Dear Crossing (16 page)

Shortly after Ray rejoined him, Waverly gave him a nudge. “Look who finally showed up.”

He followed the line of Waverly’s gaze. Looking like he’d just come off the cover of GQ, Ed Costales wove his way around the personnel and civilians obstructing his path. Each dark hair fell neatly into place, layer after endless layer, piquing Ray’s latent hair envy. Some pricey hair stylist probably dined on lobster and caviar on Costales’s tips alone.

Hoping his own forced smile looked more genuine than the one he was looking at, Ray stepped forward, hand extended. “Thanks for coming.”

“Glad to do it.”

Yeah, right.
Costales’s grip was firm, but the supple skin and impeccable nails added manicurist to Ray’s mental list of the man’s extravagances.

“Look,” he said, electric-blue eyes gleaming, “my time is limited. Can we make this quick?”

“We’ll do our best,” Waverly said, already leading the way toward an interview room. He stepped aside at the door, allowing Costales to enter ahead of them.

Apparently expecting a short stay, he took a seat without removing his cashmere coat. “So, what can I do for you?”

“We need answers to a few questions,” Ray said.

“No problem. I’m not sure how much help I can be, though.”

“Let’s find out.” Ray sat down across from him. “You’re employed by ACC, Mr. Costales?”

“Yes, as vice-president of marketing.”

“Then it’s probably safe to say you knew Valerie Davis.”

“Well, I…” Costales ran a hand through the inky mane of hair framing his broad face. “Not really. She attended some of ACC’s corporate functions now and then. I saw her several times on those occasions. That was the extent of it.”

“That surprises me. You seemed very upset at her funeral. I’d have guessed you had more than a nodding acquaintance.”

“No. Nothing more than that.”

“I see. So, your reaction was triggered by what—compassion for her husband?”

“Paul. Yes.”

“How would you characterize him?”

“What?”

“What kind of man is Paul Davis on a personal level, away from the office?”

“Sorry, but I can’t help much in that area. We don’t spend time together socially.”

Ray nodded. “Then you wouldn’t, say, have dealings with Davis outside of work, maybe attend a dinner or cocktail party at his home, play a round of golf together—that sort of thing?”

“No. Our contact has been strictly business related.”

“Except for some of those corporate functions you mentioned, I imagine. Is that right?”

“Yes, except for those.”

Ray linked his fingers across his stomach. “Then I admit I’m puzzled.”

“About what?”

“I’m wondering how it is that, having no social ties to Paul Davis, you drove all the way from Minneapolis to his summer home in Widmer last Saturday morning.”

“What?”

“Saturday morning, the day Valerie Davis was killed, your car was seen in the Davises’ driveway.”

A nervous undercurrent entered Costales’s voice. “There must be some mistake.”

“I don’t think so. E-C-G-O-I-N. Ed Costales goin’. Cute. Personalized plates are easy to remember.”

He fiddled with his coat. “Someone must have misread another license plate or remembered it incorrectly.”

“Doubtful,” Ray said. “The officer who saw your vehicle wrote it down then and there. When a cop spots someone trying to pull a disappearing act, he gets suspicious.”

“My leaving had nothing to do with…” He shut his mouth and bowed his head.

“Yeah,” Ray said, “you messed up, but don’t worry, you didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.”

Costales wiped damp palms on the knees of his trousers. “Am I going to need my lawyer?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Waverly said. “You have something to hide?”

“I had nothing to do with killing Val, but…”

The familiarity of a nickname rang in Ray’s ears. “You went to see
her
, didn’t you?”

“All right, yes. I took off because I saw Paul there. The day before, Val told me she planned to go to Widmer alone.”

“You might want to take your coat off after all,” Waverly told him. “This might take longer than expected.”

Ray’s stomach clenched. Wasn’t anybody faithful anymore?

“Frankly, I wouldn’t have given a damn if he
had
seen me,” Costales said, “but Val felt things were moving too fast. She didn’t want him to know yet. When I left, it was for her sake.”

“How long had the two of you been having this fling?” Waverly asked.

“It wasn’t a fling. I wanted to marry her.”

“How long?” Waverly repeated.

“About three months.”

Waverly whistled through his teeth. “My, my, you
were
in a hurry. What was your rush?”

