Buried Leads (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery) (6 page)

His attorney, wearing enough Aramis I could smell the musky cologne from my seat, launched immediately into a plea for the court to allow Billings to be released on his own recognizance pending trial.

Kyle erupted into a coughing fit.

“Your honor, Mr. Billings is a model citizen, a pillar of this community, and a major contributor to many charities.” The lawyer threw a glance over his shoulder at Kyle, who was still shaking, though whether it was with laughter or coughing was hard to tell from behind. “He has no prior record. These charges are false, insulting, and defamatory, and we will more than prove that at the trial. In the meantime, my client would like to return to his family, his job, and his community service.”

The judge scooted his glasses down the bridge of his nose and looked over them at Billings and Overused Aramis, Esq.

“I appreciate everything Mr. Billings does for the community,” Judge Davidson said. “However, in light of the severity of the charges, I’m not prepared to let him out without bond.”

Billings nodded and leaned toward his lawyer, whispering.

Corry stood. “Your honor, Richard Corry for the Commonwealth. If I may, I’d like to request that Mr. Billings be held without bond until his trial.”

Oh, my. Totally worth skipping the gym. I scribbled, not taking my eyes off the key figures in what had just become an even more interesting hearing. Kyle’s head bobbed like a fishing lure with a prize trout on the business end, and Billings’ lawyer gaped as though Corry had just branded him the antichrist.

“Ob-Objection!” he stuttered. “Your honor! Again, my client has no prior record. I’ve never heard of the Commonwealth holding a defendant with no priors over for trial.”

“I’ll hear him out,” the judge said, his eyes on Corry. “Mr. Corry, that is a highly irregular request. Care to tell me why you’re asking?”

“Your honor, Mr. Billings is a flight risk,” Corry said. “Most of the murder defendants our courtrooms see don’t have his resources, or his connections. The commonwealth wants to ensure that he stays in Virginia until the trial.”

The Honorable Reginald Davidson nodded, his eyes flicking from Billings to Corry for a full minute.

“The court concedes the commonwealth’s point,” he said, raising one hand when Captain Cologne knocked his chair over jumping to his feet. “However, Mr. Kressley has a point, too. The defendant has no record, and the Commonwealth of Virginia believes very strongly in the notion of innocent until proven guilty. At least in my courtroom it does. The defendant may choose to post bond of two million dollars, but will wear an electronic tracking device at all times between now and the end of his trial.”

My pen moved so furiously my hand cramped, but I ignored it until I had every word in my notes.

The judge waved his bailiff over for a quick conference before facing the attorneys again.

“I’ll hear opening arguments on February sixteenth.” He adjusted the specs for the look-down-the-nose thing again. “Mr. Billings, it would behoove you to keep every toe in line between now and then. Court is adjourned.”

5.

Demolition by pickup

Kyle filled in Billings’s attorney’s full name, which sounded vaguely familiar, and the particulars of the arrest warrant, much of which I’d gotten from Evans the night before. But the story coming from the arresting officer sounded better. I thanked him and hightailed it back toward my office, grateful my scanner was silent throughout the ride. Speeding back down Grace, I slowed as I neared police headquarters, wondering if Aaron might be irritated enough with the feds to tell me whatever he’d been keeping quiet the day before. 

I zipped into a tight spot in front of a meter and hurried inside, punching the elevator button for the ninth floor impatiently and hoping Aaron was there. The detectives’ offices were bustling, as usual. Crime pilfers on.

I looked around the maze of map-and-photo-covered cubicles for a familiar face, my ears pricked for interesting bits of conversation.

“Can I help you?” A pretty brunette in a uniform cradled the phone in her hand and looked at me expectantly.

“They called from downstairs when I came in. Nichelle Clarke, from the
Telegraph
? I’m here to see Detective White.”

“Is he expecting you?”

I shook my head. “I was driving by and had a question for him. I can call him later if he’s busy.”

She smiled and gestured to the chairs between the elevators. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I turned toward the olive green vinyl seating, but before I’d made it half a step, a frustrated man’s voice stopped me cold.

“But, ma’am, this break-in has to be investigated with all the others. We have a procedure.” My head snapped around to find a middle-aged, shirt-and-tie detective who was running one hand through his graying hair while he held a phone to his ear with the other. Cat burglar strikes again? That story got more interesting every time the crook managed to get away. “Yes, I understand that. People tend to get upset when their home is violated. Yes, we know there have been robberies in the Fan lately. We’re working on it.”

I scooted closer to the chest-high wall of his cubicle, attempting to feign disinterest by skipping my eyes around the drab gray decor.

