Rayney stared at her. He could bluff. He could palm the ship back onto the board, but she’d probably see him. Rayney shook his head and tossed the ships back in the box, including the one in his left hand.
Maggie stretched, realizing for the first time how late it was. She’d actually forgotten about Galen.
Until the phone rang. She caught it on the second ring.
“The ASA wants to see you tomorrow at ten,” John Tierney said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Dr. Galen says you showed him photos of crime scenes.” Carly Weston didn’t bother to look at Maggie as she tapped her French manicure against the Formica table. “Did you show him crime scene photos?”
“Nothing location specific. No identifying shots of the victim.”
“But were they taken at the crime scene?”
“Yes.”
“Sara Dougall’s?”
“Torso only. No face. There is no way in hell…”
“Were they Sara Dougall’s photos?”
“Yes.” Maggie snapped her gum.
“And there are similar photos that include Sara Dougall’s face.”
“Yes.”
“But you say you only showed him the ones without her face.”
“Yes.”
The Assistant State’s Attorney had on her shit-eating grin. She was happy to be there rubbing Maggie’s nose in a mistake. The two never liked each other. Part of it had to do with Paddy Quinn, part with Maggie’s uncanny ability to piss off the woman every time she opened her mouth. Most of it had to do with some hot and heavy flirtation between Carly and Richard… which Maggie found out about.
“Dr. Galen says you requested to meet with him privately,” Weston said, tilting her head. “Then showed him photos with Sara Dougall’s face clearly visible. Dr. Galen says you identified her by name several times.”
“Dr. Galen is lying,” Maggie said, using the same benign intonation as the lawyer. She could feel Tierney’s jaw tighten as he watched her.
Carly Weston cocked an eyebrow, a skill practiced in the mirror every morning. “And why would Marcus Galen lie? What would he gain from it?”
Maggie imagined Galen repeating the words to the Weston. The same words she said to him just days ago. Galen probably got a real kick out of it.
“He’s guilty.” Nick said.
The ASA turned to the young detective. “Prove it.”
“The jewelry,” Nick said.
“And it matches what exactly?”
“We’re still checking.”
“Well, don’t bother. They’ve got receipts.” Carly Weston removed her heavy, black-rimmed glasses. “His lawyer walked in with a box full of sales slips this morning. All from Mazetti’s Jewelry.”
“Bullshit,” Maggie said.
“I’ve had just about…”
“This is all bullshit, Carly, and you know it. Can I see the receipts?”
“No. You are a consultant, not a detective.”
“Did you check them out? Make sure they’re legitimate? Or did you just bend over and say thank you.”
“You better…” Carly’s face was red.
“His lawyer provided them, Maggie,” Tierney said quietly.
“But did she check them out? That’s all I’m asking.” Maggie turned back to Weston. “So Carly, were they copied or originals, handwritten or machine-generated? My guess is handwritten. Was the handwriting all the same? Same ink? Or were pens rotated? Same series of numbers on the receipts? Or were there any numbers? Did you talk to anyone at the jewelry store? See if Marcus Galen has any friends cutting him favors?”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” the woman snapped back.
“Then start doing it and don’t tell me I’m not doing mine.”
“And what job would that be?” The woman’s jaw was firmly set.
There was a deadly silence in the room. Maggie didn’t blink as she glared at the lawyer.
Carley Weston smiled coldly. “There is not enough evidence to hold Marcus Galen for anything. Chief, Detective, I suggest in the future you have more than a hunch before you haul someone like Dr. Galen into the interrogation room.”
“We had…” Maggie barely got the words out.
“You had nothing, Maggie. Nothing.”
“He’s lying.”
“Prove it. Let’s see. Marcus Galen, prominent surgeon, teacher, active in the community. No previous record.” Carly held up her hands like the arms of a scale. “Maggie Quinn. Former detective. Attempted suicide. Recently released from a psychiatric ward. Hmmmm.”
“Jesus, Carly,” said John Tierney.
“I’m just pointing out the obvious. You see I’m the one whose ass will be flapping in the breeze when I present this mess.” She turned to Quinn. “So, Maggie, be honest. Who is the court going to believe?”
Maggie Quinn was silent.
“Exactly,” Weston smiled as she grabbed her leather attaché and headed for the door.
“Say hello to Richard for me,” Maggie called out.
Weston froze and turned back. The anger on her face morphed into something cold and hard. “Give me facts, people. I can’t work with anything else.” And she was gone.
They had their mistake. But it was Maggie’s, not Galen’s. The photos were supposed to be a last resort. But the doctor pushed her buttons, so she pushed back. She fucked up and Galen knew it. Maggie waited for Tierney to rip into her. Even Nick Dublowski could see it coming.
“Chief, the guy’s lying,” Nick said, protecting his partner. “He never said anything about receipts. He just cooked it because we nailed him.”
“You are not to show any crime photos, autopsy reports or any other evidence from these cases to anyone without prior approval. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Maggie said softly. “Just check the receipts.”
