Champagne Problems (A Cross Security Investigation Book 4), page 13
“Hang on.” Darrow dropped something and cursed. A moment later, he returned. “How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess.”
“I’m telling you—”
“I know.” But that didn’t mean he was right. “I’m heading to a meeting at Good Day Marketers. I’ll update you on everything when I get back to the office.”
“I’ll be waiting. I would say with bells, but you don’t like bells.” The glee in Darrow’s voice made my stomach turn. He was getting a perverse pleasure out of this. That was another thing I didn’t like.
During the drive, I tried to prepare myself by rehearsing the questions I wanted to ask. However, when I arrived, I was thrown off my game. The place was poorly lit and tiny, not at all what I expected from an advertising agency.
The guy working the front desk didn’t look up as I approached. He wore a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up and the sleeves ripped off. A mop of purple hair poked out from beneath the brown hood. Even after clearing my throat, he still didn’t acknowledge my presence. I was on time. He should have been expecting me.
I knocked on the desk in front of him. “Hey,” I said.
He jerked backward as if I’d struck him. With his head up, I could see the earbuds in his ears. He took them out, leaving his hood on as he peered at me. “You scared me.”
“I’m Lucien Cross,” I said. “I have an appointment.”
“That doesn’t mean you can scare me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Good.” He held up his finger before swiveling in his chair. “Rita, tell Vinnie Lucien’s here.”
I couldn’t see Rita or Vinnie, but the guy in front of me gave someone down the hallway a thumbs up before turning back to face me. I wondered if this was Justin’s role model.
“Nice operation you have here,” I said.
“It’s a sweet gig.” He pointed to the Keurig machine on a side table. “Help yourself.”
“I’m good, thanks.” I rested my forearms on the counter and leaned forward, wishing I’d remained in my sweats from the gym so I’d fit in better. “Do you happen to know Charlie? He used to work here.”
“Charlie?”
“Steed,” I said. “He was an intern.”
“Um…no. Sorry.”
“Lucien,” a man called from the rear hallway, “we’re ready for you.”
The guy I’d been speaking to gestured behind him. “Right back there.”
I observed the cracked plaster and uneven flooring as I went down the hallway, passing two small offices which looked basic, except for the oversized bean bag chairs. Neither was labeled. The man who’d called my name stood beside an open doorway.
He held out his hand. “I’m Vincent Lyman. I hear you’re in the market for some marketing.” He looked proud of himself, as if that had been extremely clever. “Why don’t you tell me about your company and I’ll show you our packages?”
With any luck, he was speaking about their advertising options, but given the vibes I was getting from this place, I remained leery. “I thought I was meeting with Jasmine O’Neal.”
“Jazz has a full plate. I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of meeting your needs. Why don’t you tell me what you’re hoping to accomplish?”
Walking out now wouldn’t help matters. “I recently started my own business.”
“Congrats, man.” He clapped me on the shoulder as I entered the room.
I took a seat in a metal folding chair that had been set up in front of a table that looked exactly like the kind they had at the academy, which could seat four students, their notebooks, laptops, and textbooks. “We’ve been in operation for a little while. At first, it was crickets. Then business started to pick up, but now, crickets again.”
“It’s the economy.” Vincent sat in a chair which had been duct-taped together. “What business are you in?”
“Security.”
He scrutinized me more closely. “Are you a bouncer or bodyguard?”
“Something like that.”
“Do you work clubs?”
“More like private events.”
“Weddings and such?”
“Sure,” I said.
Vincent smiled. “I can work with that.” He rolled his chair to my side of the table and put the laptop between us. “What we do here is make magic happen. We operate tons of pages which provide helpful resources to interested parties. Our initial investment is what helped us build our audience. Now we’ve gotten so big, we get lots of search engine traffic without lifting a finger. All our profiles and pages have the right people going to them. Let me show you an example we used for a local line of baby food.”
He opened several profiles and pages which appeared to be run by mommy bloggers and recipe creators. Every post was related to the topic of childcare. Dispersed within were mentions of this new baby food line and recommendations to try it.
“As you know, word of mouth is the best form of advertising. Having a trusted friend suggest something because they love it makes you more likely to consider that the next time you’re shopping. Good Day Marketers can do the same for you.”
