by V. B. Tenery
Ian smiled, seemingly glad to have the subject center around his calling. “There’s nothing I’d like more. I never pass up an opportunity to tell people about my God and my field. I might even entice some of your young students to join me when they finish school if the situation in Mexico improves. As the scripture says, the fields are white to harvest but the laborers are few.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” Seth said. “We also have an active bus ministry, and we can always use an extra pair of hands.”
Conversation faded as the main course arrived. Thick steaks grilled to perfection, served with a mustard/horseradish sauce.
Matt tried not to be obvious as he observed Ian Hamilton over dinner. So far, he appeared to be just what he claimed to be. A man devoted to his calling, hiding his grief behind British reserve. The meal ended, and they left the restaurant. Seth departed at the door with a hearty handshake.
“Matt, the steak was everything you said it would be.” Ian said. “I haven’t enjoyed a meal as much in a very long time. I’m not a cook and much of the food I eat on the field I don’t recognize.” He laughed. “And honestly, I prefer not knowing.”
They drove back to the hotel, and Matt stopped under the hotel’s covered entrance.
Ian exited the car and shook his hand. “Thank you for the dinner...and for the company.”
Just the right expression of gratitude to make Matt feel guilty about his ulterior motive for the invitation. But it went with the job. “It was my pleasure.”
Matt’s cell phone rang as he pulled away.
“Chief Foley, this is Dr. Kruger. Emily Castleton has regained consciousness.”
Twin Falls Memorial Hospital
Twin Falls, Texas
Turner and Davis strode across the parking lot to meet Matt as he pulled into an empty space. He stepped from his SUV and the trio marched to the hospital entrance, pushed through the carousel doors, and made their way to ICU. Dr. Kruger greeted them in the corridor outside Emily’s cubicle.
The doctor’s face gave nothing away, so Matt asked, “How alert is she? Will she be able to answer questions?”
Dr. Kruger removed the stethoscope from around his neck and placed it in the pocket of his scrubs. “She’s concerned about her mother and the Grayson family. We haven’t told her anything. She’ll take the news better coming from someone close to her.”
That would be difficult to accomplish. All the people close to her were dead. “Is she well enough to hear the truth?”
“I would rather postpone it. She really needs a little more time. But the anxiety may be worse if we try to hold her off.”
Matt held up a finger. “Give me a minute before we go in.” He pulled out his phone and called Seth.
The Pastor hadn’t made it home when Matt called. “I’ll head to the hospital right away. Should be there in ten minutes.”
The doctor and the two detectives walked into Emily’s room with Matt. He stopped at her bedside and clasped her cold hand in his.
Responding to his touch, she gazed up at him, confusion in her blue eyes. “Chief Foley...can you tell me what happened? Where’s my mother? Is she all right?”
He pulled a chair close to her bedside. “You don’t need to talk too much now, Emily. I’ll answer your questions, but first, I need to ask you some questions. Did you recognize the man who shot you?”
She shook her head.
“Tell us what happened when you arrived Sunday evening?”
She inhaled a shaky breath. “I arrived around seven and spoke to Ethan and Ann in the library. Ethan rushed me upstairs to dress for dinner. While I was dressing, I heard gunshots. I assumed it was Peter doing his usual target practice in the barn.”
Hand shaking, she raised it to the bandage at her temple. “As I came downstairs, I saw a man raise a rifle and fire two shots into the library. At first, I thought it was Peter. He wore shooting glasses and a red hunting cap pulled low over his brow. I realized almost immediately the man wasn’t Peter. Who could do such a thing, Chief?” She gave a slight shiver. “Are Ethan and Ann okay?”
“What happened next, Em?” Matt asked.
“I screamed, and he turned the gun on me and fired.” She sunk back against the pillow. “That’s all I remember.”
Matt glanced over at the doctor and he nodded. “Did you get a good look at the limo driver who brought you home?”
She cast a quizzical look at him, obviously puzzled at the question. “No, a skycap held a sign with my name at the airport, and he directed me to the limousine. I never saw the driver’s face. He didn’t talk on the drive home. I had ear buds in anyway, listening to music and texting friends. Chief...what about my mother, Ethan and Ann? Are they all right?”
Seth Davidson entered the cubicle, saving Matt from having to answer. Matt moved away and Seth took Emily’s hand. “Child, you’re going to have to be very strong...”
Emily began to cry. “They’re...dead?”
Seth nodded.
A sob caught in her throat, and she buried her head in her hands. “No. Oh no. Pastor, I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to my mom.”
Seth leaned over and put his arms around her, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll stay with her until she’s better, Matthew.”
Matt’s voice sounded strangled even to his own ears as he addressed Dr. Kruger. “When will she be transferred into a private room?”
The surgeon gave instruction to a nurse before motioning Matt from the room. “Tomorrow, provided there are no setbacks. We’ll give her a sedative later to help her through the night.”
Outside ICU, Matt turned to Davis. “Check out the skycap at DFW. See if he can identify the limo driver he dealt with. And keep our best men on guard here. Emily may not be able to identify the man who shot her, but he doesn’t know that.”
