I laughed. "We were hoping to see the same, but instead, her half-dressed 'personal assistant' answered the door."
"Wow, that was a fast recovery time," the chief said.
"I was thinking the same thing," Genevieve said.
"I wanted to go over the case files with Avery here. She has a way of seeing things that take her to the heart of the case."
"I’ve noticed that she's a lady of action. There’s no problem with that."
David Morris led us to a conference room. "Nobody uses this space ninety percent of the time, and you can use the table to lay out the files." He left to get the documents and returned only a few moments later. "I still had this one on my desk, so it wasn't hard to put my hands on."
"Fair enough," I said. "I appreciate the opportunity to read the case files.”
"It's no trouble. I'll leave you ladies to it. I’ve been over it so many times my eyes have crossed. Maybe a fresh perspective is what it needs."
"Thank you." Genevieve was already absorbed in taking the file apart on the table and didn't look up as Chief Morris closed the door quietly behind him. In the first stack, she put photos from the crime scene. In the second, she placed the report describing the crime scene. The forensic report dealing with the analysis of the murder weapon and blood splatter was in the third. I gravitated toward the last pile while Genevieve went over the crime scene photos. After a few minutes, she pulled a magnifying glass out of her purse for a closer look.
I looked at the report on the murder weapon. Someone had stabbed Ralph Maddox to death with a nine-inch dagger with a slightly curved blade and was likely old. There's nothing like being stabbed to death with an antique. Carrying the ornate weapon couldn’t have been a coincidence, but where had the dagger come from? I pulled my phone out, took a picture of the blade, and flipped to the next report.
The blood spatter showed that Ralph had been killed by someone who'd stabbed with a downward angle as he lay on the ground. The killer had brought his (or her) hand up high over their head before bringing it down for the next stab, creating a wide arc of blood. An absence of blood splatter to the victim's left side made it likely that the killer had been to Ralph's left when he was killed, blocking the blood from spreading in that area.
The act of stabbing someone that many times usually meant that someone was either furious or crazy.
"Avery, what do you make of this?" Genevieve asked.
I went to look at the image she was holding. The same dagger appeared in the photo, wrapped in a man's blood-soaked handkerchief with the letter N embroidered on it.
"N? Why would Ralph or Bob have an N embroidered on his handkerchief? I mean, who carries a handkerchief at all these days?"
"Somebody wealthy enough to be frivolous or someone who has something to prove," Genevieve said.
I flipped through the crime scene reports to find a description of the handkerchief. After a few pages, I found what I was looking for. "'A standard twelve-by-twelve-inch handkerchief, white and saturated with blood,'" I read. "There’s no mention of the letter N appearing anywhere."
"Does it give D.N.A. results for the blood?" Genevieve asked.
I rummaged some more. If they did a D.N.A. test, they'd recorded nothing. "I guess they'd assumed it was the victim's blood."
"What about the dagger?" Genevieve asked.
I turned to that section of the report. “It says the blood on the blade was consistent with that of the victim.”
"Was there any other D.N.A. found at the scene?" Genevieve asked.
I went page by page through the reports. "It looks like everything matched the victim, but that really leads us back to Bob. They’re identical twins. Even if he cut himself or something, the D.N.A. would still be a match for the victim."
"Good point. That makes things tricky. I wonder if they already collected D.N.A. from Bob." She seemed lost in her thoughts.
I turned back to the reports and went through the pile of pictures as Genevieve went through the next pile of paperwork.
The blood splatter was extensive which was not surprising since the victim had a severed artery. I reached the pictures of Ava, taken in the hospital room after the attack. There was no obvious injury, but photos had been taken of a place above her hairline where she'd reported she'd been struck. She was covered in flecks of Ralph’s blood, and her clothing had been collected and entered into evidence.
I shivered. How could she have been covered in the man's blood and just walk away and move on with her life? Ava had to have been quite close to the murder when it happened. There was no doubt she'd witnessed everything.
Chapter 15
"What’s on your agenda today?" Dad asked. "It’ll be New Year's Eve in a few days. We should plan something.” He poured himself a second cup of coffee.
Another New Year’s Eve. It seemed like a lifetime since I'd started the year with a sense of hope. It was time to change the subject. "Oh, I'm sure we’ll figure something out later. The forensic accountant is sending us a report this morning. They’re faxing it to the department, and I promised to meet Genevieve there to go over it. I sure hope it makes sense—I was horrible at accounting,"
"I don't remember you having any trouble with your classes in college," Dad said.
"No, you remember my grades, but I had to dig in and earn that one."
"What do you expect to find in the report?" Dad asked.
I raised my eyebrows. "I’ve found that if you follow the money, it'll lead you to the motive or, better yet, the killer."
"Wait—I thought you said you were going through Bob's finances. You don't think he’s guilty, do you?"
"I have to find out what was going on with him either way. Don't get all worked up, Dad. It may help to clear Bob. His involvement isn't the angle I'm looking at here, but while we have the help, it’s better to gather as much information as we can."
"I guess that makes sense. I was thinking of visiting Bob today. I don't like thinking of him stuck in that jail. It’s just wrong. They should've allowed bond—he doesn’t even have a record."
