Looking over the man’s shoulder, Grayson said mildly, “I can appreciate that. I’m a retired detective from LMPD, Major Case Division and formerly in Homicide, and Roger Billings was a sergeant on the SWAT team when he was injured on the job and has been on Duty Disability for two years.” That informed the patrolman that he was dealing with someone that knew how things worked around crime scenes, and the dead man was part of the police brotherhood.
Then Dan added sharply, “If there’s evidence to preserve, how about you chasing the two EMT technicians sitting at the Goddamned kitchen table outside, and have them stop disturbing the f-ing evidence?” He paused to look at the officer’s name tag, “Officer Garibaldi.”
The EMTs overheard the conversation and looked sheepish as they stood up to walk out the back door. Garibaldi flushed and watched them leave, each of them leaving a partial glass of ice water sitting on the table.
Trying to defend his apparent laxity, the officer explained, “They were already sitting there drinking water, with the permission of Mrs. Billings when the ME arrived. That’s when they first saw the empty oxycodone pill container on the sink counter, next to an open half bottle of whiskey, and a water glass that has what looks and smells like whiskey residue in the bottom. I’m afraid Mrs. Billings heard us speculating. I’m sorry she heard us when we mentioned this to the ME, Samantha Atkerson, who’s in the bedroom examining the body.”
Grayson nodded. “Did you or the technicians touch the pill bottle, the glass, or the whiskey bottle?”
“No, Sir. I asked them about that, and they said they only got close enough to read the prescription label for sixty pills, and I sniffed the glass without touching it. We may have jumped to a conclusion, but we didn’t touch the evidence that might matter.”
The young officer was deferring to Grayson’s former authority as if he was still on active duty, so he softened his tone. “Then I don’t think you contaminated that particular evidence, but they certainly left their prints on those glasses, possibly on the table and chairs, and probably the faucet handles or refrigerator. Make certain you, and they leave your prints with the forensics team when they come so that they can exclude you. No need to waste investigator time looking for some strangers when they don’t need to look for the three of you.”
He had a bad feeling about this. If the prints on the key evidence all belonged to Roger, then even he was jumping to the same early conclusion, particularly if an autopsy confirmed an overdose was the cause of death. Of course, that depended on how many pills had remained of that prescription, and what level of drugs they found in his system. He’d not mention any of these details to Sandy right now.
He and Barb stayed until Jason came home and learned his father had died. By then, Roger’s sister had arrived, and Sandy’s brother, who invited her and Jason to come to his house while there was an investigation conducted in the home.
Dan had tried to call Gil and Maureen two more times. It was almost eleven when he and Barb followed Sandy and Jason out of the house with her brother after the ME and the two EMTs, removed Roger’s body.
That was when Grayson received a cell call from the owner of the building where he leased space for his investigative firm. There had been a break-in, and the front door had been forced, with file cabinets and desks ransacked.
He told Barb after they were walking to the car, not wishing to add to Sandy’s stress. “Do you mind if I drive? You can call Stacy and tell her what we know.”
When they reached the modest office, the strip mall’s property manager was there, with a pair of police officers that Grayson had asked him to call. He wanted a report filed if any property was missing or damaged, for which he had insurance, and had asked for a forensics team to look for prints. He had no alarm or video surveillance system, so perhaps one of the other businesses might have video coverage of the sidewalk and parking lot.
There was a pry mark on the door frame, and inside there was litter on the floor from papers and items that had been in the in-out boxes, or in the drawers that were left partly open for the three desks, one for each of the partners. Careful not to disturb potential fingerprints, Grayson looked inside Gil’s normally locked top right drawer, where he kept his laptop. It was gone, and Gil was adamant about not taking work home with him. He always left it here. There wasn’t one found for Roger, but sometimes he took his laptop with him on investigations, and he’d been out yesterday. He could check with Sandy later after things had settled down. Dan’s laptop was at home.
The sturdy metal file cabinet showed the same pry marks as on the door, and nearly every file folder for past and present cases was missing, as was a cardboard box that had held spare office supplies. Someone had dumped the supplies on the floor, and the box presumably was used to carry the files out of the office. A new TV, mounted on a wall, was still there where they all could view it when they wanted to watch news or sports on a slow day. It obviously wasn’t a break-in for petty theft and a quick sale. Someone wanted to know what cases the firm was investigating.
Fortunately, Grayson had bought Cloud storage for his small business, so he and each of his partners could access one another’s files, and have protected copies. He could recover nearly everything they had worked on, possibly including any entries or records they had made yesterday. He immediately suspected a connection between the break-in and Gil’s investigation, because of the connection to Habersham’s work for Calder Business Insurance.
Now he wanted to find out what Gil had learned yesterday after meeting with the cement truck driver, and which might have provoked a reaction to his continuing that investigation. Besides, he needed to tell him about Roger’s death.
That was the first moment he’d mentally brought the three elements together. Roger’s death, the break-in and the Habersham cases, and now Gil or Maureen not answering their phones. He called both numbers again, and they went to voice mail. He decided to use his links to friends still in LMPD, and ask for a favor.
