View to a Crime

by Winnie Reed

  He ran a hand over his face while groaning. “How could I have misinterpreted that? Now I wonder if I should’ve said something. I could’ve helped.”

  “You’re helping now.” I wanted to ease his mind because, well, I knew the feeling. Wondering if I should’ve done more. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with us.”

  I was sort of relieved when we left the cubicle. “I think we can rule him out.”

  “I wonder who she was talking to.” I eyed the glowing EXIT sign at the end of the hall, where I assumed Jane had her conversation. “I guess phone records are out.”

  “Until we have a reason to believe Jane is really missing or worse, yeah, they’re out. You can’t just ask for them out of nowhere. The PD is working on that. They’ll want to search Jane’s apartment as soon as they can establish probable cause.”

  We searched the floor for DJ White next, but couldn’t find a name plaque for him. Finally, Pete asked a passing employee. “Can you tell me where I might find DJ? We need to speak to him.”

  The girl giggled. “Him? You mean Donna?”

  I looked at Pete. Pete looked at me. “Donna?”

  “Donna Jane White. She only goes by DJ for work.” She pointed across the wide, open floor. “She has an office over there, the one with all the plants inside.”

  Part of me wanted to cross her off the list right away, now that I knew she was a woman. Process of elimination and all that. But Pete continued on, and I had no choice but to follow. Besides, I was sort of curious about why Donna used her initials.

  She answered that question without hesitation. “Let’s just say there weren’t many people willing to take a girl named Donna seriously when I first graduated.” She leaned back in her chair, then went so far as to cross her ankles on top of her desk. She was roughly Mom’s age, but without Mom’s softness. There was a sharpness to her, an intelligent wit along with a well-tailored pantsuit. That, combined with the dozens of plants hanging in front of the window, lined up on the windowsill, even trees in big planters on the floor, made me like her. She didn’t care that most people didn’t turn their office into a mini jungle. She did what she wanted.

  “So you use your initials to hide the fact that you’re a woman?”

  She touched a finger to the tip of her nose. “Good job, officer.”

  I had the pleasure of watching Pete blush. “How did you know?” He hadn’t announced it.

  “You ask questions the way a cop does. I’ve talked to enough of them over the years, trust me.” Her shrewd eyes moved over him. “At least you’re cute.”

  I had no choice but to speak, since something told me he’d need a minute to find his voice again. “We’re trying to find Jane Brooks.”

  Her face fell. “Jane. I was hoping she’d show up. It’s so strange, not seeing her around. She’s the sort of girl who keeps track of everybody’s birthdays and brings in a little something for them. It’s only been a few days, but not having her here is unsettling.”

  The more I learned about Jane, the harder it was to keep moving forward with this—and the more crucial. She seemed like such a good, decent person. Why did somebody have to hurt her?

  “You haven’t received any communication from her at all?” It was obvious Pete knew the answer to this before he asked, but he felt he had to.

  She shook her head slowly. “I wish I had. It seems like Pierce doesn’t think much of it. Then again, he was always the sort of editor who treated his writers like they were expendable. Which I suppose they are. The younger ones, anyway. Jane wasn’t expendable—isn’t expendable.” She covered her mouth with one hand, looking pained.

  Pete let out a sympathetic grunt. “It’s all right. You don’t have to feel bad for using past tense. Besides, it seems like she’s lost her job here, anyway, so past tense might apply.”

  Still, she looked shaken. “It won’t be pretty when Pierce figures out he’ll never find another human interest reporter as diligent as she was. I call her the Human Crockpot.” When neither of us registered understanding, she chuckled. “I forget how old I am sometimes. Set it and forget it, that was the tagline for a while. And that was Jane. She didn’t need supervision. I think Pierce took advantage of that, not that I blame him. When you’re trying to wrangle a bunch of employees all at once, it’s the squeaky wheels that get the grease.”

