“No, I don’t,” he admitted, “but—”
“Oh, what a shame,” she said with a sympathetic shake of her perfectly coiffed head. “Mr. Stillman is extremely busy today and won’t be able to see anyone without an appointment.”
“I understand,” Dirk said in a tone that suggested he was anything but understanding. “Ma’am, this is concerning a very serious matter, and I assure you that Mr. Stillman would want to know that I’m here.”
The young woman looked both irritated and curious when she said, “May I ask what this is regarding?”
Dirk gave her a chilly smile and said, “Just tell him that it’s about Lucinda.”
“Lucinda?”
Savannah watched her closely to see if she appeared to recognize the name. If she did, she gave no sign of it.
“Yes,” Dirk assured her. “Tell him it’s critically important, and it’s about Lucinda.”
The receptionist picked up the phone, punched in a few numbers, and after a brief pause said, “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Stillman, but there is a gentleman at the front desk, a Detective Coulter. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says he has a matter of critical importance to discuss with you. He says it has to do with Lucinda.”
She listened briefly, and Savannah watched as the semi-smirk slid off her face, to be replaced by incredulity. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll send him back right away.” Again, she listened for a few seconds, then replied, “Of course, Mr. Stillman. I’d be happy to escort the detective and his companion directly to your office.”
She ended the call and walked around from behind the desk. Savannah could tell that it irked her a bit, but she pasted a smile on her face, gave a gracious wave of her hand, and said, “Follow me, please.”
As Savannah and Dirk fell into step behind her, he turned to Savannah, gave her a wink, and whispered, “He knows.”
She nodded vigorously, resisting the urge to giggle. “I know . . . that he knows. Cool.”
* * *
The receptionist led them into the center of the action, and unlike the quiet reception area, this part of the campaign headquarters was abuzz with activity.
The enormous room was filled with busy, bustling people and the cacophony of phones ringing constantly with myriad ringtones. On the wall to the right were several televisions, most of which were tuned to news stations. One was showing the same speech as in the reception area.
Another wall was decorated with a large American flag, as well as a California flag and a gigantic calendar. All sorts of Post-its and notecards were stuck to its various squares. Some areas had lines drawn through them. Perhaps when Mr. Stillman is out of town? Savannah wondered.
On the third wall was the largest map she had ever seen. It was the state of California, showing all of the voting precincts. They were color coded in a way that made no sense to Savannah, but she assumed they were crucial to the campaign.
No one even looked their way as they followed the receptionist to the far end of the room. Savannah couldn’t remember ever seeing so many people so busy.
She reminded herself to never work on a political campaign. It appeared to be the exact opposite of peace.
Finally, after what seemed like a major hike, they arrived at a glass-enclosed office in the very back of the room.
In an instant, Savannah recognized the man inside, sitting behind the desk. It was the handsome, dynamic, up-and-coming Clifton J. Stillman himself, in all his glory.
Although he didn’t look particularly glorious when he glanced up and saw them walking toward him. In fact, he looked quite worried.
She took that as a good sign.
Anything but have this long trip turn out to be a fool’s errand with her playing the major nitwit.
The fact that Stillman appeared bothered, rather than simply curious, told her that he knew exactly who Lucinda was.
At least, she could hope.
The receptionist started to knock on the door, but Stillman waved them inside.
The three of them entered. She announced Dirk, who then introduced Savannah, and Stillman gave the receptionist a dismissive nod.
At first, Savannah thought he wasn’t even going to invite them to sit. Then, he seemed to decide a cooperative approach might be best.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Ms. Reid, Detective?”
“I’ll pass,” Dirk said, plopping himself on a chair without waiting to be asked.
Savannah sat a bit more gracefully and said, “No, thank you.”
Dirk pulled his badge from his pocket and quickly showed it to him. Again, he wanted to show his authority but not necessarily his jurisdiction.
But this time, he was dealing with a candidate with his sights on the White House, not a receptionist.
Clifton J. Stillman was a sharp cookie.
“You’re with the San Carmelita Police Department?” he said, his intense gray eyes taking in every detail of their attire, sizing them up in an instant.
It made Savannah uncomfortable and reminded her that she and Dirk did the same to people every workday.
“Yes,” Dirk replied. “How did you know that, sir?” Savannah was sure Dirk hadn’t given Stillman time to read any of the fine print on his shield. It was a good question. She could see the man struggle for a moment to come up with an answer. Her only question was: would he be honest?
Something about the way he sighed and dropped his shoulders, as though in defeat, suggested to Savannah that he had chosen to be truthful.
“A couple of days ago,” he began, “I saw on the news that Lucinda Faraday had been found dead in her mansion, Qamar Damun, in Twin Oaks, which I believe is still part of San Carmelita. I assumed you’re with the SCPD.”
“You’re right. I am,” Dirk admitted. “I appreciate you taking time to talk to us.”
Stillman turned his intense gaze on Savannah. “May I ask what your involvement in this case might be?”
She decided to be completely honest with him, too. It would only make things simpler for everyone.
“I’m a private detective, also from San Carmelita . . . and Detective Coulter’s wife.”
