Authors: Timothy Allan Pipes
“This elevator doesn’t meet state regulations,” he stated flatly.
“JenelCo was given an exemption regarding this design,” Renee said matching his tone. “It’s a matter of record at City Hall in Monterey if it interests you.”
So smooth was its descent, only the doors parting told of their arrival and without so much as a look back, Renee strode forward without him. He followed, taking his time to look about, forcing her to wait. From the look on her face, once he caught up to her, it was not something she was used to or liked as she stood beside two large glass doors
“You will find Mr. Jeffers, in here," Renee said, her tone cold and enunciation clipped. "
He
will be more than happy to answer all your questions.”
it was clear Renee would gladly have washed her hands of him if she could have but instead, trailed behind as he pushed through the doors. Inside, another
striking woman sat behind a hand-carved oak desk. This piece of art was elegantly engraved with gold embossed lettering bearing the name of Julie Sanders, along with the title of Executive Assistant below it. It was beginning to look as if JenelCo hired its employees straight from the aftermath of the Miss America Contest.
Fifteen minutes later, Oliver knew the form of Julie Sander’s desk quite well. After introducing himself, Jeffers' secretary had told him her boss would be, “Right with him” and simply waved him toward a black brushed leather couch to his left. Like a parent watching her charge, Renee, whom Oliver now thought of as runner up
Number Two
in the Miss JenelCo beauty contest, had never left his side. Several times the secretary’s phone had buzzed and each time he’d expected to be led into Jeffers' office, but a quarter of an hour later he was still waiting. In another five minutes he'd have to become unpleasant but hoped it wouldn't come to that. He cast a glance toward Renee, who merely sat watching
him
.
“Mr. Jeffers will see you now.”
Oliver looked back in time to see Sanders replace the receiver and with an expansive wave, she directed him toward Jeffers' door. He pulled himself free of the couch and waited for his shadow to follow. Renee made no move to do so and he stepped toward the champion-sized opaque glass door, pushing it open with surprising ease and stepped through.
As the hulking door closed behind him, he stared into a large, dimly lit office. How large exactly was hard to guess, since it’s farthest reaches were almost completely hidden in darkness.
“Welcome, Detective,” a deep voice called from the office’s recesses. “Please, come make yourself comfortable.”
Uneasy, Oliver edged forward. As he did so, the lights brightened enough to see the room’s dimensions and he found himself facing a large black marble topped desk situated at the far end. The whole impression was that of coming before a court, with him as defendant. The massive desk itself enhanced that impression. Not only did the sheer size of it strike him as he walked toward it, but its height was above that of a standard desk, lending the surroundings even more of a judicial feel. Oliver looked toward his 'Judge' and all proportion went out the window.
Paul Jeffers was a man out of time. Large beyond reason, Oliver estimated his sitting frame to be five feet plus and the desk which had seemed so large before, now appeared almost child size. Jeffers leaned forward, extended a massive hand and instinctively Oliver reached back, only to be surprised by its gentleness.
Jeffers seemed to read his mind, a smile on his lips.
“I learned the value of a soft touch quite young, Detective, as you can well imagine.” Jeffers gripped his chair's armrest and leaning back, motioned Oliver toward a chair nearby. Oliver stepped toward the seat, a plush overflowing maroon item he was sure cost more than his monthly salary and settled into its soft material.
“You do love your furniture here at JenelCo,” he said, eyeing Jeffers as he rubbed the inviting material. Clean cut and handsome in a way, the executive seemed to go against popular stereotypes of large men as awkward, bumbling and ineffectual.
Goliath in an Armani suit
, thought Oliver.
Only this giant seems to have won more than his share of battles
.
“Our president is unusual,” Jeffers' responded. “He believes his employees should feel as comfortable at work as they do at home.” Rising from his chair, Jeffers seemed to keep going up and Oliver noticed the desktop met well below the man’s waist. Even with this oversized version, he figured the desk must still be a tight fit for the man.
Off in the back corner, Jeffers opened a small refrigerator, its distinctive inner light brightening the office still more. Extracting several items from it, he gave the small door a casual kick and the office returned to its former duskiness. Jeffers seemed to fall more than sit in the large custom chair beneath him and the executive placed a Diet Coke on the desk’s edge before Oliver, then sat back after opening his own. Oliver reached over, popped open the drink and took a sip.