“I didn’t see the point in waiting. I know a good thing when I see it.”

“Did Paul Davis know about your affair?” Ray asked.

“Not until the night before. She told me she’d confessed to having an affair, but that she hadn’t named me specifically.”

The answer troubled Ray. “If they discussed it on Friday night, how could she have told you about it unless you came back a second time on Saturday?”

Perspiration formed on Costales’s brow and upper lip. “Could I have some water?”

Waverly left and returned with a bottle of Dasani and set it in front of him. “Okay, we’re waiting.”

Costales drank long and swallowed hard. “On the way back to the Cities, I stopped for gas and then at a wayside to stretch my legs. I was about to pull out when I saw Paul’s Lexus go by. Knowing he was gone, I did go back. Val was upset to see me.”

“Why?” Ray asked.

He took another drink. “Because she didn’t know how to tell me things had changed overnight.”

“Changed how?” Waverly asked.

“Val and Paul had decided to reconcile. She told me that what we had was over.”

“Reconciling.” Waverly tugged his waistband higher. “We weren’t aware they were separated.”

Costales snorted. “They lived under the same roof, but emotionally they were definitely estranged.”

“Her news must’ve come as quite a blow to you,” Ray said.

“It wasn’t a bright, shining moment in my life, no. Look, I can see where you’re headed with this, but believe me, if I was going to kill anyone, it would have been him, not Valerie. Paul killed her, not me.”

“Considering they were going to reconcile, he must’ve forgiven her for the affair. Sounds, to me, like you were more likely to have left in a rage than Davis.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Costales looked from Ray to Waverly. “Paul may have lied through his teeth to Val about his feelings—but inside…”

“He and his wife had been married for what—over twenty years?” Ray said. “If he had all this alleged rage inside him, don’t you think she’d have seen through his act—the calm, understanding routine? The forgiveness?”

Costales huffed. “Lying to her was second nature to him. He’d perfected it over the years. One thing’s for sure: a divorce would’ve cost him dearly. It would’ve made no difference whether it was his idea or hers.” He stopped to take a swig from the bottle. “The presidency of ACC will be up for grabs soon. I don’t suppose Paul bothered mentioning that to you.”

“He did actually,” Ray said. “In some detail.”

Costales deflated like a defective balloon. “I should have expected that. He must’ve known you’d find out about it sooner or later. It doesn’t change anything. Paul’s been waiting to take over the company for years. He’s had a lock on it since he married Val. He’s a patient bastard; I’ll give him that.”

“Interesting,” Ray said. “Tell me something. Was it part of your game plan to convince Valerie to leave Paul and marry
you
so you could cut ahead in line?”

“What? No. I’ve worked my way up through the ranks without any of Paul’s advantages. Worked damn hard. I’d put my qualifications up against his anytime.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Costales paused. “All right. No. Marrying Val wouldn’t have hurt my chances.”

“I’d say that’s a gross understatement,” Ray said. “We’ve talked with Chet Stockton. It’s clear how devoted he was to his daughter. I’ve got to hand it to you, Mr. Costales. It was an ingenious strategy. Get Davis’s wife to dump him and Stockton would follow suit, right? In one fell swoop, Paul Davis would become persona non grata while you’d be a shoo-in for the presidency of ACC. Only trouble is, your plan fell apart, right?”

“Oh, Geezus.” Costales slid to the edge of his chair. “You’re turning this all around.”

“I don’t think so. Maybe Davis forgiving his wife was motivated more by ambition than love, but the reconciliation kept him in the catbird seat and you out in the cold. You got shot down. That must have infuriated you.”

“No.”

“When she told you it was over, what was your reaction?”

“I tried to make her see that going back to Paul was a mistake. I begged her to make a clean break from him.”

“But she refused.”

“Val said she felt there was still a chance to salvage their marriage—that she still loved him.”

Ray moved so close he could almost feel Costales’s body heat. “And you were angry.”

“Not angry—hurt.”

“And you wanted to get even.”

“I didn’t kill Val. I loved her.”

“But she’d betrayed you.”

“Not me—herself.”

“You went back a third time, didn’t you? That evening. You went back to try to change her mind, and when you couldn’t, you killed her. Valerie ran from you. She ran from the house and you chased her down. You found the axe out back, took it in your hands and swung.”

