Dead Men's Tales (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 2) (20 page)

"Because he's your boss and would presumably like to help you."

She gave that a lot of thought. "As a matter of fact, he's in his office today." She paused. "He's really a very nice person. Maybe I could ask him."

"Please."

She shrugged and got up from her chair. "Wait here."

Frankly, I had serious doubts this would work, but I felt I had to try. I pictured Debra asking, "Do you know a John Ziegler who used to work on Wall Street?" and Mr. Yarnow saying, "No." End of conversation.

However, to my surprise, when Debra returned to her office, Mr. Yarnow came with her. Although Kevin McDonald had admitted that he and Debra were engaged, I wondered why she hadn't had more than a business relationship with Yarnow, who was a lot handier than someone who lived in L.A. Plus, one of the handsomest men I'd ever seen. Think an American Hugh Jackman. Tall, slender, wavy-haired, square-jawed. And polite as well as financially savvy.

"Mrs. Grant? Debra tells me you want to know about John Ziegler."

I sucked in my stomach and wished I wore heels and that lucky suit I'd worn to Los Angeles. "Yes," I managed to say in a not-too-shaky voice. "If you can help us, we'd be most grateful. There seems to be a gap in his employment record."

"I know about that, but I'm not sure how much I can tell you."

"We'd like to eliminate him as a suspect in Mr. Hammond's murder, so we've been checking his background, and this gap showed up."

"Can you promise me this will go no further?"

"If what you tell me has nothing to do with this case, then yes."

"Nevertheless, how can I know that what I say won't influence your judgment?"

I sighed, wondering how to continue. "We're looking for a murderer, someone with means, opportunity, and motive. We know that Ziegler, like everyone else who attended the banquet that night, had both the means and opportunity. What we need to know is if he had a motive. If something in his past gives him a motive to have killed Hammond, then I can't promise it will go no further. However," I added quickly, "that doesn't mean it will necessarily get back to you or that it will cause Ziegler to be arrested or even questioned."

He thought a few more minutes before answering. "All right. If he's guilty, I'd want to know I didn't stand in the way of bringing him to justice. Frankly, I don't think my information will help one way or the other."

We all seemed to take a deep breath, and then Yarnow said, "Ziegler was fired from his job in a Wall Street firm because of certain irregularities. He may have churned some accounts, which ended up costing the company a lot of money."

"That's it?" I hoped for a whale and got a minnow.

"I don't know all the details, but besides firing him, they banned him from working in the securities business ever again." He raised a hand. "Oh, by the way, his name wasn't Ziegler in those days. It was Zachary."

I let an uncomfortable silence go by. "Thank you very much. You've been extremely helpful, and I don't think that—even if what you've said becomes public knowledge—it will be traced back to you."

We shook hands, and he left Debra's office.

She looked at me with a question in her eyes.

So I answered it. "I don't think what we just heard points to Ziegler or Zachary, as the murderer. Still, I'll tell Brad and find out what he thinks."

"Will you let me know?"

"Of course."

We hugged, and I left. As I drove home, I wondered if this had been just another wild goose chase. I was becoming an expert at asking a lot of questions and getting zilch in return.

Back in the office the next day, I typed up my notes and placed them in the folder on Brad's desk. He didn't show up until after lunch, and then he deposited the other recorder on the secretary's desk.

I ignored it and followed him into his office, where he dropped into his chair, looking smug. "When you type my notes, you'll learn what I found out yesterday and this morning." Suspenseful pause. "I discovered that James Powell is just a little bit dirty."

"What do you mean 'dirty'?"

"James Powell isn't his real name. He did minor time in New York about ten years ago for embezzling."

"'Once a thief, always a thief,'" I quoted. I didn't like Powell, but that news surprised me. "And Kevin McDonald has been letting him buy diamonds? How come he didn't check him out before he hired him?"

"We'll ask him, but I'll bet the answer is he didn't. Lots of people are far too trusting and seldom check references before hiring employees."

"Surely, they wouldn't do that for someone handling funds and buying diamonds. McDonald seems too smart for that."

"I agree, but it happens all the time." He got up and paced the floor.

I plunked myself down in the chair in front of his desk. "So you're beginning to think Powell is our murderer?"

"Looks that way."

"Okay, what's his motive? He may have been embezzling from McDonald, but why kill the president of a rival jewelry company?"

"I don't know yet. We'll just have to find the link."

I grinned. "You haven't heard what I learned."

"About what?"

"About who, er, whom, er, Ziegler. Remember we said yesterday there were two smokers who might have been guilty, Ziegler being the other one?"