“Please forgive the lighting, Detective,” Jeffers said as he swiveled back and forth in his over-sized command chair. “An unfortunate side effect of my size is a sensitivity to light. I hope it's not too dark for you." Jeffers smiled, shark-like. "But then, you didn't come here to discuss my sense of decor, did you, Detective?”
Not long after becoming a policeman, Oliver discovered just how often both criminals and cops employed the art of subterfuge. He’d found this true without fail in the case of the former and too often in the latter. Always the cat and mouse game and rarely if ever was anything clear or in the open light of day. He hated setting people up and he especially hated being set up, and it'd been a long time since he’d felt this much a patsy. It was as if Jeffers didn’t care if he knew it and this more than anything, made him uneasy. He gave up any hope of getting anything useful from Jeffers, and yet he couldn’t allow himself to walk away empty-handed.
“My understanding is that Carol Montoya worked for you personally,” Oliver said, pulling out a pen and notepad.
“That’s correct.” Jeffers halted his chair’s slight rocking. “She worked her way up the secretarial pool here at JenelCo while attending Monterey Peninsula College and became my Executive Assistant when she got her A.A. All of us at JenelCo were deeply saddened by the tragedy which struck she and her family.”
“I noticed your new assistant already had her personally engraved desk,” Oliver stated, wanting to phrase this right. “Yet I was of the understanding you were Ms. Montoya’s latest supervisor.”
Jeffers was motionless for several seconds before replying.
“I have always believed one should not speak ill of the dead and yet this will eventually come out.” The giant shifted back once again before continuing. “Ms. Montoya had been suffering from psychological problems for the last few years, finally going on disability for the last month. It was my understanding that she’d been seeing a psychiatrist and though she seemed to stabilize for a time, eventually she was forced to go on medication for depression. It was not long after that she went on disability.”
“Do you know the name of the psychologist?” Oliver readied his pen.
“No, Detective, I don’t.” Jeffers responding after a slight hesitation. After a moment, he picked up the phone, which appeared toy-like in his grip and turned toward Oliver.
“But I can tell you when her last appointment was, if you’ll give me a minute.” He punched a single button and waited. “Ms. Sanders, please call records and have them bring Carol Montoya’s personal employee box to my office, including her insurance records.” Without waiting for a reply, Jeffers replaced the hand set to its base.
“Was Ms. Montoya close to anybody here at JenelCo?" Oliver asked, opting to use the time it took to transport the files. "Perhaps somebody she worked or lunched with on a regular basis?”
“I’m afraid I’m of little use to you there either, Detective,” Jeffers sighed, sadly. “My day is largely a succession of meetings, few of which end by lunch time so I wouldn’t know who she broke bread with.”
Oliver gave a perfunctory smile and tapped pen to note pad. “Do you have any idea why somebody would want to harm Ms. Montoya or perhaps know of somebody she’d had a falling out with?”
“Ms. Montoya was a very private person, Detective," Jeffers said. "Though we worked together for five years,
we
only went to lunch, perhaps a half dozen times at most. To be completely honest, I’m not even sure if she has family in the area.”
Oliver stared at the largely blank page of his note pad, debated on bringing up her friendship with Mrs. McKenny but decided against it.
Perhaps
, he thought,
if Jeffers wouldn’t tell him anything useful, Carol Montoya might
.
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to have a look at the items left in Ms. Montoya’s desk, prior to going on disability.”
“I’m embarrassed but I can’t be of much use to you there, either. It’s company policy for employees to take all personal items when they go on extended leave or disability. In fact, her desk is in storage even now.”
A slight knock on the glass door behind him pulled Oliver’s head around in time to see Renee enter the office. She carried a light gray metal box, which she placed atop Jeffers' desk and slipped back through the glass doors. When he turned back to Jeffers, the man was busy at the small laptop computer sitting to his left, quickly navigating through various programs until he sat staring at various columns of what appeared to be names and corresponding numbers.
