088 False Pretenses, Page 2

  "No, he's not," Nancy replied. "He's been out of town the last couple of days. He's expected back tomorrow morning."

  "I see," Detective Washington said. "Would you mind waiting here for a little while? I may have some other questions for you. You, too, Mr. Megali."

  As he sat down with Nancy, David Megali said, "I've heard of you. You're earning yourself quite a reputation as a detective around this town. Have you ever thought of taking up investigative journalism? It has a lot in common with detective work."

  "Really?" Nancy said, intrigued.

  "Sure," David continued. "Take this case—I mean, I don't really buy this burglary business. I get an anonymous call offering me evidence of criminal activity, I arrive here and find that someone has been murdered. It's pretty obvious, isn't it? The victim must be the guy who was planning to give me the evidence. But he wasn't careful enough. Somebody found out what he was up to and killed him before he could pass on his information. It's the only explanation that makes sense."

  "Not quite," Nancy pointed out. "It could have been the killer who made the appointment with you, hoping that you'd show up in time to be the number one suspect. He couldn't have known that I'd get here before you."

  David nodded and smiled wryly. "I can see why you have the reputation you do. I take it you don't have much faith in Detective Washington's burglary theory, either?"

  "It raises a lot of unanswered questions," Nancy admitted. "For instance, how did the burglar get in? There's no sign of forced entry, or if there is, the police aren't telling us about it. And it's hard to imagine why a burglar would break in when somebody was still working in the office. Why not wait until the place was empty?"

  "Do you have another theory?" David asked.

  "Not so far," she hedged. "But I do think this crime calls for a more thorough investigation."

  "Just what I was thinking!" he exclaimed. Lowering his voice, he added, "And my other thought was that this killing may very well be linked to the story I'm working on. What do you say we join forces? I think we would complement each other very well."

  Nancy's thoughts raced. If David was what he seemed to be, his skills as a journalist could be useful to her investigation. If he wasn't —if he was somehow involved in the crime—working with him would give her a way of checking him out without arousing his suspicions.

  "That sounds like a good idea," she said. Then, wondering if she had been a little too enthusiastic, she added, "We can try, anyway, and see how it works out. Who are you doing the story for?"

  David named an important national magazine with a bureau in Chicago, then said, "Of course, I am doing the story on spec, which means I have no guarantee they'll take it when I'm done. It's the way things work—"

  Detective Washington returned and cut David off. "I don't think we need to keep you two any longer tonight," he said. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd come down to headquarters tomorrow to give a formal statement."

  His tone of voice made it clear that his request was actually an order.

  "Certainly, Detective Washington," Nancy said. "What about locking up tonight? And what about tomorrow? Will my dad's office be able to open?"

  "We should finish our crime-scene investigation before morning, and we'll get the security guard to lock up," he replied. "Oh—Mr. Megali? I tried your telephone number, and it's not working."

  David looked startled. "It isn't? Let me see!" He glanced down at the detective's notebook and gave an awkward laugh. "I'm sorry, officer," he said. "I told you five-five-six-five, and it's really five-six-six-five. I guess I haven't been in town long enough to have it down completely."

  "I see. Thanks for the explanation." Washington made a note in his book. 'That's all, then. I'll see you two tomorrow."

  Downstairs, Nancy gave David her phone number and wrote his down. She noticed that this time he got it right. After agreeing to be in touch the next day, they separated. Nancy retrieved her car, remembered Bess, and drove straight to her house.

  Bess was standing out on the porch beside the open front door before Nancy had switched off her engine.

  "Where have you been?" she demanded as Nancy came up the walk. "I thought you were coming straight here. I've been so worried."

  "It's a long story. I apologize for not remembering to call. Let's go inside and I'll tell you all about it," Nancy replied.

  Once in the living room, Nancy told an open-mouthed Bess about her eventful evening. When she finished, Bess said, "Nancy, how awful! You must be a complete wreck! But the thing I don't understand is, where was Kyle? Wasn't he supposed to be working late tonight? That's what he told me. I'm going to call him right now!"

  There was no answer at Kyle's. "I guess he changed his plans," Bess said a little shakily as she replaced the receiver. "Thank goodness—if he'd been there, he might have been murdered, too!"

  Nancy nodded and put on a sympathetic expression. As she sat with Bess, watching the movie, she was paying more attention to some troubling questions than to the video. Where had Kyle been when the murder was committed? He was supposed to be at the office. Had he been? If so, he might have vital information that would help solve the crime. In that case, why hadn't he alerted the police about Broughton's death?

  As Nancy drove home, she admitted to herself that there was one obvious answer to that question. She could barely bring herself to think about it, but trying to ignore it would not make it go away.

  Kyle's actions made perfect sense—if he were the killer.

  Chapter Three

  As Nancy turned into the driveway, she was surprised to see that her father's car was in the garage. She also noticed a light on in his study. Apparently, his out-of-town business hadn't taken as long as he expected.

  Slowly she walked into the house. She hated being the bearer of bad news. The study door was ajar. Carson Drew was sitting at the desk with four or five thick files open in front of him and a yellow pad on his lap. He was chewing on the cap of his ballpoint pen.