“Who runs all these pages?” I asked. “Do you have consultants or actual mothers on staff?”
“God no. A lot of it is automated. We have a few content creators who feed everything in, and it gets posted at regular intervals.”
I didn’t ask where the content came from. “How big is your team?”
“You met Jeff. Rita’s our office assistant. She’s around here somewhere. Then there are the marketing managers. That’s me and a few other people.”
“Jasmine O’Neal?”
Vincent cocked his head to the side. “Yes. Do you know her?”
“My assistant made this appointment. He mentioned the name, but we’ve never met.”
“She’s on vacation this week.”
“I thought she was busy.”
“Yes, busy on vacation. She’s working to set up some travel pages for a client.” That was a convenient excuse for her absence. “We share responsibilities. I’m sure she’ll work on your campaign at some point. We’ll all work on it. We believe in collaborating and sharing here at Good Day Marketers.”
“What about interns? A friend of a friend was supposed to have worked here at one point maybe a year or so ago. Charlie Steed?”
“Ah, yes. He’s a bright guy, helped us out of more jams than you’d imagine.”
“He doesn’t work here now?” I asked.
“He moved on to bigger and better things, but we wish him the best.”
Pushing too hard would send up red flags. Asking about O’Neal made Vincent uneasy, but I wondered if this could be a domestic click farm of sorts. From the looks of things, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were running their own online scams from inside the building, using their pages and audiences to target and retarget individuals. Everything they were doing involved manipulation, but that was the point of marketing and advertising—to influence consumer behavior.
“I’m curious what kind of computing power an operation like this uses. You must have server rooms and an entire tech department,” I said.
“Nope. It’s just us and our laptops.” Vincent spun the device around so I could see the logo on the lid. “They’re nice laptops, but you could easily order one from the manufacturer. The computers aren’t what make our advertising campaigns special. Our approach does.” He picked up the computer and centered it in front of him. “Let’s get into specifics. How wide-reaching a campaign were you thinking?”
“Local.”
“Okay.” He tapped on the trackpad. “What types of events do you cover? You said weddings, right?”
“Sure.”
Vincent gave me a confused look. “What else?”
“Private parties. Anything that involves a guest list.”
“That could be anything from bar mitzvahs to corporate retreats.”
I smiled. “Now you’re getting it. I want to expand my business. The sky’s the limit.”
Vincent returned my smile, feeling more at ease now that I was playing along. “I like your style, Lucien. You’ve got gumption. I’m sure we can help make your dreams come true.”
“Before we get too far into this, what will this run me?”
“That depends on if we can reuse existing pages or if we have to start from scratch. Since you’re a unique business with a unique offering, we may have to experiment. We can start with casting a small net, suggesting you to our wedding and party planning audience and take it from there. Start-up cost will be ten thousand for the first three months.”
I whistled. “Before we get too far into this, I’m going to have to think about it.”
“Sure. If you have any questions, check out the FAQ on our website.”
I peered out the door. “How many marketing managers did you say worked here?”
“There are four of us. We’d all be involved at some point.”
“Would I meet with everyone?”
“We don’t normally do that. We have our own in-house meetings where we exchange insights, but I guess we could make an exception if you had something important you wanted to discuss with the team. We can always set up a video chat to save you the trouble of coming back here. Most clients don’t show up at our door. As you can see, we don’t look like the big ad agencies.”
“I was picturing a modern-day Mad Men.”
“That’s why we handle most things online. I know our offices can be a little off-putting.”
Vincent was smooth. Whether that was the salesman in him or he’d been practicing the lie for a while, I wasn’t sure, but I chose to go along with it.
The world was a different place. Employees worked remotely. The tech industry was famous for its casual attire and trendy workspaces, thanks to intrepid individuals who’d taken Silicon Valley by storm. But this didn’t feel like a fad. This felt like the kind of place where opening the wrong door would lead to a dungeon filled with human remains.
“Given the nature of my business, I’m usually forced to conduct meetings in person. Sometimes, I forget the rest of the world doesn’t function like that,” I said.
