Ghost Times Two Page 13

  Brewster’s gaze was chilly, but he managed a slight smile. “I suppose I wasn’t thinking clearly. Shock, you know. I still keep an appointment pad on my desk. I looked in the center drawer of Doug’s desk. I didn’t find an appointment book. But it doesn’t matter. The receptionist will be here soon and she can attend to the matter. In any event, I’m glad I discovered the break-in.”

  Johnny’s gaze swept around the apparently untouched office. “Do you have any idea what someone might have been looking for?”

  I wondered what Brewster Layton had been seeking in his early visit and whether he found it. I rather doubted he had summoned the police the instant he discovered the break-in. If he hoped to find something in particular, a file, a paper, surely he’d taken time to make his search before he called. He had been quick to say he’d opened the drawer of Doug’s desk, and that would explain the presence of his fingerprints there.

  I decided he was clever and quick.

  I studied the right pocket of his suit jacket. There might be something in that pocket, something slim, the size of a passport. Or a small envelope containing several sheets of paper.

  Brewster stood with his hands loose at his sides. Consciously relaxed? Perhaps. He spoke slowly. “Nothing appears disturbed. Doug had one or two things of considerable value.” He nodded toward the desk. “That’s an original Tiffany lamp and the ivory Buddha is quite valuable.” He frowned. He was silent for a moment, then said slowly, reluctantly, “I don’t know if there is a connection, but yesterday a client of Doug’s made quite a production of displaying a ring Doug intended to give to Lisbeth Carew. I need to contact Lisbeth. She’s in Europe, due home next week.”

  Johnny was alert. Lisbeth Carew was a name to reckon with in Adelaide. “She’s in Europe now?”

  Brewster nodded. “In Lucerne. That’s where her daughter lives. I’ll call her.” He glanced at his watch, figuring the time there to be late afternoon. “From what the client said, I believe Doug kept the ring in his desk drawer.” He frowned. “I don’t believe I recall seeing the ring case when I opened the drawer. If you’d like, I can check.” He stepped into the office.

  Johnny held up a warning hand. “I’ll look.” He took three quick steps, tugging a pair of vinyl gloves from a back pocket. He pulled the gloves on, said briskly, “With your permission, I’ll open the drawer.”

  Brewster slowly nodded.

  Johnny picked up a pen from the desktop, slipped the ballpoint behind the pull, eased the drawer out as far as it would go.

  Brewster watched him closely. “The ring is in a red velvet case.”

  Johnny crouched, peered into the drawer. “There’s no ring case. Was the ring valuable?”

  Brewster’s tone was dry. “So I understand. A diamond ring. Apparently it cost a hundred thousand dollars.”

  Johnny had the look of a poker player who’d just drawn an ace to complete a royal flush.

  Brewster cautioned him. “Doug may have taken the ring with him when he left the office yesterday. Perhaps his secretary can help when she—”

  “Hello.” An uncertain voice was raised in the hallway. “Is anyone—”

  Brewster called out. “We’re in here, Lou.” He turned to Johnny. “Perhaps we might step out into the hall.”

  Johnny followed Brewster into the hall with Officer Benson close behind. Johnny closed the door, the crime scene off-limits until the techs arrived to fingerprint and search.

  Louise Raymond, her round face shocked, was just inside the back entrance. “Oh my goodness. There’s a police car in the parking lot. And police here.” Lou was an appealing figure with her white hair and kind round face. “What’s happened?”

  The back door opened again. Anita Davis, chestnut curls wind-stirred, stopped beside Lou. “There’s a police car in the—” She broke off, staring at the uniformed officers. Close behind her was Nancy Murray, the paralegal, her eyes huge and staring. She edged even with Anita. “Is something wrong?” Her voice was high. Nancy’s outfit likely was new, a pale yellow linen blouse and cream linen slacks. Butterfly bow heels added a saucy flair.

  Geraldine Jackson peered around the group. “What’s up?” Her tone was raucous. “Looks like we’re being raided. What’re they looking for? Slots? Porn? A weed stash from the Rockies?”

  Megan Wynn edged past the cluster of secretaries. Her heart-shaped face was composed, but dark patches beneath her eyes suggested a sleepless night.