He dropped his hand from his head to the desk blotter and picked up a pen, flicking the button on the end of it. “I assure you, we’re doing everything we can to catch this guy. We have every detective we can spare working on this case. But we do need your cooperation.”

“Can I help you, miss?” A ringing baritone from behind me made me jump. 

I turned, confused smile already in place.  “Please. I’m waiting for Detective White, but I was looking for a restroom,” I said, straining to hear the detective’s phone conversation over my unwanted Samaritan.

“We generally like visitors on this floor to be escorted.” He was shorter than me, stocky, with sandy brown hair, wearing pressed chinos and a cerulean Polo. His friendly smile didn’t cover the questioning look in his hazel eyes.

“I’ve been here before,” I said, offering a hand for him to shake. “I’m Nichelle Clarke, from the
Richmond Telegraph
. First time I’ve needed y’all’s restroom.”

He shook my hand, his grip firm. “The restrooms are right back there.” He pointed toward a long hall that extended off the end of the row of cubicles where my frustrated detective was still clicking his pen.

I took three steps, but just past the door to the cubicle where the interesting phone call was going on, I purposely failed to lift my foot high enough and stumbled over my stilettos, leaning far forward and dumping my bag all over the floor. My little flashlight, peppermint lifesavers, Godiva white chocolate pearls, pens, change, and tampons rolled and bounced into a scattered formation worthy of a broken piñata. I dropped to my knees and glanced up at the detective who’d given me directions, willing him to either go away or shut up.

He leaned on the edge of the empty cube across from me and watched me crawl around the floor picking up my belongings, his thick arms folded across his chest. Not one for touching tampons, then.

I focused on Detective Frustrated’s voice behind me, taking my time and trying to keep from looking up.

“No, I don’t have any idea how someone could have circumvented the security system.” He sighed heavily. “Yes, I really do understand that. But I still need statements from everyone who was in the house. Are you sure we’ve spoken to everyone?”

I crawled forward a bit and snagged a runaway nickel, reaching behind me to make sure my skirt was still covering my lavender undies. I’d never be able to go to a crime scene again if half the detectives in Richmond had seen my Victoria’s Secrets.

I stuffed the last pen back into my bag and stood up carefully just as Detective Frustrated finished his call.

His shoulders heaved with another sigh. “Of course. Thank you.” All that eavesdropping effort for no information. Damn.

He hung up the phone, and I smiled at Cerulean Shirt. “Oops.” I waved a hand toward my shoes. “I love them, but they’re not always the best for balance.”

“They’re very nice,” he said, not glancing down. “Right this way.” He started toward the hallway and I followed, my thoughts still back in the tiny cube with the graying detective.

Another robbery. Now I just needed to know if it was connected to the others, but Aaron grew less fond of talking every day the cat burglar story stretched on.

My new friend watched me go into the bathroom, but wasn’t there when I came out, three minutes of silent mulling bringing me no closer to a way to ask Detective Frustrated for the address of the most recent robbery. Which meant digging through every police report from the last few days to find it.

I made my way back to the vinyl chairs just in time for the pretty brunette to come back without Aaron.

“Detective White is very busy this morning, but he said he’ll call you as soon as he has a chance,” she said. “Is that all we can do for you today?”

“I think it is, thanks.” Smiling, I flipped my notebook closed and tucked it back into my bag as I stood. I had some reports to read, and I still wanted to talk to Aaron, but maybe it wasn’t an entirely wasted side trip.

As an exclusive, the hearing story took precedence over everything else when I returned to the office. Except for coffee. 

Pulling my syrup bottle from the cabinet, I shook my head as I tipped it over my cup. It was definitely lighter than it had been the day before. Was someone else using it? I pushed it to the very back of the shelf and took a couple of sips before I started for my desk with an over-f mug.

I tried to stay focused on Billings and his arrest as I typed, but my inner Lois Lane bounced, wanting to file that story and move on to the robbery.

Agents from the Richmond office of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives made an arrest Thursday in the murder of Daniel Amesworth, 29, the Henrico man whose body was found in the woods near Goochland earlier this week.

James Billings, 56, also of Henrico, was held overnight and released early Friday despite the objection of Commonwealth’s Attorney Richard Corry, who made a rare courtroom appearance to argue for keeping the Raymond Garfield executive in custody until after his trial.

“Mr. Billings is a flight risk,” Corry told Judge Reginald Davis. “Most of the murder defendants our courtrooms see don’t have his resources, or his connections. The Commonwealth wants to ensure that he stays in Virginia until the trial.”

Corry didn’t outline the particulars of the Commonwealth’s case, but the
Telegraph
has learned that the firm where Amesworth worked does political lobbying for Raymond Garfield.