  “Sure, and the quiet ones you just let do their thing because you know you can trust them.” Pete nodded, then handed over his card with the same spiel he’d given Frank. “Thank you for your time. If you don’t mind, we were hoping to talk with Michael Fitzwilliams. Can you tell me where his desk is located?”

  She opened her mouth, but the voice came from behind us. “Michael Fitzwilliams has been out of the office for these past two months due to a health issue.”

  We both turned around to find Pierce, editor extraordinaire, scowling at us from the hall. “I don’t much appreciate you coming in here and asking questions without running it past me or one of the other senior staff members first. Maybe if you’d been honest last week, we could’ve gotten down to the business of searching for Jane. Now I understand there’s reason to believe foul play was involved.” He lowered his voice, but there was no mistaking the sound of DJ’s gasp behind me.

  “What were we supposed to tell you last week, sir? If you had seemed a little more concerned about your employee and less concerned about her returning a key card and laptop, we could’ve had a conversation.” Pete slid his hands into his pockets, the very picture of calm. But I knew him well enough to hear the thread of danger winding through his words.

  Pierce’s scowl deepened. “Jane looked at me as a mentor. The girl has talent, and a work ethic most people would kill for.” His expression shifted just a little, like he regretted his choice of words. “Of course, I’m upset to know this looks like more than a case of a girl deciding to quit her job without going through the motions of quitting.”

  “How can you say she has such a great work ethic, that you’re her mentor, when you were so blasé about her disappearing for three days?” I wasn’t as good at coming off casual and relaxed as Pete. Lack of practice, probably.

  Pierce narrowed his dark eyes. “Worse crimes have been committed in the name of wounded pride. That’s what it was. I can admit it. Here I was, pouring all this energy and attention into her career, and she paid me back by vanishing. I didn’t like the idea of her taking what I taught her and using it someplace else without so much as giving me the benefit of a resignation letter.”

  He ran a hand through his black hair, tousling it a little. “I regret that. You have no idea how much. I shouldn’t have let my ego get in the way. I should’ve called the police once it was clear we couldn’t get a hold of her by the end of the week. This isn’t like her at all.”

  “And you say Mr. Fitzwilliams has been on leave for two months?” Pete made a note of this on a small pad.

  The haughty attitude roared to life again. “He’s on medical leave, and unless you want to be slapped with a HIPAA violation, I suggest you abandon that train of thought.”

  DJ sighed. “Lay off them, Pierce.”

  “This is my conversation, Donna Jane.”

  I could hear her muttering at her desk, probably at his use of her full name. He managed to sound paternal and dismissive all at once—and the paternal part was funny, seeing as how he was probably ten years younger than her.

  “Thank you very much for your time, both of you.” Pete took me by the arm. “We’ll let you get back to work now.” I wasn’t exactly ready to go yet, but I also wasn’t about to try to fight Pete’s steely grip.

  He managed to at least reach the elevator before growling. “That guy rubs me the wrong way.”

  “You think he’s a suspect?”

  He waved it off. “Just because a guy is a jerk doesn’t make him a violent offender. If anything, he saw her as his golden goose. That’s how he made it sound, anyway.”

  “But that doesn’t line up
with Jane’s description of the situation. She’s the one who told me she could light her desk on fire and nobody would care. DJ made it sound like he neglected Jane because he knew she could handle herself.” I snorted in disgust. “Pierce seems like the sort of guy who would talk himself up, though.”

  “Gee, you think?” We stepped off the elevator into the lobby and handed our passes over to a very relieved Krystal. I managed to wait until we were outside to ask whether there’d been any luck looking into the use of those passes on Tuesday night.

  “I haven’t heard anything yet. They have to go through the security company, but first they’ll need permission from the building’s owners. The paper doesn’t own the building anymore, they only rent space. There’s always red tape when you’re in a hurry.”

  “What about this Fitzwilliams guy?”

