Shot Through Velvet (10 page)

Lacey had taken a PI class the previous month, for several reasons. She wanted to see if private investigating skills would help her snag a better reporting gig. And Lacey’s beat had indeed changed, though she wasn’t sure if it was for the better. She also took the course to get a better idea of what Vic did for a living now, after he’d stopped being a cop. He was in the security and investigation business with his dad, and the work was booming. Even though it seemed to include sneaking around empty factories late at night
.

“There’s no harm in getting my PI registration,” she said.

“That’s what they all say.” Vic turned on his flashlight. “You want to do this sort of thing? Surveil spooky old buildings in the middle of the night?”

“Maybe I’ll learn something by watching you.”

“Don’t hold your breath, darling. I just want to see the place the way Rod Gibbs did last night, when he met with person or persons unknown.”

Vic was a quiet walker, a skill he no doubt perfected on the job as a PI. Lacey followed, glad her boots had soft soles so she could gumshoe along with the best of them.

“You’re not going to turn on the lights?” she asked.

“I don’t think Gibbs did. He knew his way around. Besides, there’s enough light here to see.” Vic pointed with the flashlight to the skylights and the rows of large paned windows that lined the top of the walls, just under the ceiling. “The exit signs, the parking lot lights through the windows, the moonlight. Just don’t fall in a dye vat.”

“Very funny.” Their eyes soon adjusted to the dark, and Lacey found he was right. “You’re not afraid someone else could be skulking around here?”

His smile caught the light. “There is always that. But Rod Gibbs seemed to be the target, so his killer has no reason to be here tonight. Just us skulkers.”

“Unless the killer wants to destroy evidence,” Lacey suggested.

“Not much left after the state cops got through with it,” he said.

“Why are we here again?”

“For the atmosphere,” Vic said. “I know how you like strolling around abandoned factories after dark.”

A sharp clap startled Lacey, and Vic froze. “What was that?” she whispered.

“Sounds like a baffle opening and closing, maybe in the HVAC system.” He pointed his flashlight at the exposed heating and air-conditioning ducts.

They stood still for a moment, aware of a small symphony of sounds. The wind whistling through the roof was joined by hums and pops and the creaking of old wood and tired machinery. It was a concert with a haunted air about it. The cacophonous melody struck Lacey as the breath of a hundred ghostly workers surrounding them.

And their ghost taxi is waiting outside
.

“This place is definitely creepy after dark.” Lacey shivered.

“Still glad you came?”

Lacey grabbed hold of Vic’s arm and held tight. “Am I ever. Love the atmosphere. Cue the ghosts.”

“Good. You can hold the flashlight while I take some photos.” Vic snapped digital flash pictures of machinery, doors, windows, security cameras. He moved toward the dye house, shooting from behind the yellow tape.

“You think you’ll find something?” Lacey asked.

“You never know. The police already took crime scene photos. I’m just looking at the security that was, or was not, in place. Mostly not.” He leaned down for a couple of shots. Lacey pointed the flashlight. “I have to make sure nothing like this happens again, whether this factory ever works again or not.”

“What are the chances of that?”

“The killer isn’t likely to come back here.” Vic straightened up. “High school boys, on the other hand, after a sensational murder? An empty factory? I expect chances are pretty good. This town’s already had that famous unsolved taxi murder.”

“What about the high school
girls
?”

“Girls usually have better sense than boys.”

“Can you put that in writing for me, Vic?”

He laughed. “No way. And don’t quote me around guys. I’ll deny saying it.”

“Girls do have more sense,” Lacey said. “Except where high school boys are concerned. Before you know it, the story will turn into a horror film. The killer will have a vicious hook instead of a hand.”

“Or a pitchfork,” Vic said.

Vic and Lacey paced off the factory’s interior dimensions and stopped at the back of the room that once held the looms. It occupied an L-shaped arm of the building. At the junction there was a dented metal door next to freight bays that could be opened to move large shipments of fabric into trucks. The cavernous room was nearly empty but for a couple of beat-up wooden desks and chairs. On the larger desk a small circle of light spilled from a lamp. Next to it sat a video surveillance monitor, turned off. Between the desks were a space heater for winter nights and a couple of trash cans that had seen better days.

“Is this where the ace security team hangs out?” Lacey asked.

