Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 01 - Murder Off the Books (4 page)

Chapter
5

“I can’t tell you and you’ve got a hell of a nerve asking.” Lieutenant James Greeley glared at his former lead detective. It was barely 10 in the morning and the dapper head of detectives was already on his third cheap cigar.

“I didn’t say a word,” Mac said with a smile, and dropped down onto the chair opposite his old boss. “Just stopped by because Roseanne said she had some homemade lasagna for Whiskey.”

“Yeah right,” snorted the forty-five-year-old lieutenant who loved designer suits and snow-white shirts. “The only thing Roseanne makes that’s homemade is trouble.” He spat the tail end of his cigar into the gunmetal-gray waste can.

“Got that right.” Mac laughed. “Nothing on that body is homemade.”

“Keep your hands off my clerk if you don’t want to catch something nasty.” Greeley frowned at him, adding a second warning, “And I don’t need you poking your nose into the Malwick case.”

“Because you’ve got your
star detective working on it?”

“My star detective retired. But if you’re referring to Eddie, don’t worry. I’ve got Tom dogging him.”

“He’s got game,” Mac grudgingly conceded, crossing his arms. The right one was a little sore from his tree-climbing stunt. “But he’s just a kid.”

“Not for long on this job.”
Greeley leaned back in his chair and kicked his snakeskin booted feet up on top of his desk. “So who’s paying the bills this month?”

“Ganseco Insurance. They cover
Concordia College against loss. Vince Malwick was the comptroller and supervised the accounts that are short more than a half million dollars. Unfortunately Vince is also very dead.”

“Yeah, it was no contest between the 9mm bullet and the guy’s brain,”
Greeley agreed.

“Well, Ganseco sends their condolences to his widow, Gina Malwick, and the college, but they really want the money back.” Mac leaned back in his chair. “So if the guy who offed Malwick happens to be the same one who stole the money, we have a common interest.”

“Who tipped off the college about the shortfall?” Greeley asked.

Mac pulled out a notebook and checked the entry. “An anonymous e-mail to a board member–Jack Starling–last Wednesday with specifics about which accounts didn’t reconcile.”

“And Malwick’s role?”

“So far, he’s clean, but that’s just on the first pass. If he didn’t take the money, maybe he found out who did and they decided to keep him quiet,” Mac suggested.

“Yeah, that’s my favorite theory,” Greeley said. “Maybe the killer is a new employee at the college, someone who has a checkered history and didn’t get along with Malwick.”

“Daniel Thayer?”

“So you’ve already been digging.” Greeley raised an eyebrow. “What do you know about Thayer?”

“Quite a bit.” Mac pulled out his notebook and flipped to the correct page. “I checked with neighbors from
Vermont where he lived a couple of years ago. Lots of booze, a couple of busts for disorderly conduct, a little gambling, but no grand theft.”

“Until now.”
Greeley smiled around his cigar. “Maybe he just never had the opportunity before. This last job was a big jump for him.”

Mac nodded. “He’s got a Yale degree but never held a job longer than a ski season. He moved around a lot until three years ago. Then all of a sudden he changed his lifestyle. Moved to D.C., got a decent job, and began attending AA meetings two or three times a week.”

 “Have you figured out how he got the job at the college in the first place?”

“Before the job at the college he was the volunteer bookkeeper and resident counselor for United We Care, a nonprofit group in the district that ran a couple of shelters, until they were absorbed by the Salvation Army,” Mac explained. “When UWC closed its doors, Jack Starling, who was on the board and is also a trustee of Concordia, recommended Thayer for the opening in the comptroller’s office.”

“The same Starling who got the tip-off about the money?”

“One and the same. I’m not sure how–or even if–he fits into all this.”

Greeley scribbled a note. “I’ll have Joanne Giles check into it. She’s running down the backgrounds on the university staff.”

“You’ll let me know if
….”

“Yeah, sure. But getting back to Thayer–I don’t think it’s a coincidence that money began disappearing right after he started work.” The lieutenant made his point by tossing the soggy cigar at the waste can, and missing.

