Carolyn Arnold - McKinley 03 - Money is Murder (9 page)

Questionable Intent

SARA SURVEYED CINDY’S OFFICE, SOMETHING she never had the time to do before, with Robert
’s gun pointed on them and Sean in a struggle for his life. It was decorated in minimal fashion with a mahogany desk and matching lateral filing cabinets.

Framed pictures were showcased on top of them—Cindy in various poses, and in every one, she had a large, sincere smile on her face. In a couple she was with girlfriends, in another it looked like the photo had been taken at a lunch business meeting and Cindy must have closed the deal because she was beaming. On the wall, an enlarged photo of Cindy with her dad was on display. They had their heads butted together, both of them smiling and there was such pride in their eyes.

Sara ran her hand down the side of the brushed-aluminum frame, her
mind being yanked into the past, imagining what Quinn’s life had been like. Had he devoted so much time to building his businesses that he’d failed to take time to enjoy life? He had made sacrifices for his daughter, and following generations. How sad that his familial line ended with Cindy, but he had made it possible for thousands to have jobs. He had made her and Sean
’s dreams come true.

“Well, I think I found what Robert was looking for.” Sean held up a file labeled
Reid Incorporated
. “It still has paperwork in it. We must have stopped him.”

“I don’t remember seeing that name on her laptop.” Sara angled her head and went over to the closest cabinet. Its second drawer was ajar. She opened it the rest of the way and found numerous folders labeled with business names.

She rooted through them and noticed a pattern. “
I think Robert got what he came for. Is there a USB stick there?”

He looked down to the file.
“Nope.”

“He’s got the one belonging to Reid then. All of these files are businesses and they have pages like the one there, but they also have a data stick.”

“I wonder why Cindy wouldn’t keep Reid on her laptop, and by extension, I would assume she didn’t keep it on the company server. Let’s think about this. We know that Cindy excelled at buying and selling businesses.”

“Yes, so much so that other executives were upset by it.”

“Enough to kill for?”

“We still have to answer that with certainty.”

Sara
’s eyes went to the file Sean held. “What does it say about this company?”

“Let’s see.” Sean sifted through the sheets and, after a few minutes, gave the summation. “According to Cindy’s notes, Reid was on the verge of bankruptcy. She put ‘steal’ in the margin, the word both accented by an exclamation mark and double underline.”

“Okay, so let’s say somehow Reid ties into the reason Cindy was killed. How? Why?”

“Questions we need answers to, that’s for sure.”

“I think we need to get back to our condo and revisit all the evidence we have so far. Did Jimmy say when he’d have the results?”

Sean shook his head.
“He just said to leave it with him.”

“All right, we’ll carry on without it then. On our way, let’s try to make friends with the front doorman. Maybe something will slip out.”

“He clammed right up for the police.”

“Darling, you know how it works, but these days we’re just your average citizen.”

Sean wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Yes, average, if most have billions in their portfolio.”

Sara laughed as she collected their printout. She knew immediately—the texture of the paper, the thickness. Her expression fell somber.

“What is it?”

“The paper.” She pulled her eyes from the sheet to meet Sean’s eyes. “This isn’t the same stock that Cindy printed her suicide note on. This is at least fifty pound paper and there is watermark in it. See.” She angled it so he could get a good look. “The evidence report said the paper was regular copy paper, twenty pound, recycled, white.”

“She probably has some of that around here somewhere.” Sean rummaged through cabinets and seconds later shook his head. “I’d say the note was printed somewhere else.”

“That spells intent. Cindy didn’t take her own life. She was murdered, and it was premeditated.”

“It also means it was someone who had access to her flat, or the ability to get in.”

“Which could pretty much sum up any Universal employee.”

“Yes, except for Robert.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The divorce was her idea. She didn’t want to see him anymore, for whatever reason, why give him access?”

“Except you are forgetting one thing—our smiling doorman downstairs. Robert got in now. He obviously either has a key or is buddies with the doorman.” Sara pressed her lips and watched comprehension sink into Sean’s eyes.

“He lied to us. He is guilty.”

“It’s a possibility,” Sara conceded.

“So, we let her killer waltz out of here. We’ve got to get over to his place.”

“If we’re lucky and that’s where he’s headed. And how does Reid fit into all of this, or does it?”

The doorman was stationed outside on the street. He was basking in the sunshine, his face heavenward and his eyes shut.

Sean tapped his arm.

“Oh. Hey, Mr. McKinley.” He pressed on a smile. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His eyes passed to the laptop perched under Sara’s arm.

“Yes, thank you, but we’d like to talk with you about something. Mind if we step inside?” Sean gestured through the windows to the lobby.

“Of course not.”

They stepped in from the exposure of the street to the privacy and quiet of the interior.

The doorman
’s face pinched up. “Name’s Percy, by the way.”

Sean shook his extended hand, and then Sara did.

“We have to ask you some questions about the night Cindy died.”

Percy
’s mouth curved downward and he shook his head. “There’s not much to say, and I said it all to the police. Why do you want to know?”

“We’re just curious, that’s all.” Sara smiled at him.

