Ghost Times Two (23 page)

“Where did you eat breakfast?”

He raised those brown brows. “A new game? What's your favorite ball club? Do you drink Bud Light or Coors? Have you ever picked up a tarantula? Rangers. Bud Light. Hell, no. Breakfast? Usually a granola bar and coffee at my desk. Starbucks Red Eye. Sometimes I'd meet Megan at Panera. Anything else on your mind?”

“So no one would be likely to recognize you at Lulu's?”

“Geezer City, lady.”

“See you there.”

The interrogation rooms were dark and empty. I found Megan and Blaine in Sam's office. I was a little surprised Detective Weitz wasn't there. Sam was settled in his swivel chair.

Megan and Blaine sat in the straight chairs facing the desk. Megan's gaze was steady, her expression serious but unintimidated. Blaine kept a protective hand on the back of her chair.

Sam was in his shirtsleeves, his rumpled brown suit jacket hanging from the coat tree by the door. The stubble on his jaws was darker, but his dark eyes were alert and intent. I noted a recorder on Sam's desk, saw the lighted panel. Sam was speaking. “I'll have the statements you make transcribed.”

I was surprised at the geniality of his tone.

“I know it's late but I'd like to hear what happened one more time.”

There had been a change between his hard-faced appraisal of Megan and Blaine at Nancy's apartment to this almost informal—except for the whirring recorder—conference in his office. Was this a variation on the good cop, bad cop routine?

Whatever. I needed to get Sam's attention before the police left Nancy Murray's apartment. The blackboard was behind Megan and Blaine but the chalk might make a scratchy sound. I scanned Sam's desktop, saw a legal pad and pen, but a pen moving independently would scarcely escape their notice.

I dropped to the floor, tugged on Sam's trouser cuff.

He never took his gaze away from Megan and Blaine, simply wriggled his foot.

Blaine leaned forward, big hands splayed on his knees. His long bony face was confident, his deep voice emphatic. “We finished our pizza about seven. Megan was exhausted. I told her to relax, said good night. When I got down to my car, I was thinking about Thursday night. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to get her out to Graham's house. Somebody planted the gun in her desk drawer. Somebody wants her to go to jail. I don't know what—”

This time I tapped on Sam's knee.

His gaze fell. One big hand reached out, gripped my wrist. He gave my arm a little shake. I took it to mean,
Wait a minute, let me finish here
.

“—I expected, but I decided not to take any chances. I wasn't going anywhere. If anybody came, I'd see them. I parked where I could see her car. I could see her windows on the second floor. I even had a good view of the back of the apartment house. The front and back are well lit. Some people went out the front, a couple came in the front, nobody went out the back. It was about nine thirty when Megan came bursting out of the front door. I got to her car when she was opening the door. I can tell you her car never left the lot between the time I came about seven and the time she came downstairs. She told me about the call. I said I'd take her to see Nancy but she had to call you, anything else was nuts. I drove and she called you. We got to Nancy's. I knocked—”

Their arrival had unfolded as I imagined.

“—on the door. No answer, but the door swung in. We saw her. I called you. That's all we know.”

Sam's big face was thoughtful. “You are prepared to swear to these facts in a courtroom.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I am.”

Sam heaved himself to his feet. “You're free to go.”

For an instant, two faces stared at him. Blaine's sandy brows lifted in surprise, then his bony face held triumph. Megan's tense posture eased. She was the little girl at the vet and the doctor is saying her cat will live.

They rose, Blaine's hand firm on Megan's elbow. Blaine's voice was a little uneven. “You won't regret tonight.”

Sam was matter-of-fact. “Just doing my job.”

By the time the hall door closed, I was visible on the sofa in a cheerful cotton top, a bamboo print with graceful pale blue blossoms and matching pale blue cropped trousers. I admired my light beige sandals with faux sapphire trim. “I'm over here.”

The bottom drawer in his desk squeaked. He plucked out the bag of M&M'S, crossed to the sofa.

I held out my hand. As Mama always said, “When a man offers his favorite food accept with an appreciative smile.”

Sam settled heavily at one end of the sofa, poured a mound in a big palm. “You can say
I told you so
. Megan Wynn's in the clear.” He didn't sound happy.

“What happened on the ride to the station?”

He munched, spoke a little unclearly. “Nothing she said changed anything. It was what I expected. What I didn't know until I talked to both of them was that Blaine was watching her apartment and her car. That puts her in the clear, because she answered a call from the Murray apartment. Doesn't matter who made the call. What matters is the time. She answered and a couple of minutes later she flies out of her apartment house. Blaine stops her at her car. The Murray woman is dead when they find her about eight
minutes later. Wynn's out of it.” Crunch. Crunch. “I was a scoutmaster for a long time. Blaine was in my troop. Eagle Scout. If he says he was there, he was there.”

There are advantages to living in a small town. People know each other.

A weary sigh. “Glad for him. He's head over heels. But now I have to start over. The facts had seemed pretty clear.” He rubbed his knuckles on his bristly chin. “Tomorrow they'll still seem pretty clear to Neva. She doesn't know Blaine. She'll say,
Don't be a sap, that's the story they cooked up, they're in it together
. So the pressure will be on and Neva will go off like a geyser when she knows I didn't arrest Wynn. You got anything?”

“I know why Nancy Murray was killed.”

He leaned forward, his face slack with amazement. “Why the hell?”

