BLACK in the Box (13 page)

“How’s Bethany as a worker?”

“I have no complaints. You can check her personnel file. It’s clean.”

“I heard that she sometimes shows up late.”

Matt gave him a flat look. “She’s not my report, so I don’t pay attention.”

“Who does she report to?”

“Technically, Mary.”

“Technically?”

“Oh, sorry. Just a bad habit I have. I meant, she reports to Mary.”

“How about Alec?”

“Also Mary.”

“And Nancy?”

“Everyone answers to Mary, myself included. Mary delegates us to specific areas, and I supervise. No flowchart required.”

“You’ve got a good vocabulary.”

Matt shrugged. “I read a lot.”

“Yeah? What kind of books.”

“Business and motivational, mostly. If you want to get ahead, you have to have an edge.”

“That’s probably true. Who do you think killed Alec?”

Matt smiled sadly. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“What, am I a suspect?”

“I’m trying to place everyone around the time he was killed. Humor me.”

“I think I was near the loading docks. I’m not really sure. But I wasn’t anywhere near the offices.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“No. It’s pretty quiet back there.”

“Do you think Bethany did it?”

“I have no idea, but it seems like that’s how it’s shaping up, right? Although why the cops didn’t cuff her, I have no idea.”

“It’s not like the movies. They’ll do some research, analyze the crime scene data, that sort of thing. When they arrest someone, it generally means they’ve got a compelling case. They probably don’t believe she did it.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m here. Because if she didn’t, someone else did.”

“Got it. Anything else I can help you with?”

“How much does a stocker make per hour?”

“Around fourteen dollars. Depends on how long they’ve been here. Mr. Jacobs pays decently. I have no complaints.”

“They work eight-hour shifts?”

“Seven. With two breaks and a lunch. Although I’ll let them double up if they want, and leave for forty-five minutes.”

“Not much around here at night, is there?”

“Most don’t double up.”

Matt departed, leaving Black with a sinking feeling. The chances were looking better than good that he’d have to give Larry some bad news by morning. He went back into the store to find the remaining staff he hadn’t interviewed, but did so with pessimism.

Tanika was friendly but had nothing more to add to the story, and Tabitha was no help whatsoever, except to place Henry around his office near the loading area at the time Alec was killed. Paulina was flirtatious and confirmed her alibi, but closed down when he began probing about Alec and possible drug use. She became visibly nervous the more Black dug, and by the end of the interview he had a strong suspicion that Alec wasn’t quite as lily white as Mary had portrayed.

Tom was quiet and polite, and when he entered the office, he kept his eyes on the floor in what Black assumed was an indication of respect.

“So, Tom, you’re Chinese?”

“Yes.”

“You been here long?”

“Almost two year.”

“Pretty different from there?”

“Oh, yes. I love U.S.A. Great place.”

“Any family? Are you married?”

A head shake. “No. Haven’t met right girl.”

“That’s usually an important element.”

They discussed Tom’s job, and then Black steered the conversation to Alec. “Do you remember where you were when they found him?”

“In back. Cleaning where trucks come.”

“Did anyone see you there?”

Tom looked confused by the question, so Black rephrased it. “Can anyone confirm you were there?”

“I see Mr. Henry.”

“Okay, I’ll verify that.” Black paused. “What do you know about Alec and drugs?”

Tom studied Black’s face before answering, and Black returned the look, unable to read him. “Drugs? Nothing.”

It was the same story as with the others: nobody knew anything, everyone was just there for the paycheck. But Black was detecting an undercurrent of tension whenever he introduced the topic, and he suspected that someone was dealing in the store. Maybe Alec. It was still a largely unformed impression, but his gut was telling him there was something else going on than what appeared on the surface.

The last person on the list was Kristen, but his enthusiasm was fading and he needed a break, the intensity required to catch any subtle signs of lying flagging as the hour ran later.

The lure of a cigarette had built to the point where Black was ready to buckle. He told himself that it was reasonable – the charge of stimulant would clear his head, and he could call Sylvia while he savored one. That was another land mine he’d been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. By now she should have calmed down.

At least, that was his hope.

