Every Move She Makes, page 25
"You heard me."
"I'd tell you to go screw yourself, but that's apparently part of your problem."
"I take it that means yes."
"No, it doesn't mean yes. And if it did, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you." "I'm sorry. It was just that I thought we might have something special between us." "Special? This from the man who was just kissing a reporter in the hallway? The same reporter who was in his room in Napa?"
"A chance meeting."
"How convenient I was late." "I guess I got jealous. Something about the way Torrance looked at you when you were down in Earling's chambers just now." I couldn't believe how easily he bed. And then I thought about what he said, getting jealous. He might have laughed had he realized how many times Torrance and I should have slept together, but didn't.
Besides, Torrance was coming back, and I had no wish to continue the conversation.
"Ready?" Torrance asked.
I nodded.
He asked Reid, "Are you coming with us?"
"Yes," Reid announced. If Torrance read the loud No! in my eyes, he chose to ignore it. Reid's apology to me hadn't been sincere. I doubted there was a sincere cell in his body. "We'll meet in the garage in a half hour," Torrance told him. We left him standing in the hallway. Back in Torrance's office, without going into minute detail, I told him about Reid assuming the injured lover's role. "He acted like he was jealous."
"Maybe he was."
"More than likely he was overcompensating for his rendezvous with Skyler. He had to be worried about the press leak."
"Any speculation?"
"I hate to think his motivation was anything more than trading a scoop for sex. But who knows? He and Zim were thick as thieves the other day in the hall. Reid said they were talking about an old homicide."
"Unusual?"
"Other than Reid and Zim hating each other, no. But it was more Reid's expression when he saw me." "Maybe they were talking about an old homicide." He patted the thick black three-ring binder on his desk. Dex Kenngard's IA file. "We overlooked one minor detail. One of the investigating officers in the case was Zim."
"This is taking coincidence a bit far."
"My thoughts exactly." I looked up at the dry erase board. "Maybe we need to enlarge our pool of suspects. Add Dex Kermgard."
"What would be his motivation?"
"He's dirty on the murder of the snitch. Which makes him connected to Paolini and Foust somehow. And he knows this building, the exitsi the procedures. He could easily get in or out."
"You're thinking the murders in Property?"
"Absolutely." "Definitely something to think about. In the meantime, we have a warrant to serve." That settled, we got together our mini task force plus Reid. He rode with Shipley and Markowski while I rode with Torrance to Hilliard Pharmaceutical's main facility, where we intended to serve the warrant. It was a little after five when we arrived at the pharmaceutical building. We managed to get security to let us in by showing our stars and ID cards while keeping mum about the search warrant. I didn't want anyone tipping the Hilliards off, and perhaps allowing any evidence to be destroyed. Once we were in, the guard at the front deskfull-time, not a moonlighting SFPD officer-refused to let us go a step farther until he contacted Evan Hilliard, who apparently was still in his office. The guard punched a number on the phone while he kept his eye on us. Tall, heavy, mid-forties, he looked like a recent ex-smoker, because he was going through gum like it was a wonder drug.
He'd chew a stick for a few minutes, then turn and spit it into the garbage, like someone spitting tobacco juice into a spittoon. A minute went by while he waited on hold, and soon he was unwrapping a new piece, shoving it into his mouth.
"Yep. They're here now," he said into the phone.
"Yep. Can do." He hung up, then led us into a room off the main entryway that was set up as a waiting area, with several low-back armchairs in a dusty rose, a few silk - philodendron plants, and the requisite weeping fig tree, also in silk. Two paintings, pastel blue, pink, and lavender splotches, completed the "soft room" effect, a term we at the PD use for an interview room where we interrogate witnesses as opposed to suspects.
Unlike our rooms, however, this had windows across the front through which one could view the lobby and the elevator just off it. After about fifteen minutes I began to pace the confines, the warrant rolled up in my hand like a diploma about to be handed out. After the fourth time across the room, I happened to glance up just as Dexter Kermgard stepped off the elevator with several white-coated, cerebral looking men. I pictured them calling up each other in the morning with, "Which pocket protector are you wearing today?" The notion made me think of Scolariit was the sort of comment he would make. Dex did not fit the pocket protector role. I too easily pictured him in the bodyguard role. Mafia.
Paolini. I thought about Dex's shooting. The drug case. Ties to organized crime? Neither Paolini nor Foust were big names in those days, but they were up-and-coming in the world of crime, establishing a trade.
Dex had retired long before the rumors started to circulate that some officers were suspected of being on Paolini's payroll. Still, Dex had been a friend of my father. Not that I ever saw Dex again after the shooting scandal--except for my brother's funeral. But now that I thought about it, Dex never came to my father's funeral.
And what about the way Scolari had acted toward Dex?
Dex happened to look up, and saw me watching him. He halted in his tracks. One of the other lab workers bumped into him and Dex's clipboard crashed to the floor, papers flying on impact. I stepped out. "Dex?" He glanced up in the midst of retrieving his clipboard and papers. His coworkers stood there like robots, totally oblivious to a real-life predicament. When he stood, they all started forward again, lending further credence to my suspicions of artificial intelligence. I offered my most solicitous smile, but found myself at a loss as to what to do.
