Authors: Marjorie Doering
“Yeah, and my attorney. Name’s Jennerman. He seems okay.”
“Good.” Waverly sighed. “I’m betting I didn’t wake you up. You oughta get to bed.”
“So I can worry in a horizontal position?”
“Give it a shot, Ray.”
For the second time since returning to his apartment, Ray showered. The first time, he’d scrubbed his and Haney’s blood from his body until his skin was nearly raw. This time, he let the steaming water beat against his neck and back, careful not to wet the gauze pad over the stitches above his temple.
As he turned the faucets off, he heard pounding on his apartment door. Ray pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and hurried to the door, bare-chested. As he turned the knob, a push from the other side sent the door flying inward, striking him. He staggered back as Gail reached out and pushed him.
Tears washed down her face. “Why?” With each push, each shove, she repeated it. “Why?”
Ray grabbed her wrists. “Stop it, Gail.”
She struggled to free herself.
“I said stop it.” Forcing her against the wall, he kicked the door shut behind her. She continued to struggle as he forced her into the recliner. “Damn it,” he shouted, “settle down.”
“You killed him.” Tears streamed from her dark eyes. Rocking, she buried her face in her hands. “Wasn’t punishing me enough? Did you have to punish Mark, too?”
He stepped back as though he’d been doused with acid. “What?” Blood from a torn stitch began filling the gauze pad, but he felt only the staggering blow of her accusation. “After all these years, do you honestly think what happened was intentional?”
She stood, putting the chair between them. “You’re not the same man I married. You’ve become hard and unforgiving.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My God, it’s been three years and you still haven’t forgiven
yourself
for your father’s death. If you can’t forgive your own mistakes, how can you forgive anyone else’s?”
“The shooting was an accident.”
“No. You make people pay for their mistakes. Your father. Me. Even yourself. And now you decided to make Mark pay, too. You’ve been punishing yourself for your father’s death for three years. And all that time, you’ve been so blinded by your own pain that you haven’t been able to see what it’s doing to me.” Gail forced a shuddering breath into her lungs. “What I did was inexcusable. I know that. But Mark made me feel a little less lonely for a while. The affair just happened, and for the hundredth time, I’m sorry. But for you to kill Mark—”
“I told you, the shooting was accidental. What happened with my father was different,” Ray said. “He turned his back on his marriage and spit on his badge. He cheated on my mother with some bimbo and financed his affair by taking payoffs. I turned him in because he broke the law.”
“You got even. You just used the law to do it.”
“My father didn’t just ruin
his
life, Gail; he ruined my mother’s, too.” His mother’s seven-word note of farewell was indelibly etched in his mind: Forgive me. Death is easier to face.
“Ray, she chose to take those pills. That was
her
mistake. If she’d lived, would you have found a way to punish her for
her
bad judgment, too?”
“Gail, don’t.” He was losing a tug-of-war with his emotions. He turned away trying to conceal the tears welling in his eyes. “I swear I didn’t mean to shoot Mark Haney. I killed someone tonight. You can’t know what that’s like. You know me better than anyone. Do you honestly think I’m a monster?”
Her silence made him feel like his heart had been ripped out. “You said I was too blinded by my pain to see yours. Did you mean to make this an object lesson?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Taking his face in her hands, she turned it toward her. In every crease, every familiar contour, she saw the depth of his grief. She cupped her hands over her lips and quivering chin. “Ray, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I’m so sorry.”
“I’m light years away from being perfect, but you have to believe me, Gail. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“I do believe you.”
Each of her tears fell like a hammer blow to his heart. Ray wanted to wrap her in his arms, to say something comforting, but there were no magic words, only his regret. “Maybe it was my fault you needed someone else, I don’t know. The truth is I feel worn out, used up, like the last bit of strength I had is gone. I can’t deal with any more.”
Pain bled through her smile. “Strength is a renewable resource.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“It said so in a fortune cookie Krista got the other day.”
“Krista and Laurie,” he said, facing a new worry. “Where are they?”
“At home asleep. I phoned Eileen next door. She threw on a robe and came to stay at the house until I get back.”
