Targeted: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 3)

by Marjorie Doering

  “You can ask whatever you want, but you’ll have to do it there. I’m leaving.”

  Waverly watched her go as he made another call. “Ray? Dick. Get yourself over to the Conley place. Never mind. You’ll see for yourself when you get here. It’s not good.”

  25

  For the second time in as many weeks, neighbors were gathered around the Conley home. Police units arrived not far behind the ambulance as whispers spread through the crowd.

  “I heard she tried to commit suicide,” a woman said.

  A man in his sixties turned to his wife. “I heard she’s dead.”

  The property had been cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape. As before, police officers stationed themselves inside the restricted area, keeping people out, protecting the crime scene.

  Ray pulled up, hurried from his car and pulled an officer aside. “Where’s Detective Waverly?”

  The cop straight-armed a man crowding the tape. “Stay back, sir.” He turned to Ray and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s inside.”

  Ray’s open coat flapped in the breeze as he hurried to the front door and flashed his badge at the cop stationed there. He signed his name in the crime scene logbook and stepped through the foyer into the living room. Most of the activity seemed to center around the kitchen. At the basement door, Ray gaped at the ruined steps.

  He stuck his head through the doorway and hollered, “Dick?”

  Waverly appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Glad you made it.”

  “What the hell happened?” Ray asked. “Where’s Amy?”

  “Haul your ass down here and I’ll fill you in. You’re gonna want to see this.”

  Ray maneuvered his way to the intact portion of the staircase as the others had done and joined Waverly. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “Amy Conley took a header down these stairs. She’s at Abbott Northwestern.”

  “Oh, crap.” Ray ran a hand through his hair. “Is she all right?”

  “All things considered, it could’ve been a lot worse. I just got off the phone with the hospital. So far, all they could tell me was that she’s got multiple but non-life-threatening injuries.”

  “I take it her fall was no accident.”

  “Hell, no. Let me show you something.” Waverly led him under the staircase and pointed out several mounds of sawdust. “The top treads were nearly sawed through. Someone wanted her to go down hard. Take a look.”

  Ray turned to a cop standing nearby. “Hey, let me borrow your flashlight for a second.” With the flashlight in hand, he stepped closer and aimed the beam at the underside of the collapsed steps. “Geezus. Whoever did this didn’t even bother to try to make it look like an accident.”

  “We’re dealing with a real son-of-a-bitch, Ray.” Waverly jerked his chin toward the kitchen at the head of the stairs. “From Amy Conley’s perspective, those first steps would’ve looked every bit as sound as the rest of ’em.”

  Ray returned the flashlight to its owner and sucked in a deep breath. “Not one or two rigged steps, but three. Someone wanted to make damn sure she didn’t stand a chance of recovering her footing.”

  “You got that right, buddy.”

  “Thanks for calling me, Dick.”

  “Hell,” Waverly said, “if I hadn’t gotten you over here now, you’d have hounded me later on for every last detail. I was just saving myself some time.”

  “Sure you were. Like I said, thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it…especially not to Captain Roth.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “What took you so long? I thought you’d get here a lot sooner.”

  “I was clear across town when you called.” Ray looked up the stairway at the laundry basket and clothes still scattered along the length of the stairs. He glanced around the basement. “What have you come up with so far?”

  “Not much. Amy Conley was unconscious when I got here—still was when the ambulance took off. When I showed up, her friend Liz Dunham was already down here with her, but she says she didn’t see it happen.”

  Stepping aside to make way for other personnel, Ray turned to Waverly. “How’d you get on the scene so fast?”

  “Good timing. I was across the street, looking for Curt Retzinger. Didn’t find him, by the way. I was about to leave when I saw Liz Dunham let herself in through the front door.” He sniffed and ran a handkerchief under his nose. “No one answered when I knocked, so I let myself in and found Dunham down here with her.”

  “Any idea when Amy fell?” Ray asked. “Last night? This morning?”