Costales leapt to his feet, his eyes the size of saucers. “No. That didn’t happen. When I left the second time, she was alive. I never saw her again. Sure, I was hurt. And, yes, I was angry, but not with her—with him. I didn’t want to make it any harder on Val or myself than it already was. I knew the reconciliation would run its course and she’d come back to me. I only wish I
had
gone back again; maybe she’d still be alive.”

“People do stupid things in the heat of the moment,” Ray told him. “Is that what happened to you or did you actually think her murder through before you came back later that night?”

“This is crazy.”

“Crazy?” Waverly said. “I don’t think so. Cold, calculating? Damn straight. It makes you scum, but clever scum. If you couldn’t bring Paul Davis down one way, you’d bring him down another. You must’ve seen killing Stockton’s daughter as your last chance. Do Valerie in, point the finger of suspicion at Paul Davis and wait for her father to do the rest.”

“You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t go back that night. I had nothing to do with her death.”

“Believe you?” Ray said. “You came in here and lied to us. You had no intention of telling the truth until you tripped yourself up.”

“I understand why you’d think the worst. It was cowardly. I admit that, but I lied because I was scared. My involvement with Valerie stands to put me in serious jeopardy personally and professionally. How long do you think my career with ACC is going to last if Paul Davis takes over?”

“You should’ve thought about that before you got involved with another man’s wife.” Ray’s vindictiveness came from a less-than-professional place, and the realization made him wince. “You should’ve come forward with your information at the start.”

“Self-preservation is a powerful instinct.”

“Stronger than your love for Valerie Davis apparently.”

“What’s done is done. It’s not like putting my neck in a noose will bring her back.”

“Liars make my skin crawl,” Ray told him.

“Okay, I know it was stupid. If I had it to do over again, I’d do it differently.”

“Offhand, I’d say that’s another lie.”

“You can’t seriously believe I killed her.”

“Sure we can,” Waverly said. “Take over Paul Davis’s place as Chet Stockton’s new son-in-law…Boom. He’s out of there; you’re in. That doesn’t work? Get rid of Valerie and cast suspicion on her husband. More chance involved, but, hey, it’s worth a shot, right?”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“No, but maybe you are. It takes a real psycho to do what you did.”

Costales was on his feet. “I didn’t kill her.”

“Can you prove it?”

“I—”

“Do you have an alibi?” Ray asked. “Where were you when she was killed?”

“I told you. I was here in Minneapolis.”

“Is there someone who can confirm that?”

“I was at home. Alone. I don’t think anyone can—”

“Did you stop anywhere? Go to a bar and have a drink?”

“I was drinking, but at home.”

“Maybe someone stopped by,” Waverly suggested.

Costales was panicking. “Someone called, I think.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure; I was as drunk as I’ve ever been. I remember the phone ringing, but I’m not even sure I answered.”

“If I were you, Mr. Costales,” Waverly said, “I’d be praying for my memory to come back. If you come up with a name, you let us know.”

“I can go then?”

“You’re not under arrest. Not yet, anyway,” Waverly said. “Just stay where we can reach you.”

Costales rushed from the room, closing the door on his way out.

Ray dropped into the vacated seat. “We’re developing quite a list.” He counted on his fingers. “We’ve got a wronged husband, an ex-lover and Nick Vincent.”

“Yeah. More and more, though, I’m thinking Davis and Vincent aren’t connected, buddy. Maybe the bike accident and Davis giving the guy a ride into town is just one of those crazy cosmic jokes, ya know? I mean, if Davis hired Nick Vincent to kill his wife, how stupid would he have to be to be seen with the guy under
any
circumstances?”

“We’ve got a time discrepancy, anyway,” Ray said. “If what Costales just fed us isn’t 100% pure bull, when he and Nick Vincent arrived in Widmer, Davis hadn’t even heard about his wife’s affair yet. That blows a hole clear through that theory.”

“Or maybe just through that particular motive,” Waverly suggested.

“True. I don’t know how much, if any, of what Costales just said is true,” Ray continued, “but if Valerie Davis told her husband about her affair, then Davis is as big a liar as Ed Costales.”