Police Business - Julie Miller The Precinct

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and drive home in record time. A regular phone was useless to her, and a cell only good if she could use text messaging. Somehow, she doubted reporting a murder to the police in a cutesy memo would get the immediate response she needed. In fact, she suspected they’d see it as some sort of prank.

      She’d needed her TDD phone—Telecommunication Device for the Deaf. One she could speak into or type a message on that would be translated into a computerized voice at the other end of the line. A phone that would print out questions and conversation on a screen she could respond to.

      Schooling her patience, Claire turned to face the familiar blue eyes. Urgent and scared hadn’t gotten through to him. She’d try cool and rational. “Dad. Listen…”

      She’d given up the whole Daddy thing as soon as she realized he wasn’t taking her story any more seriously than the new guard at the front desk of the Winthrop Building had. And since she hadn’t wanted to take the chance of running into the man in black or his unknown accomplice, searching the darkened hallways for a more familiar—more sympathetic—face to help her didn’t seem like much of an option, either.

      I’ll come back for the body. Claire hadn’t waited to witness that, too, or to become one of the well-erased traces he’d bragged about to his unknown comrade.

      She articulated her words as succinctly as possible, carefully monitoring her volume and pauses through the speech processors behind her ears. “I know what I saw. I will never forget that man’s face. I won’t forget Valerie’s, either. There was hardly any blood on her face or blouse. But her hair was caked with it in the back. It was pooling on the plastic mat beneath your desk.”

      “Please, dear. That’s such a gruesome picture.”

      “Yes…it was.” She took a step closer, curled her fingers around his sturdy forearm and begged him to listen. “I came here first to use the TDD phone—and because I knew you’d want to be there when the police arrive.”

      Cain Winthrop’s indulgent expression sobered. “You’re calling the police?”

      “Yes.” Hadn’t she just signed it out and spoken the words? She’d been panicking in two languages and he still didn’t grasp the urgency of the situation.

      Shaking her head, Claire left her father and hurried into the study. She ignored the walls of books she loved and sat behind the walnut writing desk that had once been her mother’s. Claire typed in the request for the police department’s information line and waited for the computer to locate the number and automatically dial it.

      The words scrolled across the screen as the operator picked up. “KCPD information hotline. How may—”

      Her father pressed a button on the phone and disconnected the call. Claire shot to her feet. “Dad!”

      “Don’t call the police.”

      She read his lips in disbelief. “We have to. Valerie is dead in your office.”

      “Nonsense.”

      “Dad—”

      “What’s all the commotion in here?”

      Claire heard the buzz of a new voice in her ears and groaned. She turned a silent plea to her father as the striking, fifty-year-old woman with frosted brunette hair joined them. If it had been difficult to get her father to believe her, it would be impossible to get any help from her stepmother.

      “It’s nothing, Deirdre.” Cain explained away the argument between father and daughter. “Claire went up to the office this evening to surprise me, and I wasn’t there. It’s all a little confusing.”

      “I’m not confused. My ears might not work, but I have 20/20 vision. I live by what my eyes tell me. I know what I saw.”

      Deirdre signed the question, “I thought you were on a date with Rob Hastings.”

      Claire rolled her eyes and turned away. Maybe she should call Rob for help since everyone was so interested in him. “I’m calling the police.”

      “The police?”

      Ignoring the metallic drone of Deirdre’s shocked voice, Claire reached for the receiver. But her father blocked her path. “Sweetie, I’m only trying to protect you from embarrassing yourself.” He gently pried the phone from her fingers and set it back in its cradle. “Valerie is on vacation in the Bahamas with that gentleman friend she met on her last cruise.”

      She watched his lips say the impossible. “No, she’s not. She’s—”

      “I gave her a hug before she took off this afternoon. The temp who’s replacing her for a couple of weeks was there when I called for my messages at six.”

      “But…” Claire’s lungs deflated, along with her conviction. She sank onto the desk chair’s brocade cushion. How could that be? She hadn’t hallucinated since that fever she’d had as a child. She’d seen that man. Seen that gun.

      She’d seen that dead body.

      Her father’s executive assistant could have been killed by mistake—a tragic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The man in black and his accomplice might have come looking for her father, but found Valerie puttering about his office instead. The man she hadn’t seen might have been Valerie’s “gentleman friend.” Maybe he’d taken her there on purpose to get rid of her in some kind of twisted love triangle thing. Or maybe Valerie had lied to her father and never really left the building. Maybe she was part of some conspiracy, some plot to take advantage of her father’s wealth and worldwide trade connections, but her partners had betrayed her.

      Why wasn’t the great Cain Winthrop concerned about that?

      And what about the list? That’s number four.

      The thin-lipped man with the pockmarked face didn’t seem to be the sort of person who would make a mistake.

      Neither was she.

      Trusting instincts that no one else seemed to think she had, Claire pushed to her feet. There was only one way to convince her father that he or his company might still be in grave danger, only one way to convince him to get help. With a resolute sigh, she strode back into the foyer to retrieve her purse. The staccato tapping on the stone tiles beneath her feet told her that her father and stepmother were following her.

      “Valerie must have come back for some reason, Dad. Deirdre, would you call Rob and make my apologies for me? I’ll have to take a rain check on drinks.” She turned to her father, ignoring the worry that deepened the creases beside his eyes. “I’m sorry. But we have to go back to your office. Right now. And I want you to call the police on our way over. I won’t let this go until you do. Valerie’s dead.

      “I’ll show you.”

      Chapter Two

      Using the beam of his flashlight to guide his way through the dark offices and hallway, the man with the long fingers paused in his work. Caution, more than curiosity, guided him to the shiny gold disk that had caught his eye. Squatting down beside the potted ficus tree, he picked up a small gold pin. Cheap, by the weight of it. He turned the trinket over in his palm.

      Forsythe.

      He couldn’t quite place the name, but he’d file it away in the back of his mind until he could.

      Before he straightened, he lifted his gaze, studying the view from this vantage point. Interesting. A place to see, but not be seen. If anyone was of the mind to do so.

      He’d been assured that the 26th floor would be abandoned after 6:00 p.m. That the cleaning crew wouldn’t arrive until ten o’clock.

      Was the pin a result of sloppy housekeeping? Unlikely, given the money and expectations tossed around this place. Was it just coincidence that someone had lost this pin on this night—in this place with a camouflaged view of Cain Winthrop’s office?

      In his business, it didn’t pay to count

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