“You’re helping your husband solve his case?”
“I’m trying, sir. I formerly served with the SCPD. We were partners, in fact. However, I’m investigating this murder on behalf of a client.”
“Who?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Stillman. Someone who was very fond of Ms. Faraday and wants to see her murderer brought to justice.”
“Okay.”
His brow furrowed with concentration, and she could tell he was evaluating everything they’d said, as well as their demeanor.
She could also tell he had a lot at stake. For all of his cool alpha male demeanor, she sensed he was highly stressed.
“Mr. Stillman,” Dirk said, leaning forward in his chair, “could you tell me what personal knowledge you might have of Lucinda Faraday?”
Stillman sat back in his chair. Way back. He laced his fingers together over his belt buckle and said, “Before I heard about her murder, I knew very little. That she was a pretty lady, an old-time movie star, who did some sort of racy calendar shot back when she was still underage. Maybe in the forties?”
Savannah nodded. “Yes. When she was fifteen.”
“That’s disgusting,” Stillman said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Dirk added. “Or maybe you do.”
Stillman just gave him a deadpan stare that said nothing.
Dirk returned the stare with his own, and as Savannah watched, she was glad she had never been on the receiving end of that.
Dirk was very good at glowering. He watched a lot of Clint Eastwood movies and practiced in front of the mirror.
He denied it, of course—all that rehearsing. But finally, his efforts paid off; Stillman caved first. “If you have questions for me, Detective,” he said, “please ask them. I have a very tight schedule.”
“Okay. We’ll
get right to it then,” Dirk told him. “Do you know a guy named Geoffrey Faraday?”
Savannah saw and heard Stillman’s sharp intake of breath. The question seemed to both surprise and maybe even frighten him.
It took too long for him to answer with, “I don’t know him personally.”
“Have you communicated with him in any way lately?”
Again, she watched Stillman wrestle with the decision: lie or tell the truth?
He held his hands up, almost as though he were surrendering, and said, “I have.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you telling me the truth. We’ll get along a lot better that way. Would you please tell me about that communication? I need details.”
Stillman looked past them, through the glass at the people working in his giant war room. Several of them were staring at the office, as though trying to discern what was happening.
The floor-to-ceiling glass hid little.
Transparency may not always be the best policy, Savannah thought.
Stillman stood and walked around his desk. For a moment, she thought he was walking out on them. The expression on Dirk’s face told her that he thought so, too.
But when Stillman got to the door, he turned his back to the glass.
At least his employees and volunteers couldn’t see the distress on his face when he said, “Detective, I’m being blackmailed.”
“By Geoffrey Faraday?” Dirk asked.
“Yes.”
“With a tell-all manuscript?” Savannah asked.
“Yes. Apparently, Lucinda Faraday wrote one of those kiss-and-tell books before she died, and it included some stories about my grandfather that were . . . unflattering, at best.”
“I know,” Savannah said. “I’ve read them.”
“Then perhaps you can understand why I’m upset. With me running for office, this is the last sort of publicity I need.”
“I’m sure it is,” Dirk said dryly.
“But the worst part, the most painful aspect of the whole sordid thing is that I loved and respected my grandfather. He was an old fellow and died when I was a kid, but I remember him as a loving, funny grandpa. He was a good man, who left the world a better place than he found it. He instilled that same conviction in my dad and in me. I’m devastated to hear about this other side of him.”
Savannah couldn’t help pitying the man. The pain in his eyes convinced her that he was telling the truth. Whatever he might be lying about or faking, the hurt was all too real.
“When did Geoffrey Faraday contact you?” Dirk asked him.
“The same day that they found her body. Late that evening, actually.” He sagged against the glass behind him, as though too exhausted to stand. “To be honest, if you hadn’t come here, I think I would have contacted you anyway. I almost did this morning. It occurred to me that he might have actually been her killer. I know he’s her great-grandson and all, but he wouldn’t be the first sonuvabitch to murder someone in their own family.”
“How did he communicate with you?” Savannah asked.
“An e-mail.”
“Can we see it?” Dirk asked.
“Yes.” Stillman took his phone from his pocket, found what he was looking for, and turned it around so they could see the screen. “That’s the e-mail,” he said, “and those are the pictures he attached. They’re the pages of the manuscript that pertain to my granddad.”
Savannah looked them over and told Dirk, “These are the same as the others. The threats are almost word for word. Just different pages, of course.”
“Others?” Stillman asked, intensely curious. “What others?”
“Let’s just say you aren’t Geoffrey’s only target,” Dirk told him. “That tell-all book is bad news for more than just you and your family.”
“The guy needs to be stopped,” Stillman said.
Dirk handed his phone back to him. “I absolutely agree.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Stillman. “My e-mail is on there. Would you please forward those to me?”
“Sure. Anything else?”
Dirk stood, and Savannah did likewise.
“Yes. If you hear anything from him or anyone, or if you remember anything we haven’t discussed here already, call me right away.”
“Okay, I will. Thank you.”