  We reached his car, and he opened the passenger door for me before walking around to the driver’s side. “What about him?”

  “Well, he seems as likely a suspect as any. Frank Cooper is way too old. DJ is a woman, and I’m a hundred percent certain the person I spoke to was a man. It’s got to be Michael.”

  “Michael Fitzwilliams, who’s on medical leave.”

  “Yeah, but do we know that’s really the truth? Maybe there’s a way to find out whether he’s lying.”

  “Why would he lie? And if he is lying, and he’s not really sick, we still don’t have a reason why he would attack Jane.”

  I settled back in my seat, letting Pete navigate us out of the parking lot and onto the street while I mulled this over. “He said she asked too many questions. The attacker, I mean. Maybe that’s what she was asking questions about. His sudden illness. Maybe he isn’t sick at all. It could be some sort of insurance scam. Maybe she saw him out on the street and asked why he was up and around. I don’t know.” I covered my face with my hands. “This is nothing but a bunch of dead ends.”

  “Well, thanks to you handing over those photos you took, I think we have enough to warrant somebody going out to question Mr. Fitzwilliams. We’re looking for a man who works at the paper, knows Jane and has won that award.” He shot me a look. “But it’s not going to be us.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, I have work to do in Cape Hope. For another thing, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.” When I stuck out my tongue, he remained firm. “Listen. If this is the guy we’re looking for, he’s not going to be nice to you, Darcy. He isn’t going to welcome you into his home and make you a cup of tea. You’re the last person who needs to be there when he’s questioned.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t think about it that way.”

  To my surprise, he laughed softly. “Would you look at that. Darcy Harmon thinks I was right. Wonders never cease.”

  I didn’t find it so funny, and I still wasn’t smiling when Pete dropped me off at home. There was nothing like the feeling I’d wasted my time, especially when I’d been so hopeful. Granted, I didn’t know what I expected. For the culprit to drop to their knees and beg for mercy?

  But I had hoped to find at least something, anything.

  It wasn’t until I sat down with a late breakfast and Lola by my side that I checked my email. There were a few orders to process for the store, which came as a relief since I hated to think of sitting around for days with absolutely nothing to do.

  There was one email from an address I didn’t expect to see.

  Jane’s address.

  A sick feeling washed over me, and suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore. I put my food aside, staring down at the list of messages. The subject line got right to the point: It’s Jane, please read!!!

  How was I supposed to believe that? Obviously, this was just another way to mess with my head, to make me feel uneasy and off-balance. I didn’t want to give the guy, whoever he was, the satisfaction of messing with my head again.

  At the same time, curiosity was always one of my prevailing traits. I tapped it, determined to delete the thing—no, better yet, I would show it to Pete.

  Darcy, please believe me, it’s Jane. He stole my laptop, and I see from the sent messages that he threatened you. I’m so sorry. I wanted you to know I’m okay. I’m safe, but I can’t tell you where I am. I don’t want anybody to know, especially not him. I’ve been so worried this week, because I knew you must’ve seen what happened and it must’ve upset you. I see that you reached out. Thank you for that. I’m only accessing this from a public computer, logging into the newspaper’s network. I’m going to delete this as soon I send it so he won’t see it in the sent folder. Please, do not reply. I don’t want him to know I sent this to you. Be careful, take care of yourself. I hope I can talk to you soon.

  I read it three times before the message finally worked its way into my head.

  If this really was Jane, she was safe somewhere. And she was hiding from somebody whose name she had conveniently forgotten to mention.

  Which made me wonder if it was her at all. Wouldn’t she want me to know who she was hiding from? I could help, I wanted to help.

  Instead, all I could do was call Pete again and give him the heads up.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I spent the afternoon poring over Michael Fitzwilliams’ work. Hours passed without my noticing as I read and took notes. The man was prolific, I had to give him that, and he’d been writing at the paper for five years so there was plenty to go through.

