Out of the Blue, page 13
While I’m here getting the low-down on the Will, Kent is already at the station preparing for the interrogation. Neither of us have Julia as our killer but she needs a reality check. Acting like her shit doesn't stink, especially as it relates to Sophie is not gonna fly with me.
When I walk into the station, Kent is at his old desk. The department bought us all new desks but Kent refused to switch. His was probably manufactured in the 1970’s and it’s solid wood. Ours is made of metal and particleboard. It's a hell of a lot easier to move than his thousand pound monstrosity. But, the guy’s been with the force for a long while. He should get to use the desk he likes––my opinion. Yeah, the guy’s a dick, but he’s a good cop and a friend when I need him to be.
“She on her way?” Kent asks.
“She’s behind me. Should be here in a few. Got the room ready?” Kent loves to use the interrogation room. He messes with the temperature in there, making it hotter than necessary. He likes to make our guests uncomfortable. It’s miserable for us too but it works because they always want to get the hell out of the sauna he’s created. Kent has read a lot about the psychology of questioning witnesses. Whether or not it works, I can’t say for sure but more often than not, Kent is successful.
“She’s here,” he says anxiously. This is the shit Kent loves.
“Ms. Gibbons?” Kent asks with a smile. “How are you today? You look pretty. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No. I wanna get this over with. I’ve got a lot to do to get ready for William’s funeral.”
Kent was hoping she’d refuse the water. The thirstier they are, the better. He’s trying to make her feel at ease before he gets to the good stuff.
“All right, let’s go into our conference room. It’s quiet and we can get through this faster if we can just concentration on you.” He gives her his signature salesman grin. She smiles back at him. He raises his arm to show her the way, “After you.” He’s such a gentleman. Yeah, right. That thought makes me laugh.
We all walk into the conference room. The temperature is normal now but one of our guys will change the setting making it get progressively warmer as we talk.
Twenty-five minutes in and Julia has removed her jacket and has unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse. She’s fanning her face and asking for water.
“We’re nearly done. Then we can grab you a water,” I say.
She gives me a dirty look. She doesn’t like me and the feeling is mutual.
“Okay, we know you were in Seattle at the time of the murder. But, when was the last time you were in Chicago?”
“I’ve never been here. William and I weren’t close. Our parents weren’t very loving. I don’t think they wanted children. I think they had us because it was expected of them. Look. I’m sweating like crazy. Can you turn the air conditioning up or something?”
“Er. It’s broken,” I mutter.
She continues by talking about her dysfunctional family life and how William kept to himself growing up especially after he got his first computer; he spent all of his time in his room. She fans her face as she talks as sweat drips down into her top.
“But, he was your only living relative?” Kent asks her again.
“You aren’t, weren’t, close and yet he left you almost two hundred grand?”
“I’m as surprised as you are. I had no idea he had that kind of money.”
“We checked out your bank records. You’re having a hard time making ends meet. This money will come in handy,” snarls Kent.
“You poked your nose into my finances? That’s… that’s none of your business.”
“In a murder investigation, everything is our business,” I add.
“But... but…”
After an hour in the sweltering heat, I’m at my wits end. She’s got nothing for us. My overall impression of her, though, is that she’s defensive. But, she’s too broke to afford a professional killer. Since we can’t find any suspicious bank activity, we rule her out as a suspect. It sucks because we’re back to square one. I’m confident she didn’t know she would inherit. By the time we let her go, she’s sweated through her blouse and the back of her skirt is damp.
“You need to get that air conditioning checked. That was pure torture in there.”
“We’ll get right on that,” I deadpan.
After Julia leaves, Kent and I meet back up in the main room. I drink a bottle of water and pull off my t-shirt––too fucking hot. “So, what’s next, oh great one?”
“Don’t be a smartass. I got a message from the techs today. They’ve found some financial stuff on one of those flash drives. They’re printing it all out and sending it over. I’ve got a call into one of our forensic accountants to see if she can meet up with us to look it over. I know you,” he says pointing at me, “won’t understand any of it.” Kent laughs like the idiot he is.