“What’s your theory on the clock tower?” Mac asked, ignoring the discarded tobacco. “Why would Malwick meet someone there?”

Greeley
shrugged. “Good question. I’m assuming that he wanted privacy. It was homecoming weekend and the place was crawling with people.”

“And you think they met to
….”

“Talk about the missing money. Maybe Malwick thought he could get Thayer to make restitution. It didn’t look particularly good to have this money stolen on his watch, so maybe Malwick was hoping to keep it all quiet.”

“But he was seen arguing with Thayer on Friday, right?” Mac pushed. He flipped through his notebook, double-checking the date.

“Yes, my guys picked up reports that Malwick had been edgy all day, then blew up at Thayer over some software. Seems Malwick’s new laptop didn’t work. Thayer had been responsible for overseeing the contract for the new computers so Malwick blamed him.”

“Over a computer glitch?” Mac sounded doubtful.

Greeley
laughed. “I’ve been known to heave a chair across the room when my damn computer freezes.”

“So you think Thayer pulled a gun because of the argument? I guess that would be one way to have the last word.”

“No, Thayer blew his boss’ brains out because he stole more than a half million cool ones and needed time to get out of town before Malwick could turn him in. Getting the last word in was just a bonus.”

“So your investigation is a done deal except for actually catching the guy,” Mac offered as he stood.

“Yep. And it is just a matter of time before we find him.”

***

Mac had barely exited the lieutenant’s office when he found himself face-to-face with Roseanne Colucci, the department clerk. The peroxide blonde, on the far side of forty, hustled across the squad room and appeared to time her arrival to accidentally bump into Mac, her red talons grabbing hold of the well-muscled arm for balance. His sore arm.

“Mackenzie Sullivan, you handsome devil, how are you?”

“Fine. Good to see you, Rosie.” Mac smiled, gently prying off each finger. “What’s happening?”

“I was hoping that you and Whiskey could come by tonight to eat that lasagna. I’m also making frittata di zucchine. You know what that is?” the clerk whispered, tapping one of her two-inch nails on Mac’s lapel.

“No,” Mac answered slowly, his eyes twinkling.

“It’s an Italian egg dish that can be made the night before and heated up for breakfast.”

“Does it have zucchini in it?” Mac asked.

“Certamente,” Roseanne said breathily, pressing close enough that Mac knew he was going to smell like her favorite perfume all day long. It was “Obsession,” she’d told him once with a sly smile.

“That’s a shame. Whiskey’s allergic to zucchini. Thanks for thinking of us though.” Mac walked quickly out of the squad room, with the dog close at his heels.

***

“Here’s where the bulk of the cosmetics are stored. Mr. O’Herlihy said to make a list of anything special we need and he’d order it.” Rachel fitted a key into the lock on the cabinet located in a small but functional room adjacent to one of the three prep rooms in the basement. “We’ll be using this room and Mr. O’Herlihy and the other part-time cosmetologist will use the room down the hall. You can keep your kit locked up in here. No one will bother it.”

“Good. Over at
Franklins, the receptionist was always getting into my stash of fingernail polish. And she never screwed the caps back on tight.” Carrie picked up a jar of pigment powder. “There are at least ten more skin tones that should be in here. I see Chinese but no Japanese. And I like using Cinnamon, not a mix of Dark Brown and Flesh.”

“Make a list.” Rachel moved to another cabinet. “The restoration materials are over here. Eyecaps, mouth formers, Super Glue, clay, wax, plaster, splints etc. There’s a case of dowels sitting in my office.”

“I’d like to get some experience doing restorations; will you have time to show me?” Carrie replaced the jar and picked up a tube of Super Glue, examining the expiration date.

Rachel nodded. “Mr. O’Herlihy will still do most of the major restoration work, but he wanted me to take on some of the minor procedures. I’ll teach you what I know–most of which came from working summers for my grandfather. Some of my techniques might be a little dated.”