“Looks like it. Plush, huh?”

“Very. Could be the newsroom in Sagebrush. Nicholson said there was a guard?”

“That’s the rumor. Needs new security cameras. Needs everything.” Vic poked around in corners, took photos, looked in the trash. “Yeah, they had a guard. Or a thirsty ghost. Look in here.” The garbage can was half full of empty beer bottles. The faint stench of hops still hovered above the can.

“Wouldn’t the police be interested in that can?” Lacey asked.

“They probably took a sample. But the crime didn’t happen in here.”

A clattering sound and a grunt sent Lacey and Vic to safety in the shadows. Lacey peeked around Vic. “Security guard?”

“Or a drunken ghost.”

The door to the back offices opened noisily and a sullen-looking, heavyset man shuffled in. Vic stepped out from the shadows.

“Good evening.”

The man yelled, stumbled against the back wall, and fell onto a garbage can. Vic offered him a hand and pulled him up to his feet.

“God damn it, you scared me to death. Who the hell are you? I could of had a heart attack, you know.” He glared at them.

“You must be Wade Dinwiddy,” Vic said. “Tom Nicholson said I’d find you here.”

“Yeah.” Wade looked surly. “I’m Wade. What business is it of yours? Who are you?”

“I’m Vic Donovan. I’m taking over the security contract.”

“Huh. Moving in a little early, ain’t you?” Wade had recovered from his scare and was standing up and dusting himself off. “And who is she? The Queen of freaking Sheba? Or are you going to tell me that little thing is my replacement?”

Vic lifted one eyebrow at Lacey. “My assistant. You’re a little late tonight, aren’t you, Wade?”

“Crap. I been talking with the cops all day, half the night.”

“About Rod Gibbs?” Lacey asked.

Wade sighed and leaned against the wall. “It sure as hell weren’t for my health. Course it was about Rod. I hear he’s blue. That true?”

“You didn’t see him?” Lacey asked.

“Why don’t you tell us what you told the police?” Vic said.

“Why should I?” He and Vic stared at each other. Wade backed down and sat on the desk. “Aw, hell. What do you wanna know?”

“You worked here for the last few months, is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I just wanted to pick up a few extra bucks. When Rod told me about the gig, I grabbed it.”

“Rod Gibbs hired you?” Lacey was surprised.

“Hey, little girl, I can do security work just fine,” Wade snarled.

“That’s why he got killed, because you were on the job?” she said.

“I didn’t have nothing to do with that! You gotta understand. Me and Rod, we get along okay. Or did, I guess I should say.” Wade rubbed his face. “I did the job he told me to.”

“Tell me what your duties were.” Vic loomed over him.

“I just make my rounds, make sure no one’s breaking in, scrawling bad words on the walls and stuff. It’s not too hard. Staying awake is the hard part.”

“Did you see Gibbs last night?” Vic asked.

Wade shut his mouth, then finally nodded. He looked embarrassed. “I told the police all about it.”

“Were you drinking?”

“Did that cop tell you that?” Wade shot back.

“He didn’t have to.” Lacey tapped the trash can with one toe. The empty bottles clinked merrily.

“Okay, I was drinking. With Rod. He always brought the booze. He knows what I like. Pabst Blue Ribbon. Good old PBR.”

“Why would he bring beer to work?” Lacey asked.

Wade seemed puzzled. “ ’Cause we’re buddies? You know. Rod liked to shoot the breeze. Hell, I liked to drink. So we shared some brewskis. Wasn’t the first time. Guess it was the last.”

“Let me get this straight.” Vic’s face was hard. “Gibbs was drinking with you?”

Wade didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with lifting a few brews at work with the boss, especially seeing as how there were “not hardly no workers no more,” as he put it. And Wade pointed out he wasn’t handling the dangerous equipment. “I maybe had a bit more to drink than Rod.”

“What happened?”

“Guess I fell asleep. Musta hit my head or something’cause it’s pretty sore today. I got one hellacious headache.” Wade pointed to a spot on the back of his head. Lacey shined the light on it. “I was out cold.”

“There’s a scab.” Lacey tried not to make a face. Did Rod actually get Wade drunk, then knock him out to make sure he wouldn’t see anything? Or was it the killer?

“Did you see Rod leave?” Vic asked.