"Dad, I think you have to face the possibility that Bob murdered his brother." As much as I wanted to think Ava was involved, I'd found nothing to clear Bob.
"I won't believe it unless you can give me definitive proof. I think there’s something missing here. I know investigating's your thing, and I respect that, but keep in mind that interpreting people's my thing."
"Interpreting people? I thought you interpreted the law."
"Oh, yes—that's part of the job, but after you've represented so many people, you get a real sense of the ones that are innocent and those who'd like to prove it by erasing the crimes they committed. I know Bob’s innocent. There’s nothing in his reaction that makes me think otherwise."
"I wish I could share your faith in him." I spread some jelly on a piece of toast, avoiding eye contact with my dad. I didn’t want to disappoint him.
Dad sighed. "In some ways, I'm glad you’re cynical, Avery. It’s that trait that'll drive you to find that truth even if it’s not the one I want to hear."
"So, you’d accept it if I proved Bob was the killer?"
"If you find enough evidence that you’re convinced, then I’ll accept it as the truth, but if you only find enough evidence to convict Bob, then I’ll still think he’s innocent."
"Dad, you're so idealistic!"
Dad laughed. "That's my girl. I'm glad to see you’re getting back to acting like your old self."
"Thanks…I think." Was I changing? I hadn’t noticed.
I slipped Milly a bite of jelly toast under the table. She humbly accepted my offering. Lately, she'd become Dad's friend as much as mine because the case had filled my calendar.
***
I headed back into the police department in a rush. Genevieve had asked me to meet her at ten o'clock, but Dad's car had needed gas and that put me behind schedule. I was headed for the conference room at top speed in high heels when I crashed into someo
ne. My feet went out from under me, and I knew I was going to fall, but then the person grabbed me and held me steady.
"Avery Rich—I didn't expect to run into you here." Jesse Moreno looked down at me with an amused grin.
I blushed. A flutter in the pit of my stomach caught me by surprise. “I didn't expect to run into you, either. I’m so sorry."
Jesse stood me back up as though we'd just executed a dip on the dance floor. “It was my fault. We have a call, and I’m headed out. It sounds like a big bust."
"Oh, well, stay safe," I said.
Jesse smiled, and I couldn't help noticing that cute dimple again. "Look, Avery: the offer to buy you a drink is still open."
I don't know what came over me—maybe it was the proximity of his body while he'd held me or the warmth from his hands still tingling on my skin as I wrote my phone number on a scrap of paper from my purse. "I think I’ll take you up on your offer. Call me, and we can work out the when and where."
"Great! I'll call you tonight." Jesse headed for the exit, walking backward to finish the conversation. "I have to go."
“Yeah, I'm running late myself.” I waved goodbye.
"I'll call you," he said with a grin as he rushed out of the exit.
I turned and headed into the conference room.
Genevieve looked up from the documents she was arranging on the conference table. "You're late."
"I'm sorry. I had to get gas, and then I ran into Jesse Moreno who was in basic training with me in the hallway."
She raised her eyebrows. "I guess it’s a small world,"
I gestured at the papers. “Have you already read the report?"
Genevieve nodded. "Yes, and I'm afraid we were off base with Ava. If she paid for a hit, she covered her tracks well. I'm not convinced she even has those kinds of skills."
"Well, that makes the whole ‘blood on your hands’ statement even stranger," I said
Genevieve shuffled a few stacks until she found the document she was looking for. She held the ledger out to me. "Here’s one strange thing: somehow, Bob made a major withdrawal in Toronto, Canada a couple of days ago. It looks like he went on a real Christmas shopping spree." Genevieve pointed out the transaction in the spreadsheet analysis.
"Bob? What in the world? How could he do that from jail? I mean, we know he was in jail; there is no doubt he’s not in Toronto."
"That’s for sure, but it is possible that he's somehow routing money through a third party. The cash was from an account belonging to Ralph Maddox. I guess it was some kind of expense fund. This week, someone transferred over a million to an account in Bob's name, and now they're skimming the money out in maximum ATM transactions."
My blood boiled. How could Bob Maddox look at me with a straight face and tell me he was innocent while he was skimming funds from his cell? Who did Bob have to transfer the money and take it out at the ATM? Having that kind of access to that many accounts would take the knowledge and access of somebody on the inside. Since Ralph was dead, the only person possible was Bob.
"I'll go find out what the heck's going on," I said, handing the report back to Genevieve.
"Wait—you want to go to Toronto? That’s way out of my jurisdiction. We only operate within the United States."
"No, I’m going to confront Bob Maddox. In fact, let me make a copy of that. I want to see his expression when I show it to him. I want him to know we're on to him."
"You know what? I'd like to see his reaction myself. You need to be the one to go in. He knows you, and he thinks you’re his advocate."
"I thought I was his advocate, but now this looks like another murder for greed case. What is wrong with people? I don't understand how anyone can become so twisted."
"If you find an answer to that question, let me know, but I think that's one for the ages; human nature or something like that." Genevieve headed for the copy machine while I took a few more photos of the evidence with my phone. There were too many things making too little sense, and it was time for Bob to tell more than his sob story.
