“What the hell’s going on?” Derek studied the situation while Maleah slowed the Equinox to a crawl. “Shit! It looks like something has happened in Scudder’s building.”
“Obviously I can’t park here,” she told him.
“I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Let me out at the next corner,” Derek told her. “You find a place to park while I see what’s going on.”
She hesitated, her competitive instinct interfering with her logical thought process.
Since traffic was pretty much bumper-to-bumper, it took Maleah a few minutes to maneuver the SUV into a position where she could come to a full stop. Without hesitation, Derek opened the door and jumped out and onto the street. Once the door slammed, Maleah moved forward and began her search for a parking place.
Five minutes later, out of sorts and perspiring enough to dampen her underwear, Maleah made it back to the cordoned-off area swarming with law enforcement and emergency personnel. She searched the crowd of curious onlookers for any sign of Derek, but didn’t see him. Just as she stood on tiptoe and strained her neck in the hopes of gaining a better view, Derek came up alongside her.
“Looking for me?”
She released a startled gasp, but quickly recovered. “Damn it, I’m going to put a cow bell around your neck.”
“Sorry.”
She might have believed him if he hadn’t chuckled softly.
“Well, what did you find out about all the hullabaloo going on?” she asked.
“A body was found on the third floor of that building.” Derek pointed to the four-story office building in front of them.
“Don’t tell me—”
The news crews in the crowd rushed forward as the ME’s staff came out of the building carrying a body bag laid out on a stretcher. Questions zipped through the air like mosquitoes on a hot, humid summertime night as the reporters questioned officials on the scene. Their questions went unanswered as the officials ignored them.
“From what I’ve been able to find out, a young woman who had an afternoon interview for a position as a secretary for a lawyer in the building got quite a shock when she showed up for her appointment,” Derek said. “She found her potential employer’s body.”
“It’s Scudder, isn’t it?”
“I couldn’t get anybody to verify the victim’s name, but when I asked if the dead man was Wyman Scudder, nobody said it wasn’t. So, yes, I’m ninety-five percent sure it’s Scudder.”
Chapter 13
Derek had known that they wouldn’t get any information by going through legal channels there in Macon. At least, not yet. The detectives in charge of the case had remained tight-lipped, as had the emergency personnel involved. He and Maleah had separated and moved through the crowd as discreetly as possible, both showing a casual interest in what was happening. Downtown Macon on a Friday afternoon buzzed with activity and the entire block swarmed with curiosity seekers. The police had sealed off the building and rounded up all the occupants for questioning. The one person Derek would love to talk to—the secretary interviewee—would be detained, questioned, and cautioned not to speak to the press.
Thirty minutes after they had parted company and circulated through the on-lookers, Derek and Maleah reconnected at the end of the block.
“Anything?” Maleah asked.
Derek shook his head. “Not much. I heard the name Wyman Scudder more than once. It seems to be the consensus that the victim was the newest renter in the building, a lawyer named Scudder.”
“I tried speaking to the policemen in charge of crowd control, but that got me nowhere.”
“They won’t bring the secretary out the front way,” Derek said. “Which means they’ll take her out a back exit and possibly escort her to the police station or at the very least walk her to wherever she parked her car.”
“Even if we knew the location of that exit, we have no idea when they’ll bring her out. And it’s not as if they’re going to let us get anywhere near her.”
“You’re right, but we could get a good look at her and I could snap her photo with my phone.”
“I don’t think we should go the let’s-play-secret-agent route,” Maleah told him. “But I assume you weren’t serious. I think our best course of action is to call Sanders and let the agency contact the Macon Police Department and see what information they’re willing to share.”
Derek grinned. “Ah, gee whiz, Mom, you won’t let me have any fun.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. You can call Sanders while I drive.”
“Why don’t we find a downtown hotel, check in and then go out for dinner while Sanders is working Powell Agency magic to get us the info we need about Scudder’s death?”
“I’m okay with going out to dinner and possibly staying overnight.” Zigzagging through the slow-moving traffic, they crossed the street together, Maleah a few steps ahead of Derek. “When you talk to Sanders, be sure to ask him about any updates on Cindy Di Blasi and Albert Durham.”
“Yes, ma’am. Glad you thought of it.”
“Bite me.” Maleah snapped out the words.
Not slowing her pace as they left the bedlam behind them and walked up the block, she cut him a sideways glance. “We need to know for sure that Scudder was murdered, that he didn’t have a heart attack or anything.”
“Your gut instinct has to be telling you that he was murdered. I’d say what we really need to know is how he was murdered and if the police have any suspects.”
Maleah led Derek to her SUV. “You think the Copycat Carver killed him?”
“Don’t you?” Derek asked as he sat down in the passenger seat.
Maleah slid into the driver’s seat, inserted the key into the ignition and started the SUV. “Probably. Apparently Scudder knew too much and could ID the copycat, so he had become a liability.”
“Of course being murdered eliminates Scudder as a suspect. So, at least for the time being, that leaves Cindy and Durham as our only leads.”
“I think there’s a good chance that Durham is our copycat.”
“I think you could be right,” Derek said.
As she eased the Equinox into traffic, Maleah cast a quick glance in Derek’s direction. “If we’re right, then he’ll go after Cindy next, won’t he?”
“More than likely. And if Durham isn’t our guy, then he and Cindy probably know who he is and that puts them both in danger.”
“What we should be concentrating on is finding Cindy and Durham. If Sanders has any leads on either of them, I say we head out tonight. There’s no point in our staying on here in Macon, is there?”
“Nothing except a decent meal and a good night’s sleep.”
“Call Sanders now,” Maleah said. “There’s no point in checking into a hotel until we know for sure whether we’ll be staying or moving on tonight. I’ll drive around for a few minutes while you call him.”
Derek put a call through to Sanders’s private number, used only by Powell agents. It was no surprise when Barbara Jean answered.
“We’re in Macon,” Derek said. “We just left a crime scene on Third Street. We’re relatively certain that Wyman Scudder has been murdered. We need the agency to find out the particulars ASAP.”
“I’ll let Sanders know immediately and we’ll get back to you with that info once we have it,” Barbara Jean said.