“I can appreciate that.” Vincent assessed me again. “When would you want us to start, assuming you decide this is worth your time?”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. “Excuse me for a sec.”
“Hey, boss, I thought you should know Alan Kershaw was attacked last night,” Justin said.
“Where is he?”
“Mercy General.”
“I’ll call you back in a minute.” I put the phone in my pocket. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have a personal emergency.”
“Sure, no problem. Get in touch and let me know if you’d like to proceed or if you have any other questions I can answer.” Vincent stood and offered me his hand. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Even face to face?” I asked.
“Surprisingly, yes.”
Twenty-two
I hated hospitals. I’d gotten used to them, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed spending time inside of them. However, Alan Kershaw was a client, technically a former client, but since I was still looking into the matter, I had an obligation to see if the assault connected to the case.
A police officer was seated near the doorway to his room. I kept my distance, not wanting to answer any more questions. My last two run-ins with law enforcement hadn’t ended well.
“Lucien,” Almeada stepped out of Kershaw’s room and joined me at the end of the hallway, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up so quickly. It’s the middle of the workday. Is business really that bad?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll still get your retainer checks.” I jerked my chin toward Kershaw’s room. “How is he?”
“Pretty banged up. Broken arm, two broken ribs, and a concussion.”
“Did he see who did it?”
Almeada shook his head. “Someone jumped him when he was heading back to his car.”
“Where was he?”
“At work. He’d just left the office.”
“Where was he parked?”
“On the street.”
“Did anyone see it happen?”
“It was late. Not a lot of people hang around the business district at that time of night.”
“What was he doing at the office that late?” I asked.
“Why don’t you ask him these questions?”
“The nurse told me he wasn’t in any condition for visitors. Since you’re his lawyer, I figured you were the exception to the rule. And given the uniform stationed near his door, I can only assume the police had questions, which would explain why you’re here.”
Almeada patted me on the shoulder. “Business will pick up. You make a good detective when you aren’t being self-destructive or moronic.”
“Most detectives are self-destructive. Have you seen the old movies?”
“Those are movies, Lucien, not real life.”
“Maybe I should pick up smoking and develop a drinking problem.”
“Stop being ridiculous.”
That was easier than dealing with the current situation, especially since the pit in my stomach told me I was the reason Kershaw was in the hospital, either directly or indirectly. “Did Kershaw recognize the person who attacked him?”
“I told you he didn’t get a good look. The attacker came up from behind him.”
“What about a description?”
“I thought you didn’t want to bump up against the police on any more investigations.”
I waited.
“Whoever hit him was bigger than he was. Taller, stronger, just overall bigger,” Almeada said.
“How much bigger? Incredible Hulk or Bruce Banner?”
“Banner isn’t that big.”
“No, but he could knock the shit out of Kershaw.”
Almeada considered the two options. “I’d say somewhere in the middle.”
“Anything else? Hair color? Eye color? Skin color?”
The headshake said it all. “He came at Kershaw with a baseball bat. It was a Louisville Slugger if that helps.”
“Anything else?”
“He smashed the windows on Kershaw’s car.”
That may have been telling. “The attacker has anger issues but refrained from bashing in Kershaw’s skull or turning him into a bloody pulp.”
“He’s pretty bloody,” Almeada said. “I have photos which I took in case we need them for trial.” He handed me his phone. Kershaw would be feeling this for a while.
“The police should take their own photos for evidence.” I gave him back his phone.
“These aren’t for criminal proceedings. They’re for a civil trial. Kershaw can sue for damages.”
“We have to catch the person first.”
“We?” Almeada’s lips curled in the corner.
“The police,” I clarified, but we both knew I hadn’t been able to give this up, even before it got to this point. The assault wouldn’t scare me off. It’d only make me slightly more cautious but a lot more interested. “Despite how bloody Kershaw may be, that bat could have opened his head like a melon. It didn’t, which means the attacker held back.”
“He had the foresight not to turn into a killer,” Almeada said. “That’s smart. Homicide charges are a lot harder to beat.”
“It depends on how you want to look at it. Either the attack was a warning, or the car windows were smashed because the guy needed an outlet for his rage.” I considered the possibilities, but I couldn’t figure out what Alan Kershaw would have done that angered someone that much.
