Likely Suspects (22 page)

“True.”
He was trying to figure out a way to narrow it down. “Looks like we’re waiting for O’Connell and Thompson to come up with some better answers.” I hated waiting. I really did. “I’m staying the night. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? Marty’s mentioned how you’ve been dozing on the couch, and given the current situation, you need to be alert and functioning at one hundred and ten percent. I’ll keep an eye out.”

I was going t
o protest since it wasn’t likely I’d sleep much, if at all, but I could use the solace of isolation to get a grip on everything. “Are you sure?” He nodded. “Okay.”

I went
to my room and shut the door. Stripping down, I stepped into the shower and tried to wash away all the negative feelings and events from today. My tears mixed with the hot water before washing down the drain. Once my crying subsided, I dried off, put on an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts, and crawled into bed. The noise on the stairs had to be either Mark or Martin, and I resisted the urge to investigate. There was nothing for me to worry about tonight with Mark on sentinel duty. I shut my eyes, hoping tomorrow would be better.

“Morn
ing, sunshine,” Mark greeted from the dining room table. I glared at him and sat down. It was still early, and Martin wasn’t up yet. “How’d you sleep?”

“
Pretty good, considering.” I had to admit not having to be on alert actually did allow a few restful hours of sleep. Mark was reading the paper and drinking coffee. I decided to forgo the caffeine; I was jittery enough. Staring at the paper in front of his face, I sat quietly until he got tired of feeling my eyes on him.

“What?” he asked.
I honestly didn’t have a clue. I wanted answers, and I wanted to make some heads roll. The question was how to go about making either of these things happen.

“I want this son-of-a-bitch.
” I was determined, and he noticed the intensity in my eyes.

“You’ll get hi
m. We’ll get him.”

T
he plant surveillance disk was on the table, and I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. The answers were here. I just had to get to them.

“Morning, sexy,” Mark called
into the living room.

Martin stumbled into the living room. H
is hair was wildly unkempt, and his eyes were red. He looked like hell. Was he drinking again last night? Either that or he wasn’t a completely self-centered egotist. Cool it, Parker. I knew Martin a bit better than that. The problem was me. I was angry at everyone, and despite the fact I knew intellectually my apartment being ransacked was not his fault, it was his problem I got dragged into. I did my best to push the resentment away.

“I get a sunshine
, and he gets a sexy,” I whined. “How exactly is that fair?” Mark looked at me once again like I lost my mind, but he kept his mouth shut. I was used to getting those looks by now. Martin had yet to acknowledge either of us and instead rummaged through the couch cushions, looking for something.

“Shit,” Martin growled, slamming h
is hand down. Great, with the mood he’s in, we are going to literally kill each other today. I looked at Mark, doing my best to convey I wasn’t ready to deal with Martin. Mark got up to see if he could assist, and I went to the back door, entered the security code, and stepped outside.

I was having an internal conversation, reminding myself
to be understanding, patient, and tone down the bitchiness. Some distance from Martin and his drama might be just what I needed at the moment, so I sat on one of the chaises by the pool, watching as the wind blew the water across the surface. My reflection in the rippled water was only barely decipherable. The only thing I could definitively make out was the shiny reflection of my watch. The light bulb flashed inside my brain, and I jumped up and ran back to the house.

Grabbing
the surveillance disk off the table, I went into the living room. Mark and Martin were discussing something, but I paid them no attention.  I sat on the coffee table and inserted the disk. Hitting play and then fast forward, I waited until the suspect came on the screen. I waited a moment and then froze the footage.

“I got you,” I exclaimed to the television.
Mark and Martin stopped talking and turned to me. I pointed to the screen. “The watch.” Still no comprehension dawned on them. “Take this back and have the watch face enhanced.” I ejected the disk and shoved it at Mark. “I will bet that isn’t a run-of-the-mill watch. It’s too large and too damn shiny.” Denton’s diamond encrusted watch face flashed through my mind, but I couldn’t tell from the footage if they were one in the same. However, if I could find a bookie willing to take my bet, I would have put a few grand on that possibility.