“Weston will… ”
“Just check them. Please, I know…”
“Enough!” The chief’s voice cut the air. “You… You have to be more careful. A lot more careful.”
Maggie paced for five minutes outside the building. Of course, Marcus Galen would lie. Of course, he would pin it on Maggie. Of course, he would walk away sparkling clean. She let him affect her and he knew it and used it. It was a rookie mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. Weston wanted proof Marcus Galen was lying, Maggie would find it. Find it and nail the bastard. She threw herself in the car and silently stared out the window. Rayney said nothing. He knew better.
“I need a favor,” Maggie finally said as they drove home.
“I’m not doing anything until you sleep.”
“How about a compromise?”
An hour later, Antoine Rayney was ready to leave for Mazetti’s. He wore some of the clothes Richard left behind. A pair of gray Italian pants. They were long in the leg, but Maggie tacked them up. A dark, long-sleeved Armani shirt. It was snug around the arms and chest. Snug was good, Maggie told him. She rubbed on a little cologne from a sample pack left over from the Sunday ads. The jewelry, Antoine added. A tasteful diamond stud and a simple gold bracelet that an old girlfriend gave him. It was topped off with Richard’s favorite leather jacket. Chick clothes intended to attract chicks.
“You’re looking for a young woman. Maybe late-twenties at the deep end. Tall, statuesque. Model body. Well-dressed. Probably dark hair. Shoulder-length, maybe a little longer.”
“You saw her?”
“Don’t need to,” she said. “Get a feel for their relationship. We’re trying to figure out if she provided him with receipts recently. Maybe Galen told her he needed them for insurance records. Something like that. He would make up a practical excuse.”
“And if she doesn’t know him?”
; “It’ll be a short trip.”
“What if she doesn’t go for me?” Rayney asked.
The young man fidgeted as Maggie’s eyes traveled up and down, head to toe. “She’ll go for you.”
Mazetti’s Distinctive Jewelry was just a couple blocks off the Miracle Mile. Antoine Rayney tried to look like he knew what he was doing, walking the length of the display cabinets, pausing, contemplating.
“May I help you?”
When he turned, Rayney nearly fell over. Instead he remembered why he was there and smiled at the young woman. Five foot ten with brunette hair falling artfully at her shoulders. Phenomenal body, well-dressed. Exactly as Maggie described.
“Yes.” He looked at her name tag just like Maggie told him to. “Angela. That’s a beautiful name. I hope you can help me.”
She blushed. “So do I.”
Rayney smiled. “My sister lost one her favorite earrings. I was wondering if you could help me match it?”
“I could certainly take a look.”
“Thank you.” He pulled a photo from his pocket. McLean never asked why Maggie wanted the digital file e-mailed to her. He just did it. Like all the lab rats, he trusted her.
“You have a picture?”
“Well, if she saw the earring was gone, she’d know something was up. Wouldn’t she?” Antoine smiled, delivering the answer Maggie fed him earlier. “I really want this to be a surprise.”
“You’re very considerate,” the woman cooed.
The grass was barely greening in the backyard. A dry spring. It figured, Maggie told herself as she stared outside. She should be sleeping, but couldn’t. Rayney had been gone three hours. Maggie stared at the fence at the back of the yard. The weathered wood was out of place. The stone wall her grandfather built began to crumble right before Erin was born. It was supposed to be rebuilt, but there always seemed to be other things to do. Finally Maggie hired someone to put in a section of wooden privacy fence. Richard hated it, but Erin loved to throw balls against it. So it stayed.
A movement caught her eye. Something near the back. There in the shadows. In the corner. Probably a neighborhood cat trying to climb the fence. Or the dark growing impatient. Something nudged Maggie, told her to look. She was halfway across the backyard when the car pulled in the driveway.
“What the hell took you so long?” she called out.
“What are you doing outside? You’re supposed to be sleeping?”
“I tried,” Maggie lied. “What happened?”
Rayney smiled. “Well, they don’t have shit to match the earring. Nothing even close, according to Angela.”
“Angela?” Maggie said. “Good work.”
“There is no way the fucker could’ve bought this piece from that store. Now they do have a jeweler they work with who might be able to reproduce a piece, but that would take a few weeks and the store would have a record of a special order.”
“So what took so long?”
“We went to lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“And she told me all about her very close friend, Marcus Galen.”
Maggie smiled. “How close?”
“Close enough.” Rayney nodded. He held up a business card with writing on the back. A name and a number. “And I got a handwriting sample. As requested. Now you need to sleep.”
So Maggie pretended to sleep until she heard Rayney at work in the kitchen. She set the table while Rayney told her all about Angela and Marcus Galen. If it was up to her, she would’ve called Dublowski immediately. Unfortunately, Rayney made her eat first. Two helpings of everything. That was the deal.
“Did she admit making the receipts for Galen?” Nick asked, turning away from Halverson who was cleaning his teeth with a gnawed toothpick.
