A Grand Murder Page 6

  “That was quick,” I said. “Afraid she was going to tidy up?”

  “No.” Louise closed the door with her elbow, careful not to touch anything. “Feet.”

  “What?”

  She took me by my shoulders, turned me toward the disheveled desk, and pointed at the floor on the opposite side of the room. “Feet.”

  Half obscured under a pile of papers were the scuffed bottoms of a man’s dress shoes.

  “Damn,” I said. “Not another one.”

  “Fraid so.” She tiptoed over papers, books, and two over—turned chairs. “Couldn’t you smell the stench when we walked through the door?”

  “I didn’t really pay attention,” I said. “Either that or I’ve desensitized to the smell of death after all these years.”

  I crossed behind the desk and crouched next to the body. The high—back leather desk chair was turned over and covered the upper torso. Louise took a tissue and used it to right the chair. We both stared into the lifeless blue eyes of Chris Forster.

  Chapter Eight

  “I guess this exonerates him in Stanley’s murder,” I said and sat back on my heels.

  “And brings our investigation back to square one.” With two fingers, Louise lifted the victim’s blood—soaked jacket by the edge of the lapel. “Multiple stab wounds this time. Not as clean as Stanley’s murder, and a lot more violent.”

  “He probably surprised the killer in the act of ripping through the office.”

  I stood and examined the words on the wall. Red clots littered the smeared letters.

  “The killer used Forster’s blood to write this. There was some definite hatred in whoever did this.”

  “Maybe we’ll be able to pull a print from the blood smears. As disorganized as this place is, we might just get lucky,” She said. “I wonder if Tracy has a list of Forster’s enemies too?”

  “I doubt it. He didn’t seem like the ruthless businessman type to me.” I followed the trail of blood into Stanley’s private bathroom. The killer had cleaned themselves before leaving. Smart. Anyone leaving the building dripping in blood would raise more than eyebrows.

  “Forster was more like the nice candy—wielding grandfather type of guy, I’d say.”

  A high—pitched beep from somewhere under the papers made us both jump. Then we heard, “Detectives? It’s Tracy.”

  Louise lifted a butterflied magazine. Beneath it was the phone.

  “Yes, Tracy.”

  “I have your call. Would you like me to transfer it in there?”

  “No, we’re coming out.”

  The forensics team arrived within minutes of our call. They photographed every inch of the room, and then removed Forster’s body. The task of dusting for prints, and sifting through the office for evidence would be a long one, considering the shape of the office.

  Louise and I took that time to sit down with Tracy and break the news to her about her other boss’s death. She cried so hard she couldn’t catch her breath between sobs.

  I wondered why. Why would she cry so hard for one and not the other? I supposed that she could have liked Forster better than Stanley, but her reaction was what you’d expect from a wife who’d just found out her husband had been killed.

  “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted Mr. Forster dead?” I asked.

  “No,” she choked through her sobs. “Everyone loved him.”

  Not everyone, I thought.

  “It must be a mistake.” She ran her sleeve over her nose. “It’s a mistake.”

  Louise removed a tissue from her purse and handed it to her. She dabbed her eyes with the tissue, then ran it under her nose.

  “I’m sorry but it’s no mistake, Ms. Bonner,” Louise said. “Mr. Forster is dead.”

  “I know he’s dead. I just can’t believe it’s happened.”

  Her head dropped to the top of her desk with a thud. I’d seen the look on her face before, broken and exhausted. What she’d been through in the past two days was more than any one person should have to suffer.

  As cold as it may sound, I was glad she was emotionally wrung out. It meant her guard was down. She might more easily give up information, though we’d still have to be careful about how we approached the subject. One wrong word and Tracy could retreat inside herself, from shock or anger, and then we wouldn’t get any information from her.

  “I did read the reports correctly didn’t I, Ms. Bonner?”

  I eased into the chair next to hers, plastered a compassionate look on my face, and placed my hand lightly on her shoulder. Beneath my touch, her body gave up, sagged, ebbed of energy.

  “Yes.”

  The answer was muffled in her sleeve, but clear enough. One last deep shuddering breath, then she sat up and dragged her sleeve over her soaked eyes, leaving a mascara streak on the tan fabric. That jacket was a complete loss.

  “For about the last three years we’ve been operating in the red.”

  Her stare fixed on the wall, as if watching an unseen play in the distance.

  “But this past year the losses have been greater than normal. Cash was bleeding from the company. The numbers.” She slammed her fist on the desk. “The numbers just don’t add up.”

  “Did you bring this to anyone’s attention?” Louise asked. “Did you tell anyone that you thought there was a problem?”

  Tracy closed her bloodshot, swollen eyes and shook her head.

  “Who would I tell?” She faced Louise. “It’s not like Mr. Stanley and Mr. Forster didn’t know. The accountants ran the numbers. They knew.

  There’d been rumblings for some time that something wasn’t right. But they were just rumors. When the quarterlies came out, and they didn’t show any problems, everything seemed fine.”

  “But it wasn’t,” I said.

  “No. Far from it.”

