Free Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) by Marjorie Doering Page B

over a desk and wrote something down on a tablet. He ripped the sheet off and handed it to Hoerr. “As long as you offered, Dennis… Thanks.” Waverly jerked his head toward Roth’s office. “C’mon, buddy, let’s go.”
    Once inside, Roth didn’t bother to acknowledge them; he left them standing as he sifted through the paperwork scattered across his desk. “All right, let’s have it. Where do things stand on the Davis case? I’d better hear there’s been some progress.”
    “There’s been some progress,” Waverly said.
    Roth’s face curdled. “Don’t play cute with me, Waverly. I busted my balls to bring Schiller in on this case because you were so all-fired sure that—”
    “No cuteness intended, Chief. There’s been some progress. Really.”
    Roth eyed him with suspicion. “Tell me what you’ve got.”
    Ray jumped in. “We’ve got direction.”
    “Direction? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    “It means we’re getting our ducks in a row. We’ve got suspicions, strong convictions—the strongest of which is that Paul Davis did not commit suicide. We’ve narrowed down the suspects and we’ve established possible motives.”
    “Listen, Schiller, I don’t care if your ducks are in a row or spread eagled on a serving platter; it sounds like you’re trying to blow smoke up my briefs. You’d better prove me wrong.”
    For over a quarter of an hour, the three of them discussed the various angles the investigation was taking, shifting Roth’s mood from antagonistic to cautiously optimistic. He looked to Waverly. “So what’s your next move?”
    “We’re going to check out bank records—Gaines’, Johnson’s and Costales’s.”
    “If Costales paid off one or both of the security guards, they won’t have made any deposits or significant purchases yet,” Roth said, pointing out what they already knew, “not if they’ve got half a brain between them.”
    “Right,” Ray said. “But any sizable withdrawals from Costales’s account might point us in the right direction.”
    “All right, go for it.” Roth dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Go on, get out of here. And keep me posted.”
    Ray shut Roth’s door on the way out. “Does he ever lighten up?”
    “Well, there was this one time back in 2001...” He left off, chuckling. “You’ll get used to it. By the way, good job in there…nice smokescreen.”
    “Thanks. Best I could do on short notice.” Ray slowed down and brought Waverly to a stop. “Hey, what’s up with Hoerr?”
    Waverly groaned. “He’s on temporary desk duty. He was involved in a righteous shooting. He’s having one hell of a time dealing with it. The perp was a fifteen-year-old kid.”
    “Oh, Christ.” Still haunted by his own involvement in the accidental shooting of Gail’s lover, Ray knew firsthand the kind of hell Hoerr had to be going through. They started moving again. “What was in that note you gave him?”
    “I gave him the registration info on the gun we found in Davis’s hand. Maybe Hoerr can find out if Michael Johnson and that .38 are connected. It might save us a lot of time and help take Hoerr’s mind off his troubles for a while—a win-win situation.”
    Ray considered that for a second. “Is Hoerr any good at that stuff?”
    “One of the best.”
     

 
     
     
     
    10
     
    The fluid stroke of a putter connected with a sweet, solid click. Stuart Felton’s golf ball rolled across the subtle contours of the lush green, curled at the last moment and dropped into the left side of the cup with a satisfying hollow plop . Accepting his friends’ compliments, ACC’s Chairman of the Board dipped his lanky six-foot, three-inch frame over the cup and removed the golf ball. It had been a sensational forty-foot putt for another dismal bogey.
    Felton stepped away and watched another member of his foursome putt. The word Titleist printed on the ball’s dimpled surface, somersaulted over and over on the short trip before