  “Excuse me. Coming through.” Sam Cobb’s deep voice was a clarion. The women moved aside as the chief strode into the hallway, Detective Sergeant Hal Price at his shoulder.

  I saw two other familiar faces, Detective Don Smith, tall, dark, and handsome, and Detective Judy Weitz, sturdy and impassive with bright alert eyes.

  Sam stopped in front of Brewster Layton. “Morning, Brewster. You’ve had a break-in?”

  “Break-in?” Nancy took a step back. Lou Raymond clutched Anita’s arm. “Oh my goodness.” Geraldine’s heavily mascaraed eyes widened. Megan looked startled, then thoughtful.

  Johnny Cain stepped forward. “Sir, Mr. Layton found a broken window in the office occupied by Doug Graham. Mr. Layton called nine-one-one. The screen on the window to the alley was slashed and is hanging loose. A pane of glass has been removed, apparently broken out, from the lower half of the window. That made it possible to unlock the window. The lower half of the window is up. It appears someone entered the office from the alley. The intruder stepped on broken glass in the process. Mr. Layton said the office looked as it had the last time he saw it with no obvious disarray. However, Mr. Layton reports that Mr. Graham had a ring case in his desk drawer yesterday. There is no ring case in the drawer now.”

  Lou Raymond placed fingertips against her lips. “How dreadful.” Anita Davis looked shocked. “Oh, it cost so much money.” Nancy Murray shook her head. “I thought he was going to take the ring to the bank.” Geraldine Jackson slapped her hands on her hips and her caftan top swirled. “That’s a hell of a thing.”

  I thought Nancy remembered Jack Sherman warning Doug to put the ring in the bank and made the leap in her own mind that Graham intended to place the ring in a safety deposit box.

  “The ring’s gone?” Some of the tension eased out of Megan’s face. Clearly Megan hoped the murder and the disappearance of the ring were linked.

  “If the ring was left in the desk overnight, apparently it was stolen. However, that hasn’t been confirmed.” Johnny continued in an uninflected tone, “Mr. Layton said he went into Doug Graham’s office this morning to see if Graham had appointments scheduled for the day. He looked in the desk for an appointment book, but did not find one. At that time, he didn’t notice whether the ring case was in the drawer. Mr. Layton arrived this morning earlier than usual.” No emphasis, no expression, information shared.

  Chief Cobb gave Johnny an approving glance and turned to Brewster. “What time—”

  Before Sam could finish, Sharon King hurried through the back entrance. She saw the police. Her slender face held shock and disbelief. One hand touched her throat. She moved slowly up the hallway, stopped before Brewster Layton. “I just heard on the radio that Mr. Graham is dead. Is it true? Is that why the police are here? Is Mr. Graham dead?” Her voice was shaky.

  Brewster was somber. He slowly nodded. “Someone shot Doug last night. We’re all shocked.”

  I had a good view of all the women.

  Sharon King’s dark eyes held horror and disbelief. Lou Raymond’s mouth rounded in a breathless O. Geraldine Jackson’s where’s-the-bubbly? facade crumpled and her plump face sagged. Nancy Murray pressed a hand against her lips. Anita folded her arms across her front. “How awful.”

  Only Megan appeared unsurprised, her young face carefully expressionless, her lips in a tight line, her thin shoulders rigid. Her eyes held the memory of a slumped body. Suddenly she tensed, jerked her arm, then
froze motionless.

  I didn’t need neon to announce Jimmy’s arrival. He was there, tugging on Megan’s arm, and she, sensibly, resisted.

  As Anita continued to murmur, I reached Megan, swept my hand, clutched at a muscular invisible arm. I stood on tiptoe, whispered as lightly as possible, “Megan’s office. We’ll be there in a minute.”

  He wriggled with impatience.

  “Don’t talk. Go. Now.”

  For an instant there was the feel of resistant muscle beneath my fingers, then nothing.

  No one had noticed or heard, my whisper lost in the sound of the shocked women and their stricken sentences. “Was it a burglar?” “Who did it?” “When was he killed?”

