A Body to Spare (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) (20 page)

“Where has Zach been all these years?” she asked. “Was he living in California?”

“We don’t know at this time,” Shipman answered and pointed to an African-American woman on the other side.

“Did Zach’s sister have anything to do with his disappearance eight years ago?” this one asked.

“We don’t know at this time,” Shipman again replied. He pointed to a young Latino man standing next to her, granting him permission to ask his question.

“What about the woman who found him in the trunk of her car?” he asked. “You haven’t disclosed her name. Is she a suspect?”

“Her name is Odelia Grey,” called out a familiar voice that made my teeth clench until they hurt.

Upon being outed by John Swayze, I plopped down on Dev’s sturdy leather sofa. This was not how I imagined my turn at fifteen minutes of fame would be. I closed my eyes tight, willing it to go away. Fehring had promised they would do their best not to disclose my name, but she’d said it might leak out. For a fleeting moment I wished I’d hit John Swayze in the head with that bat.

“Is this woman,” another reporter called to Shipman, “this Odelia Grey, is she a suspect in either murder?” The camera panned to the gaggle of reporters, and I saw it was Gloria Connors asking the question, her perky elfin face pinched with determination.

Shipman shook his head. “At this time, no, she is not, but I can assure you we are looking into all possibilities.”

“I understand,” pushed Connors, “that this Grey woman was at the scene when the Finch woman fell to her death.” The camera found her again.

“As I said,” repeated Shipman as the camera ping-ponged back to him, “at this time, Ms. Grey is not a suspect but we are exploring all possibilities.”

“At this time?” Greg yelled at Shipman through the TV. “All possibilities? How about just saying
no, she’s not
? Period.”

“Calm down, Greg,” Dev said, holding out a hand toward him. “It’s just standard language.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Greg said to Dev. “My wife’s name was just put on TV as a possible murder suspect, no matter how boilerplate the language.”

“Honey,” I said, finally opening my eyes, “Detective Fehring said something like this might happen.”

Greg pointed at the TV. “That little worm Swayze. We should have filed charges against him.”

I stopped burying my head in the sand and watched again. More reporters were asking questions, and Shipman was deftly side-stepping them. Swayze didn’t put his hand up but continued to push about suspects, especially me, from the edge of the crowd. Connors was in the hunt with him. Shipman ignored both, while Fehring stared in Swayze’s direction. It made me wonder if she was silently directing officers to apprehend Swayze.

“Why is Swayze continuing to throw me under the bus?” I asked. “Is he trying to get revenge for my smashing his hand or does he really believe I had something to do with it?”

“He could just be pursuing what he thinks is a hot story,” Dev said. “A story he thinks could change his life and give him a chance with Connors, so he’s motivated.” Dev leaned forward even more toward the TV until I thought he would topple over.

When Shipman was done, Alex Finch stepped up to the podium. He looked at the reporters, moving his head slowly from side to side almost a full thirty seconds as they snapped still photos and ran video, like it was a photo op at a red carpet event. “I want to thank the FBI and both the Long Beach and Los Angeles Police Departments for everything they are doing to bring Zach and Jean’s murderers to justice. For more than eight years our family has lived a nightmare, and it is far from over. Two years after Zach went missing, my dear wife, Zach’s mother, took her own life because she could not bear the pain any longer.” He paused, giving that statement time to soak into the viewer’s brains, then looked straight at the camera and pounded his fist on the podium. “I vow that I will not rest,” he said, his voice cracking as he choked up, “and I will put all of my own personal resources on the line until I find whoever stole my family from me.” He started to say more but was overcome with emotion.

Nathan Glick stepped up and put an arm around the now-spent Finch. Moving him gently to the side a few inches, Glick spoke firmly into the microphone. “What has happened is unspeakable. It would be appreciated if the media would respect the privacy of the Finch family at this difficult and tragic time. Any further questions should be directed to Special Agent Shipman or the police.”

The press conference ended and the scene switched to an anchor in the newsroom who talked about Zach’s kidnapping eight years earlier. Projected to the side was a toothy photo of a cocky, fresh teenage boy. Next flashed a photo of Jean. It was a beautiful professional headshot, and the newscaster talked about how Jean was cut down at the beginning of a promising acting career. The anchor said anyone having any information about the deaths of Zach Finch or his sister, Jean Finch Utley, should contact the number at the bottom of the screen. A toll-free number was posted, big and bold, at the bottom of the TV screen.

twenty-three

When the newscast was
over, Dev turned off the TV and just stood staring at it. Greg wheeled over to me and took my hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said to me, giving my hand a squeeze. “The police know you’re not the murderer.” Even though his words were comforting, I could see from the high color in his face that he was still angry over Shipman’s words.