  He wrote about local events and business stuff, but not the way Jane did. He took more of a civic view of things. How did the opening of a new business affect the neighboring residents? What about the demolition of a public housing project? In his earlier work right up to his work from the eight months or so prior, he was hard-hitting. Cynical. I got the feeling it would take a lot of work to pull the wool over his eyes.

  Until he’d started a series on a land development project.

  By the time I finished reading that series, a new theory began to form. One that felt a lot more solid than anything I’d come up with before.

  “Am I crazy?” Lola was no help, but then that wasn’t surprising. I had to talk to somebody with a level head, somebody who I knew would tell me if I was jumping to conclusions.

  First, I tried to reach Emma, but all I got was her voicemail. “I hope you still have your sanity. Call me when you can.” I ended the call with a sinking heart. Of all times her to be out of town. I still hadn’t told her about Mom snapping at Dad, either. That was the sort of story I wanted to tell face-to-face so we could gasp and react together.

  I considered calling Trixie and asking whether my idea held water, until I figured she would be working. Not only that, but while I loved her, I knew anything I said would go back to Mom. No doubt she had already given her friend an earful for not having tattled on me.

  I decided to text Ethan. He wouldn’t see it for a while, but of all the people I knew, he was the most likely to give me the unvarnished truth. I have a theory. Do you have a minute to talk?

  To my surprise, he started typing a response right away. I’m a little too busy right now to talk about your theories. Sorry.

  “Are you serious?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, eyes squeezed shut. So he was still mad at me. And here I was, asking for help, when I hadn’t even remembered the way we left things—rather, the way he had left things, since he was the one who walked away without an explanation. I didn’t have much to do with that.

  Okay, sorry. Hit me up when you have the time. He didn’t give me an answer, so I decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

  By now, it was nearing five o’clock. I decided to give Pete a call on his cell. And as I did, I couldn’t help a little twinge of guilt that resulted. I was acting like he was my last choice. I had gone to Ethan before I went to him. Did that mean anything? Did it have to?

  “Is everything okay?” It was the first thing he said on answering, and his concern only made me feel worse. Here I was, worried about Ethan being mad at me, while a very sweet guy w
as halfway across town and had already gone well out of his way to help.

  “Everything’s fine. I have a theory, though. Do you have time once your shift is up?”

  “Sure thing. Want me to pick up something to eat?” I told him that sounded perfect, and he offered to stop by the Chinese restaurant between the station and my apartment. I took the time to straighten up a little, then changed into something a little less… sloppy.

  Hey, it was my apartment, and I was off for a couple of days. Naturally, my immediate impulse was to put on comfy clothes.

  He arrived an hour later, and I explained to him what I’d found over an array of white cardboard containers. “Fitzwilliams was writing a long series about a land deal in Paradise City. A big development, with the potential for hotels and stores and a movie theater, all sorts of things.”

  “Okay.”

  “He always wrote about it in glowing terms. I mean, you would think the man was one of the developers or investors behind the project. This is a great thing, it would revitalize the downtown area, all sorts of stuff. This went on for weeks. Like he wanted to keep the deal in front of readers’ eyes, almost like he was trying to change their minds about it.”

  Pete paused halfway between picking up a dumpling and putting it in his mouth. It sat there in midair, suspended between two chopsticks. “I’m still not following.”

  “Everybody knows that deal is backed by shady guys. It’s supposedly been in the works for the past ten years. I know about it and I don’t even live there.”

  “Why hasn’t gotten off the ground?”

  “A few years back, the rumor was, the entire thing was being financed by the mob.”

  “You’re kidding. I never knew that.”

  I nodded. I was starting to get excited, and the more I spoke, the stronger the feeling became. “Yeah, it’s all supposedly some big money laundering scheme, I don’t know the specifics. There’s a reason nothing’s ever actually gotten done. They started putting up girders, clearing land, that sort of thing, but it keeps stalling out.”