  Sharon blinked her large brown eyes. “He was so happy yesterday.” Her voice trembled. “Later that afternoon he showed me the ring again, asked if I thought Mrs. Carew would like it. He—” She broke off, a quick drawn breath. “Has anyone called Rhoda?”

  Sam Cobb stepped toward her. “Rhoda?”

  “His former wife.” Sharon half turned, stared at Lou. “Perhaps you should go and be with her.”

  There was an odd flicker in Lou’s eyes.

  Why had Sharon immediately turned to Lou? Why not Brewster Layton? I looked at Lou more closely. The sudden smoothing of her face told me she knew something which involved Doug Graham’s former wife.

  Sam Cobb said firmly, “Detective Smith will speak with the former Mrs. Graham.” Sam gave Don Smith a glance that told him: Find her, talk to her, find out where she was last night. Don nodded and moved quickly toward the door.

  Sam kept his deep voice calm, reassuring. “For the moment, we will appreciate everyone who works here remaining present. Detective Smith will be thoughtful when he speaks with Mrs. Graham.” Sam cleared his throat. “For those of you who are not aware of the circumstances, Doug Graham was killed by a gunshot last night at his home. Megan Wynn was at the Graham home when police arrived—”

  Megan’s heart-shaped face was utterly still, but her body tensed.

  Brewster Layton gave Megan an affirmative nod. Lou’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Anita appeared shocked. Nancy shook her head back and forth as if bewildered. Geraldine’s gaze was speculative. Sharon half turned to stare at Megan, her eyes wide.

  Megan elevated her chin.

  “—in response to a nine-one-one call reporting a man shot. Ms. Wynn told police she was summoned to the house by a text message from Mr. Graham. She drove to his house, parked in the driveway, followed the instructions in the text to enter the house from the terrace. She reported finding Mr. Graham dead in a leather chair facing a television screen. The television was turned on. She denies calling nine-one-one, told investigating officers she saw no one at the house. We are here to interview everyone who was in contact with Mr. Graham yesterday. In addition, we will investigate the apparent break-in discovered this morning. Who can tell me more about the ring that may be missing?”

  No one spoke.

  Geraldine raised an eyebrow. “Might as well lay it out on the table. Hell of it is, we all thought we were having fun.” She described the previous morning, the bigger-than-life oilman hoisting the ring case, lid raised, for everyone to see. “He said Mr. Graham paid a hundred thousand dollars for the ring.”

  Brewster swung toward Sharon King. “Was the ring in Doug’s desk last night?”

  “It was there in midafternoon. I don’t know about last night.”

  “What time did Mr. Graham leave the office?”

  She glanced about, but no one else appeared eager to speak. “About ten to five, I believe.”

  “Was he carrying the ring with him?”

  She gave a slight shrug. “I have no idea. I suppose it could have been in his pocket.” But her answer was almost mechanical. She was clearly struggling with shock. But so were they all.

  Yesterday in this hallway Jack Sherman hoisted a ruby red ring case in one big hand amid gasps of eager interest. Today the ring seemed unimportant, faraway, a footnote.

  Brewster Layton’s eyes were sunk in a thin face, his lips in a tight, hard line. Sharon King’s long slender fingers clenched and unclenched. Lou Raymond’s sweet mouth trembled. Anita Davis kept shaking her head, as if this moment were a bad dream that would soon end. Anita wasn’t disheveled today. She’d obviously taken some pains with her appearance, chestnut curls tidily brushed, makeup neatly applied. Her white peasant blouse was crisp, her skirt wrinkle free, but she looked tense and worried. Geraldine Jackson was like a flag at half-mast, her unaccustomed gravity making her look older. Nancy Murray’s eyes darted up and down the hallway. Was she remembering yesterday morning? Megan’s expression was thoughtful. Was she thinking about the ring and what its disappearance might mean?

  More sounds at the back door. Two crime techs entered, each carrying a small black case. One was a wiry man likely no taller than five feet five with a mop of fire red hair. His companion could have been a lineman on any coach’s team, well over six feet, pushing three hundred pounds, bald-headed with small blue eyes. The two men walked up to the chief. I wondered how many big guy–little guy jokes they’d heard. On closer inspection, the little man looked tough as a boot and only a fool would tangle with the big man.

