Likely Suspects (31 page)

“Maybe
you could lean on Jackson. Martin had the metal detectors rigged to allow security and the like to enter without tripping the alarm. Depending on her TOD, maybe he carried the gun back into the building for Denton. He wouldn’t have tripped any alarms.” It was a stretch because Todd Jackson had been in custody before I found my apartment ransacked, but Griffin could have been murdered Monday night prior to his arrest. It was worth investigating since I didn’t know exactly how long Griffin had been out in the dumpster.

“It couldn’t hurt,
” O’Connell mused. “Any other brilliant ideas?”

“
Did Agent Jablonsky ever give you the photo enhancement from the day of the manufacturing sabotage?” I still had no idea where Mark was or what he was doing. It was work related because, given the circumstances, he would have checked in if he could.

“Actually, yeah.
I got an e-mail attachment a couple days ago. The watch in the picture might be a match to Denton’s, but the quality of the image makes it a crapshoot. It’s not conclusive when compared to everything else we already have on him.” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it.

“
Okay. Well, that’s my two cents.”

A few days later, Thompson and O’Connell came to deliver the good news in person. The murder weapon used on Suzanne Griffin was found in the MT building in the desk of her fifteenth floor office. Todd Jackson insisted he had no idea how it got there, but twenty-five grand should buy more than a few photos and moving a box from one room to another. The gun had been wiped clean, and the serial number was filed off, but a partial print had been found on a bullet casing in the magazine. The partial print was a three point match to Denton’s fingerprints, and given its location, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to assume Blake Denton had used it in the commission of Griffin’s murder.

Most likely,
Denton intended to set Jackson up as a scapegoat. Jackson had broken into my office. He had access to the box that was left in my ransacked apartment. The stolen funds from MT had filtered back into his private account, or at least twenty-five grand had. Then the blocked phone calls, followed by the stalker-like photos that were e-mailed to Martin, all culminated with Griffin’s murder weapon being taken back into the MT building by Todd Jackson. This would have made a very nice frame-up job had the mercenaries been successful, and Denton hadn’t pulled that bullshit act at the banquet, making it onto my radar. Luckily for us, Denton’s own paranoia and trigger-happy escapades worked in our favor instead of his.

“W
e just need to make sure all the I’s are dotted and the T’s are crossed,” Thompson said, but Martin didn’t hear a word. He had a faraway look and was experiencing his own euphoria by finally being divested from this mess. “The DA’s office is finalizing the case now, and you’re going to have testimonies and depositions to deal with. But it’s a small price to pay, given the outcome.” To my surprise, Martin nodded. Maybe he actually was listening.

“Just between us,” O’Connell turned to me, “how’d you know?”

“How’d I know what?”

“You had it
pieced together, or mostly pieced together, without any hard evidence. And the gun, how’d you know it would be in the office?”

“It was the only
thing that made any sense.” I couldn’t rationalize or explain my gut feelings. “What I still don’t understand is why he didn’t dump the gun. Why keep it around?”

“We’ve speculated on
that too. The only thing we could come up with is maybe he was hoping it would add to the frame-up. Denton clearly wanted to pin the murder on Jackson, but the whole thing fell apart before he got the chance,” Thompson interjected.

“We’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing,” O’Connell
said, standing up, and Thompson followed suit. “We’ll be in touch.” They let themselves out of the room.

Martin
let out a breath he’d been holding for the last month and a half, and I could visibly see the weight lifted from his shoulders. “You did a damn good job,” he said, flashing his brightest smile. I didn’t quite agree with his assessment, but I kept my mouth shut. Now was not the time to argue. He noted my lack of cheering. “What?” He knew he didn’t want to hear whatever I had to say.

“I think
…” I was trying to be diplomatic, but I couldn’t come up with the proper terms.

“
I know what you’re going to say.” He held up his hand. “Don’t worry. The doctors aren’t going to clear me to work for another couple of weeks. My house is…well, I don’t really have any place to live, and the media circus surrounding this is going to be a bitch.” I raised an eyebrow in confusion. “The point I’m trying to make is I’d like you to stay on as my private security for the next two weeks, maybe a month, until everything gets straightened out.”