I debated that sentence for a full three minutes, but left it in because I wanted to have it first. Once Billings’s arrest was live, all it would take for Charlie to find out Amesworth was a lobbyist was a Google search for the relationship between Raymond Garfield and the dead lawyer. I clicked over to my browser and typed the name of Billings’s attorney into my Google bar to see where he worked. Holy shit: the guy’s name sounded familiar because he was a principal in Amesworth’s firm.

I clicked back over to my story, shaking my head. “Defending the guy accused of killing one of his own employees,” I said. “How does Captain Cologne sleep at night?”

By the time I finished pounding out the story and sent it to Bob, it was nearly lunchtime. Which meant my three o’clock deadline for filing my feature with Eunice was fast approaching, and I hadn’t even written the lead yet.

The morning’s police reports sounded so much sexier after my eavesdropping adventure, though. I stared at my notes for the feature, ignoring my noisy stomach and three emails from Eunice wanting to know where her story was. I clicked over to the PD reports database and scrolled, hunting for the one on the robbery. I found it just in time for my scanner to start squawking. I turned up the volume.

“Why the hell do they need a structural engineer for a car accident?” I wondered aloud, jotting down the address and typing it into Google maps. They were calling an awful lot of ambulances out there, too.

When the little red pin popped up, I scrambled to my feet and threw my bag over my shoulder.

“Where’s the fire, sugar?” Eunice asked as I almost mowed her down on my way to the elevator.

“The west end,” I called over my shoulder, not slowing down. “Someone ran a truck through a jewelry store. I promise I’ll have your feature ready by the end of the day.”

It took twenty minutes to get out there. I stopped and rolled down the window to flash my press pass at the RPD uniform guarding the parking lot entrance.

“Miss Clarke.” It was the officer who’d been at the body dump. And I couldn’t remember his name to save my shoe closet.

I squinted, but I couldn’t see his nametag in the glare from the sun, so I stayed with the generic. “Hello again, officer.”

“You here to trespass in another crime scene?”

“Nice to see you again, too, officer.”

“You can park over there.” He pointed to a stretch of concrete shaded by a line of Magnolia trees where the Channel Four van was already sitting. Damn.  “A word of advice: don’t try to go inside this time. They aren’t sure they can even pull that thing out of there without the whole place falling down. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” His smirk said that last part wasn’t true, and I shook my head, having learned the hard way that some cops just despise reporters. Period.

I looked past him at the back end of the double-cab that was buried in the side of the building.

“That’s why I love my job, officer. Never a dull day.”

He grunted and stepped out of the way.

  I parked next to Charlie’s van, climbed out of the car, and crossed the parking lot, picking my way around the shattered glass that littered the pavement as I waited for Aaron to finish talking to Charlie’s TV camera. He rolled his eyes when he turned to me, waving an arm at the truck.

“Can you believe this shit?”

“Hey, who needs stealthy?” I grinned. “Just plow through the wall in broad daylight and clean the joint out while people are still shaking from the adrenaline.”

“That would at least be funny,” he said. “This was just a stupid mistake, best I can tell. Fool’s lucky he didn’t kill anybody. We had to transport the driver and three other people to St. Vincent’s by ambulance, but the medics said none of the injuries looked life-threatening.”

I scribbled as he talked.

“How does one manage to run a truck into a jewelry store on accident?”

“From what he said while they were loading him into the ambulance, the guy came into town to buy a gift, and when he was leaving, he thought he had the truck in reverse. But it was in drive, and he plowed right through the side of the building. That thing has some horsepower. There was a sales clerk who got cut up pretty bad by the flying glass, and a couple looking at engagement rings who got hit. The guy tried to throw his girl out of the way, so he took the worst of it.”

“The driver was alone in the truck?”

“Yeah. It’s entertaining, but it doesn’t look like there was anything sinister here. Just an accident. Glad it wasn’t a tragic one.”

“Non-tragic is always nice,” I said.

“Hey, I got a message that you came in this morning,” Aaron said. “What did you need?”

“I wanted to pick your brain about the hearing I covered this morning,” I said. “The story’s done, though, and I’m buried today.” I did want to talk to Aaron about Billings, but he didn’t have time for a sit-down in the middle of an accident scene, and I didn’t want to ask him about the burglary until I had time to find out if it fit the cat burglar’s profile.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said. “I know the feeling, and if I can brush you off, I’m going to. No offense.” His grin brought out the lines around his eyes, but his round face was eternally boyish. Aaron had two girls in college and didn’t look a day over thirty-five, if you didn’t notice the flecks of gray at his temples.

“None taken.” I thanked him and let him go back to work while I looked around the parking lot. There was a young woman sitting alone on the curb, hands buried in her auburn curls. Her pale pink pantsuit was splattered with blood.