Brad returned to his seat. "So what did you find out?"

I gave him a long report about my conversations with Amanda's secretary, the person at the Wall Street brokerage, and Mr. Yarnow, not neglecting to point out my cleverness at going to Debra's office to do so.

I finished with, "You said James Powell isn't the man's real name. Well, Mr. Ziegler used to be Mr. Zachary, and he apparently stole money too."

Brad did some swiveling and shrugging. "That was before he went to work for Hammond. People often change their name in order to put the past behind them and get a fresh start. It doesn't make him guilty."

"You thought that implicated Powell," I reminded him.

"Just for the sake of argument, let's say you're right that the murderer is a smoker. Add that to what Epstein said, and what have we got?"

"There's something nasty going on in Harry's company, and Ziegler is the financial officer, so the arrow points to him."

"Maybe, but why would he kill Novotny?"

"I don't know. As marketing director, would Carl have known anything about the discrepancy in the records?"

"The first time Novotny came into our office, he said he suspected Ziegler of something shady, possibly buying up stock in hopes of a takeover."

"What has that got to do with diamonds and the diamond dealer? I don't recall Carl ever mentioning diamonds."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean he didn't stumble across them later."

"How? The videotape?"

"Right." Brad nodded. "Novotny already admitted he picked up Hammond's briefcase the night of the murder. He took it home with him." He got up and paced the floor again.

"Let's say he saw the videotape, and curiosity getting the better of him, he played it at his home. He sees some pictures of diamonds being purchased, and right away he figures out that something's screwy and decides maybe that's why Hammond got killed."

It was my turn to pace the floor. "That seems like a big leap of speculation."

"Not so big." He stopped in front of me. "If someone has been stealing diamonds or embezzling money, he might not hesitate to kill to keep from going to jail. Maybe Novotny saw an opportunity to blackmail him."

My voice rose an octave, and I pounded my hand into my other palm. "That's what he meant about doing something stupid." Yet, I didn't like the direction that was heading. Would Carl, nice, considerate Carl, do such a thing?

I couldn't stop. The idea made sense. "He tried to blackmail Ziegler and then realized the danger. Ziegler ransacked his house looking for the evidence, the videotape. Maybe threatened him too."

"Exactly. I think it finally dawned on Novotny that he might be in danger. The awards statue had been hard and heavy enough to kill Hammond, but the fireplace poker didn't do the job on
him
." He sat down again.

"Ziegler didn't find the videotape when he broke in again because I still had the briefcase in my car."

"Assuming," Brad reminded me, "that Novotny hadn't already removed the tape by then."

"Remember, he couldn't have done that because he accidentally switched briefcases with you." I leaned over the desk. "However, if Ziegler had found the tape, perhaps he wouldn't have had to kill Carl."

I began to feel guilty about having the briefcase. If only I had returned it to Carl that first night, Ziegler might have found the tape and not had to kill him. I didn't deliberately keep the briefcase. Carl left it in our office himself, but I had to plead guilty to forgetting to return it to him not once but twice. I groaned inwardly.

"The question," Brad said, "is who's got the videotape now? You returned the briefcase to Novotny the day of Hammond's funeral. Did Ziegler have to kill Novotny in order to get it from him?"

My head felt dizzy with all this new information, and I sat down. "Can you give this to the police? Is there sufficient evidence to arrest Ziegler?"

"I don't think so. In the first place, we don't know for sure Ziegler killed Hammond. Unless Ziegler confessed, even Carl didn't know that. He could have blackmailed him over the diamond business but not necessarily murder. Even if our theory is right and Novotny watched the tape and then tried to blackmail Ziegler, that isn't evidence of anything but falsifying records."

Another thought waltzed into my head. "Wait a minute. Carl supposedly returned the videotape to Amanda at the office. Could it be the same tape, or did he substitute something else?"

"I think we have to assume he borrowed a tape that really had photos of jewelry designs and let Amanda think she had the right one."

I popped up to pace the floor again. I hoped the carpeting was up to all our think-walking. "So, what can we do about it? Without the tape, there's no evidence to link Ziegler to any crime, much less murder."

"I think we can put some wheels in motion. We should ask Rose Hammond to demand an independent audit of all records, especially diamond purchase records."

"Rose hasn't a head for business. Just ask Amanda to do it."

"I will. The board of directors met Monday morning and officially made her president. She may have started an audit already."

He rose from the chair and reached for his suit coat but hadn't put it on when the phone rang. I picked it up. "Featherstone's."