He sank onto the couch. “Tomorrow the girls are going to hear all sorts of things—most of them wrong.”
“I’ll explain that you didn’t know Mark was there doing inventory. That you—”
“What? Who told you
that
?”
“Woody Newell. One of Mark’s employees told him.”
“When was this?”
“Before he stopped by the house to talk to me.”
“So, did he come by to tell you about Haney or to turn you against me?”
“Ray, stop it. He was doing his job.” She chanced a caring gesture, letting her fingertips trail down his arm. “They’ll have to do an investigation, won’t they?”
“It’s already started.”
“Can anyone back up what you’ve said?”
“Maybe. Debbie Gleason at the Copper Kettle waited on me just before she served Haney. There were a few customers, too. And I talked to Amy Dexter while I was there.”
The color ran out of Gail’s face at the mention of Amy’s name. “What about Chuck Wilke? Woody said he was with you when it happened.”
“I don’t know how much Chuck saw. Stuff was piled everywhere.”
She dried her eyes. “You’ll be okay, right?”
He shook his head and shrugged.
Her voice quavered. “Ray, word has gotten out about Mark’s and my affair. People know.”
“You think I don’t know that? If the investigators decide this was an intentional shooting, they’ll drive the nails in my coffin with a sledgehammer, and that may be all they need to hear.”
Her dark eyes brimmed with fresh tears. “Ray, if I could change things…” Her voice cracked.
“It is what it is, Gail.”
“You’ll be all right. You have to be.” She seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as him. “Things are going to turn around for you.” She rushed on with an almost frantic resolve. “You deserve a fresh start. You’ll pick up the pieces with someone new, and you’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Gail’s pep talk both touched and puzzled him.
Someone new?
Had she given up on their marriage? Had she given up on him? It was an issue he wasn’t prepared to deal with at that moment.
“I’d better go,” she said. “You need to get some sleep.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I do, Ray. The girls…Eileen’s probably anxious to get back to bed.”
“Are you okay to drive? I could take you home.”
Gail shook her head.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded and hurried to the door. In the hallway, Gail turned to him, words spilling from her heart before she could stop them. “I’m sorrier than I can say. I love you, Ray. Still. Always.” Before he could find words to respond, Gail turned and rushed away.
It had already been one hell of a morning and it wasn’t even light yet. From the window, he watched until her car’s tail lights disappeared into the darkness.
42
Woody arrived at the station well ahead of his normal time and found Irene already at the dispatch console. “Ahead of schedule, aren’t you?” Woody asked.
“I needed some caffeine. My “Mr. Coffee’s” on strike. It’s time I fire his sorry ass and get myself a new machine.” Her explanation was feasible, but transparent.
“So, you couldn’t sleep either?”
“Not a wink.” She pointed to a bakery box beside the office coffee pot. “I stopped by Weidemeyer’s on my way in. Help yourself to a roll.”
“Later maybe.”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to save you any. The whole crew’s been showing up early, and they’re coming in hungry.”
“Let them have them. My appetite’s shot anyway.”
Irene shoved a few white hairs back in place. “About Ray…How worried are you?”
Woody snorted. “What do you think?” His tone softened. “Listen, Irene, I’m expecting an Agent Sadlec from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension to show up soon. When he gets here, send him in.”
“All right, but he’s not getting a sweetroll.”
Twenty minutes later Irene sent Sadlec into Woody’s office along with an Agent Dollaway. Following the preliminary introductions, they turned down an offer of coffee and pulled chairs up to the other side of Woody’s desk.
Sadlec’s booming bass voice was as big as his physical presence. “Does Officer Schiller have a lawyer?”
“He does,” Woody said.
“Good. If you can get him and his attorney over here, we can get things underway.”
From her desk, twenty feet from the office, Irene gave Woody a nod. “I’ll give Ray a call.”
“Thanks.” He got up and shut the door.
“You know, Chief Newell,” Dollaway said, “judging from what a couple of customers had to say at the Copper Kettle last night, Officer Schiller doesn’t seem to be a particularly popular figure in this town.”
Woody stared into Dollaway’s deceptively boyish face. “And your point is?”
