Keep Quiet(71)

Jake turned on his heel and fled down the hall to the conference room, checking his watch on the fly. He’d prayed Harold or Marie called before the cops got here. He couldn’t take the call in front of them. That would take nerves of steel, which he was fresh out of at the moment. His cell phone waited in his breast pocket like a bomb ready to explode.

Jake hustled through the reception area and into the conference room, hiding from everyone.

Even himself.





Chapter Thirty-four


Jake turned to see the conference-room door opening and Amy ushering in two men, one middle-aged and the other in his early thirties, both dressed in dark suit jackets and slacks.

“Jake,” Amy said, calmly. If she was upset with Jake from his outburst, she was too professional to let it show. “This is Detectives Zwerling and Woo, from Shakertown.”

“Thanks. Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Jake Buckman.” Jake approached them with a false smile and an outstretched hand. He couldn’t tell from their impassive expressions whether they had seen the photos and videos, much less suspected him of Voloshin’s murder.

Amy returned to the door, then paused. “Jake, they didn’t want coffee or anything, so I’ll go.”

“Thanks.” Jake nodded, and Amy slipped out, closing the door behind her.

“I’m Bill Zwerling,” said the middle-aged detective, who had a raspy voice and smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke. He was a chubby five foot seven, with wavy gray hair, slack jaws, and a bulbous nose. His paunch popped through his unbuttoned jacket as he gestured to the younger detective. “This is my partner, Rich Woo. We showed our ID to your secretary, I mean, assistant. But if you want to see—”

“No, that’s okay. Hello, Detective Woo.” Jake extended his hand to Detective Woo, who was tall and lanky, and his grayish suit fit him perfectly at the waist, as if he worked out.

“Good to meet you.” Detective Woo flicked back his glossy black bangs, which flopped longish over his forehead and ears. “My father always says I should see a financial planner. Invest what I’ve saved.”

“Your father’s right. Detectives, please sit down.” Jake gestured them into chairs, giving them the view facing the window. “I’d be happy to advise you, Detective Woo. It’s never too early to start saving for retirement.”

“Problem is, you have no idea what my pay grade is. There’s not a lot left over, if you follow.”

“I hear that, but you have to start somewhere. You’re young, and I wish I knew then what I know now.” Jake met Detective Woo’s gaze, but still couldn’t tell what the police knew or if they suspected him of Voloshin’s murder. He sat down at the head of the conference table, which he hoped would reinforce his credibility.

“How much money do I have to have to use your services, Mr. Buckman? Do you have a minimum?”

“Please call me Jake, and no, not at all. We’d be happy to put you in our Gardenia mutual fund, which contains the same blue-chip stocks that we put high-net-worth individuals in.” Jake checked the walnut clock on the credenza against the far wall. It read 10:28. That transfer had to be stopped or he was dead meat.

“What’s the cutoff, money-wise, between me and high-net worth?”

“Those with assets over $500,000. I’d be happy to meet with you, anytime.”

Detective Zwerling cleared his throat, as he pulled a slim spiral notepad from inside his breast pocket and flipped open its cardboard cover. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Fine.” Jake forced himself to stop checking the clock so often. He didn’t want to show his hand to the cops, like he had Guinevere LeMenile. “I’m very sorry to hear about Mr. Voloshin’s murder. That came as a shock. We don’t have many of those in Concord Chase.”

“He lived in Shakertown, the north end. Trust me, it happens.” Detective Zwerling shifted in the chair, his belly lipping the table.

“How was he killed?” Jake wanted to make sure he asked any questions that seemed appropriate.

“He was stabbed to death. Another tenant found him in his apartment, because he left his laundry in the washer.”

“Ugh, that’s terrible.” Jake didn’t have to feign repugnance. “Do you have any suspects or is it too soon?”

“Way too soon. It’s not like TV, where the body hits the floor and they already cleared the case.” Detective Zwerling curled his lip in a way that suggested he’d given the lecture before. “Me, I’m a big Dexter fan. They get at least a few episodes to solve the crime.”

“I wonder why somebody would kill him. He seemed like a nice, harmless guy.”

“The details of our investigation are confidential, but his valuables appear to be missing. Wallet, laptop, phone, like that.”

“How sad.” Jake clucked unhappily, though relief surged through him. If Voloshin’s laptop and phone had been stolen, the police probably didn’t know about the video and photos incriminating him and Ryan. Still he couldn’t be certain, and if the wire transfer wasn’t stopped, it could blow everything. He checked the credenza clock as discreetly as possible—10:34.

“Mr. Buckman, Jake, you don’t mind if we tape this, do you?” Detective Woo slid a handheld tape recorder from inside his pocket, pressed a button on the side, and set it down on the table between them.