  Nancy tapped on the door. Her father raised his eyes and smiled. "Hi, Nan. I was wondering where you were."

  "I wasn't expecting to see you till tomorrow. You came home early," she said, smiling back at him.

  "There was a flight and my business was done, so I caught it."

  As she walked into the room, Nancy noticed that his face was very drawn. "You look tired," she remarked. "Did you have a hard trip?"

  "So-so," he replied. "Product liability cases are always complicated, and I have an important court date on this one tomorrow afternoon. I hope I get to bed sometime tonight, but it's starting to look doubtful"

  Normally, Nancy would take this as a cue to say good night. Instead she pulled up a chair opposite him.

  He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

  "Unfortunately, yes," Nancy said. "I was down at the office just now. There was some serious trouble there tonight."

  "Trouble?" he repeated, frowning. "What sort of trouble?"

  Nancy hesitated. "Well—I'm afraid one of your people, Jack Broughton, was killed. I discovered his body. The police think he must have interrupted a burglary."

  "Broughton? Killed? That's terrible!" Carson exclaimed. He was silent for a moment, absorbing the news. Then he added, "But what were you doing there?"

  Nancy hesitated. She couldn't tell her dad anything less than the truth, she decided. "Bess mentioned that Kyle might be working late tonight," she said. "So when I saw the lights on, I dropped by to say hello."

  Her father didn't seem to hear her. "Jack Broughton, dead . . ." he said in a distant voice. "What an awful, awful thing. He can't have been more than twenty-four or -five. Fll have to get in at the crack of dawn tomorrow. I don't want the others to hear about this from anyone but me. And I'll need to talk to the police tonight. I think I'll wait a minute, though."

  "Yes," Nancy agreed. "Broughton just started to work for you, didn't he?"

  "Hmm? Yes, that's right," Carson answered distracte
dly.

  The crime had obviously hit him very hard, Nancy thought. She couldn't remember the last time he had seemed so preoccupied, so remote. His distress gave her an additional reason for wanting to solve this murder.

  Carson made a steeple with his forefingers and touched them to the tip of his chin. "Broughton came to work for us just last month. He is—was, I should say—an interesting kid. He dropped out of law school after a couple of semesters but then made himself into something of an expert on computer filing systems for law firms. He worked for three or four well-known firms in different parts of the country, reorganizing and computerizing their files. I had hired him to come and do the same for me."

  "How far did he get with his work with you?"

  Carson sighed. "Not very far, I'm afraid. When he gave me a progress report last week he was still familiarizing himself with our old system. I doubt if he had time to do much more than that before tonight. In any case, none of this is relevant, considering that he was killed by an intruder."

  After a moment Carson added, "I'm sorry, Nan. I need a little time to take this in." He bent his head down and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  Nancy stood up. "I understand, Dad," she said. "It's a shame about Broughton. But at least I may be able to do something to help bring his killer to justice."

  Carson raised his head quickly. "You intend to get involved in this case? We'd better have a serious talk about that," he said. "If anything happened to you..."

  "It won't," she assured him. "This isn't the first time I've chased a murderer, you know. And besides, I'm already involved. I did find the body and report it to the police. I want to solve this crime before any rumors start that might damage your firm."

  Her father nodded slowly. "I don't for a moment doubt your abilities as a detective. It's the risk that disturbs me."

  "But, Dad, I've run risks before in other cases!"

  "I know, and I dreaded every moment of them," he admitted. "Besides, this time it's me and my law practice that you're trying to help. That puts a responsibility on me beyond even my responsibility as your father."

  Nancy knew that unless she insisted, she and her father were about to find themselves at a stalemate.

  "I've got to work on this case," she said, drawing in a deep breath. "If I have your cooperation, the investigation will be a lot easier and a lot less risky. But risky or not, it's something I feel I have to do. Will you help me?"

  He studied her for a long moment, then nodded his head. "All right," he said at last. "I'll do what I can. But I want you to promise that you'll be very careful."

  "You have it," Nancy said simply.

  "I want you to keep me informed at all times about what you've discovered and what you plan to do. Is that a deal?" he added.

  Nancy blinked. Her father didn't usually act like a watchdog on her cases. Still, this one did concern his firm, so maybe he had a right to ask.

  In the end she said, "Okay, Dad. I will. Good night."

  "Good night, Nancy." As she left the room, he picked up the phone and started punching in his office number.

  When Nancy came downstairs and into the kitchen the next morning, she spotted a cereal bowl and coffee cup in the drying rack by the sink. Her father was already up and gone, she realized. Hannah wasn't around, either. She found half a grapefruit in the refrigerator, poured herself a glass of milk, toasted a muffin, and sat down at the breakfast table. As she ate, she made notes about the case. Before leaving the house, she called Bess.

  "Did you hear from Kyle last night after I left?" she asked.

  "Not a word," Bess said. "Nancy, you don't think anything happened to him?"

  "Don't be silly, of course not," Nancy replied. "Listen, I have to give a statement at police headquarters this morning, but afterward I'll go by Dad's office to poke around a little. When I see Kyle, I'll tell him to be sure to call you."