Dex was an enigma. Now, after having read the IA report on his homicide case, I was even less sure about him than before. I needed his help to get past the watch dog at the front desk and into the doctor's office.
Half our battle might be over, just being inside Hilliard Pharmaceutical, but it did little good if we didn't know which floor or which room. Perhaps if I brought up his friendship with my father? No, with Dex, I figured it was best to get straight to the point. "Listen, Dex, I was wondering if you'd do us a favor?" There was a flicker of something in his gaze, something indecipherable. He didn't comment, merely waited for me to continue. "I need to get into Dr. Mead-Scolari's office." You could have heard a search warrant drop in the ensuing silence. As it was, I kept that particular document curled behind my back. He looked into the room, saw the others waiting, watching. Finally he said, "Officially or unofficially?" Now, there was a strange response. "Does it matter?"
"Officially, I don't have a key. You'll have to wait."
"Unofficially, then." His smile was slight, almost nonexistent. "Follow me." I walked beside Dex to the elevator, beckoning for the others to follow. The door opened and we all stepped in. "How did people around here take the news of the doctor's demise?" I asked.
"Actually, very few people were aware she worked here."
"Really?" "Yes. It was all hush-hush. Whatever it was about, Mrs.
Hilliard wanted it kept quiet." He hesitated, lowered his voice despite that we were now enclosed in the elevator, out of earshot of his coworkers. My companions did a great job of pretending interest in the paneling on the elevator walls. "If you want my opinion, there were two reasons besides the very obvious one of Josephine's addiction."
"Addiction?"
"Cocaine." If there was cocaine involved, then Paolini was probably connected. "You're certain?"
"Look at her eyes the next time you see her."
"What are the other two reasons?" "The first, of course, was to protect Mrs. Hilliard's reputation. Her alternative lifestyle."
"What was the second reason?"
The elevator door slid open. He took me by my arm, guiding me a few steps away from the group. "The merger, of course. That sort of thing might be okay here in San Francisco, but I guarantee, the moment Mrs.
Hilliard's. er, lifestyle got out to the stockholders of Montgard Pharmaceutical, they'd balk." Undoubtedly Dex was right. Montgard operated their main offices in the state of Arkansas, right in the midst of the Bible Belt. Suddenly I recalled the words of the doctor's secretary, Mary, and how she mentioned that Patricia Mead-Scolari wanted to come out of the closet. Two motives popped up time and again in homicide, and they were both staring me in the face right now.
The first, passion, included everything from love to hate.
The second, money, was a definite biggie. As a suspect, Scolari had a motive that fell into the first category, because of his wife's relationship with Josephine. The Hilliards, however, now fit the second half of the motive theory. Money. A multimillion-dollar merger offered plenty of motivation. Couple that with Hilliard's wife undoubtedly not wanting it announced to the world what she did behind closed doors, and you could add a dollop of passion to the list. Dex led us past a wide open space filled with a dozen desks, announcing the accounting department as though giving us a tour. We continued on down a hallway, and he stopped in front of an unmarked door on our right. "Here it is,"
he said. "Dr. Mead-Scolari's office." Here it is, I echoed silently. Now all I had to do was get in and find the proof watched Dexter Kermgard fiddle with the keys, trying to fit one in the lock. With a sense of deje vu I was reminded of that first afternoon we'd met at the warehouse. With Scolari. I wondered where he was now. What he was thinking. I also wondered if there was anything I could have said or done that first day that might have changed the course of events. I'd recognized Scolari's depression, worried about it even. What if I'd looked for him harder? Made more of an effort than simply waiting for him to call? A blanket of guilt descended over me, but not, I realized, from my inactions on that particular night. I was thinking about Scolari as though he'd killed his wife. As though he were guilty.
I wondered if he was.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Not a casual pace, but a determined, get-the-hell-out-of-my-way stride. Josephine Hilliard approached, a look of fury upon her face.
So much for the unofficial route.
"What is going on here, Dexter?" she asked in her cultured voice. No one was fooled by her tone. If looks could kill, we'd be riddled with bullets.
"This is Inspector Gillespie, and these officers-"
"I know who this is. I asked what are you doing?"
"They want to see the doctor's research office."
"Impossible.
It But-" "Mister Kermgard," she said, looking solely at me now, "has made a terrible mistake. This office is off-limits to the public." "We aren't the public," I said, noting her pupils, dilated, almost to the point of completely obliterating the blue of her irises.
"Be that as it may..
"Have I introduced you to Reid Bettencourt?" I asked sweetly. "He's from the District Attorney's office." Nice and vague. Let her think he's an attorney. I held out the search warrant. Even though we were within our legal rights, it helped when all parties cooperated. Reid nodded at her.
"You might want to read this," he said. "In fact, have your legal department look it over if you want." Good boy, I thought. Not that it made up for anything, but Reid was no fool. She looked at the document, her hand shaking slightly. I doubt she saw a word written there. "It will take some time to get them here. I'll have to ask you to wait. I need to call my husband." "The waiting is over, Mrs. Hilliard," I said.
