Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) (6 page)

Although not textbook handsome, Costales’s body, at five foot-nine, made up for what it lacked in stature with a sturdy build. Detractors called him husky; admirers referred to his physique as muscular. The former found his full head of black, collar-length hair inappropriate, the latter, sexy.

Longtime friend and associate Larry Greenway sat across from him, running a hand over the desk’s smooth finish. “Nice. Really nice, Ed.”

“Coffee?” Costales offered.

Greenway declined with a wave of his hand.

Costales keyed his intercom. “Jillian, one coffee, please. Black.”

Cup in hand, she entered the office moments later. She was suddenly the most impressive thing in the room. Hair the color of a freshly minted penny curved gracefully under her jawline, accentuating a long, elegant neck. Striking, aquamarine eyes, a straight, fine nose and perfectly bowed lips combined to create a flawless face. A cream-colored linen skirt hugged her slim hips. The silk of her chocolate-brown blouse, while loose-fitting, draped over her torso in a way that accentuated every delicate curve. She strode across the room and handed the cup to Costales without a word.

He offered not a thank you, but a barrage of orders as he set the coffee down. “My meeting is in fifteen minutes. Have you got the reports ready?”

“They’re on my desk.”

“Good. Take them to the conference room and set them out.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He continued adding to his list of tasks, aware and vaguely annoyed that she was looking past him rather than at him. “I want next quarter’s sales projections on my desk when I get back. Get them from Cordero. And Ted Wilson from Shannon Pharmaceuticals should be calling. If he phones while the meeting is in session, put him on hold and notify me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

It was the answer he wanted, but her tone lacked the submissiveness he apparently desired. He leaned back in his chair, looking her over. “One more thing,” he added, “finish those letters to Keeling and the others and have them ready for my signature by the time the meeting wraps up.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yes, now that you mention it,” Costales said, heaping another task on an already-hefty list. “Will you, for God’s sake, go collect the rest of my things from Denise in my old office? It should have been done already. I want everything cleared out of there today.”

Still avoiding eye contact, she directed her focus an inch over his head. There was no insubordination, just a sense of wordless defiance.

“Jillian, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” The petulance must have reverberated even in
her
ears. Discreetly, she lowered her gaze and looked directly at him, blunting her voice’s sharp edge. “I’ll see to it.”

“Make sure you do.” Sounding marginally satisfied, he dismissed her.

Greenway’s eyes never left Jillian until the door closed behind her as she left. As the door latched shut, he sucked air through pursed lips. “You lucky bastard.”

Costales grinned without comment. “Now, about ADMAC. You had a concern about…” A change in his friend’s expression made him pause. “What’s wrong?”

Greenway fingered the sharp crease in his pant leg. “There’s something else we need to discuss first.”

“Fine, but I don’t have much time.”

“This won’t take long, Ed. Some of the other board members and I have been talking. We think we should go to the police—amend what we told them about the election.”

Costales shot out of his chair. “That information is to remain confidential.”

“Ed, we thought claiming Paul won the election would be in our and ACC’s best interest at the time, but—”

“It was and still is. I’ll be damned if I’ll let the company take a hit because some pansy-ass board members have a case of cold feet.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Let me remind you of something. Lying about the election results wasn’t my idea; it was the board’s.”

“You’re saying it’s entirely our fault?”

“Damn right I am. Before I even got there, the twelve of you came up with that plan. You’re the ones who elected John Stanley.”

“We had no real choice. So much was going on with Paul at the time: his wife’s murder, then his mistress’s death. We couldn’t risk making Paul the new president of ACC—not with that kind of scandal hanging over him. John Stanley was a good choice. A sound choice.”

“But not the stockholders’ choice.”

“Granted, but most of them were only vaguely aware of what was going on at the time. It was in their best interest that we overrode their vote. We could’ve smoothed things over with them eventually.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Costales shook his head. “John having a heart attack on the night of his win… That’s rich.”

Greenway stood, hands fisted. “It’s not like any of us could’ve predicted that. What happened to John was a shame.”

“For John, yes, but a blessing for the board. What a relief that had to be. You thought you’d gotten a do-over—Paul would take over after all, and you’d be spared the backlash from the stockholders. Too bad he turned up dead in the boardroom the next morning.”

A snide grin slid across Greenway’s face. “What are you complaining about? If things had gone differently, you wouldn’t be in this office right now.”

“True, but think about this: the sequence of events has put me in the unenviable position of running ACC, not as the board’s alternate choice like the stockholder’s have been told, but as the second runner-up.
If you want to destroy the company, then by all means, enlighten the police and let the stockholders hear the truth on the five o’clock news.”

“If we—”

“Larry, if word gets out that Paul killed himself after the twelve of you overrode the stockholder’s vote to elect him as ACC’s president, how long do you think it will take this company to dig out after that?”

“I don’t think—”

“Apparently not. Have you considered that the stockholders will vote your asses off the board if the truth goes public?”

“But—”

“But nothing. We stick to the original plan. We continue to say that Paul won the election—that he must’ve been more shaken by the losses in his personal life than any of us suspected—that his election must’ve felt like a hollow victory, and he took his life in despair. That’s what we’re sticking with, understand?” He walked back to the other side of his desk. “At least that way, we can maintain confidence in the leadership of ACC. Doing it your way would be the kiss of death.”