He called someone he expected to be on duty on a Saturday, and in a position to help. “Hey Bradly, this is Dan Grayson, I need to ask a favor, and to give you some sad news at the same time.”
He described Roger’s sudden death overnight and mentioned the break-in at his office. “I need to finish taking inventory and see what else we can find out about who broke in and took a laptop and some case files. I can’t leave the office right now since someone from forensics is coming over. Gil Anderson, my other partner, was probably at Harvey’s drinking until late last night with his girlfriend, and neither is answering their phones this morning. He had three insurance fraud cases that someone has been trying very hard to block the investigations. Could you send a patrol car over to his house to get his hungover butt out of bed? Tell the unit it’s a welfare check as an excuse.” He gave him the address.
In reply to a question, he said, “I think Gil may have provoked the break-in here after an interview he had yesterday as part of our investigation, and I also want to tell him about Roger’s death, so I need him to call me.”
Bradley was a Sergeant friend in the LMPD Dispatcher Division and worked most weekends. He could send a patrol unit to Gil’s house to knock on the door. The late sleepers couldn’t mute a damned doorbell or a knock on the door.
Shortly after that, a Crime Scene Unit arrived to collect evidence, take pictures, and check for prints. As they finished working a section while Dan observed, Barb started picking up the mess of papers and items dumped out of drawers as the evidence collection moved away from them. It was almost noon when Bradley called Grayson back.
“Dan, here’s a serious heads-up warning. Homicide is sending a unit over to your office. They want you to wait there to ask you some questions. It’s bad Dan. The patrol unit didn’t get an answer at the address where you said Gil Anderson was staying, so they looked through a window. They spotted two bodies on the floor and a pistol in a female victim’s hand. They broke in, and I’m sorry to tell you this, but they’re
both dead of gunshot wounds.”
Grayson was stunned and sat down suddenly. “Oh my God. Are the responders sure it’s Gil and Maureen?” A chill filled Grayson’s entire body. He knew it had to be them.
Bradly confirmed his feeling. “They were wearing bedclothes, and they were the only two in the locked house. Their picture IDs were in wallets in the master bedroom and Maureen’s badge. It's them for certain. They appear to have died in a shootout with one another, and the woman killed herself when it was over. She was laying over his body, gun in her hand.”
Barb had heard his phone ring while she cleaned up, but when he suddenly sat down with that exclamation, she rushed over to him as he offered the caller his thanks and disconnected. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head. “Gil and Maureen are dead. They appear to have shot one another.”
Barb’s gasp drew his attention to her lovely face, which fortunately their daughter had inherited. Suddenly, a sense of fear gripped him that he couldn’t explain. He hurriedly pressed a speed dial.
Waiting for the ring to start, he clutched her hand. “You called Stacy earlier. Where was she? I don’t want her home alone.”
Startled by his intensity, she said, “She was over at Carl’s house. She asked if she could have lunch with him and his family. I said yes. Why would Stacy being home and alone matter?” Their daughter was cool-headed, and she would be upset to hear of the deaths of two more of her parent’s friends, but she would hardly be distraught enough to harm herself.
When he placed a hand on his lower pant leg, where he carried his ankle gun, as if to verify it was there, she realized he was worried about more than she understood.
He looked relieved when his daughter answered. “Stacy, there have been some…,” he grasped for safer words than horrible or tragic, “disturbing developments this morning. My office also had a break-in, and it’s possible that it’s related to an investigation into several insurance frauds worth a great deal of money. Before we took on these cases, there were innocent people targeted to stop these investigations. My company recently contracted to work on these investigations, and our last name is in front of the firm’s name. I want you to stay away from our house until your Mom or I pick you up. Can you stay at Carl’s house for a couple more hours?”
Her puzzled answer came considerably happier sounding than he felt. “Sure Dad. I was going to call and ask Mom if I could stay. We’re going to play board games with Carl’s sister and his mother. If anything changes, I’ll call you or Mom. Did they take anything valuable from your office?” She’d been there often and had never seen much of value to a thief.
“I think they were after our files on the cases we were working. That might tell them how close we were to proving fraud, and who benefitted.” He left his half-formed concerns at that explanation and told her he loved her before disconnecting the call.
His wife looked at him, worried. “You mentioned Gil had the three new related cases you accepted from that local Insurance company. This afternoon you said there was a string of fatalities that could be part of an effort to end the investigations. Is that what has you worried? That what happened to Gil and Maureen is connected to the cases?”
“I’ll tell you how paranoid I am right now,” he answered. “The previous deaths in those cases appeared to be undeniably accidental. Roger was out investigating a different case yesterday. He went to bed feeling fine, and Sandy found him dead this morning. It looks like he may have gotten up in the night to swallow a bunch of pain pills, taking a big slug of whiskey that he would know better than to do. Then, he went back to bed to die? I can’t fathom him doing that.” He continued his wild speculation.
“The same night, Gil and Maureen get ready for bed, and before dawn it looks as if they got into a gunfight in their own house, killing one another. That’s the same night my office gets broken into, and someone takes our active files. Yes, I’m feeling paranoid.”