As they headed for the door, Stillman offered his hand. When they shook it, he said, “Detective, Ms. Reid, I’m torn. Do I pay him? I can’t stand the idea of having this campaign destroyed before it’s even begun. Too many people have worked too hard. So many will be hurt. My whole family devastated.”
Savannah watched Dirk struggle with the answer for a long time and appear to come up with nothing.
She decided to step in and rescue him, even if she couldn’t rescue Clifton J. Stillman. “No one can tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, Mr. Stillman. You’re the one whose future is on the line. If you decide to pay, be sure to let us know exactly what’s going on and when. Maybe we can nab him in the process.”
“Yeah,” Dirk said. “Meanwhile, we’ll keep workin’ day and night to put the guy away. Then you won’t have to worry about it at all.”
Stillman looked sick—to his stomach and in his soul. “I hope you do, Detective, put him away, that is. But something like this—it’s out there now or will be very soon. There’s really no stopping it.”
Chapter 26
As Dirk drove them home from Los Angeles, Savannah decided it was less stressful to call the office than concentrate on his city driving and flinch, gasp, and grab the arm rest every fifteen seconds.
Peaceful, it was not.
“Tell me something good,” she told Tammy, when she got her on the phone.
“I thought you’d be the one with good news,” Tammy replied. “You both seemed so hopeful when you left. Downright cheerful, and we both know a Cheerful Dirk sighting is a rare occurrence, indeed.”
“We do have good news, actually. Stillman was pretty open with us, told us that Geoffrey’s blackmailing him, the same way he did Delores Dinapoli. Showed us the e-mail and everything.”
“Great, and by the way, I found a dozen or so versions, like practice runs, of those blackmail letters and the pictures he took of the pages on the laptop that Dirk left here. I hope that’ll be enough for Dirk to arrest him for blackmail while he’s building the murder case.”
“Good work, Tams. I’ll tell him what you found. But he’ll probably want to tie up a few loose ends, just to make the case as tight as he can. He’ll drop me off at the house in a few minutes and then he’s going to take Lucinda’s manuscript to the lab for fingerprinting. Geoffrey’s prints should be all over it, and that’ll be another nail in his coffin.”
“Good deal! This case is turning out to be fun!” Tammy sounded so positive, so bouncy, that Savannah could hardly stand it.
As always, Savannah had to balance her joy for her friend that she was so darned healthy with wanting to tie her down and take a transfusion of all that energy for herself.
“How’s Mr. Brody?” Savannah asked. “Did Gran have any problem picking him up?”
“No. She took the Colonel with her when she picked him up, like she said. He was thrilled to death.”
“I’ll bet. What are they doing now?”
“I just took a peek out the utility room window. The three of them and Vanna, too, are in the backyard. Brody and the Colonel are running around on the grass while Granny squirts them with the water hose. Vanna’s crawling, watching the circus and laughing. They’re all in heaven.”
“I’m sure they are. I’m sorry you have to work.”
“I love to work. Tell Dirk-o that I checked out City Hall, and there’s no way anybody there hired a dirtbag like Geoffrey Faraday. That can’t be where he’s making the money to buy all that expensive stuff, like he told his girlfriend. Like we ever thought it was, duh.”
“He’s not making it from his blackmailing career either,” Savannah said. “Stillman hasn’t paid him anything
yet, and Delores told him to take a hike. I guess he’ll have to find another line of work.”
“Or keep doing whatever he’s doing that’s paying for those clothes and that car.”
“Stay on that, would you, sugar? See what you can dredge up.”
“Sure! I love it when you keep me busy.”
“Thanks for everything, puddin’ cat. We just passed the pier. See ya soon.”
“Toodles.”
* * *
As Dirk pulled up to the house to drop Savannah off, she felt a twinge of regret to be sending him off on his own.
“This isn’t the way we usually do it,” she said with the door half open and one foot on the ground.
He looked a little sad, too, as he leaned over to give her a second good-bye kiss. “I know. But as long as the kiddo’s staying with us, we’ll both have to put some time aside for him. You go play with him now, and I’ll take him off your hands when I get home.”
“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”
“One more thing,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Did you call the CPS gal today to see if they’ve found a foster home for him yet?”
“Um, no.”
Savannah searched his face to see if he was angry. He looked more relieved.
“Good,” he said. “Why don’t we just leave her alone. Wait for her to call us. They get really busy there and—”
“Wouldn’t want to bother them, make a nuisance of ourselves. They’ll call us when they’re ready. Until then . . .”
“Yeah, till then. Go have fun. You deserve it.”
Savannah could hear Brody’s squeals of delight and the Colonel’s unearthly baying coming from the backyard, along with Granny’s and Vanna’s laughter. “Okay,” she told Dirk, “I will. Thank you.”
“Thank you, babe.”
As she walked up the sidewalk to the front door, she turned to watch him drive away. She waved. He beeped the horn a couple of times. She smiled.
Marriage was turning out to be nicer than she’d thought it would be.
* * *
Once inside the house, Savannah headed straight for the desk in the corner of the living room, where Tammy was slaving away at the computer.
And the Killer Is . . . Page 22