“Get the watch, we get the guy.
” Mark smiled, catching on.

Martin seemed to see me for the first time since last night but didn’t say anything. We cautiously studied each other for a few moments, sensing uncertainty and maybe some resentment boiling just beneath the surface. My resolve to be less angry seemed much easier now, given how utterly miserable he looked.

“I’m al
ready out the door,” Mark announced, grabbing his keys and jacket. He slipped the disk into his pocket. “Are you gonna be all right?” Martin nodded, and Mark went down the steps to the garage.

“
Do you need anything?” I asked quietly. Perhaps extreme mood swings was a contagious disease. Martin shook his head. He wasn’t himself. He was lacking focus, drive, and everything that made him an infuriating, arrogant, and brilliant man. To coddle or not to coddle, that was my current dilemma. I didn’t do emotions and feelings usually. At least I didn’t do them very well. “Go take a shower and make yourself presentable. God knows what’s going to happen today.” He pressed his lips together, thinking. Then he headed back up the stairs without uttering a word.

After his
door closed, I picked up my phone and called O’Connell. After a couple of rings, he answered. We exchanged some basic pleasantries and then got down to business.

“Wha
t have you got for me?” I asked, hoping he’d still be amenable to playing ball even in the light of day.

“Positive ID
was made on Griffin. She was shot twice in the chest from close range with a small caliber bullet.” O’Connell was reading the report. “No one’s seen anything. TOD still needs to be narrowed down, but our best estimate is twelve to twenty-four hours from the time we found her remains.”

My
guess was Griffin was murdered Monday night after work, but I had no solid facts to substantiate my claim. Briefly, I considered the possibility Todd had done it, but O’Connell didn’t think so. My gut tended to agree. 

“Wha
t about the apartment?” I asked, no longer able to think of it as my apartment. It was simply the scene of a crime.

“Pr
ints on the box were a match to Griffin and Jackson. We got a couple of partials on some of the photos, but they aren’t in the database. And we don’t have anyone else to run comparisons on.” And then there were three. “The rest of the place was clean, despite the huge mess.” He sounded frustrated

I ignored his attempt to
joke. “I’m juggling on this end, working two separate angles. If either one of them pans out, I’ll give you a call.”

“
Is everything okay? Maybe I could spare a couple of guys to patrol if you want.” I thought about it but figured more attention would likely do more harm than good.

“W
e can manage, but I’ll be in touch.” I hung up, trying to recall how many things were still in the works. The watch and the bank account authorization, was that it? Or was I forgetting about something?

I sat on the couch
, pondering over the last few days, reminding myself it had only been six days since the hotdog cart explosion in front of the MT building. Everything was happening in overdrive, and whoever was behind this was escalating their attack strategy. Two conspirators had been removed from the picture. One was in custody, and the other was dead. We had partial prints for a third, but were there more?

Martin came down the stairs, f
reshly showered and his hair slightly wet. He went into the kitchen, retrieved a cup of coffee, and headed for the second floor office. I waited a beat before getting up and following him.

“You can’t ignore me forever.
” Excellent use of melodrama, my internal voice chided. He turned, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

“I wasn’t aware I had been ignoring you.”
Obviously, the irritating Martin was still in there despite the ennui, but his words lacked their normal banter.

“
Maybe I was embellishing just a bit.” I gave him a tentative smile and took a breath. “Are you okay?” I asked sincerely.

“Funny, I thought that was my line that you didn’t quite care for.”

“Look, if you want to be angry or pissed off, that’s fine. If you want to take it out on me because it will make you feel better, that’s okay too. Hell, I’m pissed off. I’m chasing my tail in circles, waiting for something to point me in the right direction. Meanwhile, shit keeps happening, and we’re not getting anywhere fast.”