“It’s okay, honey,” I said to him. With my free hand, I stroked his face. “Agent Shipman was just doing his job.”

“I’d still like to teach that creep Swayze a lesson,” he said.

“Something tells me he’s a slow learner.” I moved my hand up and brushed the side of Greg’s hair back. I loved my husband’s hair. Touching it was more comforting than a steaming bowl of mac and cheese.

“Hmm,” Dev said, still staring at the TV. “That Glick guy is Zach’s age, correct?”

“Yes,” I told him. “They were high school pals, but if I remember the report correctly, Glick was a year ahead of him in age and in school. He was the one driving the car that night, so he had to be at least sixteen.”

“So he’s only about twenty-four now,” Dev said.

I gave it some quick thought. “That would be about right.”

“Do you know what he does for Aztec?” Dev asked. It felt strangely like he was interrogating someone and I was that person’s proxy.

“I believe he’s VP or assistant VP of some kind.” I got up and went to my laptop bag. I pulled out my computer and fired it up. Soon I was looking at the report from Marigold that I’d saved. I scanned it. “It says here he was seventeen when Zach went missing.” I looked at his personal stats, then added, “He was in his last year of high school when it happened.”

Dev finally turned away from the blank TV. “So that would make him twenty-five now. That’s still pretty young to be a vice president of a major company, isn’t it? Not to mention his boss’s confidant.”

I looked at the report again. “It says here that Glick is Vice President of Public Affairs.” I glanced over at Dev. “Would that be like PR?”

“More like public image stuff, media relations, liaison to agencies, etc.,” Greg answered. “That could be why he’s here, in addition to being a witness in the original kidnapping.”

“And a youthful public rep would be a good image to project,” Dev conceded. “He’s a good-looking kid and well packaged, but he still seems young to have such responsibilities in a major company.” Dev looked at me. “Are you sure that doesn’t say Assistant VP?”

“I’m sure,” I answered.

“Could be Finch fast-tracked him because of their longtime ties,” Greg suggested.

“Do you know what Jean did at her daddy’s company?” Dev asked me.

I opened the report on Jean and scanned it. “She was a project manager.” I looked up. Dev looked tired. Dark circles cupped the bottom of his blue eyes, which drooped now at the edges from the pull of time. He’d probably be asleep as soon as he got his grandkids down tonight. “But that could mean most anything.”

“It could,” Dev said, rubbing a hand over his craggy face a few times. “But it’s not an executive position. Does that report say when Glick became a VP?”

I looked again at the report. “No, it doesn’t, but he started there three years ago.”

“He might have worked there a couple of years before getting that spot,” Greg noted, “and Jean might not have been there long enough to prove herself.”

I compared Jean and Nathan’s employment records. “Jean told us she didn’t know what happened to Zach’s friends, but according to this she left Aztec the same time as Nathan Glick showed up at the company. It just gives the years, so they may or may not have overlapped.”

“True,” Dev said. He still didn’t look convinced, and neither was I. There was something about Nathan Glick that nagged at me.

“I’m going to head out now, guys,” Dev said to us. “Make yourselves at home. Call my cell if you need anything.” He started to walk back into the kitchen area, where a small overnight bag was waiting by the back door. He picked it up and put one hand on the doorknob.

A cell phone rang. It was a generic ring, not one of the ones Greg and I had assigned to family and friends, so it could be anyone. Greg and Dev both pulled their phones out and looked at them and then at me.

“I think that’s coming from your bag, Odelia,” Dev said. “It’s not my landline.”