“But, Ed, you’re not looking at the whole picture. The police are dragging their feet on this investigation, and it’s scaring the hell out of us. They seem to be trying to turn Paul’s death into something it isn’t. If we admit he lost the election, they’ll finally get the whole picture and rule his death a suicide. Give it to them and they’ll leave us and ACC in peace.”

“Screw them.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Greenway said. “If they turn this into a homicide case, who do you think they’re going to be looking at? You were in the building the night Paul killed himself; you told me so yourself. And thanks to our claim that he won the election, they think you were next in line for the presidency. They’re likely to make something out of that and run with it.”

“Let them.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Look. In the end, they’ll have to rule Paul’s death a suicide because that’s what it was.”

“But in the meantime—”

“In the meantime, we play out the hand we’ve dealt ourselves.”

“You’re playing with fire,” Greenway warned him.

“It’s my neck on the line, not yours or anyone else’s. ACC is just a sideline to you and the others, but as president of this company, the choice is mine to make. I expect you to respect my decision.”

“It’s damn reckless.”

“And you think going to the police isn’t? Have you even considered that we could all end up facing charges for providing false statements?”

Greenway looked away, at a loss for an immediate answer.

“I didn’t think so. I want to hear I can expect the board’s cooperation.”

“I can’t promise that. The board’s loyalty is to the company, not to you, Ed. You’ve done nothing to earn it yet.” Greenway headed to the door. “I’ll relay your feelings to the others.”

As the door closed between them, Costales muttered, “You do that, Larry.” The knot in his stomach tightened. Greenway was right; the board wouldn’t turn to him for direction. It would turn to one of its own, Stuart Felton, Chairman of the Board. He’d have to meet with Felton, but not now. He checked his watch. With only a few minutes left before his meeting, he had time enough for one quick stop.

On the way to the conference room, he stepped through the doorway of his old office. Denise Freeport looked up from her desk with eyes so dark, they matched her raven hair. “Well, well. What brings you by?”

“The graph for last year’s manufacturing quotas…where is it?”

She made no move toward the files. “I don’t work for you anymore, remember? Get it yourself.”

He checked through the open door of the inner office. Thankfully, Furman, his replacement, was out. “I don’t have time for this, Denise.”

She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you have your little Miss Wirth fetch it?”

“I forgot about it. Look,” he said, closing the hallway door, “no more of these stupid games. Give me the graph; I have a meeting.”

“Frankly, Ed, I don’t care if you have a hemorrhage.”

“Damn it, Denise, I’m sick of your tantrums.”

“Am I supposed to care?” She flipped her black hair over a shoulder. “You dropped me like a hot rock at the first mention of commitment. First you kicked me out of your bed and then out of the job that should have been mine.”

“The graph, Denise.”

“You know, Ed, I thought you might actually have cared for me.” She unfolded her arms and leaned closer. “Don’t worry, though. I’m over it…and you.”

“Glad to hear it. The graph, please.”

“Still,” she went on, “our relationship is one thing; the job, on the other hand, is something else entirely. Frankly, it was no big loss when my husband walked out on me after he found out about us. Financially, though, it’s pretty tough covering my expenses on my income alone.” Freeport stood and leaned across the desk. “I damn well earned the job as your administrative assistant, and the raise that goes with it.”

“I already explained this to you.” It made no difference before, but he tried again. “Paul succeeding Chet Stockton was a foregone conclusion. When Chet died, it made perfect sense to have his retiring assistant train Jillian to take over the job. Jillian’s a quick study. She knows what she’s doing, and she’s damn good at it. That works in my favor. I’m not replacing her—not with you or anyone else. Is that clear?”

“As clear as the fact that you’re sleeping with her.”

“For God’s sake, Denise—”

“Who do you think you’re kidding, Ed? No one advances as fast as she has without purposely tripping when the boss starts chasing her around his desk.”

“I’m done playing this game with you.” Costales moved to the metal file cabinet behind her. He opened one drawer, flipping through the folders, then another, locating the needed graph. “You’ll get no more apologies from me, Denise.” He slammed the drawer. “Either you shut up and do your job or I’ll see to it you that you don’t work in this office or any other at ACC. Period.” He turned his wrist and did a quick time check. “Do you understand?”

He was late.

7

Ray and Waverly had barely gotten back to the station when a young, lean African-American man approached Ray’s desk. “Detective Schiller?”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Todd Gaines.”

“Mr. Gaines.” Ray caught Waverly’s eye, summoning him from across the room with a subtle jerk of his head.

Waverly cut a conversation short and joined him. “What’s up?”

Ray shorthanded the introduction. “Detective Waverly…Todd Gaines.”

“Finally,” Waverly said, shaking Gaines’s hand. The phones were ringing off their hooks, and people were milling around the desks; it was as chaotic as downtown at rush hour. “What d’ya say we talk where we can actually hear each other.”

Closing the door of an interview room behind them, Ray said, “We were at your place when you drove off earlier. You knew, right?”

Gaines sat down, head bowed. “Yeah. I figured as much from the looks of your car; it stands out in a neighborhood like mine.”

Waverly loosened his tie. “Gotta tell ya, Todd, that really pissed me off. In fact, that you’ve been giving me the slip for a while more than pisses me off; it makes me downright suspicious. You have something to hide, Todd?” When Gaines didn’t answer, Waverly took a deep breath and dropped into the chair opposite him, his voice suddenly low and sympathetic. “Tell us what happened between you and Paul Davis that night. Maybe we can help.”

“Hey, man, save the psychological bullshit. I had nothing to do with what happened to Paul Davis.”