Chapter 24

Tom pushed his broom with the enthusiasm of a prisoner, working the aisles methodically, the floor constantly dirtied by the stockers. Behind his quiet façade his thoughts were a rush. The investigator had asked about drugs, and the man had been watching Tom with keen interest when he’d answered that he knew nothing about it.

That could be disastrous for the triad. A murder investigation evolving into one involving drugs would raise uncomfortable questions, especially with a shipment sitting in the warehouse, awaiting pickup at the end of the night shift. His worst nightmare was cops swarming around the area, scrutinizing everyone with a more careful eye. The risk of tripping across the shipment was too high, endangering Tom’s cover as well as the shipping method they were using to move drugs from the port.

The triads had long ago decided that hiring commercial freight companies made the most sense, because they were on regular routes and so nobody gave them a second glance. Their drivers were competent and equipment good, and they had no idea that once a week, one of their shipments was ten kilos of heroin or meth artfully hidden in the products that arrived on the loading dock.

The scheme had been working well for all concerned, even though the triad partner who worked at the store was suspected of skimming small amounts for his own dealing. The Chinese accepted a little petty larceny – in the scheme of things a few grams of shortfall here and there didn’t change the profitability enough to care about.

But if that small-time dealing drew attention and embroiled the partner with the police, it would be catastrophic for their business.

Tom found an empty area and withdrew a small phone from the pocket of his overalls and placed a call to his triad supervisor. The man answered moments after the first ring.

“Yes?”

Tom told him about the interview and his concerns. When he was finished, the man was silent for several seconds.

“But there are no police there now?”

“No. Just the investigator.”

“Does he suspect you?”

“No. I’m only the janitor. Nobody suspects cleaning people – we’re invisible.”

“Keep an eye on our partner. Your instincts are good. If the situation escalates, call me and we’ll discuss what action to take.” He paused. “Is there any indication that the investigator is onto him?”

“It’s hard to tell. The investigator is good. He dresses like a clown, but his eyes are intelligent. I think he is smarter than he looks.” Tom hesitated. “And he has been roaming around the store, not just interviewing people. I don’t see the point to that unless he’s looking for something.”

“It could be unrelated.”

“Yes. I just wanted you to know everything.”

“Of course. Again, call if there is anything more. I would hate to lose our shipment – or worse, have our colleague there arrested. It would pose too much of a risk to the entire operation. He knows too much. Where everyone lives, our pickup people, the shipping company that brings it into the port…”

“It would be most unfortunate if he were to be taken into custody,” Tom agreed.

“Very well. It is too soon to make any decisions. Simply watch and report.”

“You can depend on me.”

The arid wind had died down, the banshee wail as it blew through the steel girders above the employee entrance now faded to a dim howl. Black guiltily tapped out a cigarette and counted the remaining smokes in the box – only six. He’d bought the pack two days earlier, so his resolve to quit had proved about as durable as his commitment to Sylvia. At least that’s how she’d see it, he was sure.

He lit it and drew a deep drag into his lungs while he stared at the stars, hating himself for his weakness while at the same time enjoying the rush as the nicotine constricted his blood vessels and his heart rate accelerated. He considered calling Sylvia while he smoked, but she had cigarette radar and would know from his breathing if he was doing so while talking. He resigned himself to waiting, and ambled over to where Lee’s car was parked near a lowered white Mercedes coupe – maybe six years old, but still, a pricey vehicle.

Yet more proof that he was doing something wrong in life. Even the grunions working the night shift had more to show for their efforts than he did. Of course, they probably threw every dime they earned into their cars, but the rationalization did nothing to improve his mood.

“Hey, you’ll be four grand richer when the sun comes up,” he muttered to himself, and then corrected. “Thirty-five hundred.” He checked the time and took another drag. Roxie would be there any minute.

When he finished his smoke, he retrieved his cell and dialed Sylvia’s number. When she answered, she didn’t sound like she’d been sleeping.

“Sylvia, listen, please. I’ve only got a few minutes here…”

“I thought I made it clear that I don’t care.”

“Sylvia, come on. Get real. Nobody breaks up a relationship because their boyfriend had to work at night.”