He
spun his chair around to fully face me. I wasn’t sure what to expect, if it was going to be a verbal attack, a breakdown, or something else entirely, so I waited. He seemed to be considering his words carefully. “I want my life back. I want my company back. I don’t want to worry about answering the phone or opening an e-mail or walking outside.”

His honesty floored me
, and I took a step back as if I had been struck. That was exactly why I was here. “Okay.” I felt the intensity of my newfound conviction. “Okay,” I repeated to myself as I left his office. I picked up my phone and called O’Connell back. “How do you feel about a civilian ride-along? Do you want to knock down some doors? I’m getting tired of waiting for the answers to come to me.”

“I m
ight be able to swing it. We’d be checking into some leads in an ongoing investigation.” He was trying to make my request seem plausible.

“Great,
I’ll see you in a half hour.” I found Martin standing in the living room.

“W
here are you going?” he asked.

“To get your life back.
Sorry it’s taken so long.” I put on my shoulder holster and tightened it, checking the magazine and making sure everything was in good working order before snapping my gun into place. After zipping my jacket, I made sure my spare was still close by in the event he needed it for anything.

“I didn’t,” he
began, but I stopped him by placing my finger on his lips.

“
You hired me to do this. Let me do my job.” I was determined. I was pissed, and most of all, I was sick and tired of sitting on my ass while someone continued to destroy my small semblance of a life.

I arrived at the police statio
n a little earlier than planned, so I used the extra few minutes to call Mark and tell him I was checking into things with O’Connell.  Then I asked if he could keep an eye on Martin. I felt bad for sending him to the OIO only to ask that he return to Martin’s, but he didn’t argue. He just agreed. That was one of the things I liked about Mark; he would do what needed to be done. And he promised to call the moment the image enhancement was complete. Next, I called Martin and told him to expect Mark and asked for the banking information to be passed along as soon as he got it. He wasn’t pleased by having a different babysitter, but he let it go. Finally, O’Connell met me at the front desk of the precinct.

“
What did you want to look into?” O’Connell asked.

“I’m still waiting on a couple of calls, but I tho
ught we could go through what you’ve already gotten.” Hopefully, he would see this as a fair trade. He had an open murder on his hands and wanted answers just as badly as I did.

W
e went up to his desk, and he handed me Todd Jackson’s file and the coroner’s report on Suzanne Griffin. I read through each one carefully, trying to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Jackson agreed to provide corroborating evidence against the main conspirator, but he insisted he had no idea who it was. Griffin had been shot at close range with a small caliber handgun. There wasn’t much to tell. Ballistics were running the slugs and trying to match them to a weapon now, but it was too soon to know anything definitive.

“Did you get any
video footage from my building?” I asked after reading the reports.

“The cameras were busted, b
ut a couple of your neighbors remember seeing an unfamiliar man and woman lurking about.”

“Did you g
et a description?” He shook his head.

“Nothing that stood out.
Basically, average height, average build, and average looking. We passed around Griffin’s photo, but no positive ID was made. You know how reliable eyewitnesses are though.” I sighed and rubbed my neck.

“Did y
ou ever check into Griffin’s B&B story?”

He looked slightly
flustered. “Not yet.”

“Want to take a drive
? Maybe between now and then, I’ll get something more concrete for you to run with.”

“What the hell,” he put on his jacket, “I need
to go down there anyway before I can close the interview file.”

*       *       *

I was sitting in the passenger’s seat of an unmarked police cruiser as Det. O’Connell drove down Route 9 toward the Cat’s Cradle. What types of people actually enjoyed the B&B experience? B&Bs were never my thing. It was the equivalent of being subjected to staying in a room in a stranger’s house, eating meals with even more strangers, and having to share a bathroom; it was like prison or college. My characterization was frighteningly similar to staying at Martin’s residence. Maybe I was a closeted B&B enthusiast. I shuddered at the thought. Luckily, I was rescued from this chilling realization by my phone ringing.

It was Martin.
“Hey, everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he sounded pre
occupied, “I got a call from the bank. The funds were authorized by Blake Denton.”