“That a trick question? ’Cause I know Rod is dead. And I didn’t see him no more after I fell asleep. And I wouldn’t have seen him leave, I guess, ’cause somebody killed him after that. Somebody could have killed me! Anybody think about that? So don’t ask me to go shedding no tears for him, when I coulda died myself last night.”

Now that Lacey looked closer at the man, she thought he might have already had a few drinks to get through this night. His hair was greasy and smoothed over a bald spot—and the scab. His shabby, unwashed clothes stank. His shoes were worn at the heels. He was drinking away what little money he had. It was hard to see what kind of relationship he’d had with Rod Gibbs. Old buddies from school?

“How long were you asleep?” Vic asked.

“Hell, I don’t know.” Wade tried to think. “Couple hours, maybe three, four. When I woke up it was getting toward light, so I left.”

“Did you see anything?” Vic leaned down into Wade’s face. “Hear anything?”

“I didn’t see nothing. I didn’t hear nothing. I just went home.”

“Did you check the factory one last time, or complete your rounds?”

“Man, my head was killing me. I couldn’t hardly see for the pain of it. I locked the door and got in my pickup and drove home.” Wade looked confused. “You want me to go home now? I’m supposed to be paid through this week. You firing me?”

“You’ll get your pay,” Vic said. “But I’ll have someone else here with you the rest of the time, starting tomorrow. You can show him or her the ropes. No sleeping. No drinking. Got it?”

It was better news than Wade had expected. “All right. It’s too much for me anyway. I work afternoons at the junkyard.”

“You should have your head checked out,” Lacey said. “You might have a concussion.”

“Oh no.” He pulled himself to his feet. “Not me. I got a hard head. I’ll be fine.”

“Go see a doctor,” Vic said. “The company will pay for it. If you got hurt on the job, it’s covered under workers’ compensation. I’ll inform Kira Evans.”

“Workers’ comp, huh? Well, all right. As long as I don’t have to pay for it.” Wade sat down at the desk and took a can of Coke out of the pocket of his parka and pulled the tab. He gulped it greedily. He was still slumped over, holding his head, when they left.

They got in Vic’s Jeep and headed back to the motel.

“What do you think, Vic?”

“The man is pathetic. Either he’s lying about what he saw and heard and drank, which is a possibility, or Rod Gibbs wanted him drunk and out of the way. Rod knew his weak spot. But why bother even hiring this fool?”

“Maybe to make sure no one more competent was in place,” Lacey suggested. “To hide whatever Rod was doing?”

Vic just whistled. “Who knows, darling.”

“Did our junkman Wade see something he didn’t report?” Lacey said.

“If Wade was unconscious when Gibbs was killed, he wouldn’t have seen the body, because it was at the bottom of the dye vat. The half-dyed spool of velvet on top of the body wouldn’t concern someone like Wade. It wasn’t his job. If, on the other hand, Wade killed Rod, it was a pretty ambitious method for such a sloppy drunk.”

“Doesn’t seem possible. And he’s the first person we’ve met who halfway liked Rod Gibbs.”

Vic nodded. “As long as Gibbs was buying him beer. If Wade saw the aftermath of the murder, it might explain why he goosed out of there so fast, without checking the facility again. But why not just call the cops?”

“You don’t really figure him for the killer?”

Vic snorted. “I figure him for a drunk.”

“And maybe a fall guy. And what to make of Gibbs? Pretty ironic to incapacitate his own guard and then get himself killed.”

“Rod Gibbs had the worst luck of his life last night,” Vic said. “Now
my
luck, on the other hand . . .”

Chapter 9

“It was a calling, really. More than just a job,” Blythe Harrington said mournfully. “I mixed the dyes. It’s harder than you might think. You gotta have a grasp of the chemistry. Making every batch consistent. Mixing special batches of dye for unusual colors. I thought of myself as a dye artist.”

Blythe, the artist of her kitchen, poured Lacey a cup of gourmet coffee and sliced a piece of cinnamon coffee cake. The sun poured in over the oak table in the cozy room.

Morning had really come too soon. Lacey hadn’t written as much as she would have liked the night before, and she had more questions now about Rod Gibbs, the big blue elephant in the room. If she was still sleepy, at least she was comfortable in a deep purple sweater and dark jeans. Her vintage jacket added dash.