After scrolling for several moments, he turned toward the gray file container, the entered a code into the small LCD screen on the container's side. Jeffer's waited briefly, then his eyebrows knit together in obvious puzzlement at the box before him. Oliver perked up as the executive again reentered the code he'd obtained from his laptop and again, waited for the latch to release.
"This is peculiar," Jeffers's said more to himself it seemed, than Oliver. "Ms. Montoya must have changed her code just before going on disability. No matter. All employee container respond to a master code for just such occasions." Jeffers turned back to the laptop upon his desk, scrolled briefly and then turned back to the container before him. Punching in the new-found code, the executive smiled as the latch atop the metal box released, accompanied by a low two tone beep. Looking up at Oliver, Jeffers reached in to pull out the contents and was suddenly on his feet, staring into the file container with anger that was quickly masked. Either the executive was quite an actor, Oliver decided, or this wasn’t in the setup. After a few more seconds, Jeffers looked up and even in the low light, the giant looked flushed.
“I...I’m sorry, Detective," Jeffers said sitting once again. "It appears a theft has occurred.” Well-masked but still evident was the rage in the giant's voice as he turned the file container over to reveal only empty air. “If you weren’t here, and if it didn’t sound so dramatic, I’d say we need to call the police to report Carol Montoya’s files as
stolen
.
Oliver stepped to Jeffers' desk, peering into the file container and found only dust and a few hole-punch leftovers.
“I’m afraid you’ll need to call the police after all, Mr. Jeffers,” Oliver said as he picked up the receiver and handed it to him.
“The Monterey Police Department have jurisdiction in the Monterey Business Park and I’m little more than a coincidental observer.” He stepped back to his couch and settled himself down for a twenty-minute wait.
“The number is 647-0500 and probably the best thing is to go through the drill and report it as if I’m not even here.”
Jeffers hesitated slightly before punching in the numbers, then waited till the dispatcher picked up.
“Yes...this is Paul Jeffers over at JenelCo in the Monterey Business Park, I need to report a robbery...no, no one’s in danger...I’m sorry. I should have said a theft has taken place.” The executive swiveled in his chair slightly, “Yes, that would be fine...in fifteen minutes, thank you.” Jeffers replaced the phone, then sat and turned to Oliver once again. “They’re sending an officer out...said he’d be here in the next fifteen minutes.”
Exactly fifteen minutes later, Cory Hana stepped through Jeffers' doors and inwardly, Oliver groaned. Hana was about the last detective he wanted assigned to anything he had to deal with. Close to six feet in height with a dark golden tan, the Detective from Monterey sported the
Beach Boy
look complete with shoulder length blond hair. As a result, most people had trouble seeing anything other than an extra on the set of the told TV show,
Miami Vice.
Oliver certainly did, ever since he’d caught wind of a rumor that Hana and Linda had carried out a brief affair.
Oliver heaved himself out of the chair which he’d molded to just as Hana reached Jeffers' desk, the two shook hands.
“Hello, Peidmont, surprised to see you here.” Hana gripped Oliver’s hand tightly, as if gauging his strength.
Oliver smiled, matching the hand lock, pound for pound.
“Well, you know how I like to be in the thick of things.” He waited for Hana to release his grip, then turned to Jeffers once he'd regained his hand. “Detective Hana...this is Paul Jeffers, Vice President of Operations at JenelCo. He called in the theft.”
Jeffers and Hana shook hands and for the briefest of moments, Oliver sensed the introduction was false somehow. The impression passed and Hana got down to business, all straight forward, by-the-book questioning and Oliver’s mind wandered till he explained why he was there and what he’d seen when Jeffers had opened Carol Montoya’s file container.
Forty-five minutes later he and Hana walked back through the Vice-President's over-sized glass doors and were greeted by Renee’s all-business persona, who insisted on walking them to Jenelco's front doors. After little more than a wave good-bye to Hana, Oliver climbed into his cruiser, inserted the keys but left them dangling.