“Not outright. But they’ve been in a relationship as long as he’s been buying there. Over three years,” Maggie said. “We have a sample of her handwriting. Compare it to the receipts Weston has.”
“She hasn’t sent them over yet.”
“Make her. It’s evidence connected to your investigation. She may be a prick about it, but she has to turn them over. You don’t want her special investigators sifting through those. Believe me, there’s a reason they’re called ‘special’ and it’s not because they’re good.”
“What if she stalls?”
“Have Art make the call. She likes Art. Get the receipts, ask for the store’s inventory. Compare the two. I’m betting we come up with a whole lot of nothing.”
“That’s all we’ve gotten so far.” Nick rubbed his forehead. “Galen doesn’t look like the confessing type.”
“We wear him down. Wear him down until he cracks.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“The police want me to come down later,” Angela said nervously. “There’s nothing I should be worried about, is there?”
“I don’t know. This whole thing has gotten completely out of hand.” Marcus carefully gauged the tension in his voice. He didn’t want to make the girl run, he just wanted her to be attentive.
“Marcus, tell me there’s nothing to worry about.”
“No, my dear. Nothing at all.” He allowed his shoulders to slump enough for Angela to notice. “At least, I hope not.”
“Marcus.”
“You know how the police can twist things,” he sighed. “My dear, you did as I asked with those receipts?”
“Yes, Marcus. Exactly as you said. I pulled from different pads, copied handwriting from old receipts in the storage room. Used different pens.”
The surgeon caressed her hand. “Thank you.”
“But that was for the insurance company, right? Why would the police…”
Marcus saw the realization spread across her face.
“I’m not going to lose my job, am I? I can’t afford to lose my job.”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t put you in that kind of danger. The receipts are for insurance.” He paused and tried to look concerned. “I’m just saying the police might pull certain records. Those records might be from the insurance company.”
“What is going on?”
“Lies. That’s what’s going on, Angela.” Marcus smiled as he took her hand in his and kissed it. “For some reason, the police are trying to arrest me for murder.”
“Murder,” the woman blurted out. “Marcus, are they going to put you in jail?”
Marcus couldn’t control the chill. “No, my dear. I am not going to prison.”
And he never would. The thought was intolerable. Someone controlling every move, every hour of his day. No choice over his life, no power. He would do many things, but he would never go to prison.
Marcus held Angela’s hand tightly. “It’s all lies, my love. All lies. But don’t be deceived, they are very determined and will stop at nothing. Even fabricating evidence.”
“And those receipts…”
Marcus held the woman close. “You understand, don’t you? I had to lie. The receipts are for the police. But if I told you the truth, you would have to tell them what you knew. You understand. I was trying to protect you. I lied to protect you.”
The young woman beamed.
“But you know everything now. You’re not safe.” He let his eyes well up for just a moment.
“Don’t worry, Marcus.” Angela brushed a tear away from the surgeon’s face. “I won’t say a thing, not a thing. This time I’ll protect you.”
Marcus kissed Angela on the forehead. “I am truly blessed.” He pulled her even closer.
“Marcus, if there’s anything else I can do, just ask me. Don’t try to face this alone.”
The doctor pulled his mouth into a smile and squeezed the woman. “There is something.”
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Rayney stared at the huge brick house. This particular deal was made with promises of restful sleep. Now he was having second thoughts.
“It’ll be fine. Should only take me ten, fifteen minutes.”
“Then back home and you sleep.”
She nodded and was out of the car. Maggie rang the doorbell, then looked back toward the driveway where Rayney waited. Hopefully, he wouldn’t storm the house to rescue her. The door opened.
“Yes?” Rebecca Harding said, looking annoyed.
“Hi, I’m Maggie Quinn. I’m wondering if I could have a moment?”
“Are you here to harass my husband some more?” She spat the words out. “One call to my lawyer and that’s that, Ms. Quinn.”
“Fine.”
The woman was caught off guard. “What?”
“If you feel you have to call your lawyer, call.” But you won’t, Maggie thought, or else you would be on the phone right now.
“You’re not a detective. You have no authority whatsoever. Our lawyer says it’s plain harassment, nothing else. You have nothing against my husband.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. I’m at a disadvantage.”
The two women stared at each other for a moment. Galen’s wife looked at the car in the driveway. “And who’s that, your black driver?”
Maggie looked back. “Well, he’s black and he drives.”
Rebecca snorted. Maggie Quinn was clearly no threat to her. The best approach was to simply let the woman speak, calmly correct any inconsistencies and firmly state her own position without undue emotional baggage. Then send her on her way.
“Come in,” Rebecca said calmly.
“Thank you,” Maggie didn’t need to look at the house. There was a picture in her mind of what it would be like. Tastefully decorated, not ornate. Everything oozing wealth and power and restraint. Some well-placed plaques honoring both Galen and his wife… but mostly Galen.
Too Dark To Sleep Page 21
