Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) (31 page)

Ray waited, but Felton had shut down again. “Did the note have a bearing on his decision?” He watched in the mirror as Felton nodded his answer.

“The note had everything to do with it. It was an obvious fake. Once Mitch realized that, it was clear Paul’s suicide was staged.” Felton paused for several seconds before he could continue. “He called me that night to say he was going to the police. At first I thought he meant he’d changed his mind about going along with the board’s plan. That’s when he told me what he’d done.” Seconds passed in silence.

“And?” Ray said, urging him to continue.

“It stunned me. He’d removed a suicide note? Without thinking, I said, ‘But I didn’t leave one.’”

“Whoa,” Waverly mumbled.

“I couldn’t explain my way out of the blunder,” Felton said. “Mitch put it together immediately, of course. The comment could only mean I’d killed Paul.” Felton took a huge breath. “At that point, I believed Paul’s death might still be ruled a suicide if only I could persuade Mitch to destroy the note and keep its existence to himself. I pled with him not to do anything until I got there.”

“And he waited,” Ray said.

“I wish to God he hadn’t. I went to his home and begged him to stay out of it.”

“Stay out of it?” Waverly said. “He was already involved up to his eyeballs.”

“Yes, you’re right of course. I hoped that and our years of friendship would insure his silence, but it was useless. Mitch was as ethical a man as I’ve ever known.”

“Ethical, my ass,” Waverly said. “He tampered with vital evidence in a murder investigation.”

“It was a momentary lapse in judgment—a reckless impulse. Even so, he was prepared to turn the note over and face the consequences. That ought to tell you what kind of man he was. He begged me to come with him—to turn myself in. We argued at length over it.”

“And, at some point, it turned physical,” Ray surmised.

“Things got out of hand, yes. Nothing I said could change Mitch’s mind. He was leaving the room to dress, planning to go to the police. I spun him around, trying to stop him. It turned into a shoving match. I pushed him and he fell on the couch. He was shouting at me and struggling to get up, but I straddled him and held him down. I only wanted him to hear me out, but he kept yelling and fighting me. I finally put a pillow over his mouth to quiet him.” Felton seemed to have trouble swallowing. “I…I didn’t realize. I… He...”

“You smothered him,” Ray said.

A muted groan came from Felton. “God forgive me…that was never my intention. I loved that man like a brother. I was in a panic. I couldn’t think straight.”

“But you came up with an idea,” Waverly said.

“Yes. I found part of a sandwich covered in plastic wrap lying on a shelf in the refrigerator. I opened it, tore a portion off and…and…”

“Yeah,” Ray said, “we know. You shoved it down his throat.”

“I was desperate. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’d have had a few choice suggestions for you,” Waverly said.

“Believe me, Detective, you can’t think any less of me than I do myself.”

“Wanna bet?”

Felton grimaced. “Is everything a joke to you?”

“No, you’ve got it turned around,” Waverly told him. “To me, joking is everything; it’s how I cope.” He shifted his arms, still locked behind his back, and emitted a pained groan. “So what did you do with the note?”

“After I found it in Mitch’s robe pocket, I burned it—not then, but later, once I’d had a chance to study it for myself. The note was as much a mystery to me as the gun in Paul’s hand. I couldn’t imagine where it had come from or who had left it.”

“Yeah, it sucks not knowing what’s going on,” Waverly said. “And along those lines, if you’re planning to kill us, I’d just as soon know now.”

“I’ve already told you there’s nothing to worry about as long as both of you follow my instructions.”

“Yeah, right,” Waverly said. “Having the word of a liar-slash-murderer makes me feel a whole lot better.” He fidgeted in his seat as they crossed a bridge spanning the Mississippi. “Hey, I’ve gotta take a leak.”

“You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve been waiting for nearly two hours already.”

Ray stepped up the pressure. “I could use a pit stop, too.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Tell ya what, Felton,” Waverly said, “either you stop and let me out or, in about a minute and a half, this car’s gonna depreciate in a damn big hurry.”