I shrugged in confusion as I went into the kitchen to retrieve my cell phone, even though I knew it wasn’t the one ringing. I stared at it, dumbfounded, as another ring broke from the depths of my bag.
Crap
. It was coming from the burner phone Elaine had given me, which was buried in the bottom of my bag. Should I answer it now, in front of Dev, or ignore it? It rang again, then stopped. I let go of the breath I was holding. I turned around in relief, slowly, to give myself time to come up with a story to peddle to Dev. To some people I might be dumber than a box of rocks, but no one who had ever met him thought that of Dev Frye, who was eyeing me like a criminal he was about to cuff. I glanced over at Greg. He was looking at me with wide eyes, waiting to see what harebrained explanation I was going to fabricate. I looked back at Dev and knew I couldn’t lie to him. Not only would he see right through it like a sheer curtain, but he was a close friend and helping us.

“That’s a special phone for emergencies,” I said, grabbing my purse. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take it in the bedroom.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Dev said. “Take it here.”

“But it’s personal, Dev,” I said, hoping he couldn’t read in my eyes the fear that ran through me like a fast-moving fever. But he didn’t read it, he smelled it. He smelled my fear of discovery as clearly as Wainwright smelled bacon on a weekend morning.

“I’ll bet fifty dollars that’s a cheap burner phone,” Dev said, taking his hand off the doorknob and turning his all-seeing, all-knowing eyes on Greg. “Maybe she’s cheating on you, Greg, and that’s her lover calling.”

Greg plastered a lopsided grin on his face. “Maybe.”

Dev turned back to me. “Or is that your direct line to Willie Proctor? I always thought you might have one. Kind of like a hotline.” He waited, and when no one said anything, he added, “Look, guys, I meant what I said at dinner the other night. I don’t give a tinker’s damn about William Proctor. If he’s able to help with this situation, great. He has my blessing.”

The phone in my bag started ringing again. Dev put down his overnight bag and stepped toward me, holding out his hand. “Give it to me; I’ll tell him myself.”

Greg and I exchanged glances. Like Fehring did earlier in the day, Dev caught it. “What’s up, guys? Spill it.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, let’s tell Dev the truth,” Greg urged.

My eyes ping-ponged between them with uncertainty until I was slightly dizzy. “It’s not a hotline to Willie, Dev,” I finally said, understanding that Greg was right. Like before, the ringing stopped.

“Then who?” Dev insisted. He stepped forward. Towering over me, he latched his eyes onto mine and didn’t budge. “Who is on the other end of that phone, Odelia?”

“It’s Elaine Powers,” I finally confessed.

Dev stepped back and ran a hand roughly over his face. “You said you had no way of contacting her. Were you lying to me?” He turned to Greg. Anger flashed in his eyes. “Were you
both
lying to me?”

“No, Dev,” Greg quickly replied. “We weren’t. Until a few hours ago, we had no contact with her. She gave Odelia that phone just today.”

“Today?” Dev shook his head in disbelief. “This morning, bright and early, you went to see Jean Utley. After she plunged to her death, you were questioned by the FBI. Then you spent a good amount of time at the Long Beach PD and had a bit of a tussle with Alec Finch. After that, you packed your duds and your fur balls and came here. When,” he asked with exasperation, “
when
did you have time to have a chat with Elaine Powers?”

Greg wheeled closer for encouragement and gave me a nod. “It was between the FBI and Andrea Fehring,” I answered truthfully. “She called and asked to meet with us.” I carefully maneuvered around the fact that the face-to-face occurred at my mother’s place. “She saw the news about Zach and had some things to tell us.”

Dev checked his watch, then took my arm and directed us back into the living room. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to go, so let’s make this quick—and bring the purse.”

Once we were seated in the living room, Dev started the questioning. “So she knew it was Zach Finch in your trunk before the press conference today?”

“Yes and no,” I began. “She saw the clip on TV, like a lot of us did, and recognized me. She wanted to offer help if she could. When she was told about Zach’s identity, she told us that she had been contacted by someone who wanted to hire her to take him and his sister out. It was a man, but she turned it down before learning who it was.”

“She turned down the hit job?” Dev asked with suspicion. “Why?”

“Two reasons,” Greg said. “Elaine said a job like this would come with too much media attention, and she was right. But she also said she saw no good reason for Zach and his sister to be executed.”

Dev chewed on that for a few seconds in silence.

“Elaine said she’s having her people nose about and see who might have accepted the contract and placed the body in Odelia’s car,” Greg continued, then he reached over and took my hand. “I believe Elaine, Dev, like Odelia does. I know that’s nuts, but I believe Elaine is telling the truth here.”