“Dan, these have to be coincidental tragedies. Would Sandy not know if someone forced Roger to take an overdose? It’s not impossible that someone could stage a scene that looks like Gil and Maureen fought, but both of them are police trained and have weapons. I don’t see those love birds having that sort of fight, and certainly not them letting anyone get the drop on them in their home.”
He glanced at the two CSI’s checking for prints at the front of the office and spoke softer. “I also hear the sounds of paranoia in your explanation. You don’t believe they would shoot one another in an argument either, and all three of these events happened on the same night? Let me tell you what happened to the previous investigator that had Gil’s cases, and how strange the cases are he was investigating.”
When he finished talking softly to her, the forensic team had packed away their fingerprint samples and were ready to go. The two officers that had responded to the property manager’s call had also departed. Now the Grayson’s were waiting for a pair of homicide detectives to arrive to ask them about Gil and Maureen’s relationship.
It was late afternoon before they picked up Stacy, and without explaining why, they stayed the night at Barb’s sister’s house, discussing the day’s tragedies without offering Stacy any of their speculations. Dan slept poorly that night and over the next several days. He was involved with Sandy, members of the FOP, Gil and Maureen’s families, helping with the planning of three funerals. It was emotional and stressful.
Finally, two weeks later when the funerals were over, and there were no indication of any suspicious activities, or anyone watching the Grayson home, Dan, working from home, opened his laptop and finally started recovering the files from the active cases that Roger and Gil had been working.
When he started to cross check the people Gil met or saw on that dreadful Friday, he did an internet search of police reports from the preceding month for Louisville and Jeffersonville, for their names or for similar crimes, to see if anything would pop up that might suggest some relationship to Gil’s cases. He included Roger’s people of interest just to be complete.
He was surprised at the only name that hit, learning that the arsonist in Roger’s case had died when his trailer exploded from a gas leak. When he read the date and time, his blood ran cold. The arsonist was the first to die the night his three friends died.
Roger’s notes said after he had engineered a contentious meeting of Sheffield with the reputed middleman, Dallas Collier, he had tracked Collier to his condo and overheard part of a conversation with his boss. When he retrieved a GPS tracker and an audio bug he’d planted under the dash of his car, he mentioned additional conversation. Roger had believed he’d discovered the name of Collier’s boss, someone that was responsible for arranging other cases of insurance fraud. A person named Stiles. The tracker and audio bug weren't on or inside Roger’s desk or in the pried open file cabinet where they kept several types of electronic devices in a bottom drawer. They were gone and now were on his lost property list for an insurance claim.
Unlikely as it seemed, it appeared possible the death of Sheffield that night represented a connection between all four cases, and a man named Stiles might be involved. Roger’s death had been ruled a suicide by the ME, despite Sandy’s strenuous objection. Grayson now questioned that ruling as well. He had no idea how anyone could arrange that apparent suicide without Sandy being aware or Roger resisting. He also didn’t buy the early consensus that Gil and Maureen’s death was a domestic dispute that ended in a murder-suicide because both parties had been drinking and both owned guns. Now he’d cautiously look for links to anyone named Stiles, seeking connections to the four fraud investigations.
He belatedly noticed the icon on Roger’s last notes that indicated there was an MP3 file attached. He saved the attachment and clicked on it to play it on his laptop. It started with Collier’s partial conversation with Stiles, and when he heard him say he’d follow anyone that came out after he left, it suggested Collier might have spotted Roger right then.
Although Roger had used a tracker, so he wouldn’t need to follow him too closely.
There was some engine noise on the audio, and sounds of muffled traffic for nearly twenty minutes. Grayson kept listening because there was more on the recording, based on the file’s timeline. Eventually, Collier’s voice returned.
“It’s Dallas, Sir. I’m headed back to my condo.” There was a pause as he listened.
“Yes, Sir. The idiot told me I’d better not call his Parole Officer, that he might crack under pressure. It was a veiled threat to keep me from calling. That’s something I wouldn’t have done anyway. He must still live in Shively, the same dump I helped him buy when you wanted to use him for the warehouse job. He can’t move without his PO’s permission.”
Another pause.
“Sure. I’ll keep an eye on the TV and call back if anything turns up.”
Pause again. “What time Friday? All night? Sure. I’ll entertain with some friends and a few girls, so I’ll have an alibi and video to show I was home all night.”
Pause. “Yes, Sir. I’ll call back in an hour or so.”
From there it was simply driving sounds until the echo effect, and the engine shut off suggesting he’d entered the parking garage that Roger said was attached to his building. A door slammed, and there was just a hiss noise until the sound activated recorder shut off. An instant later, on playback that is; it was twenty minutes later based on the device’s internal clock, the door opened, a muffled sound was heard, and the sound of a car door closing softly. That had to be when Roger recovered his GPS and the recorder, which continued to record. Dan heard the echo of Roger’s steps walking out of the garage, and the last words he’d ever hear from his dead friend and partner.
“Don’t look up dummy. Don’t give ‘em your face.” Then the recording ended as he must have switched it off.
The last comment puzzled Grayson. Roger was walking out of the parking garage. Why tell himself not to look up, and at what? He didn’t want to give them his face he’d said. That implied a ceiling camera.
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