He has no idea I have money. He thinks I rent my house from my dad, which allows me enough money to lease my fancy car. I’ve done nothing to clarify that. I don’t want anyone at the precinct to know about my investments. One, it’s none of their business and two; it would make it awkward around here.
“Let’s meet up here tomorrow morning to see what they’ve got. Sound good?” he asks.
“Sounds good.”
***
On Tuesday, we meet with the tech that found the financial information along with the forensic accountant at the station. We also get a stack of pay stubs from Luciph Corp, finally! But, they only sent stubs from his first three years of employment, “Swear to God, Kent. I’m taking my gun with me when I talk to that H.R. director bitch.”
“Calm down. Let’s see what we’ve got. Then we can go into Luciph with guns drawn,” Kent says sounding calm. He’s never calm. What the fuck?
Tanya James, the tech with the flash drive shows up early to bring up the digital file. She’s got stacks of papers with her but she wants to show us the points of interest all at once.
The forensic accountant, Gretchen Wright, arrives and we all sit down and let Tanya lead the meeting, “Here’s what we found. It seems our vic was an accomplished hacker because he got into Luciph’s retirement fund database and copied over everything from the last seven years."
“Okay, I’m not the smartest tool in the shed but there’s something going on here. The company sent me his pay stubs from the first three years of employment. He worked there just over ten years. He’s got the last seven years of their retirement data here. Three plus seven equals ten. Something began there within the last seven years.”
“There’s something fishy in Denmark,” adds Kent.
I crack up at that. “It’s not fishy in Denmark, ass wipe. It’s ‘There’s something rotten in Denmark.”
“Whatever. There’s something about that retirement fund that had ole Willy suspicious. Suspicious enough to risk hacking into their database.”
“Agreed,” says Tanya.
“Gretchen, can you look all of this information over and see if you can figure out what William was looking for?”
“I’ll do my best. I have some ideas but I’ll let the numbers tell the story. I'll need a few days. I’ll call you as soon as I have something for you.”
“Great. Thanks. In the meantime, we need to pay one very naughty Ms. MacClenny a visit. Got your gun, Kent?”
“Sure do. Let’s head out.”
When we get to Luciph, the same receptionist is sitting at her see-through desk. She’s wearing another short skirt and blouse that’s open at the top. I get a glimpse of a black bra. She looks at Kent then smiles at me seductively, “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
“We need to speak with Janet MacClenny,” I ask smiling. Might as well play along.
“Oh, I’m sorry, she’s out for the week.”
“Then, we’d like to speak to the person in charge this week,” grumbles Kent.
“Well, let’s see…” she says pretending to look at her phone list. She picks up the phone and says, “Denise? It’s Monica. There are two gentlemen here to speak with Ms. MacClenny.”
Monica stops talking as she listens into the phone, “I know. I told them. Mm hm. Okay, thank you.” She turns back and says, “She’ll be right out.”
“Do you mean right out or forty-fucking-five minutes like last time,” Kent bitches.
“I assume she’ll be right out. That’s what she told me,” she says attempting to look shocked at his question.
I hope they pay her well. She’s great at that lying shit. So, we wait. And wait. And wait. Thirty-five minutes later an average looking woman with blonde hair walks out. She looks to be in her mid-fifties. She’s wearing a long, navy blue skirt and a red, cable knit sweater. A sweater in August? She must be cold-blooded.
When she approaches, a fake smile peels across her face. She looks rather ashen. “Hello, I’m Denise Thomas. What can I do for you today?”
Kent jumps right in, “We’re here, again, about William Gibbon’s retirement records. This is your last warning before we get the D.A. involved.”
“Oh dear. We don’t need that. I apologize. I’m unfamiliar with this situation. Let’s go back to my office and I’ll see what I can do.”