"We are going in, and we are doing it now-with or without your cooperation. The choice is yours."
"You mean you'd break down the door?" she asked.
"If necessary," I said, letting her believe what she would. If this were a drug bust, we'd simply handcuff everyone, then force the door.
Unfortunately, the public took a dim view when the same thing was done to white collar types. They too easily identified with them. "Do I need to call a team to bring in a battering ram?" She curled the document in her fist. "Didn't Mister Kermgard tell you he does not have a key?"
"He did." I waited.
She reached into the pocket of her pleated wool trousers and pulled out a key on a small ring, which she gave to Dexter. As he was about to turn the lock, she stayed his hand. "I insist that we be present." "Not a problem," I said, generous in my victory. "As long as you don't touch anything." When she let loose of Dexter's hand, he swung open the door.
We stepped into a brightly lit white-walled room covered with posters of jungles and rain forests. Other than the posters, it looked like any other office two desks, a computer, low cabinets circling the circumference, the countertops covered with papers, books, that sort of thing. Nothing said, Look at me. I'm the reason you're here. Not that I expected it to, especially after I'd picked up a sheet of computer paper full of scientific garble and tried to read it. Josephine took the phone and punched in a three-digit number. "Evan. The police are here. In Patricia's office ... They have a warrant." Her face crumpled. "What was I supposed to do?" She turned her back, listened, nodded. "Okay." I directed Shipley and Markowski to search the counters and cabinets, while Bettencourt and Torrance started on the desks. "What exactly did the doctor do for you?" I asked Josephine after she hung up.
"Research."
"Wasn't she a pathologist?" "For the simple reason her husband insisted," she said with some disdain. "It wasn't what she wanted to do.
I gave her the opportunity she deserved." I sorted through the in-basket. Everything looked foreign, and I wondered if I'd ever be able to determine anything from this venture. "What sort of opportunity?"
"She wanted to go back to school. Further her education and do something that would help the living. Not the dead. I think she was tired of all the bodies." Scolari's wife unhappy as a pathologist? Possible, I supposed. Books on varying subjects lined one shelf. The titles ranged from the massive hardback edition of the Physician Desk Reference to a well worn, dog-eared, paperback version of A Woman Guide to Holistic Herbs. I pulled out the books one by one, flipped through them, looking for anything, finding nothing. "Oh, I am sorry." We all stopped to see a tiny woman of Asian descent, perhaps fifty, maybe more, standing in the doorway. Behind her was a cart with a trash can and cleaning supplies.
"I know no one is to be here," she said.
"I thought maybe you want me to clean?"
"No," Josephine said. "These are the police. They've come to search it.
We don't need it cleaned."
"I close it?" The woman backed into the hall.
"Later," Mrs. Hilliard said, her facade of polite culture slipping completely. "You were saying the doctor was unhappy," I reminded her, looking up from my perusal of Holistic Herbs. She eyed Bettencourt, who had sat down at the computer and was typing something into the keyboard.
I don't know why, but I did, too. I wasn't sure if I wanted him there.
"Mrs. Hilliard?" It took a moment for her to return her attention to our conversation. "She wanted to be a pioneer. I let her use the facilities to research her options for the future, nothing more. As far as what she did, I had no idea. We never discussed it." From the corner of my eye, I saw Torrance pause at her declaration. It stopped me as well. "Are you saying she wasn't on your payroll?" She moved closer to me, lowering her voice. "I allowed her entrance as a favor, Inspector. In truth, she sat at that desk, searched the Internet for something, God knows what, and I sat there," she said, pointing to the chair where Rocky Markowski perched while he pored over papers he'd dug from the wastebasket. "We talked.
That's it."
"She didn't work for you?" "No, Inspector. She didn't. We were simply friends." My guess was that she thought Dex wasn't aware of their relationship. Well, let her have her veil of secrecy, I thought, continuing my search. I was more interested in whether her husband knew who her bedmate was. Then again, it wouldn't hurt to get a copy of employment records. If I found that the doctor was on her payroll, as I believed, that would go a long way to prove the theory brought to mind by Dex-that josephine was hiding her sexual preference because of the possible merger. What I needed to do was net to the accounting department down the hall. It being an open area, it wouldn't be difficult to get into. Unfortunately, our warrant didn't exactly cover the accounting records, its scope being more the work the doctor was doing at Hilliard Pharmaceutical. But then, who the hell could understand the legal crap written there? "Other documents" could loosely be translated as accounting records, and I decided to let Josephine believe that-should she balk at my requesting the records. But that was down the line. We had to finish searching the doctor's office first, and the way things appeared, we could be there all night. I looked at my watch. Quarter after six. Torrance and Shipley were digging through boxes of printed documents.
"You find anything in the computer?" I asked Bettencourt.
"She's got some lock on it. I'm trying to figure out the password."
"Have Markowski look at it." I should have done that in the first place.