Grayson Limited
Dallas, Texas
Detective Davis and Lucy Turner entered the glass elevator and punched twenty-one. The top floor of the downtown Dallas skyscraper housed the executive offices of Grayson Limited.
The ride up offered a spectacular view of the Dallas skyline. Tall mirrored buildings dominated the view and stacked ribbons of concrete arteries flowed into the downtown area like a busy anthill.
Davis held the elevator door open for Turner and they emerged in front of an oversized revolving door bearing the Grayson logo, the outline of a star with a dove in flight.
Inside the entrance, the receptionist, behind a mammoth desk, directed visitors and calls with a slight Scottish accent.
Davis smiled and handed her his card. “We’re here to see Martin Norris.”
She scanned the card and clicked the mouse on her computer. “Of course, sir. Mr. Norris is expecting you. Take the hallway to your left. It will be the first door on the left. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
He nodded his thanks.
Davis admired quality and Grayson Limited had spared no expense in decorating their executive offices. Plush gray carpet lined the corridor with indirect lighting reflected on walls covered in an eggshell silk print. Exotic paintings and art objects rested in alcoves featuring cultures from around the world. At the end of the hall, a gigantic bronze water feature covered the wall from floor to ceiling. Water slid like oil down the face into a large trough below. They followed the directions until they stood at the door marked Ethan Grayson.
Davis entered the office’s reception area with Turner close behind him. The secretary ushered them into the office now apparently occupied by Martin Norris.
Norris waved them in. Telephone to his ear, he held up his index finger.
As they waited, Davis appraised the man behind the desk. He knew men’s clothing like a Women’s Wear Daily reporter knew women’s fashion. The tailored blue suit Norris wore screamed London’s Seville Row.
The Englishman placed the phone on the base and turned his attention to them. Deep lines formed around his eyes and he gave a tired smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Ho
w may I be of service?”
Davis reached across the desk and shook his hand. “I’m Detective Miles Davis and this is Detective Turner. We’d like to ask a few questions about Ethan Grayson’s business affairs.”
Norris pushed the papers on his desk aside and stood. “Certainly. Miles Davis? Isn’t that a famous American musician?”
Davis smiled and nodded. “Jazz trumpeter. He played blues like nobody else. My dad was a fan.”
“I’ll give you any information I have available,” Norris said as he led them to a small conference table in the corner. He motioned for them to sit.
“Did Mr. Grayson have any professional enemies you are aware of?” Davis asked.
“No more than most. Of course, he won government contracts other firms wanted. However, it’s part of the business world. I can’t think of anyone who would kill because of a lost contract. Ethan’s death would not have benefited them anyway.”
Norris steepled his fingers and brought them up to his chin. “There was an incident in Israel last year. One of our executives died in a car bomb explosion. Hamas claimed credit. They were upset about a revolutionary product we are developing for the Israeli Government. The BDD is a bomb detection device. It’s innovative technology…sensitive enough to pick up explosive components in a bomb up to fifty feet. Ethan was very excited about its use in preventing suicide bombings. Knowledge of an impending attack would give the targets a little time to prepare.”
Davis was impressed. “I can imagine the effect such a security system would mean to terrorists. Israel could lessen the damage of suicide bombers on their citizens.”
Norris nodded. “Governments all over the world are excited about the possibilities. Our stock took a dramatic leap when we made the public announcement.”
“Will Grayson’s death prevent this from going forward?” Turner asked.
Norris gave a slight shrug. “The design and engineering are Ethan’s brain child, but I think research and development are far enough along the curve to finish the product without him. Unless they run into a major glitch at final testing.”
He gazed at Davis then at Turner. “I don’t believe Hamas or any terrorist group is responsible. They’ve been known to carry out revenge killings, but murdering Ethan and his family wouldn’t stop the BDD from being distributed.”
Norris’ phone rang, and he excused himself. “I’ve been expecting an important call. I’ll just be a moment.”
Davis used the interruption to organize his next questions. Norris might be reluctant to discuss the Grayson family, but he had to ask.
When Norris returned to his seat, Davis continued. “What can you tell us about Alexander Grayson?”
Norris drew his eyebrows together, an uncomfortable expression on his face. “I’ve spoken to Alexander many times but I’ve never met him face to face. Ethan often asked me to trace him down if Alex had not called his mother for a while. Ethan was very protective of Lady Ann. Alex and his father had crossed swords, so to speak, about him joining the firm when Alex finished university. Ethan had gotten over it. He was looking forward to Peter and Victoria taking over. Both had shown an aptitude for business.”
Norris continued. “Alex has been quite successful the past couple of years publishing books on the Australian outback. He worked with a photographer, Trevor something. Can’t remember his last name, but there are several of their books at Grayson Manor. The team produced large, glossy picture books with fabulous shots of the Outback. The kinds of things people like to display on coffee tables. Ethan was proud of Alex’s accomplishments.”
Turner stopped jotting notes and looked up. “Have you been able to get in touch with him?”
“Not directly. I did contact the local authorities in Alice Springs. They agreed to try to find him. It’s a big country, but they have ways of finding people. They know his haunts and should be able to unearth him in a few days, provided he’s still in Australia.”