“Do you think his attacker is the same person who emptied his bank account?” Almeada asked.
“I was under the impression Jasmine O’Neal emptied his account. She’s smaller than Kershaw. The bat would even the playing field, but she wouldn’t match the description, no matter how big her wig is.”
“Maybe you got it wrong.”
I sighed. “I hate it when that happens.”
“I’d think you’d be used to it by now.”
“Hey.”
Almeada shrugged. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“Well, don’t.” I ran a hand through my hair. “What do the police think? Do they have a theory?”
“Not yet. The investigation is just getting underway, but Officer Smoltz is under the impression this was a failed mugging.”
I didn’t believe that. “Was anything stolen?”
“Everything. Kershaw’s wallet, his phone, watch, whatever else he had of value.”
“They left the car.”
“Well, yeah. The windows were broken.”
I called Amir. “Ping Kershaw’s number. We need to get a location for his phone.”
Amir worked some magic, but the phone was turned off.
“Don’t you think the police did that?” Almeada said when I relayed the news to him.
“Not yet. Investigations take a lot longer when the cops wait for approval and follow the rules. I should get going. Are you hanging around here?”
“I’ll be heading out soon. The only reason I came was because Kershaw requested an attorney. Since I had an opening, they sent me.”
“You’re a named partner. No one sends you to do shit.”
“Tell that to the managing partner.” Almeada gave me a look. “Do you need me to stay here?”
“It’d be nice to have some idea what’s going on.” I glanced at the cop again. “Get me what you can on the police investigation.”
“What are you going to do with that information?”
“Hell if I know.” But I had the beginnings of a plan. Today had shaken a few things loose, hopefully more than Kershaw’s teeth.
There were two more stops I had planned to make before returning to the office. One was to see Charlie Steed. The other was to perform recon on Jasmine O’Neal. But those things could wait. Darrow had Kershaw under surveillance. With any luck, he’d gotten footage of the attack. If not, the bugs in Kershaw’s apartment may have been telling in terms of who would be angry enough to bash in his car windows.
I called Justin on my way back to the office to update him on the situation.
“How’s Kershaw?” Justin asked. “Did you see him?”
“Lucky guess.”
“I’m telling you—”
“I know.” But that didn’t mean he was right. “I’m heading to a meeting at Good Day Marketers. I’ll update you on everything when I get back to the office.”
“I’ll be waiting. I would say with bells, but you don’t like bells.” The glee in Darrow’s voice made my stomach turn. He was getting a perverse pleasure out of this. That was another thing I didn’t like.
During the drive, I tried to prepare myself by rehearsing the questions I wanted to ask. However, when I arrived, I was thrown off my game. The place was poorly lit and tiny, not at all what I expected from an advertising agency.
The guy working the front desk didn’t look up as I approached. He wore a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up and the sleeves ripped off. A mop of purple hair poked out from beneath the brown hood. Even after clearing my throat, he still didn’t acknowledge my presence. I was on time. He should have been expecting me.
I knocked on the desk in front of him. “Hey,” I said.
He jerked backward as if I’d struck him. With his head up, I could see the earbuds in his ears. He took them out, leaving his hood on as he peered at me. “You scared me.”
“I’m Lucien Cross,” I said. “I have an appointment.”
“That doesn’t mean you can scare me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Good.” He held up his finger before swiveling in his chair. “Rita, tell Vinnie Lucien’s here.”
I couldn’t see Rita or Vinnie, but the guy in front of me gave someone down the hallway a thumbs up before turning back to face me. I wondered if this was Justin’s role model.
“Nice operation you have here,” I said.
“It’s a sweet gig.” He pointed to the Keurig machine on a side table. “Help yourself.”
“I’m good, thanks.” I rested my forearms on the counter and leaned forward, wishing I’d remained in my sweats from the gym so I’d fit in better. “Do you happen to know Charlie? He used to work here.”
“Charlie?”
“Steed,” I said. “He was an intern.”
“Um…no. Sorry.”
“Lucien,” a man called from the rear hallway, “we’re ready for you.”
The guy I’d been speaking to gestured behind him. “Right back there.”
