung my jacket on the rack near the door.

  All the lights on the main floor were blazing.

  “Do we own stock or something?”

  Gavin lay curled up and snoring on the couch, still dressed in his dirty work clothes. He must have had a hard day at work to be crashed out so early. Usually he was awake way past the late shows.

  A twinge of guilt rolled through me when I looked down the hallway of our old Victorian. Dinner plates were neatly set out on the dining room table. He’d used the good china. A crystal vase full of white roses, my favorite, sat in the middle of the table, and an ice bucket held a two liter of Diet Coke.

  He knows me so well.

  I’d forgotten to call to tell him I’d be late. Again. I’d ruined his romantic surprise. This is becoming a bad habit with me.

  “Shit.”

  I knelt beside the couch and ran my fingers over his forehead. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled.

  “How can you still be married to me after all these years,” I whispered, then kissed him on the cheek. “Especially since I treat you so bad?”

  “I don’t know.” He ran the back of his fingers over my cheek. “You must be good in bed. That is if I remember correctly.”

  I leaned in and gave him a proper kiss. I took his hand and pulled him to a sitting position.

  “Come upstairs with me, and let’s see if I can refresh your failing memory.”

  He got to his fee
t and let me lead him to the stairs.

  “Is it my birthday again?” he asked. “Or am I still dreaming?”

  I used my fingernail and pushed the cuticle on his thumb back as hard as I could. He jumped and yanked his hand away from me.

  “Ouch! That hurt,” he said and sucked on the top of his thumb.

  “Then I guess you’re not dreaming.”

  I leaned on the banister and watched him pout over my abrupt assault. He eyed me like a wary dog, as if trying to decide if he should go with me to the bedroom.

  “You’d better get that hot ass upstairs before I change my mind.”

  He considered me for a few seconds more. Then he saluted me and ran past me up the steps to the bedroom.

  I followed in hot pursuit.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning Gavin didn’t grumble when I got up early to go to work. Instead, he got up with me, made fresh orange juice, and opened a strawberry breakfast bar for me to eat on my way in to the office.

  He was dressed and ready to leave for work, with his tool belt in hand, when I kissed him good—bye.

  “Still working on that big job down by the airport?”

  I wrapped my arm around his waist and leaned my head on his shoulder.

  He shook his head, put his arm across my shoulder, and walked with me to my car.

  “You never hear me, Catherine. I finished that job a week ago,” he said. “We’re working at a site in North St. Paul, refurbishing an old school so it can function as a mini—mall.”

  I groaned.

  “Just what this town needs, another mall. We have the biggest mall in America. Isn’t that enough? How many Gap, Bath and Body, and Old Navy stores can one state support anyway?”

  Gavin opened the car door for me.

  “Well, mini—malls keep my company afloat. They also keep you in the manner to which you’ve become accustomed, so stop complaining.”

  I eyed my rusty Dodge then turned to our dilapidated house, which we’ve been meaning to fix up since we moved in. “Ah, the lap of luxury.”

  Gavin reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card and some money.

  “Before I forget I took your jacket to the dry cleaners and this was in the pocket.”

  I took the card. It was the card I’d picked up in Nathan Stanley’s office. I had forgotten to give it to our computer guru. By now he wouldn’t need it.

  “Thank you.” I put the card and the cash in my pocket. Gavin eyed me as I did.

  “The dry cleaner is just going to return it to me again when I take that jacket in isn’t he.”

  “Probably.”

  He kissed my upper cheek and gave me a pat on my lower cheek. “Go to work and catch some bad guys. Clean up the streets. Make me proud.”

  “Right.” I slid behind the wheel, and rolled down the passenger side window. Gavin headed up to the house to lock the front door.

  “I love you. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He gave a weak, non—believing smirk. More guilt. I guess I couldn’t expect one night of sweaty sex to wash away the months of negligence.

  “I’ll be right here.” He gave a short wave and walked away.

  Louise was already poring over papers at her desk when I arrived.

  “Good morning, Louise. Tell me this time you went home and got some sleep.” I tossed my purse on my desk, and then switched on my computer.

  “Eight full hours. I just got here a minute ago myself.”

  She didn’t look up from the papers. That was a good indication that she had found something important. Her eyes were almost crossed and she gnawed on her bottom lip, which added to the impression. Whatever she had found, it must be big.

  “All right, spill it,” I said. “You’re on to something. What have you got?”

  Dark eyes flicked up briefly. She jerked her head, and motioned me over to her side.

  “Come look at this. I need another set of eyes.”

  I leaned over her shoulder and peeked at the paper she held up.

  “I was uploading my notes from yesterday into the computer and sorting through them,” she said. “When something strange jumped out at me.”

  She had already put her notes in the computer. I hadn’t even got around to typing up the notes from our last case. I really needed a phone like hers technophobe or not it would make my life easier.