Dev stood up just as the phone in my purse rang again. “Persistent killer, isn’t she? Answer it,” he ordered. “And put it on speaker.”

I dug through my tote bag and pulled out the ringing burn phone. “Hello,” I said into it after hitting the speaker feature.

“Where in the hell have you been?” Elaine snapped on the other end of the line.

“I’m kind of hiding out,” I answered. “Police orders.”

“Not a bad idea,” she said, calming down. “Well, now that I have you on the horn, I’ve got some big news for you. Did you see the news conference about the Finch kids, by any chance?”

“Yes, we did,” I told her.

Dev was dancing around foot to foot, antsy to talk.

“By the way,” I said to Elaine. “Dev Frye is with us, and he wants to talk to you. You’re on speaker.” I hoped she wouldn’t hang up. She didn’t.

“Nice to finally meet you, Detective Frye,” Elaine said in a cheerful voice. “I feel like I already know you.”

“Cut the bullshit, Powers,” Dev growled into the phone. “What’s going on?”

“First, the little matter of this phone,” Elaine said. “Please understand that there is no way to trace my whereabouts from this call or by hitting redial. I’m not that stupid, just to be clear.”

“Understood,” Dev snapped.

“Did you catch the news conference?” she asked again.

“Yes,” I answered. “We all did.”

“Well, the guy who tried to hire me to take out Zach Finch was there today,” she told us.

“But I thought you hadn’t met him,” I said at the phone in my hand.

“I haven’t, but I heard him loud and clear both times we spoke,” Elaine explained. “It’s that guy with Finch—the young one in the fancy suit.”

“Nathan Glick?” Greg asked with surprise.

“I don’t know his name,” Elaine answered, “but as soon as that guy opened his mouth, I knew it was him.”

“That’s a serious accusation.” Dev was staring up at the ceiling, blowing out gusts of air at it. “How sure are you?”

“I’m getting old, Frye,” Elaine said. “My teeth are all capped and my back and knees are shot to hell, but my hearing is still sharp. I’m 99 percent sure.”

“Elaine,” I said into the phone, “have your people learned anything yet?”

“Nothing, but they’re still on it. I’ll let you know if I do find out anything.” She paused. “And who was that fool shouting out Odelia’s name?”

“His name is John Swayze,” Dev told her. “Ever hear of him?”

The other end went silent for a few seconds, then Elaine answered, “Can’t say that I have.”

A cold chill went through me. “Elaine, please don’t kill him.”

She laughed. “Who? Dev? Of course not. He’s one of the good guys. In spite of my profession, I like the men in white hats. There’s not enough of them.”

“No,” I clarified. “John Swayze. He’s a pill, but please don’t track him down and take him out. I don’t need you to fix this.”

“Oh, all right. I promise,” she agreed with reluctance. “But it would certainly make your life easier.” She cut off the call.

Once again Dev checked his watch. “I’ve got to get out of here or my daughter will kill me.” He picked up his overnight bag again. “I’m going to call Andrea on the way over there and fill her in.” He pointed a finger at us. “You two are to go nowhere tonight. Nor are you to tell anyone where you are if you talk to them, and that includes your mother and the Washingtons.” He paused in his rant. “Or do they already know where you are?”

I thought about it. “No,” I said. “We just told Mom to stay put until everything gets ironed out. We didn’t say we were going anywhere. And we haven’t talked to Seth or Zee today.”

“Good,” he said. “Only Andrea and I are to know you are here. Got that?” He was speaking to both of us but pointed a meaty finger only at me. My nose twitched.

We both nodded. I didn’t have to consult with Greg to know he didn’t want to budge tonight either. We’d had a full day of driving around Southern California and talking to people.

Dev snatched the phone from my hand and started for the door. “Hey,” I said, following him. “Where are you going with that? You heard Elaine—she can’t be traced.”

“Maybe not,” Dev said right before he walked out, “but
you
can with this. I’ll bet Elaine is using it to track you right now.”

“But what if she learns something about who killed Zach?” I argued.

“Then she’ll just have to tell me.” He left, slamming the door behind him. It was a crystal-clear message that he was not listening to any additional arguments on the subject.

Dev was barely out the door when my cell phone rang. I held it out to Greg. “It’s Clark. Do you mind, honey? I think I’m all talked out.”

Greg took the phone and answered it with the speaker feature. “Hey, Clark. How are things going out there?”