  “According to Dunham, it must’ve happened just before she got here. The two of them had just been yakking on the phone. Dunham says she came over right after they hung up—to borrow some detergent is what she told me.”

  Ray’s brow furrowed. “Amy was the obvious target. Whoever’s after her is done playing around.”

  “No doubt about that,” Waverly agreed.

  “If the perp figures framing Amy for her husband’s murder isn’t panning out,” Ray said, “this could’ve been Plan B.”

  “I hate to say it, buddy, but Hugh Conley’s death and this incident today could be the work of two different people. It’s still possible she was just collateral damage in her husband’s murder. This incident, though… It’s a whole different ball of wax. Someone’s got her in their sights. Her ex in-laws maybe.”

  “Come on, Dick,” Ray said. “The in-laws would have to be crazy to do this. After that stunt in the parking lot, they’ve got to know they’d be at the top of the suspect list.”

  “Look, their son was killed. They figure she did it. People do stupid things all the time, buddy.”

  “Okay, but I don’t see them using power tools to get the job done. That’s right up Curt Retzinger’s alley. And you said he had access to a key, right?”

  “Don’t worry, Ray,” Waverly said. “He’s still on my list. His kid, too. They’re both handy with power tools.”

  “Any idea when Amy used those stairs last?”

  “Before this morning, you mean? Not a clue,” Waverly told him. “But that’s the first thing I plan to find out when I talk to her at the hospital.

  “If the Springfield P.D. can’t verify that the entire Conley clan was well away from here when the tampering went on, I may have a road trip ahead of me. One way or the other, she oughta be safe in the hospital. We’ll put a guard on her door.” Waverly drew a handkerchief under his nose and said, “I’ve gotta get going.”

  Ray sprinted up the lower part of the staircase, then worked his way around the rest. He waited at the head of the stairs and gave Waverly a hand up.

  Outside, Ray told Waverly, “I’m going to swing by the hospital before I head back across town again. I’ll hang around until Roth gets someone stationed outside Amy’s room.” The look Waverly threw his way needed no explanation. “Relax, Dick. I’m just talking about standing guard, not investigating.”

  Waverly pulled up short on the sidewalk. “Look, Ray, this isn’t an ego trip for me. I don’t give a damn that it’s my case. At this point, I don’t think Amy Conley killed her husband any more than you do. If she wants to confide in you, friend to friend, I’m okay with that. Roth’s the one with the problem. Just don’t go getting yourself in trouble over it.”

  “Got it,” Ray said, clapping him on the back. “I won’t. Thanks.”

  26

  At Abbott Northwestern, Liz Dunham stopped at the nurses’ desk. “Hi, girls.”

  The nursing supervisor cast a glance over her shoulder. “You’re here early, aren’t you?”

  “A little.”

  The woman stepped from behind the desk, clutching a clipboard against her nearly non-existent bosom as she looked Liz over. “You’re awfully pale. If you’re sick, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m fine, just a little shaken up. A friend of mine was brought here a while ago. She took a nasty fall down a flight of stairs.”

  “Nothin
g too serious I hope,” one of the nurses said.

  “I don’t know yet. I heard Doctor Mead’s in charge, but I haven’t been able to track him down.”

  From behind her, Liz heard, “If you’re talking about Amy Conley, they’re taking x-rays.

  Maybe an MRI.” The young, brunette nurse leaned against the counter. “Oh man, my feet are killing me.”

  “How long until they’re finished?”

  “They might be done already, but I’m not sure.” She turned and headed away. “Well, I’m just about out of here, girls. I hope your shift is quieter than mine was.”

  The supervisor frowned behind her glasses. “Conley. Conley,” she repeated to herself. “That name sounds familiar.” She scratched her temple with a capped pen. “Wait a minute. That man who was killed by his wife in Elliot Park recently… His name was Conley, wasn’t it? Any connection between him and this friend of yours, Liz?”

  “She’s his widow.” Ignoring the surprise on her supervisor’s face, Liz checked her watch and started away. “I’m going to see if she’s been assigned a room yet.”