“Anything else you think might have a bearing on this case, anything at all?” Davis asked.
“There is one thing.” Norris shifted in his chair, and fingered a marble paperweight. “It most likely has nothing to do with this situation, but there was an incident last year with Jack McKinnon, Sean’s son. Jack had been living with his father and working part-time at Grayson Manor. Ethan discovered Jack in a compromising situation with Victoria. He asked Jack to leave, and he did. I understand Jack was pretty upset, telling Ethan he was in love with Victoria.”
The struggle on Norris’ face was evident. Telling family secrets wasn’t part of his job description.
“Did Jack make any threats?” Davis asked.
“None I’m aware of,” Norris said. “Sean wouldn’t have stood for it. Jack is not a bad young man. He’s just immature. His actions caused his father a lot of embarrassment. Sean is an honorable man, but he had no defense for Jack’s actions.”
“We’ll let you get back to work.” Davis rose and shook Norris’ hand. “Thank you for your time. You’ve given us some things to work on. If we need additional information, we’ll call you.”
Norris stood and walked with them to the door. “By all means. I’ll do anything I can to help find whoever killed Ethan and his family.”
Davis placed his hand on the polished brass doorknob, and turned back to the Englishman. “One more question before we leave. Who will replace Ethan as CEO?”
“At present, I’m handling all of his affairs.” Norris punched his hands into his pants pockets. “The board has a short list of prospects, and they have informed me my name is on the list.”
Silence fell between them as Davis and Turner boarded the express elevator. The doors slid open noiselessly and Turner caught his gaze in the door’s mirrored surface. “I wonder what the British would call a compromising situation.”
He grinned. “I have no idea. But it occurs to me that a lot of power, money, and prestige will go to the man who heads up Grayson Limited. I like Norris. I hope he’s not our man.”
Turner shrugged. “Probably isn’t involved. Murdering the whole family seems a stretch to get Ethan’s job. But from what he said, one or both of Ethan’s children could have replaced him when he retired.”
Davis nodded. “Yeah, but I’m thinking Jack McKinnon looks real good for this.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Twin Falls Police Station
Twin Falls, Texas
Matt welcomed the interruption when his phone rang. He hated budget planning, especially in the middle of the Grayson case. Police business was unavoidable, but the timing couldn’t be worse.
The voice of his crime scene specialist, Dale McCulloch, filtered through the phone. “Hey, Matt, Turner and Davis are in the lab. The morgue sent over the bullets they removed. I have the details if you want to join us.”
“I’ll be right down.” Matt placed the receiver back on the base and headed out the door.
The two detectives and Dale hovered next to a screen reflecting the enhanced image of a bullet. Matt crossed the room and pulled up a stool.
Dale picked up a plastic bag containing the expended shells. “The victims were all killed with the same rifle. One shot each, so the killer wasn’t a novice around firearms.”
Turner nodded. “Except with Emily Castleton. He missed the mark there.”
Matt shook his head. “She probably surprised him. Thank God he didn’t stop to make sure she was dead.”
McCulloch continued. “The times of deaths were all close so he most likely worked on a short timeframe. Walked through the house, shooting one victim after the other.”
Davis leaned against a file cabinet and straightened the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. “Odd as it seems, it looks like a professional hit to me. According to Emily’s description, he must have removed the chauffeur’s uniform and changed into hunting gear. Then began the rampage through the house, shooting everyone in sight.”
Matt’s gut twisted. The visual of the killer methodically moving fro
m room to room killing the Grayson family filled him with anguish. “I agree. It was too deliberate to be a crime of passion. Have you heard anything more on Jack McKinnon?”
“The sheriff in Jackson Hole found him,” Davis said. “He’s putting him on the first plane out of Salt Lake tomorrow morning. We’ll meet his flight at ten o’clock.”
Turner caught Matt’s gaze. “Lisa called a few minutes ago and added a new wrinkle to the case. Victoria Grayson was six weeks pregnant.”
The news was almost unbelievable. Victoria was so quiet and unassuming. And the baby’s death added one more to the death count.
Silence settled over the group. They were all aware the first forty-eight hours after a crime were the most crucial, and the case was more than forty-eight hours old and counting. It felt like running in wet cement—getting nowhere fast. Patience was not Matt’s strongest virtue. Realistically, it was still early to expect results, but getting this monster off the streets was job one.
Matt’s phone vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket and saw that it was Martin Norris. He needed to take this. “Are we through here?”
McCulloch nodded and Matt stepped into the hallway and answered the call. “Foley.”
“Chief Foley, I spoke to Alexander earlier. Caught him at his London apartment. He’s coming in Friday around noon, and he’ll be staying at Grayson Manor.”
When Matt didn’t speak, Norris explained. “The servants are quite naturally concerned. Alex wanted to reassure them. Ethan made provisions for them in his will, but it hasn’t been read. Ethan’s attorneys are waiting for Alex to arrive.”
Staying in the house where his family was murdered seemed a little cold-blooded to Matt. On the other hand, perhaps he was being judgmental. People from different cultures reacted differently in a crisis. Calming the servant’s fears was understandable and showed a great deal of compassion. Not his place to judge.