Something, he decided, was not adding up. Jenny hadn’t mentioned Carol going on disability and Oliver was sure she wouldn’t have overlooked such a detail. Yet why would Jeffers go through such a charade of 'discovering' Carol's insurance papers were missing, if Carol hadn’t? Why create the whole idea of her seeing a psychiatrist at all? Why not just say she’d gone on some other form of company disability and create fake papers to back it up? Jeffers had told Hana that only he and Carol had known the entry code into her files and the executive was either a hell of an actor or been caught with his pants down. Oliver knew of only one person who might have known the entry code to Carol’s files, who might have managed to sneak into JenelCo and take what was beginning to seem like fairly relevant papers. The only problem was that she'd skipped town last night about 2:00am. And why anyone would want to steal Carol’s insurance papers remained as much a mystery as her death. Oliver knew they were related somehow and that he’d just happened to be there when their disappearance was discovered.
Oliver twisted the ignition key until the car’s engine erupted and perhaps with more flair than required, left the JenelCo parking lot with its numerous Mercedes and BMWs with a satisfying squeal of his tires.
Turning onto the 218 toward Del Rey Oaks, he passed Takaga’s Nursery, then Del Rey Auto-Body before settling on a destination, pulling a quick U-turn on the one lane highway as he did so. Coming back to the intersection off Highway 68, he waited for a break in the stream of traffic and then slipped in between a minivan and an old Monterey/Salinas transit bus, both cruising above the speed limit until they spotted his telltale side light. He ignored them, wondering how happy the good doctor would be to see him once she heard his request.
The room she slipped into seemed pulled from a vacation brochure; the kind travel agents leave lying around as they talk endlessly on the phone. With plenty of straight lines to give it that impression of neatness, the room still had enough soft curves that said ‘Put your feet up anywhere.’ For Jenny, this was something of a shock since the small motel she’d chosen, on the outside, lent itself more toward the idea of an hourly rate. It was a small surprise in a long day of tragedy and heartache.
After twisting both door locks into place, she investigated the window and found that a single foot long stick braced against the opposite edge comprised the room’s hi-tech security system . Jenny pulled the drapes closed, sealing off most of the motel parking lot's lights. A single sliver of light was all that remained and allowed her to locate the light switch and with a click, the small mauve lamp sprang to life. Before her sat the one thing she needed most, a bed. Stepping forward, a controlled fall took place at that point and any idea of removing her clothes or climbing beneath the covers never came to mind. Only grief and thankfully, sleep.
Nine hours later Jenny awoke as she had for the last six months; heart racing for fear she'd missed preparing Collin’s breakfast. The fear of his storming out of the shower to find her still asleep pulled her upright. Only then did the strange room present itself to her very wide-open eyes. Relief swept her, remembering she’d finally kicked the bastard out, but was soon replaced by the previous day's terrible events: her decision to press charges, nearly being gunned down and then...Carol’s murder.
Tears streaming forth turned to sobs and she pulled the pillow from beneath her head, pressing its cool folds to her face lest someone hear. After a time she removed the pillow, tossing it on the floor in case she was tempted to start sobbing and knowing she couldn’t, somehow helped stem the emotional tide. A mental exhaustion of a sort she’d never felt before pinned her to the bed. Like a drifting current, her thoughts flowed first one way, then another. After a time Jenny found herself staring at the stucco ceiling with no thought other than how ugly this particular motel ceiling was. She thought of the many hotel ceilings she'd stared up at since leaving home, usually on the road before a game or rarely, while some local stud screwed the visiting cheerleader.
That was something she’d quickly learned to avoid, discovering that one town’s stud knew the next and tended to brag of such conquests. After a few beers, that one expected the same privileges and she'd been forced to have a few of the players disabuse several insistent individuals of such notions. This was unfortunately, how Collin had come to her attention and he’d always been eager to ‘Go-a-round or two with the locals,' as he'd put it. Only after they'd married did she understand
exactly
what that meant.
It occurred to her in a twisted sort of way, that her horrendous marriage to Collin and Carol’s murder might never have happened if she’d just stayed a virgin. A hiccupy kind of half-laugh, half-sob escaped from deep inside her and for a moment, thought she might need the pillow again. The moment passed and instead she thankfully drifted off to sleep, Her last thoughts were of the papers thrown onto the lamp stand, and the detective who’d saved her life.