I observed the cracked plaster and uneven flooring as I went down the hallway, passing two small offices which looked basic, except for the oversized bean bag chairs. Neither was labeled. The man who’d called my name stood beside an open doorway.
He held out his hand. “I’m Vincent Lyman. I hear you’re in the market for some marketing.” He looked proud of himself, as if that had been extremely clever. “Why don’t you tell me about your company and I’ll show you our packages?”
With any luck, he was speaking about their advertising options, but given the vibes I was getting from this place, I remained leery. “I thought I was meeting with Jasmine O’Neal.”
“Jazz has a full plate. I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of meeting your needs. Why don’t you tell me what you’re hoping to accomplish?”
Walking out now wouldn’t help matters. “I recently started my own business.”
“Congrats, man.” He clapped me on the shoulder as I entered the room.
I took a seat in a metal folding chair that had been set up in front of a table that looked exactly like the kind they had at the academy, which could seat four students, their notebooks, laptops, and textbooks. “We’ve been in operation for a little while. At first, it was crickets. Then business started to pick up, but now, crickets again.”
“It’s the economy.” Vincent sat in a chair which had been duct-taped together. “What business are you in?”
“Security.”
He scrutinized me more closely. “Are you a bouncer or bodyguard?”
“Something like that.”
“Do you work clubs?”
“More like private events.”
“Weddings and such?”
“Sure,” I said.
Vincent smiled. “I can work with that.” He rolled his chair to my side of the table and put the laptop between us. “What we do here is make magic happen. We operate tons of pages which provide helpful resources to interested parties. Our initial investment is what helped us build our audience. Now we’ve gotten so big, we get lots of search engine traffic without lifting a finger. All our profiles and pages have the right people going to them. Let me show you an example we used for a local line of baby food.”
He opened several profiles and pages which appeared to be run by mommy bloggers and recipe creators. Every post was related to the topic of childcare. Dispersed within were mentions of this new baby food line and recommendations to try it.
“As you know, word of mouth is the best form of advertising. Having a trusted friend suggest something because they love it makes you more likely to consider that the next time you’re shopping. Good Day Marketers can do the same for you.”
“Who runs all these pages?” I asked. “Do you have consultants or actual mothers on staff?”
“God no. A lot of it is automated. We have a few content creators who feed everything in, and it gets posted at regular intervals.”
I didn’t ask where the content came from. “How big is your team?”
“You met Jeff. Rita’s our office assistant. She’s around here somewhere. Then there are the marketing managers. That’s me and a few other people.”
“Jasmine O’Neal?”
Vincent cocked his head to the side. “Yes. Do you know her?”
“My assistant made this appointment. He mentioned the name, but we’ve never met.”
“She’s on vacation this week.”
“I thought she was busy.”
“Yes, busy on vacation. She’s working to set up some travel pages for a client.” That was a convenient excuse for her absence. “We share responsibilities. I’m sure she’ll work on your campaign at some point. We’ll all work on it. We believe in collaborating and sharing here at Good Day Marketers.”
“What about interns? A friend of a friend was supposed to have worked here at one point maybe a year or so ago. Charlie Steed?”
“Ah, yes. He’s a bright guy, helped us out of more jams than you’d imagine.”
“He doesn’t work here now?” I asked.
“He moved on to bigger and better things, but we wish him the best.”
Pushing too hard would send up red flags. Asking about O’Neal made Vincent uneasy, but I wondered if this could be a domestic click farm of sorts. From the looks of things, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were running their own online scams from inside the building, using their pages and audiences to target and retarget individuals. Everything they were doing involved manipulation, but that was the point of marketing and advertising—to influence consumer behavior.
“I’m curious what kind of computing power an operation like this uses. You must have server rooms and an entire tech department,” I said.
“Nope. It’s just us and our laptops.” Vincent spun the device around so I could see the logo on the lid. “They’re nice laptops, but you could easily order one from the manufacturer. The computers aren’t what make our advertising campaigns special. Our approach does.” He picked up the computer and centered it in front of him. “Let’s get into specifics. How wide-reaching a campaign were you thinking?”
“Local.”
“Okay.” He tapped on the trackpad. “What types of events do you cover? You said weddings, right?”
“Sure.”