  Turning on her heel, she went to the nearest elevator. As the doors slid open again on another floor, she was greeted by a nurse behind at that floor’s nurses’ station.

  “Hi, Liz. Are you lost or making a dash for freedom from oncology?”

  “Neither. I’m looking for a friend of mine. Amy Conley.”

  The woman checked the paperwork lying on the counter. “You’re in luck.” She held up the clipboard and pointed to the room number. “They wheeled her down there a few minutes ago.”

  Liz thanked her and zig-zagged down several corridors until she arrived at the designated room. The bed nearest the door was vacant. Amy lay in the bed at the far end with the privacy curtain pulled between her and the window. Her arm, in a sling, was tightly bound to her torso. A cast covered her leg from the ankle to mid-thigh.

  “There you are,” Liz said. Amy turned her head and gave her a weak smile. “Oh, you can do better than that. You should be overjoyed to wake up and find yourself here. In fact, you can be glad you woke up at all. How are you feeling?”

  “Not great.” With her good arm, Amy held up a small, plastic container. “In case I need to puke,” she said. “My stomach is doing cartwheels.”

  “Uh-huh,” Liz said. “Nausea—probably from a concussion. Have you felt that goose egg on the back of your head? It’s a real beaut.”

  “I can feel it inside and out. My head’s throbbing. What happened, Liz?”

  “You fell down your basement steps. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember talking to you on the phone. After that, nothing.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Liz said, adjusting her covers. “With that kind of hit to the head, it’s not unusual for there to be some temporary memory loss. You were out for quite a while.”

  Amy grimaced and looked past her to the bathroom. “Ray, I could use that water if you’ve got it.”

  Stripped of his fly-on-the-wall advantage, he stepped from the bathroom, carrying a glass. “Here you go.”

  Liz stumbled back a step. “Detective Schiller… I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, Ms. Dunham.”

  “No harm done.” She helped Amy sit forward while she plumped her pillow and stuffed it behind her head again. “You can call me Liz, by the way. After all, we’ve already broken bread together.”

  “All right,” Ray agreed without reciprocating. “You were gone before I arrived at Amy’s place. I expected to find you here ahead of me.”

  “I would have been, but I had to wash a uniform first. I got here as fast as I could.”

  Ray nodded without commenting and went to the door to check for an overdue police officer. The only person in the hall was a physician walking head down, his face buried in someone’s chart. Ray returned and told Liz, “Don’t let me keep you from doing whatever you came to do.”

  “Actually, I’m not assigned to this department. I only came to check on Humpty Dumpty here. I’ve got to tell you, finding her at the bottom of the stairs this morning scared the hell out of me.”

  Amy shielded her eyes from the light. “You found me, Liz? Wait. Oh, right. You were coming over for…for… For something. I can’t remember.”

  “Laundry detergent,” Liz reminded her.

  “Oh.” Amy let it go at that. “Ray, would you close the drapes, please?”

  He jerked them together, creating a dusky dimness in the room. “Better?”

  Eyes clenched, she gave him a slight, careful nod. “Yes, thanks.”

  Ray turned his attention to Liz again. “I thought you worked the night shift.”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  “My partner told me you were working the night Amy’s husband was killed—that that’s the reason you missed the party Amy attended at Gatsby’s.”

  “Ah,” Liz said. “I was doing a favor for a co-worker. She asked if I would switch shifts with her that day.”

  “Who might that be?”

  Amy struggled to shift positions. “Ray, what are you doing?”

  Liz crossed her arms. “I believe he’s interrogating me, sweetie. Am I being paranoid, Detective, or just perceptive?”

  Ray cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. “Maybe defensive would be the more accurate word. I was just making conversation.”

  Trying to raise herself to a sitting position, Amy fumbled with the control. “Maybe you should discuss something else then, Ray. Liz is a friend.”

  “It’s okay,” she told Amy. “I don’t mind. Detective Schiller is just doing his job. I can only hope he doesn’t think I shoved you down your stairs this morning.”