I get the feeling she’s telling the truth. And, if that’s the case, then MacClenny is full of shit. Thomas leads us back to the Human Resources department. She points to a conference room on the other side and says she’ll be right with us. I hope to fuck we don't have to wait again.
We sit down at yet another clear table and wait. Luckily, it’s only a few minutes. Denise brings in a laptop and a notebook. “Now, what is going on with Willy’s case?”
Willy? She must have known him. “You knew Willy?”
“Yes. I hired him. He was a nice man.”
“We’ve heard the same. We’ve been asking for his pay stubs and his retirement records but we’ve been getting the run-around from your boss.”
“Okay. Let me see what I can do for you.” She types away at her laptop and then frowns. She types more and frowns again. “Um, this is strange.”
I groan, “What is?”
“His accounts are locked up. I can’t access them. That’s against company policy. Even if he’s deceased, I should be able to get into his files.”
“Who has the authority to lock up someone’s accounts like that?” asks Kent. Good question.
“Not me, that’s for sure. I’d have to say probably Janet and definitely Chris Collins.” She looks up and adds, “He’s our C.F.O.”
“We know,” Kent and I say simultaneously.
“Is he here today?” I ask.
She shakes her head, “No, he’s out of the country, I guess.”
Kent groans an expletive I couldn’t quiet decipher.
“How long as Janet MacClenny worked here?”
“Well, let’s see. I’ve been here twenty years––not always in H.R. though.” She looks up like she’s calculating something. She came at the same time as Christopher Collins. You know what? I think they used to work together at his last job…” She clicks on her computer. “They both started here a little over seven years ago. In April of that year.”
“Interesting. Very interesting,” nods Kent.
“It certainly is.”
“Why? She asks looking surprised.”
“No reason,” Kent adds.
“If I were you, Denise, I wouldn’t mention this conversation to your boss."
“Why not?”
“It could be hazardous to your health,” Kent snorts.
Denise’s eyes get huge. “I won’t say a word. I’ll tell them you were here for the records but I told you to come back and speak with Janet. I’ll email her and tell her that. Is that okay with you?” She looks worried.
“That sounds fine. We’ll back you up on that.”
Kent and I both nod as we rise from the table. We now know whatever Kent figured out started right around the time Collins and MacClenny began working at Luciph.
I turn to Denise, “Do you know where they worked before Luciph?”
She looks up from her computer and says, “I think it was Tyrex.”
“Thanks, Denise,” I say smiling at her. She still looks worried.
“Yeah, thanks,” adds Kent.
As we walk to the elevator, Kent asks, “Isn’t that a computer software company?”
“Something like that, I know it has something to do with computers,” I say as I search on my phone. “According to the web, it’s a tech company. They specialize in mobile devices, semiconductors, and software.”
“Great. Now we need to add Tyrex to our list of shit to check out. The list keeps growing but we aren’t any closer to the answer,” Kent whines.
“We’re getting closer. I now have two suspects I’m feeling pretty fucking good about. The trick is to figure out a way to catch ‘em.”
Back in his car, we sit in silence again. I’m sure he’s thinking about the case, just like me. How do we get those assholes? That’s the tough question right now. How?
***
On Friday, Gretchen calls to let us know she has something. Since I’m attending William’s funeral this morning, we make arrangements to meet in the afternoon.
When I walk into the funeral home, I see about ten people in attendance. It’s sad, really. The guy kept to himself, didn’t have friends, a girlfriend, and had no kids. He died alone. Shit, he was only seven years older than me. It sucks to think about dying alone.
As I look around, I see a familiar face. Denise Thomas from Luciph. At least she came to his service. That’s cool. It’s then I spot Sophie near the back of the church. My guess is she wants to stay as far away from Julia as possible. I walk toward her and watch her attempt to ignore me. It’s not working. She’s fidgeting in her seat. She wants to make a run for it but I move in on the open side of the pew and slide in next to her.