  Her perfectly polished red nail traced beneath a single typed line that read simply, Forster – disappointed this happened when having best year yet.

  “It didn’t even register with me when we were talking about finances last night,” she said and dropped the paper onto her desk. “Either you read those reports you found yesterday wrong, or Mr. Forster did a very convincing job of lying to me.”

  “Or he didn’t know they were in trouble.” I sat on the edge of Louise’s desk. “Yesterday, didn’t you get the impression that he didn’t really get involved with the company dealings that much?

  I know you didn’t see Stanley’s office, but there were papers everywhere.” I picked up papers from her desk to make a point. “Forster’s desk was clean, except for a crossword puzzle. You’d expect there to be some work on his desk. Especially on the day his business partner was killed. You’d think there would be something that needed his attention. There wasn’t even a computer in his office.”

  “You’re right, the desk was completely bare.” She took the papers out of my hands and put them back on their stacks. “Not even a message pad by the phone.”

  “I think we have to ask the secretary—administrative assistant—whatever she calls herself—we have to ask Tracy some questions. Forster said she practically runs the place. Maybe practically was an understatement on his part. Maybe she does run the company.”

  Louise disconnected her phone from the computer, then picked up her purse, and swung it over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  After a brief stop to load up on some java at the Downtowner Café (in case I had a run in with sister—Mary—secretary again), we were back in the vitamin—sucking florescent blue lights of Stanley and Forster. The receptionist had notified Tracy that we’d arrived, and again we were left waiting.

  This time the receptionist was explaining the merits of waxing to someone on the phone. I openly eavesdropped on the conversation, while Louise clicked away on her phone.

  Finally, Tracy Bonner appeared looking a lot worse for wear than she had when we’d seen her the day before. Her red hair was plastered flat to her head, her complexion was sallow, and dark circles punctuated her eyes, giving her a hawkish look.

  “Detectives, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve been buried under a mountain of problems this morning,” she said with a half smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m trying to just keep my head above water right now.”

  “That’s all right, Ms. Bonner. We hate to drag you away from your work. We just needed to speak with you regarding some reports my partner found on the victim’s desk yesterday,” Louise said.

  Tracy flinched at the reference but didn’t have the tantrum she’d had the day before when I’d called Stanley the victim. Maybe she was getting past the initial shock of and coming to terms with the reality of Stanley’s murder.

  “Which report would that be?” She drew her brows together.

  “There were several spreadsheets sitting on the corner of his desk. They were financial statements if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I don’t remember any reports on Mr. Stanley’s desk.”

  Tracy clasped her hands together in front of her, then put them on her waist, then let her arms hang limp at her sides.

  I knew she was lying. She had walked in when I was looking at the reports and she’d made a point of seeing what I was reading. But if Tracy Bonner wanted to play games with us, for whatever reason, I’d play along.

  “Let’s go to Mr. Stanley’s office and I’ll show you the reports.”

  I walked past her through the glass doors and into the maze of p
added cubicles.

  Tracy was nipping at my high—heeled boots.

  She called after me, “You can’t just barge in like this. Don’t you need a warrant to go through the building?”

  “A warrant for what?” I asked. “I’m not searching the premises. I’m just showing you what I found yesterday when you voluntarily let me go through the victim’s office.”

  I stopped at the big wooden doors that lead to the executive hallway, and turned back toward her. She stopped and fumed at me.

  “Yesterday you wanted us to catch Mr. Stanley’s killer at all costs. Now today you want to make things difficult?”

  The muscles in her jaw flexed like she was chewing on the words she wanted to say. Her skin pinked up a little with the flush of anger.

  “Of course not.” Her tone was low and calm. “Please look at anything you need to. If you think going through Mr. Stanley’s papers will help, then go ahead.”

  “The City of Saint Paul thanks you for your cooperation.” Louise’s comment dripped with sarcasm. It was so out of character. She still had the ability to surprise me.

  Tracy opened the door to the executive hallway, stood aside, and waited for us to pass. We opened the door to Stanley’s office, ill prepared for what waited for us inside.

  “Oh my God.” Tracy put her hand over her mouth to stifle a small scream.

  Stanley’s office had been trashed. Over—turned furniture, scattered papers, and broken art objects were strewn from one wall to the next. To top off the destruction, written across the back wall in what looked like red finger paint, was the phrase, It’s All About Winning.

  Louise turned to Tracy and handed her a business card.

  “Ms. Bonner, please contact the person listed on the back of this card and let us know when you reach him. Tell him we’re going to need a forensic unit in here.”

  Tracy’s eyes stayed fixed on the words written on the back wall. Louise touched her arm and drew her attention away from the horror.

  She looked at Louise and blinked like her vision was clearing. After a few moments she took the card, nodded, and then disappeared down the hallway.