***
The prison guard looked surprised to see me checking in to see Bob once again. His eyes widened in surprise when Genevieve gave him her credentials, but he didn't comment.
Genevieve agreed to stay outside the room behind the fake mirror for the interview. I was worried that having an FBI agent present would throw Bob's response off, and I wanted to see his genuine reaction.
Bob came out in shackles. He'd earned a new black eye since our last visit. The place had aged him in a short amount of time, and he looked tired and gray. He brightened a little when he saw me. "Avery, I wasn't expecting to see you today. I hope you're bringing me some good news."
"Actually, I need you to give me an update."
"Update? I don't get out much. There’s not much to tell."
"I need to know how your accounts are linked to Ralph's."
"Accounts? Oh, yeah. Ralph had an expense account he kept for me. He put enough petty cash in the account to cover business trips and meals with clients. It wasn't a huge deal. He made it so I could transfer money for what I needed into my own accounts, but he held the purse strings. I guess the accounts will need to change over to whoever heads up the company now unless the place just closes its doors."
"Will it close down?"
"Since my brother was the face and leadership of the company and I was in charge of concepts and development, it might. I can't get any work done from here, and I don't know who can step up. That part of the company's structure was never my thing; it was always Ralph's domain."
"So, if you wanted to remove money from the expense account, you could?"
"In person, yes, but if you're asking me if I can do it from here, no, and why would I?"
"That's a great question." I took the accounting summary out of my bag and slid it across to him.
Bob leaned in to read the document. "You'll have to excuse me—I don’t have reading glasses here." He held the paper a few inches from his nose as he looked over the report.
"What’s this?" Bob shook the paper. "Somebody's embezzling money!"
"You said yourself that only you or Ralph could take money out and nobody else. Since Ralph's dead, I have to think that somehow, you’re the one who authorized those transactions."
"I didn't authorize anything. I can't even leave a room by myself and you think somehow I waved my magic wand to embezzle money from here? Avery, I thought you knew better."
"I have to state the obvious, and from where I stand, the obvious fact is that I have yet to find a scrap of evidence that anybody other than you could've been the killer. Every clue points back to you, yet you insist you’re innocent."
Bob slammed his fist on the table. "Because I am! Somebody’s setting me up, and there's nothing I can do to stop it."
"Enough! This is getting us nowhere." I took out my phone and found the picture of the murder weapon, still swaddled in its monogrammed handkerchief. "Do you recognize this dagger?"
Bob reached for the phone. I noticed that he reached with his left hand; the medical examiner had said the killer was right-handed.
He zoomed into the image and held it close to his face. "I recognize it…but how?"
"That is a question for you," I pushed
"No, I mean, I don't understand how Ralph was stabbed to death with his own dagger."
I shook my head. I'd expected Bob to deny ever seeing the blade, not to tell me it had been his brother's. "So, it’s possible Ralph was carrying this weapon, and the attacker took it from him and used it against him?"
"That’s where my guesses go out of the window. Ralph wouldn't carry a dagger around to go out to dinner. It's an antique blade that belonged to our grandfather. It was valuable. I think it was made by some artisan that wound up hitting it big. I had hoped he'd leave it to me, but he left it to Ralph, instead."
"Did you ever know Ralph to take the dagger out with him?" I asked.
"Yes. He'd take it with him when
we went on our annual hunting trip each fall when we were still young men. I thought he'd brought it to brag, but later I realized he'd taken the old man's passing hard and was bringing it to honor his memory."
"What about the handkerchief? Did your brother carry one?"
"Yes. Sometimes, when he wore formal wear.”
"And did you?"
"Ralph was the one who'd wanted the image. I never cared about all of that window dressing."
"Can you think of any reason Ava would want to hurt Ralph?"
"Ava? No. Why would she? I'd always assumed he was her investment." Bob handed me my phone.
I stuffed it in my pocket. "I don't know. I was hoping you could help me with that part."
"Ava's a strange bird. The only thing I could be sure of is that she wasn’t the best thing for my brother."
"You didn't approve?" I asked
"He was twice her age. They didn't spend much time with each other, and to be honest, I didn't see it working out. I think Ralph was more interested in using her fame to boost the company."
"Do you think that’s why your brother was getting plastic surgery? Did he do it to appeal to Ava?"
"Plastic surgery? Ralph never had plastic surgery. I can't imagine he would. At least, I never noticed any big changes with him, and I have a good basis for comparison." Bob pointed to his own face.
Maybe he didn't want to notice. I mean, he was a guy, and they weren't exactly known for tuning into changes like that. "So, you weren't aware of Ralph ever having any procedures done?" I asked
"Well, he had an appendectomy two years ago, but I doubt he had any work done then."
I flipped through some paperwork I'd brought and sighed. What else could Bob tell me that he hadn't already? "Look," I continued, "we need to move this case forward before you go to trial. The FBI's only onboard because of the financial ties. The prosecutor's ready to go to trial, and from what I hear, they’re confident about the case."
"My attorney said the same thing. Look, I'm not an investigator, but it seems that if you want to know who killed Ralph, you need to find out who’s spending his money."
Dressed to Kill Page 10