  Sam was brisk. “Fingerprints. Photographs. Check the contents of the center desk drawer. Save and catalog everything in it.”

  I was pleased Sam hadn’t forgotten the crumpled notes Doug Graham had written yesterday morning and I’d retrieved from the wastebasket and placed in the drawer, which reminded me that the ring case had definitely been there late last night.

  Sam jerked a thumb. Johnny Cain nodded and led the techs to Doug Graham’s office, held the door for them. They stepped inside. The door closed firmly.

  “Lou, check Doug’s appointments.” Brewster Layton sounded weary. “Call and cancel. In fact, I think it would be good if all appointments were canceled today. As soon as each person has spoken to the police, you are free to leave. The office is closed for the day.”

  Brewster Layton frowned, eyes narrowed, then said quietly, “We are all struggling with the shock of Doug’s death. If anyone has information that will help in the investigation, please speak to the police. Moreover, I’ll ask everyone to respond to any requests the police make.” He touched his goatee. “Does anyone have any objection to a police search for the ring case?” He looked from face to face.

  Sharon was clearly disinterested. “They can look in my desk. I don’t care.”

  Anita nodded in agreement. Nancy spoke quickly, “Sure.” Geraldine turned thumbs-up. “Feel free. I haven’t had any secrets since my second divorce.” It was a pale imitation of her usual boisterous attitude. But Lou Raymond’s face turned a bright pink and she burst out, “The thief broke into Mr. Graham’s office. Why look for the ring in the rest of the offices?”

  Anita made a sympathetic coo. “They’re just being thorough, Lou. Don’t you ever watch detective shows on TV? They have to think ahead, and someday somebody might want to know why they didn’t look for the ring. Just in case.”

  Lou’s voice wobbled. “Just in case one of us took it?”

  Brewster was soothing. “No one is suggesting anyone here is involved in the theft. As Anita says, the police are just being thorough.” He looked at Sam. “That’s the situation, isn’t it?”

  Sam’s expression was genial. “We always try to be thorough.”

  Megan’s clear voice was crisp. “A good idea.”

  “And, of course, my office as well.” Brewster’s tone was wry. “No need for a warrant. Have your people look where they wish. Although I doubt a thief broke in and left without the ring.” He looked at Sam. “Use our conference room for your interviews.” He gestured toward a closed oak door midway up the hall.

  Sam nodded his thanks. “Officer Cain will check all offices for signs of entry and then make a careful sear
ch for the ring case. I’ll interview each person separately in the conference room. At that time, I would appreciate permission from each person to take your fingerprints.” His expression was bland. “We know members of the firm and staff often have occasion in be in various offices. The fingerprints will help us determine if there are any unidentified fingerprints in Mr. Graham’s office. I trust no one has any objection?”

  Brewster was quick to approve. “We will assist you in any way we can.”

  Sam nodded his thanks. “Before we begin the interviews, I invite anyone to step forward if they believe they have pertinent information.”

  No one moved.

  Sam’s genial expression didn’t change. “For convenience, I will see each person in—”

  The back door swung in. Blaine Smith, with a patch of sunburn on each cheek, stepped inside. He saw Megan and started up the hall, relief evident in his bony face.

  Johnny Cain took a step toward him. “Sir, we are investigating a crime and the premises are currently closed.”

  Blaine was pleasant, but had a look of bulldog determination, head jutting forward. “Sorry, Officer. I need to speak with Ms. Wynn.” He took three long strides, was at her side. “I just heard on the radio. They said you arrived a few minutes after nine last night.” He turned, nodded at Chief Cobb. “Hello, Sam. I went by Doug’s house last night. The house was lighted. I saw his car in the drive. It was the only car in the drive.” He stopped for emphasis, held Sam’s gaze. “It was a couple of minutes before nine. I rang and knocked. There was no answer.”

  Megan’s face brightened. “I saw the taillights of a car driving away as I arrived. Now I know why they looked familiar.”

  Sam looked from one to the other, wary, possibly skeptical. “You mentioned taillights. Now you think it might have been Mr. Smith’s car?” On easier days, he might have spoken of the young lawyer as Blaine. Not today. Not here.

  Megan’s nod was decisive. “Yes.”