  “When did you find out the truth?” Louise rummaged through her purse, found the entire tissue package, and handed it to Tracy before she could wipe her face on her sleeve again.

  “A few months ago.” She took a tissue and blotted the tears from her cheeks. “I came across a file in Mr. Stanley’s office marked financial actuals. There, on page after page, was the whole nasty truth in black and white. He knew. Shit, Mr. Stanley authorized the false filings himself.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the media or the SEC or someone?” I said.

  Sharp, harsh eyes locked on me, and a humorless grin twisted her lips.

  “Do you know how much money I have wrapped up in this company?” Her jaw tightened, and a biting, serrated edge crept into her voice. “I have a lot of shares of this fucking company. Buying the stocks seemed like such a good idea at the time. The company was skyrocketing.”

  She shook her head.

  “Then this happened. If Stanley and Forster were forced to liquidate by its creditors, I’d have nothing. No job, no retirement.”

  She ticked each thing off on a finger, holding them up to my face.

  “Nothing, Detective O’Brien. Absolutely zero.”

  “That doesn’t exonerate you from doing the right thing.”

  The self—importance of what I’d just said slapped me across the face, and I wished I could take it back. My punishment was immediate.

  “You know what? Screw you, Officer O’Brien.” Dark anger flashed in her eyes. “Why don’t we discuss it sometime when it’s happening to you.”

  Okay, so I deserved to be slapped down, but it didn’t sting any less. My righteous need for justice, and doing the right thing, is what drove me to be a cop in the first place. I couldn’t be faulted when the justice—for—all side of my nature became sanctimonious.

  Tracy breathed out a laugh. “I’d love to be sitting where you are right now, unaffected by the events I pronounce judgment on. But I’m not. I’m in the middle of this mess. I can’t go home tonight and play the should have, could have game. I have to live this fucking nightmare. Every single day.”

  She opened the top drawer of her desk, pulle
d out a pack of cigarettes, and tapped it against her thigh. Then she rummaged through the drawer and came up with a book of matches. She blazed up a stick.

  A faint cough came from a gray partition a short distance away. The coughing grew louder and more deliberate with each drag Tracy took. Finally she rolled her eyes, and crushed the cigarette out on the bottom of her shoe.

  “It’s out, Frank. You can stop trying to bring up a lung.”

  “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”

  Louise craned her neck, trying to see if anyone was eavesdropping on our conversation. With the low fabric walls, I was sure the employees surrounding us had heard every word. As it was, a steady stream of looky—loos walked past the door to the executive hallway to get a view of what was happening. All the secrets of Stanley and Forster were running into the open.

  “Why? Everyone is going to know what’s going on now anyway,” she said. “Maybe Mr. Stanley’s murder could be written off as random, but now.”

  A shiver ran over Tracy’s body. She rubbed her upper arms to ward off the chill.

  “What if it’s a serial murderer who’s targeting company executives? What if it’s someone in the building or a disgruntled employee?”

  “What about the security cameras?” Louise asked.

  “What?” Tracy was pulled away from her serial killer imaginings. “Um, yes, we have cameras.”

  “I know, I saw one on the wall in the reception area. Are there any cameras in the hallway leading to Stanley’s office?”

  Louise edged forward in her seat. She smelled blood in the water now.

  “I think so.” She slowly turned her wide, wet eyes to me, then nodded like an eager child seeking approval. “Yes, there are.”

  “May we see the security tapes?” I said. For some reason it sounded like I was speaking to someone mildly retarded.

  Her wide—eyed look left and was replaced with annoyance.

  “Of course. We’ll have to go to security. They’re two floors up.”

  Louise stood and straightened her jacket. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Nine

  Tracy brought us to a panel door hidden in one of the walls.

  “This is for employees only. The executives don’t like the employees riding the elevators when we have VIP guests in the building. We can’t have important people waiting or getting into a crowded elevator. Heaven forbid.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  I hate that classist shit. What’s good for one is good for all in my opinion. Who cares what title they hold.

  The stairway was gray painted metal. A damp tin smell permeated the air. The echo of our footsteps made it sound like there were a whole herd of us.

  One thing was for sure; Stanley and Forster didn’t give a damn about their employees. The employee areas in this building were sad and depressing. Designed to show the employees their place. To tell them they weren’t important.

  To me it seemed counter productive to depress your employees. Maybe the designers of this building knew something I didn’t.

  We went up the dark stairs two floors to the security area. A large glowing electronic keypad greeted us at the door. The light of the keys actually gave the stairwell landing a cheery yellow hue.

  I looked at Louise and raised my eyebrows.

  “What?” she said.

  “Are you feeling alright?”

  “Yes.” Louise narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “You look jaundiced.”

  “You should find a mirror, white girl. I bet I look a lot healthier than you do.”

  Tracy raised a fist and pounded on the door, then turned to us over her shoulder. “Only security personnel have access to this area.”

  Behind me, I heard a mechanical hum. I turned in time to see the black security camera in the corner of the stairwell lock onto us.

  “Damn it, Mel, let us in.” Tracy spoke directly to the camera.