“The only rest stops along this highway are waysides and other public facilities. It’s out of the question.”

“I know this area,” Waverly told him. “There’s a place where we can stop; it’s close and out of public view.” He didn’t wait for Felton to give permission. “Ray, hang a right at the next big intersection up ahead.”

“If this is a trick…”

“Relax, Felton. I told you I have to take a leak.”

Ray breezed through the green light on Highland Scenic Road as he made his turn. “Where next?”

“A few blocks ahead—another right.” His directions brought them to a two-lane residential road heavily striped with wide patches of tar. “Now slow down and keep your eyes open. It’s about a block or so down on the left—more of a path than a road.”

As promised, the mouth of a dirt road appeared bordered by birch trees, pines and oaks. Ray turned and let the car coast, spewing dust in its wake.

“Stop past that little bend up ahead,” Felton said. He waited until Ray pulled over. Apparently satisfied with Waverly’s choice of location, he said, “We’re going to go about this exactly as I say. Turn the engine off and pass the key to me, Detective Schiller.”

Ray handed it over the seat. “Better hurry before my partner’s bladder gives out.”

“You got that right,” Waverly said. “Let’s get a move on.”

“I’m going to come around to your side and let you out, Detective Waverly. As for you, Detective Schiller, don’t move until I say so.” Felton got out and closed the door.

With only seconds to communicate privately, Ray said, “Now or never, Dick.”

“Right. Get ready, buddy.”

The gun in his hand, Felton pulled Waverly’s door open. “Let’s go, Detective.”

“How about giving me a hand?”

“I’m sure you can manage on your own.”

Ray gripped the door handle, awaiting an opportunity as Waverly inched his way out of the back seat with his hands still locked behind him.

Waverly finally made it to his feet. “So…” he said, looking meaningfully at his fly, “are you going to uncuff me, or are
you
going to do the honors?”

Felton blanched. “Turn around and I’ll remove the handcuffs. Once they’re off, pass them through the window to your partner. As soon as Detective Schiller has cuffed himself to the steering wheel, go ahead and relieve yourself.”

Ray could see only their torsos in the outside mirror—could barely hear their conversation through the closed window. Cursing inwardly, Ray saw Waverly standing where he’d hoped to find Felton. Waverly was near the edge of the driver’s door with his back to the executive. If Felton couldn’t be maneuvered within reach of the door, using it to deliver a forceful, well-timed blow was only a pipe dream.

Eyes trained on the mirror, Ray prepared himself for anything. He tightened his grip on the handle as he watched Felton hunch down behind Waverly, the handcuff key in one hand, the gun in the other.

Twisting the key in the lock, Felton released one of Waverly’s wrists. “I apologize for your discomfort, Detective, but—”

Cocking his freed arm in front of him, Waverly swung it back full force, striking Felton’s head with his elbow before he could utter another syllable. Simultaneously, a gunshot rang out as the driver’s door flew open. Ray tucked and rolled onto the ground as the door’s interior absorbed the impact of another bullet intended for him. Sprawled on the ground beside Waverly, Felton scrambled to his feet. Ray saw what looked like a blood-red boutonniere blooming across Waverly’s chest.

Felton crashed to the ground again as Ray hit him with a body block, his next shot missing high and wide. A tangle of thrashing arms and legs, they struggled for control of the gun. Dust from the dirt road billowed around them, clouding their vision, choking their lungs.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Ray shouted. “You lousy son-of-a-bitch!”

Arm extended, Felton held fast to the gun.

Ray pitted his age and strength against Felton’s greater height and surprising agility. Punishing body blows struck him as he secured a two-handed grip on Felton’s gun hand. Gasping, he struggled to break the grip Felton took on his throat and drove a knee between his legs. The gun remained locked in Felton’s clenched fist. Pinned between them, the gun fired again, the blast muffled by their bodies. Dust began to settle around them as Ray felt the warmth of blood spreading across his stomach and waited for the telling pain.

None came.

