Murder in the River City Page 8

  Jason was going to be a problem. Sam wouldn’t understand, and she couldn’t blame him. But it wasn’t like she was dating Sam—argh! She was confusing herself.

  “You’re staring, Shauna. I see the wheels in your mind turning as you weigh whether to get involved with a convicted felon.”

  “Jason, I don’t hate you. You know that. I’m glad you got time off for good behavior or whatever. I really didn’t like thinking about you in prison, and I know that you learned.” She raised an eyebrow. “You did learn that you did some stupid-ass things, right?”

  He laughed. “Yes, I’ve learned my lesson, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “I know there’s no going back, Shauna. I’m sorry I lost you because I was greedy.”

  “That’s what I never understood, Jason. You’re smart, you’ve always worked hard, first in college and then in your career, you come from a wealthy family, I know you have a huge trust fund. Why did you have to cheat?”

  “Because I could. I know that sounds like a dumb excuse, but I was playing a game with myself, I suppose. See how far I could go.”

  She leaned back against her desk. “Thanks for being honest.”

  “I really do want to hire you.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m buying the old Holiday Inn downtown. I’m gutting it. Complete re-design. There will be gardens and three restaurants—maybe four—and I’m cutting down on the guest rooms and putting in full suites. High-end business hotel. Totally legit. I want you to be the project architect.”

  She stared at him in total shock. She couldn’t even speak.

  He grinned. “I’m not lying.”

  Commercial design was her specialty, and she had always wanted to be involved with a major downtown renovation project. To date, her projects had been small; this could make her career.

  “Murphy & Sons would be the contractor of course. I’ve watched the company, seen what you’ve done with it. I looked at some of your renovations. You’re good, your vision is amazing.”

  She blinked a couple times, surprised at his enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

  He leaned forward. “So? Are you in?”

  “I have to think about this.”

  “I’ll give you a week. The deal should go through on Monday and I want to get things moving quickly. Having you on board will help with the investors.”

  She was really going to have to think about this. She should have said no right off the bat. Accepting the job would cause friction in her family. But her father was a businessman first. She’d discuss it with him, weigh the pros and cons, and then come to a decision. It would give her the platform to move away from the construction end and solidly into design.

  “I’ll let you know by Monday,” she said.

  He stood up, grinning ear to ear. He walked over to where she leaned against her desk and put his hands on her arms. “It is good to see you, Shauna. Maybe—”

  She immediately cut him off, knowing what that look in his eyes meant.

  “Jason, if I work for you—and that is a big if—it will be work only. If you can’t accept that now, I’m automatically turning it down.”

  He sighed dramatically, then winked at her. “I understand. And I agree to your terms.”

  “And one more—I want to be in charge of the books. All the books.”

  “You really don’t forgive.”

  “I forgive, Jason—but I don’t forget. It protects you as well as me.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know on Monday.”

  He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. “Talk to you soon.” He left, passing her father, who was on his way in, sweating in his work vest and jeans.

  “Mr. Murphy,” Jason said.

  Her dad frowned in surprise. “Jason? Um, hello.”

  “Good to see you,” he said, then waved to Shauna and walked out, the bell jingling over the main door.

  Her dad stared at her. “That was Jason Butler?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He doesn’t look like he spent three years in prison. He looks too good.”

  “It was minimum security federal prison, and he’s been out for six months.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To hire us.” She explained the project. “Think about it, Dad.”

  “All right—but it’s really up to you. If we can handle the job, it would an asset to our company.”

  Her thoughts exactly. She glanced at her watch and cringed. “I gotta go to Dooley’s and help Granddad with the bar. It’s going to be packed with regulars—he’s reopening tonight, and I don’t want him alone.”

  “Doesn’t he have staff? You’ve been burning the candle at both ends, sweetheart.”

  “I’m fine, Daddy.” She kissed him and ran out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Callie Wood had lived in a run-down apartment complex near Sacramento State University. All apartments in the two-story structure faced the courtyard, where a cracked and over-crowded pool gleamed in the sun. Callie’s unit was in the second floor northwest corner. No one answered after Sam knocked, so he went to speak to the manager.

  “I’m here about the tenants in Unit 27.”

  “Tenants?” The manager, Oscar, snorted. He was in his seventies, scrawny and hunched backed. “One tenant. Joey Gleason.”

  Sam showed Oscar Callie’s photograph. “Do you recognize her? She listed this address as her residence on a job application.”

  “That’s his girlfriend.” Oscar shrugged. “I knew they were shacking up, but they didn’t cause no trouble so I didn’t sweat it.”

  “And Gleason? How long has he been living here?”

  “Little over two years. He has a college degree, moved here after graduating from Sac State. Thought he’d get a good job. But I said to him, college degrees are just paper. It’s tough times.”

  “Do you know where he works?”

  “Let me look it up. It was something he hated, like a secretary or receptionist or something. A law firm? Maybe. I don’t think he works there anymore.”