Vincent gave me a confused look. “What else?”
“Private parties. Anything that involves a guest list.”
“That could be anything from bar mitzvahs to corporate retreats.”
I smiled. “Now you’re getting it. I want to expand my business. The sky’s the limit.”
Vincent returned my smile, feeling more at ease now that I was playing along. “I like your style, Lucien. You’ve got gumption. I’m sure we can help make your dreams come true.”
“Before we get too far into this, what will this run me?”
“That depends on if we can reuse existing pages or if we have to start from scratch. Since you’re a unique business with a unique offering, we may have to experiment. We can start with casting a small net, suggesting you to our wedding and party planning audience and take it from there. Start-up cost will be ten thousand for the first three months.”
I whistled. “Before we get too far into this, I’m going to have to think about it.”
“Sure. If you have any questions, check out the FAQ on our website.”
I peered out the door. “How many marketing managers did you say worked here?”
“There are four of us. We’d all be involved at some point.”
“Would I meet with everyone?”
“We don’t normally do that. We have our own in-house meetings where we exchange insights, but I guess we could make an exception if you had something important you wanted to discuss with the team. We can always set up a video chat to save you the trouble of coming back here. Most clients don’t show up at our door. As you can see, we don’t look like the big ad agencies.”
“I was picturing a modern-day Mad Men.”
“That’s why we handle most things online. I know our offices can be a little off-putting.”
Vincent was smooth. Whether that was the salesman in him or he’d been practicing the lie for a while, I wasn’t sure, but I chose to go along with it.
The world was a different place. Employees worked remotely. The tech industry was famous for its casual attire and trendy workspaces, thanks to intrepid individuals who’d taken Silicon Valley by storm. But this didn’t feel like a fad. This felt like the kind of place where opening the wrong door would lead to a dungeon filled with human remains.
“Given the nature of my business, I’m usually forced to conduct meetings in person. Sometimes, I forget the rest of the world doesn’t function like that,” I said.
“I can appreciate that.” Vincent assessed me again. “When would you want us to start, assuming you decide this is worth your time?”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. “Excuse me for a sec.”
“Hey, boss, I thought you should know Alan Kershaw was attacked last night,” Justin said.
“Where is he?”
“Mercy General.”
“I’ll call you back in a minute.” I put the phone in my pocket. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have a personal emergency.”
“Sure, no problem. Get in touch and let me know if you’d like to proceed or if you have any other questions I can answer.” Vincent stood and offered me his hand. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Even face to face?” I asked.
“Surprisingly, yes.”
Twenty-two
I hated hospitals. I’d gotten used to them, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed spending time inside of them. However, Alan Kershaw was a client, technically a former client, but since I was still looking into the matter, I had an obligation to see if the assault connected to the case.
A police officer was seated near the doorway to his room. I kept my distance, not wanting to answer any more questions. My last two run-ins with law enforcement hadn’t ended well.
“Lucien,” Almeada stepped out of Kershaw’s room and joined me at the end of the hallway, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up so quickly. It’s the middle of the workday. Is business really that bad?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll still get your retainer checks.” I jerked my chin toward Kershaw’s room. “How is he?”
“Pretty banged up. Broken arm, two broken ribs, and a concussion.”
“Did he see who did it?”
Almeada shook his head. “Someone jumped him when he was heading back to his car.”
“Where was he?”
“At work. He’d just left the office.”
“Where was he parked?”
“On the street.”
“Did anyone see it happen?”
“It was late. Not a lot of people hang around the business district at that time of night.”
“What was he doing at the office that late?” I asked.
“Why don’t you ask him these questions?”
“The nurse told me he wasn’t in any condition for visitors. Since you’re his lawyer, I figured you were the exception to the rule. And given the uniform stationed near his door, I can only assume the police had questions, which would explain why you’re here.”
Almeada patted me on the shoulder. “Business will pick up. You make a good detective when you aren’t being self-destructive or moronic.”
“Most detectives are self-destructive. Have you seen the old movies?”
“Those are movies, Lucien, not real life.”
“Maybe I should pick up smoking and develop a drinking problem.”
“Stop being ridiculous.”
