Shadow Tag (The Ray Schiller Series - Book 2) by Marjorie Doering Page A

shift studying.”
    “So, a man died because you kept your face buried in your textbooks.” Ray’s tone offered neither understanding nor forgiveness. “Hell, no wonder you didn’t want to talk to us. I wouldn’t want to admit that either.”
    Waverly sucked air through his teeth. “That’s real shitty, kid.”
    “Hey, I’m not proud of it, but it was the first time I let studying keep me from doing my job—the only time, man. It never mattered before; what were the odds it would make any difference that night?”
    “Beats me, kid,” Waverly said. “All I know is that your timing really sucks.”
    “Hey, if ACC’s security system wasn’t a fucking joke, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal: three security guards for the whole building; a crummy handful of security cameras set up hit-or-miss…a couple out back in the parking lot, none on the front door. I mean come on, give me a break.”
    According to their information, Gaines was right. In fact, modernizing the security system had been a major point of contention between Chet Stockton and Paul Davis. It didn’t escape Ray’s sense of irony that it was one battle Davis shouldn’t have conceded to his father-in-law. He moved on. “Those things you say you heard... Give us the details.”
    Gaines exhaled a pent-up breath. “You ever been in the ACC building? Never mind,” he said. “Stupid question. With the marble floors in the hallways, it’s practically impossible not to hear when people come and go, especially at that time of night with nothing going on. Not usually, anyway.”
    “So, you heard footsteps,” Ray said. “When?”
    “Sometime after midnight. By that time the cleaning crew and Mr. Costales had all cleared out, so, at first I thought it was just me and Mr. Davis up there.”
    “You say at first. What changed your mind?” Ray asked.
    “I heard voices.”
    “Did you recognize them?”
    “One was Mr. Davis. I don’t have a clue who the other one was.”
    “What were they saying?”
    “I couldn’t make out the words.” His face clouded. “The talking stopped, a door slammed and I heard someone walk back to the elevator. Kinda quick, light footsteps. I thought it could’ve been a woman, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”
    “The door slamming…” Ray said. “Could it have been something else? A gunshot maybe?”
    “Shit, man, I don’t know. Maybe.”
    Waverly jotted down notes as Ray continued. “You didn’t even catch a glimpse of this person?”
    “I told you, I was studying. I didn’t look. The security guard in the front lobby was supposed to be keeping track of who came and went. I didn’t see any reason to check it out myself.”
    Ray shook his head in disgust. “Keep going.”
    “Later on I heard someone else in the hall.”
    “A third person?”
    “I think so; the footsteps sounded different—heavier.”
    “How much later?” Waverly asked.
    “Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe. A while later I heard something: a pop, like a book landing flat on a floor.”
    “And, of course, you didn’t check it out.”
    Gaines refused to meet Waverly’s eyes. “I figured it was just Michael Johnson. He was the guard on front desk duty that night.”
    Ray already knew what answer to expect, but he asked anyway. “If he was assigned there, what would he be doing on the eighteenth floor?”
    “Uh…” Gaines licked his lips, clearly reluctant to explain. “Johnson keeps liquor hidden around the building. Sometimes he leaves his station to get himself a drink.”
    “Relax. You’re not telling us anything we didn’t already hear,” Waverly said, looking up from his notepad.
    “I guess that means you already talked to Greg Chalmers.”
    “Yeah, we did.” It pleased Ray to get verification of Chalmer’s story. “So after the alleged woman came and went, you think it was Michael Johnson you heard up there?”
    “Yeah.”
    “The sound like a book dropping...” Ray said. “Could that have been a gunshot?”
    “I