  Sam followed the manager into his office—a stuffy, smoke-filled room with a fan that circulated hot air. Oscar rummaged through some files and pulled out a crumbled paper. “Here. Gleason’s application. But like I said, I don’t think he works there.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He used to leave early in a suit. About three months ago, he started leaving later, in the afternoon, in regular clothes. In fact, he left about an hour ago.”

  “Are you certain he’s not unemployed?”

  “He pays the rent on time, and I don’t think he’s got rich parents.”

  “When was the last time you saw Callie?”

  Oscar shrugged. “Friday, I think. But I went up to Lake Tahoe, to bet on the ponies, this weekend.”

  Sam scanned the application. “Does Gleason still drive the 2002 Honda Accord?”

  Oscar nodded. “Like I said, he left about an hour ago—in that Honda.”

  Sam gave him his card—John’s card, with Sam’s cell on the back, since Sam’s cards hadn’t come in yet. “Call me when you see him. Don’t tell him I was asking about him, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Sam drove to the law firm listed on Gleason’s rental application. This could be a simple case of domestic violence—they fought, he killed her and dumped the body. It would be nice to have a simple case he could clear quickly, especially for his first case since he’d been back. Except he had that itch in his gut that said there was far more to Callie Wood and Mack Duncan’s murders than what the killers wanted anyone to see. And with a third person in the mix, plus the break-in at Mack’s apartment, Sam wondered exactly what Mack had been involved with. This just didn’t seem clear-cut or easy.

  Sam parked near the Wells Fargo Building where the Law Offices of Coresco & Hunt had a suite. He took the elevator up and entered the small, but well-appointed office. Soft chamber music played from the ceiling, and the recepti
onist typed at her computer, her long fingernails clicking on the keys. How she could type so fast with nails that had to be at least two inches, Sam didn’t know.

  She turned and smiled warmly, adjusting her headset. “May I help you?” Her nameplate read Wendy Linn.

  He showed his badge. “I’m looking for Joey Gleason. His landlord said he worked here.”

  “He no longer works here.”

  “Do you have his new employer?”

  Wendy’s smile and warmth turned cold. “I am not at liberty to discuss former employees with anyone, Detective.”

  “May I talk to his supervisor?”

  “Ms. Shepherd is unavailable. I can have her call you.”

  “Will you please tell her I’m here?” Sam gave the receptionist one of John’s cards where he’d crossed out John’s name and put his. “I can wait.”

  Wendy didn’t want to comply with his request—it was evident in her posture—but she took his card. She pressed a button and said in a quiet voice, “I have a detective with the Sacramento Police Department who insists on speaking with Ms. Shepherd about a former employee.” She waited a moment, then said, “Yes, sir.”

  She turned to Sam. “She will be able to see you in a few minutes. I will take you to the conference room.”

  Had he been a client, Sam suspected Wendy would have offered him coffee, water, or juice. Possibly wine or Scotch, given the ostentatious surroundings.

  The conference room was small and Sam doubted it was the law office’s primary meeting space. There was a table that sat six, bookshelves with law books, and no windows. Nothing personal decorated the walls, no law degrees or pictures or awards. The only decoration, aside from the thick books, was a generic picture of the Tower Bridge that crossed the Sacramento River, less than three blocks from their location.

  He spent the time researching the law firm on his phone. Coresco & Hunt was a civil law firm with six full-time lawyers who specialized in non-profit organizations, lobbying, estate planning, and corporate management. They didn’t list their clients on their very uninformative website, and he could only find a few references to the firm in a Google search, all related to a pro bono client—the River City Children’s Fund—which provided funding and services for abused, orphaned, or displaced minors. He sent the firm’s name and website to his sergeant to see if there was someone at the station who knew anything about the firm. Most likely not, considering they weren’t a criminal defense law firm.

  Then why the cold-shoulder treatment when he announced himself? Sam trusted his instincts, and they were definitely buzzing.

  Twenty minutes later—twice as long as Wendy told him—a tall, slender blonde entered. “I’m Amelia Shepherd. May I help you?”

  No I’m sorry to keep you waiting, just right to business.

  “I’m looking for Joey Gleason, a former employee of yours.”

  She nodded curtly. “Mr. Gleason parted with our firm on May 31st of this year. The terms of his severance are confidential.”

  “Was he fired?”

  “Again, the terms of his severance with Coresco & Hunt are confidential.”

  “Can you tell me how long he worked for you?”

  “He started employment on May 15th of the preceding year.”

  “So he worked for you for a year.”

  “Correct.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “He was our receptionist.”

  “Do you know if he had any trouble while working here? Specifically, with his girlfriend?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “What about problems with the attorneys?”

  “Again, I can’t comment on anything related to this law firm. I’ve confirmed his previous employment and frankly, that is all I can say.” She deliberately looked at her watch. “I’m on an extremely tight schedule today, and I’m already three minutes late for a conference call.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Sam said.

  Shepherd walked him out. At the door he said, “Did you ever meet his girlfriend, Callie Wood?”

  “No.” She didn’t look him in the eye, but he felt her eyes on his back, watching him, as he stepped into the elevator.

  Sam turned and smiled at Shepherd as the doors closed. She wasn’t smiling back.

  Why was the woman lying?