That was easier than dealing with the current situation, especially since the pit in my stomach told me I was the reason Kershaw was in the hospital, either directly or indirectly. “Did Kershaw recognize the person who attacked him?”
“I told you he didn’t get a good look. The attacker came up from behind him.”
“What about a description?”
“I thought you didn’t want to bump up against the police on any more investigations.”
I waited.
“Whoever hit him was bigger than he was. Taller, stronger, just overall bigger,” Almeada said.
“How much bigger? Incredible Hulk or Bruce Banner?”
“Banner isn’t that big.”
“No, but he could knock the shit out of Kershaw.”
Almeada considered the two options. “I’d say somewhere in the middle.”
“Anything else? Hair color? Eye color? Skin color?”
The headshake said it all. “He came at Kershaw with a baseball bat. It was a Louisville Slugger if that helps.”
“Anything else?”
“He smashed the windows on Kershaw’s car.”
That may have been telling. “The attacker has anger issues but refrained from bashing in Kershaw’s skull or turning him into a bloody pulp.”
“He’s pretty bloody,” Almeada said. “I have photos which I took in case we need them for trial.” He handed me his phone. Kershaw would be feeling this for a while.
“The police should take their own photos for evidence.” I gave him back his phone.
“These aren’t for criminal proceedings. They’re for a civil trial. Kershaw can sue for damages.”
“We have to catch the person first.”
“We?” Almeada’s lips curled in the corner.
“The police,” I clarified, but we both knew I hadn’t been able to give this up, even before it got to this point. The assault wouldn’t scare me off. It’d only make me slightly more cautious but a lot more interested. “Despite how bloody Kershaw may be, that bat could have opened his head like a melon. It didn’t, which means the attacker held back.”
“He had the foresight not to turn into a killer,” Almeada said. “That’s smart. Homicide charges are a lot harder to beat.”
“It depends on how you want to look at it. Either the attack was a warning, or the car windows were smashed because the guy needed an outlet for his rage.” I considered the possibilities, but I couldn’t figure out what Alan Kershaw would have done that angered someone that much.
“Do you think his attacker is the same person who emptied his bank account?” Almeada asked.
“I was under the impression Jasmine O’Neal emptied his account. She’s smaller than Kershaw. The bat would even the playing field, but she wouldn’t match the description, no matter how big her wig is.”
“Maybe you got it wrong.”
I sighed. “I hate it when that happens.”
“I’d think you’d be used to it by now.”
“Hey.”
Almeada shrugged. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“Well, don’t.” I ran a hand through my hair. “What do the police think? Do they have a theory?”
“Not yet. The investigation is just getting underway, but Officer Smoltz is under the impression this was a failed mugging.”
I didn’t believe that. “Was anything stolen?”
“Everything. Kershaw’s wallet, his phone, watch, whatever else he had of value.”
“They left the car.”
“Well, yeah. The windows were broken.”
I called Amir. “Ping Kershaw’s number. We need to get a location for his phone.”
Amir worked some magic, but the phone was turned off.
“Don’t you think the police did that?” Almeada said when I relayed the news to him.
“Not yet. Investigations take a lot longer when the cops wait for approval and follow the rules. I should get going. Are you hanging around here?”
“I’ll be heading out soon. The only reason I came was because Kershaw requested an attorney. Since I had an opening, they sent me.”
“You’re a named partner. No one sends you to do shit.”
“Tell that to the managing partner.” Almeada gave me a look. “Do you need me to stay here?”
“It’d be nice to have some idea what’s going on.” I glanced at the cop again. “Get me what you can on the police investigation.”
“What are you going to do with that information?”
“Hell if I know.” But I had the beginnings of a plan. Today had shaken a few things loose, hopefully more than Kershaw’s teeth.
There were two more stops I had planned to make before returning to the office. One was to see Charlie Steed. The other was to perform recon on Jasmine O’Neal. But those things could wait. Darrow had Kershaw under surveillance. With any luck, he’d gotten footage of the attack. If not, the bugs in Kershaw’s apartment may have been telling in terms of who would be angry enough to bash in his car windows.
I called Justin on my way back to the office to update him on the situation.
“How’s Kershaw?” Justin asked. “Did you see him?”