“She broke into Doug Graham's office late Thursday night. Probably well past midnight. She climbed in from the alley, got the ring. I imagine she used a little LED flashlight. Narrow beam, piercing—”

Sam was turning, grabbing his phone. He held up a hand for me to wait, barked into the receiver. “Officer”—and I knew he spoke to an investigator at Nancy Murray's apartment—“information received. Stolen ring”—he pulled a folder close, flipped it open—“may be hidden on the premises. Fourteen-karat-gold band studded with rubies. Five-point-seven-carat multifaceted diamond. The ring will be well hidden. Check the usual places, flour and sugar canisters, bars of soap, box of detergent, toes of shoes, maybe even at the bottom of a jewel box with costume jewelry, or tucked
in a lingerie drawer, poked down in the mayo in the fridge. Find the ring.”

He clicked off, swung to face me, eyes gleaming.

“Nancy tried to set the stage for the robbery to look like a break-in. But she probably decided to leave by the door, not crawl back through the window. Even if she had the flash on when she opened the door, if she saw light from Wynn's office, she'd click off her flashlight.” I pictured Nancy Murray standing just inside Graham's office, her hand clutching the doorknob, too panicked to move, not daring to make a noise.

Again Sam held up his hand, turned to the phone, punched. “Officer, make sure prints are taken from the interior doorknob of Graham's office.” He clicked off, swung around to face me.

I nodded approval. “Nancy must have been bewildered. Why was someone in Megan's office that late at night? Of course, she had no idea that Doug Graham was dead. So she watched and then someone came out of Megan's office and it wasn't Megan, which must have been even more bewildering.”

Sam's big head nodded. “Whoever came out of Megan's office had to walk right past Graham's office to get to the back door. That person had to have a flashlight, so Murray saw a face. The back door opened, closed. Murray probably waited at least five minutes. She crept into the hall and to the back door and opened it. That brings us to tonight. Did she try blackmail?”

“I don't think so. Instead, when the gun was found in Megan's desk, Nancy's reaction alerted the murderer.”

The two had looked at each other. Jimmy and I both saw that exchange of glances.

Sam pounced. “That cuts the possibilities to someone present
in the office Friday morning.” He ticked them off, one by one: “Brewster Layton, Lou Raymond, Anita Davis, Geraldine Jackson, Sharon King. It eliminates Rhoda Graham and Keith Porter.”

“Exactly.” Slowly but surely I was aiming Sam in the right direction.

He got his stubborn look. “You said Murray was scared when you talked to her this morning. If she knew who killed Graham, why did she let the killer in her apartment?”

“This morning Nancy knew the killer planted the gun, but the killer realized Nancy took the ring. Of course, Nancy was scared. But when the killer knocked on her door and said something like
Do you want the police to get a tip about the ring? If you claim you saw me, I'll say that's crazy, obviously an effort to pretend you didn't also leave the gun. Let me in and we'll work everything out.
Nancy felt she had no choice. They talked for a few minutes. The killer reassured Nancy.
Nothing to fear from me. Let's both forget last night ever happened.
The killer gets up to leave. Nancy's relieved. She walks toward the door, a little ahead of the killer. The killer strikes. After Nancy falls, the killer calls Megan, whispers, hangs up, then is out the door.”

Sam again rubbed his knuckles against his chin. “Why didn't the killer hunt for the ring?”

“How long would it take—will it take—to find the ring? You can bet it isn't resting in that red plush case on top of the bedroom dresser. Sure, that would have been one choice. Find the ring, then no one would have had any idea why Murray was killed. The murderer is likely counting on the fact that no one is looking for the ring in Nancy's apartment. Besides, the murderer knows the text on Graham's cell phone set up Megan as suspect-in-chief. It was
more important to tie Megan to the new murder than to worry about the ring.”

Sam's phone rang. He grabbed the receiver. “Cobb.” He listened, laughed. “Worth a wet hand. Thanks.” He hung up, turned to me. “Smart kid. New officer. Found the ring taped to the bottom of the plunger in the toilet tank.” He gave me a respectful nod. “What made you think Murray had the ring?”

My answer was sober. “She's dead. Why did she have to die? It could only be because she knew who the murderer was, and that's when I knew she'd been at the office last night. If she was at the office, she could have seen the person putting the gun in Megan's desk.”

He tilted back a little in his chair. “A pretty nice scenario. But the mayor's going to push to arrest Wynn, especially since she showed up at the second murder.”

“We'll arrest the killer before the mayor erupts.” I was confident.

One grizzled black brow rose. “That's about as likely as me bowling a perfect strike tomorrow night. Saturday night's my bowling night. I'll cancel. It's going to take twenty-four/seven police legwork and even then we may not be any closer to a solution.”

“Don't cancel. If all goes well, we'll have the answers by tomorrow afternoon.” I could tell Sam I knew the identity of the murderer, but it would work out much better if he received confirmation the old-fashioned way, a rock-hard identification that couldn't be explained away. Moreover, I needed time between now and then to line up my ducks, as Bobby Mac used to say when he was courting investors for a well.

Sam was willing to follow my lead. Now, to give him the final push in the right direction. As Mama always said, “If a man thinks it's his idea, he'll fight to the death for it.” “Tell me about the sock.”

“The homemade blackjack?”

I nodded.

He was dismissive. “Like they say in the TV shows,
Move along, nothing to see here
. It was a man's black dress sock.”

“I wonder if the sock was new?” It was as if the idea had just occurred to me.

“New?” His eyes narrowed. “I suppose a pretty savvy killer might worry about a residue of detergent. People wash socks, fold them up, toss them in a drawer. There might even be traces of DNA if the sock was handled after washing. I'll have the lab check. They can probably determine whether it had ever been washed.”

My voice was diffident. “I don't suppose there was a brand name.”

“Same brand I buy at Walmart.”

“I wonder if they carry that brand at Target?”

Without answering, he heaved to his feet, walked to his desk, sat in his swivel chair. He swung to his computer, clicked, clicked, clicked.

I followed, perched on the edge of his desk.