  #

  Shauna stood outside the pub to take Austin’s call. Again, he asked her to his charity event on Friday. “I’m busy,” she said. “With what happened to Mack, helping Dooley run the bar, and my dad’s company—you understand, right?”

  “It’s just one night, Shauna.”

  He might say that, but she didn’t think he believed it. Austin had an aura of entitlement when it came to her, as if she should be thrilled he wanted to be with her. Shauna didn’t want her brothers to know he was crossing the invisible line, but if it continued, she would. Mike was a peacemaker and hugely diplomatic. He’d set Austin straight without it coming to blows. Skip? Not so much. And she was glad Brian was still deployed, because he would go all Marine on Austin’s ass if he thought her ex-boyfriend was turning stalker.

  “Austin, I really have to go. Good-bye.” She hung up, knowing she had to but also hating to cut anyone off like that. She slipped her phone in her pocket and opened the door into Dooley’s.

  Detective John Black was at the bar talking to Dooley. She grabbed an apron from the storeroom, tied it around her waist, then took a place behind the bar and grabbed a rag. The bar was spotless, but she hated to stand still. She parked herself in front of the detective. “Hello,” she said as she wiped the counter in front of him.

  Dooley gave her a concerned look. “What happened to you, Spud?” he asked, using his old nickname for her. In Ireland, “Spud” meant anyone with the surname of Murphy, and Dooley often called her and her brothers “Spud” when they were little. It reminded her of her very happy early childhood, when her grandmother and mother had still been alive. She missed them both. By the time she was ten, she had no female role models.

  She needed to do a better job with the make-up. “I lost a fight with a door,” she said. She hadn’t told Dooley about what happened in Mack’s apartment—only that when she got there it was obvious someone else had been there first. The last thing she needed was her grandfather worrying even more about her. She was grateful Mike had sent him on an errand when she was here yesterday, otherwise the lie wouldn’t have worked.

  Black said, “I just told your grandfather that one of your former employees, Callie Wood, was found dead. She was killed the same night as Mack.”

  “Callie? The thief?”

  “I didn’t make the connection until you sent the employee list. I’m trying to track down her boyfriend, but Detective Garcia just called and said he’s no longer with his employer and he’s not at his apartment.”

  Shauna’s mind was going a mile a minute, trying to connect the dots. “What happened to her?”

  “She was strangled at Discovery Park.”

  “That’s awful,” Shauna said. She hadn’t liked the woman—she was lazy and arrogant—but she hated the thought she’d been murdered so horrifically. She must have been terrified.

  Dooley said, “The detective thinks Callie and her boyfriend robbed me and killed Mack.”

  “It’s one theory,” Black said, and Shauna had the distinct impression he was backtracking.

  Shauna had questions. “And then her boyfriend killed her? Was he the one who broke into Mack’s apartment? The boyfriend? Does he have a name? How could they overpower Mack? Why would Mack let them into the bar? How did they get a hold of the baseball bat?” She couldn’t remember if she’d ever met Callie’s boyfriend. When Callie was working here, Shauna had been neck deep in keeping Murphy & Sons afloat.

  “Joey,” Dooley said. “I remember him. Came in a couple of times. Callie gave him free beer. I don’t usually mind, but she spent more time chatting with him than with the customers.”

  Black slid over a photo t
hat was obviously enlarged from Joey’s driver’s license. Joey was listed as five foot ten, blond, and 170 pounds. “Is this the man?”

  Dooley nodded.

  “That’s not the man who attacked me.”

  As soon as she said it, Shauna realized she’d let the truth slip. She hadn’t wanted Dooley to know what happened because it would give him one more thing to stress over. Like he didn’t have enough between Mack’s murder, the funeral, the insurance, and his own grief.

  Dooley snapped his fingers. “I knew you were keeping something from me! You’re a poor liar, Shauna.”

  She was a damn shitty liar and knew it. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Too late.”

  Black interrupted. “Did Mack know him?”

  “Most likely,” Dooley said. “Mack knew Callie was dipping, he admitted it when I fired her. He thought she’d stopped, and he’d paid back what she stole. Said he felt bad for her because she had a rough life.”

  “I don’t know what story she told Mack, but she lived in a solid middle-class house growing up in San Diego. Her father was former Navy, her mother a school teacher, and she stole over five thousand dollars from them when she disappeared at age nineteen,” Black said. “Garcia spoke with her mother today, and she said the last time Callie contacted her was three months ago. She said she’d been fired from her job and wanted to come home but needed a thousand dollars to pay her back rent and buy a plane ticket. Her mom sent it, but Callie never went home.”

  Shauna couldn’t imagine begging to come home and then just taking the money. But she couldn’t imagine disappearing for years after stealing from her parents. She’d never have even thought of it.

  She wasn’t naïve. She knew her family was unusually close-knit and considered their bond truly special. Other people had much harder lives, and even though the construction business for the Murphy’s was feast or famine, they’d always stuck together. To steal from family—that was a grave sin in her book.

  “Why would Callie rob us?” Dooley said. “She’d know we didn’t have much money that late at night. She knew I took the days receipts when I left.”