Carrie grinned. “It’s the results that matter. As long as the client looks good and nothing falls off during the viewing–who cares if you’re using a cow bone or plastic prosthesis. If the shoe fits….”

“I can assure you that I’ve never resorted to using animal bones, bovine or otherwise.” Rachel laughed and ushered the teen out of the room in front of her. “I’m not sure what Mr. O’Herlihy uses. Whatever you do, don’t open up the coolers down here. I figure at some point in working for O’Herlihy’s, plausible deniability is going to be important.”

***

“I think it’s time we went to college,” Mac said as he and Whiskey walked to their newest mode of transportation. The private detective and wolfhound clambered into a yellow panel truck decorated with a large black cockroach painted on the side. The giant bug was turned over on its back, legs up in the air, and lying next to a tombstone marked RIP. Jeff O’Herlihy had recently buried Malachy Flynn, the elderly patriarch of a dynasty of exterminators. The family motto, “Dead–as in Forever,” ran along the bottom of the truck, which had been offered in exchange for the polished oak casket with cream satin lining that had sent the 92-year-old great grandfather to his reward.

Colleen Flynn McCourt had gladly traded the ancient truck for a fitting sendoff for her grandfather, but Frank Flynn, the old man’s grandson and Colleen’s brother had other ideas. According to Jeff, Frank planned to continue the old man’s business and demanded the truck be returned.

“Frankie’s been sniffing more than pesticide,” Jeff muttered as he handed Mac the key. “He threatened to un-exterminate the funeral parlor.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Mac asked.

“He threatened me with cockroaches,” Jeff whispered.

“Bugs at forty paces?” Mac chuckled.

“Just be sure and lock the van when you park it. You never know with a loony tune like Frank Flynn. I’m going to sell it as soon as I can. Meanwhile be careful and keep an eye out for him.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Oh you’ll know him when you see him,” Jeff grumbled. “Short, balding, with a gut the size of
New Jersey. The lunatic wears a hat in the shape of a cockroach, says it’s advertising for the business.”

***

“You want to come with me or guard the bug truck?” Mac asked, as he pulled into a parking spot.

The dog put a paw on his arm, then sneezed, shaking her head in annoyance.

“Yeah, I know. Roseanne marked me good with that stuff. I’ll have to have this jacket dry cleaned.”

Whiskey gave a short bark in agreement.

“Okay. You stay here. Watch out for big cockroaches.”

Mac leaned past the dog and rolled down the passenger window part way.

Whiskey sneezed again.

“Damn stuff is worse than that skunk spray you picked up last year.”

Mac thought he saw a spark of understanding and sympathy in the big dog’s dark eyes. And something else.

“It’s not funny.”

The dog barked happily.

“Just for that you can forget about any homemade lasagna!” Mac locked the doors and stalked off, thinking he needed a partner that didn’t talk so much.

***

“Good morning, Mr. Sullivan. I’m Audrey Fieldstone, Vice-President for Finance, and Treasurer of Concordia College.” The fifty-something woman with the short silver hair and sparkling blue eyes held out her hand. “Jack Starling gave me a call and said you might be dropping by. He didn’t mention that it would be this morning. I’m sorry you had to wait.”

“No problem, I used the time to tour the campus. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.” Mac shook her hand. Before sitting in the chair she indicated, he took the opportunity to glance quickly around her well-appointed office. The room seemed spacious despite the fireplace, dark ornate bookcases, navy blue sofa and armchairs, and the massive walnut desk. One wall in the office was covered with framed diplomas and photographs.

He stepped closer so he could view the documents. “Very impressive.” He meant it. Her degrees were stellar. B.A. in Math from the
University of Vermont. MBA from Columbia. PhD from Yale. He focused in on the photographs: Audrey Fieldstone with the mayor; Audrey Fieldstone with the D.C. Representative; and Audrey Fieldstone with the head of the local Red Cross chapter. Ms. Fieldstone seemed to be a very busy woman.