“Call it whatever you want. I’m done playing second violin.”

“Fiddle. But whatever. You’re not. We need to talk this out.”

“But you’re too busy, remember?”

“Not now. Later. In the morning.”

“You mean you want to browbeat me with excuses and empty promises until I cave in.”

“That’s not how I mean it at all.”

“How many cigarettes have you already smoked?”

“What? None. I quit, remember?”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about, right there. You’re a liar. You lie habitually, and you think I’m dumb enough to buy it. Don’t you realize that when you come home you smell like an ashtray? Do you really believe anyone’s that stupid?”

“Okay. I had one cigarette. But that’s a huge improvement.”

“So far tonight. But you’ll have more.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Then throw them away, right now.”

Black sighed. She was psychic or something. Swiss feminine intuition had proved deadly for him again. “Fine. There. I did it. Happy?”

“Lie all you want, Black. Maybe you’ll find someone whose dream is to be with an aging smoker who lies at every turn.”

“I resent the aging crack. That hurts.”

“I’m going, Black. Good luck with your vices. Maybe have a few drinks, too. Why not?”

“Honey…”

“It’s over, Black. You managed to alienate someone who really…who really cares about you. I’ve given up hope, and I’m not going to get sucked into your downward spiral anymore. Good. Bye.”

“Sylvia, seriously. Just wait.”

The click of the line going dead might as well have been a sonic boom. He debated calling back, but thought better of it. Fighting the overwhelming urge to have a second cigarette, he tried Stan, who sounded tired, but answered on the second ring.

“Now what?”

“I haven’t heard back from McCarthy yet,” Black griped.

“The bastard! It’s almost like you’re not his top priority.”

“Stan, I’ve had a crappy evening so far.”

“Mine’s shaping up. I just caught my second homicide for the night. It’s like a gold rush here.”

“So you’ll be working all night again? Join the club.”

“Don’t whine. It’s unbecoming.”

“I could moan plaintively.”

“Look at you with the fifty-cent words. Listen, I gotta run. He’ll call. Just not on your timing.”

“Thanks. Good luck with the stiff.”

“You too. Uniforms are already there. I’m hanging up now.”

“Right.”

Black sighed as he shook another cigarette free and lit it. He was a weak man. Spineless. Sylvia was right – she knew him well. And besides being untrustworthy and lazy, he had real issues.

Although the aging comment stung.

He reviewed the staff interviews in his mind as he smoked, searching for something, anything he could use; but other than a few misgivings, he had nothing to show for almost three hours of effort. Of course everyone was playing cagey – he worked for the boss, and it wasn’t like they could go out and get new jobs tomorrow. His technique was to come out of left field with questions that would throw the subject, and then he’d use any discrepancy to come back to them and drill them, but so far nothing jumped out. Sure, Henry seemed dodgy, Kurt angry and suspicious, and the rest obviously on their guards, but nobody struck him as a murderer.

“What happened?” he whispered, pacing back and forth in front of the door, the remaining wind tugging at his jacket as he mulled over the scenario – Bethany grabs the axe after having an argument with Alec and, in a fit of rage, slams it home in his back as he’s returning to his desk? That was the only way it fit. But what could Alec have said or done to enrage her so much that she’d kill? And why had she stuck around with the axe? Maybe she was getting ready to finish the job with a coup de grâce?

It was hard to reconcile the mental image with the one of Bethany from her ID photo, and he suspected that one of the reasons McCarthy hadn’t hauled her away was because he knew it would be hard to make anything stick with a jury unless the case was airtight. If she’d been ugly, he was sure she’d be in lockup awaiting formal charges. He knew how the system worked. But she was Caucasian, female, with no priors and no obvious motive – and, by all accounts, hot. That wasn’t the way most pictured their vicious killers. So she’d gotten a temporary hall pass. McCarthy probably wanted to run it past the DA and get his read, too. Stan had told him stories. You didn’t bring cases that wouldn’t plead out, and would cost the system a fortune, with an uncertain outcome. That was a career no-no as a cop, especially if the accused had the looks to become a media darling, which Bethany did.