Sean observed Percy
’s defensive attitude melt away.

“Well, this is a secure building. Unless Ms. Quinn gave the okay for a visitor to be let up, he wasn’t.”

“He?” Sara adjusted the laptop, but S
ean took it from her.

“Listen, him, her—whoever. If Santa Claus showed up, she would have had to approve him.”

“We had company when we went up today. Do you know anything about that?” Sean asked.

Percy’s eyes went between Sara
and Sean. He wiped his lips, twisting them. “I didn’t figure it hurt to let him up. Maybe I figured wrong, and, if so, I apologize.”

“Does he still have a key to her apartment?”

“I didn’t unlock the door if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Sean turned to Sara. He could tell by the light in her eyes that she picked up on his silent communication. Benson had told them the husband no longer had a key. Strike two for the New York City Detective.

“All right, you have a great day.” Sean nodded toward the sidewalk. “Enjoy the sunshine.”

Percy smiled.
“Always, sir, always. Good day.”

On The Run

SEAN AND SARA TOOK A cab over to the address noted in the telephone directory for Robert West. It would take about an hour or so in good traffic, and in the city that equated to a phenomenon.

Sean had Cindy
’s laptop on his knees and Sara sat next to him in the middle of the back seat.

“You knew what I was trying to say to you back there when we were with the doorman?” he asked.

“Loud and clear. There is a lot of secrecy and lies surrounding Cindy’s death. Of course, murder usually lends itself to that.” She partially smiled, but it faded as her eyes went past him to the crowded sidewalks. “I couldn’t live like this every day.”

Sean followed the direction of her gaze.
“Me either. It’s surprising more don’t drop of a heart attack.”

“Moving at such a fast pace all the time, it is a miracle.”

“We’re here.” The cabbie glanced in the rearview and requested the fare.

Sean looked down at the money he had ready, which wasn’t near enough to cover it, and then pulled
out the remainder and paid the fee.
“Thank you.”

“Yep. Welcome to New York City, although, I’m not sure why you’d want to come to this neighborhood. Especially looking like that.” He spun in his seat to look at Sara. He smiled like a wolf that was ready to tear into the flesh of its game.

“We’ll be just fine.” Sean got out and extended his hand for Sara. “Darling?”

He ran his hands down his suit pants and she straightened her skirt.

“I feel like I’ve been squeezed in a panini press,” she said. “One hour in the back seat of a cab is too much for me.”

Sean laughed and put his arm around her.
“Well, you look like one delicious sandwich.”

She fluttered her lashes.
“Sean.”

He tapped his lips to her forehead and then kissed her lips.

“Whooeee!”
Whistles and catcalls filled the air.

She pulled back, laughing.
“Maybe it’s a good idea we get inside.”

“I think so.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the front door.

There was no doorman or reception desk, only musty carpeting, stained with traffic from slushy footwear, leading to a double elevator bank.

“His apartment is seven twenty.” Sara pressed the button for the seventh floor. “I hate to say it, but even the elevator smells funny.”
She laughed, her nose wrinkling up just the way he loved it.

The cart chimed a dead, sick sort of ding that sounded more like
dong
, when they reached their floor.

They stopped in the opening.

“You heard it too?” Sean asked, looking over at Sara.

“A gunshot.”

“Yeah.” He tucked his head out into the hallway and got a feel for the direction of the numbers. “It could be coming from Robert’s apartment.”

He started into a slow jog, Sara behind him.

Another report filled the air. He slowed his pace and put his arm out for Sara.
“I want you to hang back.”

“What? While you have all the fun? I can handle this.”

The way her eyes pried into his, it delivered the message. He was overreacting and being overprotective. He conceded.
“All right, but stay behind me.”

She nodded, but there was a spark in her brown eyes, maybe the way the hall lighting refracted off the specks of green—he wasn
’t sure if he trusted her nod of agreement. She was, after all, bred a cop, just like him. They were both taught to run toward gunfire, not flee from it.

The apartment door opened and a masked man came out. He paused when he saw them and then took off running in the opposite direction.

Sean bolted after him.
“Stop!”

The guy looked over his shoulder and nearly tripped on a bunched up section of carpeting. Arms flailing, he caught his balance, righting himself and avoiding a fall.

“Get back here.”

Adrenaline churned his stomach, and only served to propel him forward harder. His earlobes were on fire and the burning heat spread throughout his solar plexus.

He rounded the corner, following the perp to a back staircase. The door was flung open and bounced off the wall, rebounding into Sean
and knocking him off balance.

The shooter reached the first landing and spun around, gun held high.

Sean ducked, arms instinctively rising to cover his head as he did so.

The bullet ricocheted off a metal railing and the shooter pulled back on the trigger again.

This time no bullets went whizzing through the air.

“You’re out,” Sean yelled but remained hunched down. “Surrender.”

The person took off into a run again, breezing down a few steps at a time.

Sean ran in pursuit, with each landing, he envisioned catching up to his target and pulling him back. So close yet too far away. He just had to reach the hood of the sweater. He stretched and his fingertips grazed the fabric, but then broke free.