“So he stole the money?”
Martin didn’t sound convinced, but we needed to be in agreement before I passed it along to O’Connell.

“I don’t know.
It was his authorization code, but our banker doesn’t know who made the transfer. It was done electronically. You know Denton. He likes to relegate duties all over the place.” Actually, I didn’t know that, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Is Mark there?” I asked, changing the subject.
O’Connell was watching me out of the corner of his eye.

“No, he got called away on some work thing.”
I could tell from his tone that Martin was reading something. “Rosemarie and Marcal are here. We’re fine.” Having extra people in the house was supposed to reassure me, but it didn’t. Regardless, I was too far away to do anything about it.

“Okay.
Stay safe. Call if you need anything.” I was trying to get through to Martin, but I knew how he could be when he was focused on work. He emitted a non-committal sound and hung up, leaving me to stare at the end call message on the screen.

“Good news?” O’Connell asked.
I sensed a note of sarcasm.

“Do y
ou think you might be able to subpoena someone’s financial records on a little more than a whim?” I retorted. He gave me a quizzical look, and I told him about the missing funds, the twenty-five thousand dollar withdrawal, and my suspicions on how the money withdrawal matching Todd’s payoff seemed too coincidental.

“It’s worth a shot.
I’ll pass it along and see if we can find a sympathetic enough judge to give us the go ahead.” He pulled out his phone and relayed everything to Thompson. We might as well get the ball rolling in the right direction.

We pulled up to the Cat’s Cradle.
It wasn’t much to look at, but hopefully, the management would remember Mrs. Griffin and be able to give us some details concerning her stay. We got out of the car, and he looked at me.

“Let me do the talking,” he warned.
“I have the badge and the gun. You’re just here to silently observe.” I made a face but agreed to his terms.

We were greeted by a woman at the front desk
who inquired if we would like a room. O’Connell flashed his badge and asked if she wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about a recent guest. The woman seemed surprised but located the relevant guest information from last weekend. I was amazed it wasn’t right on top, considering it had only been three or four days since Griffin’s alleged stay. Maybe the B&B business was much more lucrative than I imagined.

“Suzanne Griffin,” Ilene, the woman at the counter,
repeated as she found the proper paperwork. “She stayed here Friday and Saturday night.” O’Connell and I exchanged a glance.

“Would you mind
taking a look at a photo, just to make sure it’s the same Suzanne Griffin?” He held the photo out that the coroner’s office provided, and Ilene looked at the picture.

“That’s her.
They were a very pleasant couple. What’s this all about?”

“Couple?” I blurted out, and
he gave me a look. I shut my mouth and attempted to blend into the very busy wallpaper. A decent enough defense attorney could make a case for justified homicide based on the wallpaper pattern alone.

“She wasn’t alone?” h
e asked, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes since I just asked the same question.

“No, she was here with her husband.
Well, I believe it was her husband. They checked in under Mr. and Mrs. Griffin.” She flipped the page around to show O’Connell the information. He glanced back at me. Sure, now you want my help, I thought, but I remained silent.

“Can you give us a description of the man?”

“I’m not a good guesser at age, but I’d say forties, brown hair, pretty average. Sweet man, though.” She was trying to think, or maybe she had gone into a trance from staring at the walls too long.

“Did a
nything stand out about him or their visit?” He was trying to cover all his bases, and she came slightly out of her trance.

“He left early Saturd
ay before she did. He said something came up at work.”

“Where does
he work?” I inquired, expecting O’Connell to glare at me again, but he let it go.

“I don’t know.”
Ilene went back into her trance-like state.

W
ho was Griffin’s mystery man? The description was too old to be Todd; plus, he worked Saturday. But average described pretty much everyone.

“T
hank you for your time.” O’Connell was excusing us. “If we need anything else, is there a preferred number where we can reach you?” Ilene handed him a business card. He pocketed it and smiled at her. “Thanks. You have a lovely place here. I might have to bring my wife for a romantic weekend.” He was buttering her up, hoping compliments would lead to more useful information, but Ilene just smiled. I didn’t think she knew anything else.