I heard the voice of Kevin McDonald. After handing the instrument to Brad, I scooted into my own office and once more grabbed the extension in order to eavesdrop.

"Thanks for returning my call," Brad said. "Your secretary said you're still out of town."

"I'm at my Bay Meadows store, trying to straighten out the mess here. Powell, my manager, seems to have skipped town."

"You told us earlier that your diamond dealer didn't like Powell. Does his disappearance have anything to do with that?"

"Everything." McDonald's voice sounded harsh with anger and frustration. "Powell falsified invoices from Epstein to show that he purchased more diamonds than Epstein sold us. He added a string of zeros and pocketed the difference."

Brad let out a low whistle. "Bummer." He paused. "I don't mean to add insult to injury, but you might have spared yourself the grief if you'd done some checking on Powell before you gave him so much authority. We learned he did time a few years ago."

"Mr. Featherstone, we
do
check on people before we hire them. I don't do it personally, but I had implicit faith in the person who should have. Let me assure you, heads will roll over this. Heaven only knows where it's all going to end. I'm out hundreds of thousands of dollars."

"I'm sorry. I have just one more question, if you don't mind. Do you know of any possible connection between Powell and Hammond?"

"Do you mean that someone doctored Hammond's invoices too?"

"Looks that way, a damned unlikely coincidence."

"Personally, I don't see how they could be connected. As you know, we've been rivals for years. There hasn't been any love lost between our two companies or the employees."

Except for him and Debra Hammond.

Brad sighed. "Thanks anyway." He hung up the phone, and I did the same. I went back to his office in time to see him lean over and unlock the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk. He pulled out a large box and retrieved his .38 Smith & Wesson.

The only reason I knew the name of the gun was because he told me at the time he bought it—along with a smaller pistol—and got the license to carry a concealed weapon. I didn't like it, but he assured me he'd probably never use them. I hoped and believed they spent most of their life in that locked drawer. Now, he apparently thought one might be necessary. I shivered.

"I'm taking you off the case."

"What?" I hadn't expected that.

"How would it look if I let my own sister get killed? Business would fall off terribly."

"Your concern is touching." Still, I felt grateful he'd said something light to break the mood.

He put on his Humphrey Bogart accent and quoted from
The Maltese Falcon
. "'When a man's partner is killed, he's supposed to do something about it… Well, when one of your organization gets killed, it's bad business to let the killer get away with it. It's bad all around—bad for that one organization, bad for every detective everywhere.'"

I raised my hand. "Stop already."

"Just the same," he said in his normal voice, "I think you should stay home for a while, and let me handle things. Maybe Powell isn't our murderer, but I don't like the fact that he's missing." He stood and stared down at me. "I'll buy that someone, maybe in a fit of pique, grabs a heavy object and smashes Hammond over the head with it, but shooting Novotny means he's packing heat now, and that could be dangerous for a lot of innocent bystanders."

I felt ambivalent. I was pleased with his concern but not quite ready to go back to my former life. Besides, I
had
to know who killed Carl. I'm not a vindictive person, but I told myself no one could shoot a man I almost went to bed with and expect me to take it lying down. Something was wrong with that analogy, but I didn't pursue it.

I argued. "Brad, I
can't
not be on the case. Two heads are better than one, and you know I've come up with good ideas."

"Yes, you have, and I still intend to pick your brain. I'll call you every night, and we'll discuss everything."

"That's not enough."

"Gonna have to be. What if Novotny's murderer thinks you saw him? What if he's after you right now? You might be a target."

That possibility hadn't occurred to me, and I mulled it over. "You know if I saw him, I'd have told the police, and they'd have arrested him by now. The murder made all the news broadcasts last night, and they never said the police suspected anyone."

"The killer knows the police might not be releasing all the evidence. He can't take a chance. The safest thing for him to do is get rid of you."

"But—"

"No more arguments. I'm in charge here, remember? You don't get to make the rules in my bailiwick." He walked toward the door. "I'm going to Hammond's headquarters now to find out about the audit and also look at every damn videotape in the place."

"What good will that do? Whoever killed Carl must have it already."

"Maybe, but there's also the possibility Novotny hid it at the office. What better hiding place for a videotape than among a bunch of other videotapes?"

I liked that idea. "Works for me." If we were smart, we'd solve the case quickly, and then I wouldn't be under house arrest for long.

Brad stopped at the door with his hand on the knob. "You can stay here the rest of the day, but I want you to leave right at five o'clock, and go straight home, and stay there. Got it?"

"Gotcha." I waved good-bye. I didn't see any need to tell him I wouldn't necessarily obey the order.