  "Oh, no, don't do that," Bess said in alarm. "I don't want him to think I'm clingy. But if you'd call me, so I know he's all right. . ."

  "I'll try," Nancy promised. "Oops, another call's coming in. I'll catch you later."

  The caller was a reporter at one of the local television stations. He wanted to talk to Carson Drew. Nancy fielded the call as best she could, then left the house for police headquarters.

  Detective Washington was out and another detective took her statement. She had to wait to read it over until it was typed, so by the time she reached her dad's office at Judiciary Square it was nearly ten o'clock. After parking in the lot behind the office building, she entered by a back door that led to the lobby. As she made her way to the elevators, she reminded herself to come back to speak to the guard who had been on duty the night before. When the elevator door slid open, she found herself face-to-face with Detective Washington.

  "Good morning, Ms. Drew," he said, holding the door open. "I just spoke to my office. Thanks for being prompt with your statement. Oh— when I mentioned your name to one of my colleagues, she said that you've done excellent work as an amateur detective. I just want you to know I don't intend to tolerate any meddling with this case. Is that clear?"

  "Of course," Nancy said, and stepped into the elevator. She convinced herself on the ride up that her definition of meddling and his might be a bit different.

  Upstairs, she found Carta, the receptionist, with a tissue in one hand and the telephone receiver in the other. Her eyes were red. In a voice that quavered, she was saying, "No public statement at this time. Maybe later in the day."

  She hung up and started to greet Nancy as the phone rang again. Nancy gave her a wave and walked to Ms. Hanson's desk. Her father's secretary also appeared to be quite shaken.

  "What a terrible way to die," Ms. Hanson said. When Nancy looked blank, she added, "Don't you know how it happened? Detective Washington just told us. The killer hit poor Jack from behind with a law book. His neck broke. Just the thought of it makes me ill—"

  It took the woman a few seconds to collect herself, but once she did, she asked, "Are you here to see your father? He just finished with that detective, and now he's over at the courthouse going over the evidence for his case later today."

  "That's okay—I'll catch him later," Nancy replied. "Have the police finished their work here?"

  Ms. Hanson looked around, as if she hoped to find the answer written on her office wall. "I think so. They searched the offices pretty thoroughly. They even watched while Sylvia inventoried all the securities in the vault. You'll be glad to hear that none was missing. Poor Jack must have surprised the intruder before he managed to open the vault."

  "Which office was Broughton using?" Nancy asked.

  "Why—just past the reception area, second on the left," Ms. Hanson said,

  "I'd like to take a quick look around it."

  Ms. Hanson hesitated before saying, "I'm sure that would be all right."

  Nancy started for the door, then turned and added, "Oh—and would you mind making me a photocopy of Jack Broughton's resume?"

  This time Ms. Hanson hesitated even longer. "All right, dear," she finally said. "But I'll check with your father first, if you don't mind."

  "Of course not," Nancy said quickly. "I'll see you later."

  Nancy walked down the corridor to Broughton's office and started for the door. She froze at the sound of a faint noise inside. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open wide.

  The room was just big enough for a desk, a chair, and a table. No place for an intruder to hide, except—Nancy stepped back to look through the crack between the open door and the frame and suppressed a gasp. Someone was lurking behind the door!

  Chapter Four

  Nancy gave the door a hard shove, and the person hiding behind it grunted. Taking advantage of the moment, she entered the room and said, "Come out of there, before I call the police."

  "No, wait," a familiar voice pleaded. Kyle Donovan stepped out from behind the door. His eyes were wide with what Nancy tho
ught must be fear.

  "Oh, hello, Nancy," he said with an awkward laugh when he recognized her. "I didn't expect to find you here."

  "I bet you didn't," Nancy muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, "Is there something you need from this office? Maybe I can find it for you."

  "Er—just a file," Kyle replied. "I thought it might be here, but it's not. It doesn't matter. See you."

  "Wait, Kyle," she said, closing the door behind her. 'Take a seat," she added.

  Kyle sat in the only chair as Nancy perched on the corner of the desk.

  "I'm glad I ran into you," she said. "I need to ask you some questions. First of all, what kind of guy was Jack Broughton?"

  "Broughton?" Kyle repeated, casting his gaze away from Nancy. "I don't know. I hardly knew him. He hadn't been here long, you know. You're the one who found him last night, aren't you?"

  Nancy nodded.

  Kyle shifted on his chair. "It was just luck that I wasn't here myself," he said, now staring at one of the corners.

  "Oh?" Nancy said encouragingly.

  "Fact. I thought I was going to have to work late, but then I finished sooner than I expected. So I decided to take in a flick— Danger by Moonlight It's playing over at the Keith. I had no idea it was such a long movie. By the time it was over, the only thing I felt like doing was going home to bed."

  "And that's what you did," Nancy concluded.

  "Exactly," Kyle replied. "Well, back to the grindstone. If you see Bess, tell her I'll give her a call, okay?"

  "I'll do that," Nancy said coolly as he backed out. She shut the door after him, then stood in the center of the small room, her mind full of questions.

  What was it in the room that Kyle had come to find? His story of looking for a file might be true, but if so, there didn't seem to be anything casual about his need for it.