“Sophie, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine? Had any other 'accidents' that I should know about?” I look at her injured hand and see a change. “Get your stitches out?”
“Yes. This morning. And everything is fine. I’m fine. Work is fine. I’m fine.”
“That’s a lot of ‘fines’ in there, sweetheart.”
She turns her head to glare at me. I’ve never seen such fire in her. It’s sexy as hell.
“Stop. Calling. Me. Sweetheart,” she says with gritted teeth.
“I can’t help it, babe. You are sweet,”
She huffs out a breath and then attempts to stand up. “All I wanted to do was pay my respects to Willy. Can you let me do that, please?”
I stay put. She can pay her respects with me by her side. Or not… She slides out the long way asking the few people in her path to excuse her. I jump out of the pew and follow her. She makes her way out the front door to the sidewalk. It’s hotter than usual today even for August in Chicago.
“Sophie, wait!”
“I can’t, Hank. Just…just leave me alone. Okay?”
“I wanted to let you know my brother will be over tonight to replace your window. Okay?”
She sighs, “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks,” she mutters as she walks away from me.
I sigh. What am I supposed to do now? I guess I’ll let her have her space––for now.
Chapter 25: Sophie
“Sophie, before you leave tonight, re-stock all the order forms for bridal and for the tux area.” Brooke is extra bossy these days, which means she’s extra lazy. She sits in her office all day searching the Internet for stories about celebrities instead of working in the store. “Also, the printers all need paper and check the ink cartridges. I don’t want to have to do that on Sunday when I come in to work. You’re off tomorrow so it’s the least you can do since I’ll be working alone.”
I work alone all the time but whatever. “No problem, Brooke. I’ll take care of it. You go have fun.” She’s going out on the town with some old college friends of hers. She’s leaving work early to go have her hair, nails, and make-up done. Apparently, there’s competition between her classmates to look the best for their age. Brooke spends so much time and money on herself, she’s bound to win.
With Ashley only working a half-day today, it leaves me to close up shop. See? Alone. At five, I lock the front door and finish up with closing. I clean all the mirrors and windows. I straighten the gowns in the front window and double check the dresses are ready for Brooke tomorrow.
I make my way back to the storage room at the back of the store. It’s one of those rooms you dread going into because it’s dark with only a dim bulb hanging from the tall ceiling. Plus, it’s cold as hell. The one and only vent sits high on the ceiling close to the heating and cooling system on the roof so it blows out powerful gusts of air all day long. I’ve tried to adjust the vent with a broomstick but the room’s got to have twelve-foot ceilings. I wrap my sweater around me and dash in to grab the printer papers and forms.
I find the printer paper and the tuxedo rental forms right away but I can’t seem to find the bridal purchase forms. “Damn it. I know they were here the last time I looked for them,” I grumble to myself. As I pull boxes and other bridal extras around, I hear the door slam shut. “What the heck?”
I move over to the door and turn the nob. It’s locked. “Shit!” I try to turn the nob again when I hear someone giggling. “Hello?” I slap the door with my hand. “Let me out. This isn’t funny.”
“Oh, yes it is, Miss Piggy. It’s fucking hilarious.”
“Ari? What are you doing here? Let me out.”
“No can do, chubs.”
I bang on the door louder, “Goddamn it, Ari. Let me out.”
“Have fun in there, fatty. I hope you die.”
“Ari!” I scream. “Let me out of here. It’s cold.”
“Not for long,” she cackles.
What did she mean by that? It’s then I feel a shift in the air. The harsh cold air is no longer blowing on my neck. It’s warming up, which feels good. I sit upon a box and think about my options. There’s no phone in the closet and I left my phone in my purse, which is out on the counter. I look around at the tiny space. There’s nothing in here that I can climb up onto to get up to that vent. If I could, I may have been able to climb through the vent. I snort at my thought. “Yeah, if I were a size two,” I say aloud. I’d never fit into that ductwork.