All of his problems were supposed to be gone by this morning. That was the way he’d planned it and that was the way it should have been. Rage swept over him once more and as he’d done at least ten times on the drive back from King City, reached over only to find his stereo missing. It had been nothing at first, merely one more thing to be replaced. But as his anger and frustration mounted at the mess-up, the need for soothing music became paramount. By the time he turned onto Del Monte toward the upscale condo, Collin McKenny was ready to tear into most anybody.
Despite the early morning hour, he roared into the garage situated beneath the condo, even managing to produce a respectable squeal from the Porches' tires as he slid into a parking space. After sleeping in his clothes all night, he was ready for a shower and
something else
... Taking the stairs three at a time, his 300lb frame sent shudders through the stairwell.
Collin found the door unlocked and slipped inside soundlessly. The bed's occupant was likely asleep and this pleased him, since he enjoyed terror on a girl's face before he took her. Careful to make as little noise as possible, McKenny reached the bedroom door, then slowly pushed it wide.
Asleep, the woman's pretty, angular face seemed angelic in its state of rest but in two strides he was towering over her startled form. With one hand, McKenny ripped the covers from her lithe body, revealing the bright red Teddy which exposed far more then it covered. Fear shone in the woman's eyes as she frantically pushed herself against the headboard, her face a mask of terror.
“
What are you doing
?" the young woman cried out. "My...my...husband, he'll, be home
any minute
!”
McKenny laughed as he began to shed his beer and sweat stained clothes even as the woman attempted to futilely cover her breasts and pubic area with the nearby pillow.
“Please!
Please
!" she begged, tears pouring forth as she pleaded. "I’ll...I'll do
anything
you want, just
promise...
you won’t hurt me!”
More tears ran down her cheeks as she inched off the bed as Collin swung about, standing naked and erect before her. Grasping her ankle with one hand, he pulled her slight but shapely frame toward him before tossing her back onto the bed.
“Oh don’t worry," he smiled deliciously as she stared up at him in abject terror. “
You will do whatever I want,
and my only promise is that I
am
going to hurt you.”
She began to fight him but one arm, he slammed her down onto the bed and with his huge frame atop her, began to keep his promise.
Her name was Courtney, daughter of Wallace Widlam: owner of several large corporation among other things. Collin referred to her as his sexual prodigy, and yet it was she who had found him in one of the trendy Monterey bars. It was
she
who had taken him home that same night and within a week, they’d gone through more sexual variation than most couples go through in a lifetime. A few months into it and they'd refined what each wanted and so the game had begun.
She’d never told Collin what had brought her to him and why she enjoyed what they did so much. Quite frankly he wasn’t interested and as long as she was there, ready to take whatever he dished out, he was a happy man. He’d suggested she might work for JenelCo, but she’d merely laughed, pulled a few thousand dollars from her purse and tossed it to him. He hadn’t suggested it again.
When he came out of the shower, her bruised body still lay prone on the bed with her backside to him. Smoke rising from her cigarette trailed upward and she carefully rolled herself over to face him.
“God, that was good,” she sighed languidly, a slight trail of blood still wet at the corner of her mouth.
“That’s why we’re so good together, babe.” He smiled down at her. “You love pain and I love to inflict it...with a little sex thrown in." He pulled a pair of trousers from the closet and began to dress. She took a drag from her cigarette, then exhaled.
“How’d it go last night?” she asked. “Is the bitch dead?”
“No," he said, grinding his teeth at her questioning. "Jenel bailed me out himself this morning, then left before I could explain.”
Her whistle was long and high. “I thought he said no more screw-ups.”
His anger began to boil and suddenly remembered why he enjoyed hurting her so much.
“He did.”
“If I were you," Courtney said, taking a long pull on her cigarette. I’d make sure that bitch is dead by tonight...or
you
might be.”
Collin resisted the urge to simply hit her, knowing she was right
and
because she’d just enjoy it. He slipped his shoes on, then stood before turning to stare down at her naked form.
“
Don’t worry, lover," he said, shifting his gaze to her face. "I’ll be here tomorrow to hurt you just like you need.” He laughed broadly at his little joke, hoping what he’d just saidwas tru
e
.