  On the other side of the large door, locks clanked back and released. The door, which was sealed like a refrigerator, swung open. A burst of cold air rushed out. When the door swung all the way open, we stared into a TV—lined control room that looked like a cross between a 747 and NASA’s launch control.

  A large woman dressed in a blue security uniform stepped in front of the opening. The left corner of her mouth migrated up into a mischievous grin.

  “Come on in,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you to get around to seeing me. Frankly, I’m surprised it took you so long. I thought I would have been your first stop after the 911 call.”

  “You’re Mel?” I said.

  “Yep, short for Melanie.”

  She moved across the room and behind the control desk. Her large frame eclipsed the small task chair and it groaned in protest under her considerable weight.

  “You must know how it is, to try to be taken seriously in a man’s profession. Melanie is too soft. Mel is much more authoritative.”

  “Yeah, I understand.”

  And I did. If she were anything other than a large, menacing woman named Mel, she’d be laughed at when she applied for a security job.

  “Mel,” Tracy said and leaned on the edge of the desk. “These officers would like to—”

  “See the security tapes from last night around the time of the murder.”

  “Exactly,” Louise said.

  “I’m notified when anyone dials 911 in the building.”

  She nodded toward a bank of TVs to her right. There had to be thirty different screens showing every area of the Stanley and Forster offices. The images flickered as the cameras changed angles.

  “As soon as I saw the shit coming down this morning in Stanley’s office, I cued the tapes from last night.”

  She rolled the squeaky chair toward the TVs.

  “I haven’t looked at the tapes yet. I figured you’d want the first crack at them. Where do you want to start?”

  Louise looked at me with a pleased expression on her face. It figured. She loved efficiency. Everything at her finger tips. Ready and waiting for us with no argument.

  “Let’s start with the camera nearest to Mr. Stanley’s office.”

  “That’s where I’d start,” Mel said and pushed a button on her control panel.

  Louise sat on the edge of the control desk next to Mel and leaned in for a better look. Tracy and I hovered over their shoulder.

  The first screen flashed, then blinked to life. A surprisingly clear color video feed showed two women walking down the executive hallway carrying folders and laughing. As they passed the camera, the image stopped and another scene started like the tape had been cut.

  “What was that?” Louise asked and looked over the console as if Mel had pushed the wrong button.

  “Don’t worry,” Mel said. “The cameras are rigged to only start when there’s movement. Saves a lot of trouble when you need to see something. You don’t have to run through hours of an empty hallway. I’m sure your lab can confirm that the tape hasn’t been cut.”

  Mel knew too much about police procedure. Which meant one of two things, either she wanted to be a cop and couldn’t make the grade, or she was just an armchair cop who sat home watching CSI and Court TV, and thought she knew more than the cops did.

  Either way she was right. Our lab could and would confirm that the tape hadn’t been cut. Not that we didn’t trust her, but there was a killer on the loose.

  “What time was that?” I said pointing toward the image of the same two women making their way in the opposite direction.

  “Let’s see.” Mel turned to her computer keyboard and punched a few keys. As she hit the last key, a time code appeared on the bottom of the screen. The hour, minute, and seconds ticked off.

  “Four thirty five.” Louise pulled her little red cell phone from her pocket. Even her cell was designer. “I’ll call the M.E. and see if we can’t get an approximate time of death.”

  “M.E.?” Tracy said.

  “Medical Examiner.” Mel j
umped in.

  She crossed her huge arms over her chest and I noticed that not all of her bulk came from fat. Her arms bulged with muscles.

  “Right officer?” She slapped Louise on the thigh.

  “Detective.” Louise smiled and swiveled her legs away from Mel.

  When Mel turned back to the television monitor, Louise furrowed her brows and rubbed her thigh. I bet that stung. Like being slapped with the willow branch my dad would cut and spank my brother and me with when we’d done something we shouldn’t have. I took a step outside of Mel’s reach, unwilling to find out how similar the two experiences were for myself.

  “Hey, it’s Detective Montgomery. What was the approximate time of death on the second victim in the Stanley and Forster murder case?” She tapped her nail impatiently on the back of the phone. “Yeah, I’m still here. Okay, thanks.”

  She punched the “end” button with her thumb, then turned back to Mel. “Fast forward to around 8 p.m. or as close to that as you can.”

  Mel clicked a few more keys. The tape whirred forward, blurring the images on the screen. Abruptly the tape stopped, and the image locked into place. A blank screen.

  “There’s nothing there,” Tracy said.

  “That’s impossible. Something had to have moved or the camera would not have turned on.” Mel moved closer to the screen and squinted. “A blank screen is simply not possible.”

  In the upper left—hand corner of the screen, a figure clad in a long dark coat, and dark hat appeared with head bent low, and then disappeared behind Stanley’s door.

  “Damn,” I said. “Whoever it was knew that the camera was there.”

  “Shit,” Louise said. “Maybe there’s a better shot of them coming out of the office.”

  The screen blinked again. The image was replaced by what appeared to be the back of Mr. Forster’s bald head. He edged down the hall toward Stanley’s office. The sound of the destruction must have been loud enough for him to hear from his office.

  Forster stepped close to the door, and put his hand on the knob.