“I’m just wondering why that is.”
Woody wasn’t about to let them turn the investigation into a popularity contest. He leaned back in his chair. “Understand something. Ray Schiller might not win an award for congeniality; he might not be everyone’s idea of ‘one of the guys,’ but I challenge you to show me a single blemish on his record. He does his job and he does it extremely well.”
“You find assault and battery commendable?” Dollaway asked.
Pete’s Tap.
Woody shut his eyes, kicking himself for opening that particular can of worms. “I know the incident you’re talking about. Ray was off-duty at the time. That doesn’t mean I sanction his being involved in a bar fight, but—”
“I hope not,” Sadlec interrupted. “It’s unacceptable.”
“I know that.
He
knows that. Even so, it was the other man who provoked it, and he was so far in the wrong, he didn’t even press charges. The bastard was looking for trouble and found it. When Ray’s pushed, he pushes back.”
Dollaway cocked an eyebrow. “So, Schiller has a temper.”
“That doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“It increases the possibility,” Dollaway fired back.
“All right, Ray’s got a temper, but he keeps it under control.”
“Apparently not
that
night. It goes to prove he can be pushed over the edge.”
“Who can’t be?” Woody argued. “Ray can be difficult at times, but he’s a decent man and a damn good cop. I’m not going to stand by and see him victimized by innuendo.”
Sadlec rubbed his chin between a thumb and forefinger. “Cops come under greater scrutiny than the general population. It may not be fair, but that’s how it is. If we’re to ensure that police officers use their weapons and judiciously, we can’t minimize the potential for their misuse.”
“Neither,” Woody said, “can you minimize the need to keep an open mind.”
Sadlec nodded. “We have nothing to gain by skewing our information. But good or bad, it’s all going in our report.”
“That’s fine,” Woody said, “but I’m not going to stand by and let Ray be railroaded by public opinion.”
“Understood,” Sadlec said.
“We’ll take a good hard look at the evidence and get out of your hair as quickly as possible,”
Dollaway told him. “The bulk of our investigative work normally takes about twelve to twenty-four hours. The autopsy, firearms test, and the like will take longer, but we’ll do what we can to speed it along.”
“Good. I don’t relish the thought of Ray hanging by his fingernails any longer than necessary. Myself either.”
Enroute to the station, Ray saw faces turn in his direction. People looked at him from the sidewalks or their cars as he drove by. Were they judging him so quickly, he wondered, or was he being paranoid? Passing the hardware store, the out-of-place ‘closed’ sign in the door made his throat tighten.
Irene filled him in as he walked into the station, “There are two of them, Ray. They’re in with Woody. Your lawyer, too. He got here a minute ago.” She cast a wary glance at the closed office door. “I don’t like their looks. Watch your step.”
“I will. Thanks.” He started toward the office.
“Pssst.”
Ray turned.
Irene leaned over the console, her voice low. “Last night I was reading
Little Red Riding Hood
to my grandson. Those BCA guys? They put me in mind of the wolf.” She gave him a solemn wink. “You be the woodsman, Ray.”
He winked back, rapped on the door and stepped inside.
The act of shaking hands felt like the touching of gloves before a boxing match. Ray took a seat beside his attorney Richard Jennerman.
Sadlec turned to Woody. “Chief Newell, mind if we use your office?”
He rose and left without a word.
Dollaway waited until the door closed again. “We’ve done a thorough check of the crime scene,” he told Ray and Jennerman.
Crime scene, my ass.
Ray bristled, but held his tongue.
“The lab team,” Dollaway continued, “has gathered the evidence from the scene and your clothes from the hospital.”
Leaving the emergency room the night before in hospital scrubs was a vague memory for Ray—not so much forgotten as repressed.
“Now,” Sadlec said, “it’s a matter of sifting through the information and separating fact from fiction.”
Ray sat forward in his seat. “Whatever I told you is the truth, not something I invented to cover my ass.”
Jennerman rested a hand on Ray’s forearm, urging him to stay calm.
“Let’s hope so,” Dollaway said, scanning his notepad. “A number of customers from the Copper Kettle filled us in on your strained relationship with the victim.”