Rolling to the side, he stripped the gun from Felton’s hand without resistance. Ray heard him moan, saw his chest continue to rise and fall. He searched Felton’s pockets for a cell phone. Finding none, he located the car key and raced to Waverly’s side. The crimson stain on his chest had doubled in size. “Dick, you hang in there, you hear me? You’re going to be all right.”

His eyelids fluttered. “Felton?”

“He’s alive. That’s all I know. I’ve got to get the two of you to a hospital.” Ray got his arms under Waverly. “I’m going to need a little help here, Dick.” Waverly struggled to his knees, then his feet. “That’s it,” Ray said. “Let’s get you into the car.” Half supporting, half carrying him, Ray loaded Waverly into the front seat.

“The bastard put a hole in my...my new shirt,” Waverly said.

“Take it up with him at the hospital,” Ray said, uncuffing Waverly’s other wrist. “He pressed a handkerchief into Dick’s hand and positioned it over the wound. “Keep pressure on that,” he told him. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

“No,” Waverly said. “Go straight. Left at…the intersection.”

Dust spewed from under the spinning tires.

A weak laugh came from Waverly. “Not bad, buddy. We went to his office on a…a fishing expedition and landed Moby Dick.”

“Yeah. Now shut up and save your strength.”

Speeding down Highland Scenic Road, Ray listened to Waverly’s shallow breathing, praying it wouldn’t stop. Gurgles and sputters were audible behind him. Connecting with Highway 210, Ray crossed the Mississippi River into Brainerd and followed the hospital signs to St. Joseph’s Medical Center. The trip had taken fewer than eight minutes, but felt like an hour.

The emergency staff loaded Felton on a gurney. Ray saw his eyes roll before he lost consciousness, his face ashen as they rushed him inside. A second team took charge of Waverly. Ray hovered over him, keeping pace as they wheeled him down the hallway to the ER. Heart lodged in his throat, Ray gripped Waverly’s forearm and forced a smile. “Don’t go doing anything stupid like dying. You don’t want to piss Phyllis off.”

Waverly gave him a fragile grin. “Hey, tell her…tell her I’m flirting with the nurses. She’ll be too mad to worry.”

39

After Waverly had been rushed into an operating room, Ray stripped out of his bloody suit coat, folding the stained fabric to the inside. He took just long enough to scrub the dried blood from his hands before calling Phyllis Waverly, then the Brainerd police, and finally Captain Roth. While waiting for the Brainerd police to arrive, he tried to wash the stains from his shirt in a hospital men’s room, but his best efforts left it looking like a faded tie-dye.

The Brainerd police arrived in a matter of minutes while the damp fabric still clung to his chest. Supportive but efficient, they asked all the proper questions. Eventually satisfied, they left to impound Felton’s vehicle while Ray waited for news about Waverly and Felton.

Forty-three minutes later, a stout, middle-aged surgeon approached. He stripped the surgical mask off his sagging, bulldog-like face and sighed. “I’m sorry, Detective, he didn’t make it. We did all we could.”

For a moment, Ray couldn’t breathe. “Who didn’t make it? For God’s sake, which one are you talking about?”

The surgeon frowned, struggling for the name. “Felton,” he said finally. “Stuart Felton.”

“Thank God.” He filled his lungs with a tremendous breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, but the other man is my partner.”

“I understand.” As the doctor turned to leave, he stopped. “There’s something you may want to know. The bullet didn’t kill him; he’d have survived the damage it did to his lung. His heart simply gave out. After we opened his chest, there were clear indications he’d already had at least one prior coronary. His heart was already seriously compromised. We re-established his heart rhythm once. The second time, we did all we could, but couldn’t bring him back.”

Ray closed his eyes and sighed. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I hope the information gives you some peace of mind.”

“Yes, thanks. What about my partner?”

The doctor pushed the eyeglasses higher on his stubby nose. “I’m afraid I don’t have that information. I believe Dr. Sutherland is your partner’s surgeon. Be patient. A nurse should be out soon to give you an update.” He walked away, leaving Ray to worry alone.