  “No one shoved her,” Ray said.

  “Of course not. It’s an old house. Rotten wood…termite-infested maybe,” Liz suggested. “The stairs gave way.”

  “Those steps were rigged.”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

  “The top steps were nearly cut through—three of them,” Ray explained. “Someone set a trap for you.”

  “Somebody tried to kill me?”

  “Sorry, but it looks that way,” he said.

  Making little headway, Amy continued to try to re-position herself.

  “Who would do something like that, Detective Schiller?” Liz patted Amy’s hand. “Lie still sweetie. You shouldn’t be moving around so much.”

  Amy persisted, paying no attention to her advice.

  “Look,” Liz told him, “you can see this is upsetting her. She needs to rest. I’ve already told Detective Waverly all I know, but if you think I can tell you something new, I’ll be glad to cooperate, but this isn’t the place for that.”

  Amy’s face turned the color of chalk as she grabbed the container and retched.

  Hurrying into the bathroom, Liz dampened a wash cloth, returned and wiped Amy’s mouth. “I’ll get more water for you.” Liz refilled her glass and helped her drink.

  As accustomed as Ray was to blood and gore, the sound of retching and the smell associated with it still messed with him. He turned his back, clutching his stomach.

  Ray backed away as she started to gag again. “You rest up, Amy. I’ll be back later on, okay? Feel better.” Swallowing hard, he stepped outside the door and braced himself against the wall.

  Moments later, Liz poked her head through the doorway and jerked with a start. “Oh, you’re still here. I thought you’d gone.”

  “I’m not leaving until an officer is stationed outside this room.”

  Pulling the door shut, she stepped into the hallway. “You can’t seriously think someone’s going to walk into this hospital and try to kill that girl.”

  “That’s exactly what I think could happen. We’re going to make damn sure it doesn’t.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Detective Schiller, but a hospital is a place of care and comfort. The idea of a police presence seems almost…
almost profane.”

  “Look,” Ray told her, “my job is to protect and serve; yours is to heal and save. We’re just teammates playing different positions. Think of us as your backup.”

  She smiled. “Funny. I didn’t take you for a man who has a way with words.”

  “I’m not. I’m just telling it like it is.” A new thought occurred to him. “Any word on her injuries yet?”

  “They’re still evaluating the films.” She adjusted her collar and sighed. “Unless there’s something else you want to ask me, I’d better get to back to work.”

  “Go ahead, but if you think of anything that might help, I’ll be here until…” An officer rounded the corner and headed their way. “It’s about time,” Ray muttered. “Thank you, Ms. Dunham,” he said, excusing himself.

  As Liz disappeared, he intercepted the cop thirty feet from Amy’s room. Glancing at the name tag on his chest, Ray said, “Nice of you to drop by, Officer Lathrop.” The smell of French fries and onions didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m glad this assignment didn’t interfere with your lunch.”

  “Look, Detective, I—”

  “I trust you had the decency to pick something up at a drive-thru rather than stop at a sit-down joint at least.”

  “It only took a few minutes,” Lathrop argued.

  Ray’s nostrils flared as he pointed toward Amy’s room. “That woman could’ve been killed a dozen times over in that amount of time. Get my point, Lathrop?”

  “Yes, I get it. I’m sorry.”

  “Good,” Ray told him. “And you might want to wipe the catsup off your jacket.” Lathrop’s blush nearly matched the condiment. Ray tried to remember if he had needed as much fine tuning at Lathrop’s age. “Stay put,” he said. “I’ll grab a chair for you.”

  “Thanks,” Lathrop said, rubbing at the catsup spot.

  Ray returned from a waiting room moments later, carrying a chair with metal armrests, metal legs, and a negligible amount of padding. Minimal comfort guaranteed.

  Lathrop was gone.

  Darting into the room, Ray found the young officer, hat in hand, introducing himself to Amy. Her face was the color of wallpaper paste as she made another grab for the plastic container. Unfazed, Lathrop helped steady it under her chin.