“Please tell me
you really don’t think that’s a lovely place,” I whispered as we went to the car.

“It was lovely.
What was wrong with it?” He was actually confused by my assessment. I shook my head. The wallpaper violated the Geneva Convention’s sanction prohibiting torture, but I kept that thought to myself. “Any idea who might be Mr. Griffin?”

I had a
hunch, but I wasn’t sure how well it was going to pan out. “Give me a minute.” I dialed Martin’s number, and he answered on the second ring.

“What?” he greeted.

“Can you text me
one of the pictures you were e-mailed?” The light bulb clicked on for O’Connell, and he enthusiastically agreed this was a good idea.

“I guess.
Why?” Martin asked, confused.

“
Just following a trail of breadcrumbs.” Martin played with the buttons on his phone for a few seconds. “Everything still quiet?” I asked.

“Okay
, it’s sent.” He didn’t answer my second question.

“Thanks.”
I waited to see if he was going to say anything else.

“I’ll see you
later.” He disconnected, causing me to involuntarily roll my eyes. How could he still be in workaholic mode right now? But maybe he was keeping himself busy in order to avoid thinking about everything else that was going on.

“Y
ou want to go back in there and ask if that’s the guy?” O’Connell brought me out of my reverie.

“Yeah.”
I opened the car door, and we went back inside. Zooming in solely on Blake Denton, I handed O’Connell my phone.

“Can I help you?” Ilene asked f
rom the counter. Had she forgotten us already? Luckily, I saw recognition on her face. “Oh. Is there something else? Did you want to make a reservation now?” I hid my chuckle, and he gave her a bright smile.

“Actually, I have to check with my wife first to see when
she’s free. But would you mind taking a look at this picture for us?” He held my phone out to Ilene, and she took it from him.

“That’s Mr. Griffin,” she
said, proud of herself.

“Are you positive?”

“Absolutely.”

We
exchanged a triumphant look. He thanked Ilene again for her time, and we got back into the car.

“I’m going to bring
Mr. Denton in for questioning. He might be a material witness in an ongoing homicide investigation.” I rubbed my palms together. We were making progress. “What was the other call you were waiting on besides the bank information?” he queried as we headed back to the city.

“An image enhancement from the sabotage at Martin’s plant
.” Full disclosure seemed fair at this point in the game. “But Agent Jablonsky got called away on something else,” I relayed Martin’s message, “so I don’t know when I’ll get it.”

“You think it relates back to t
his Denton character?” He sounded like a television cop.

“I don’t know.
Martin isn’t even sure the bank authorization traces back to him, and that seemed like solid proof.” Martin knew Denton better than I did, so I was giving credence to Martin’s opinion since mine was already so negatively biased. O’Connell caught on to my displeasure.

“Just between you and me, you think Dento
n’s involved?” I mulled it over for a few moments. He was smart enough, capable, and in the right places at the right times, but he had also been one of the few people who opposed Martin relinquishing the company. Something just didn’t sit right.

“Honestly, I don’t know.
” Denton’s drunken verbal assault at the charity banquet had thrown my instincts off. Whoever was behind this knew I wasn’t an assistant. The proof was in the box left on my table. Was Denton that great of an actor? Had the entire night been staged just to force me to react? And if it was Denton, did he hope I would tip my hand? “I can’t tell because even though I think it’s him, the only reason I think that is because of my great loathing for him.”

O’Connell seemed puzzle
d for a moment before replying, “it’s a good thing I’m a detective. If not, I wouldn’t have a clue what you just said.” I laughed.

W
e rode the rest of the way in silence. O’Connell dropped me off at the precinct, and I got in my car and went back to Martin’s. I wasn’t comfortable leaving him alone any longer, not when things were so precarious right now. O’Connell promised to keep me in the loop, and I just hoped we had overturned the right stones to get this investigation back on track.