“
No one else is gunning for you, but you have me for as long as you need.” He offered a crooked smile.

“I might always need you,
Alex.” He was trying to be charming, and as usual, I ignored it.

“What you
need is to hire an actual full-time bodyguard. Mark can probably recommend someone trustworthy,” I suggested, and he looked thoughtful. “Are you going to live at your house after the repairs are completed?”

“Of course.
It’s getting renovated. I’ll change some things around, but it’s home.” He seemed resolute in this decision.

“Then might I suggest
having a safe room installed.” I was just full of great ideas today.

“I’ll take it under advisement.
” He winked.

*       *       *

The next two weeks flew by at light speed. Martin had met with contractors and architects, who were starting on repairs and restructuring his compound. Marcal was given the task of supervising and making sure everything was shaping up properly. Martin managed to keep himself busy by coordinating press releases through the public relations department at Martin Technologies. The other board members, the ones not trying to kill him, had been instrumental in reassuring shareholders the company was still in good working order, despite the homicidal maniac who had been vice president. The stocks declined slightly but stabilized, much to Martin’s relief.

After Mark completed
his undercover assignment for the OIO, he spent quite a bit of time holed up in the presidential suite with us, trying to find an appropriate bodyguard for Martin. I was adamant that the man be named Bruiser, but unfortunately, Mark didn’t know any Bruisers. I wasn’t completely unreasonable, and as long as whoever was offered the job was willing to legally change his name, that would be acceptable.

While Martin was busy dealing with meetings and press releases
, I called my insurance company to have the damages in my apartment assessed. A check was in the mail. Once again, I was facing the dilemma of being unemployed, but things weren’t quite so bleak this time. Martin had paid me handsomely, even though I still felt partially incompetent and one hundred percent responsible for him being shot. Despite my obvious flaws, I decided rather spur of the moment to start my own investigation and consulting firm and filed the paperwork for a private investigator’s license. The only rule was absolutely no more bodyguard work ever.

There was a
small office space for rent at a strip mall, and I called the real estate office and expressed my interest. All I needed to do was sign the paperwork. Things were shaping up for everyone. Life was returning to normal, and I was beginning to dread that notion. Normal could be a lonely existence. I had lived with James Martin for over a month; solitude was going to be an adjustment.

“I’ve ordered champagne,” Martin declared as we sat at the table, eating dinner. Tomorrow, he was going back to work, and I was going home. “I thought we should celebrate the excellent job you did.”

I sm
iled sadly. “Martin, you almost died. That is not an excellent job. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of excellent.”

“I lived because of you.
” He took my hand in his. “You figured this whole thing out. You stopped Denton. You found the gun. You did everything I hired you to do. You got my life back.”

“
No, I’m alive because of you,” I corrected, borrowing from his own declaration.

“We are not arguing about this.
” He dropped the subject. “Plus,” he adopted a wolfish grin, and his eyes sparkled, “I’m no longer your employer.”

I laughed.
“You are unbelievable.”

“So I’ve been told.” There was a
swagger to his voice, and I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable when the knock at the door provided a wonderful interruption.

“I’ll get it
since I still work for you,” I said pointedly, and the room service guy rolled in a cart with champagne and strawberries. I sighed audibly at the cliché.

“Can’t blame a guy fo
r trying.” He poured the champagne, and he clinked his glass with mine. “To you,” he toasted. I took a sip. I was going to miss Martin, even his irritating, drive-me-up-the-wall expressions and habits.

The next morning
, he dressed and left for the office, his arm still in a sling. He said I could stay as long as I liked, but it was time to go home. I retrieved my car and left the posh hotel. On the way, I stopped and signed the lease for my new office which had been in the works for the last couple of weeks.

Pulling
into the parking lot outside my apartment, I reminded myself the place was an utter disaster. I checked my mailbox and carried an insane amount of mail up the six flights of stairs. Thankfully, I had automatic bill pays for all of my expenses.

Unlocking my
door, I was confronted by the destruction and the remnants of the crime tech’s investigative tools. “I came home, why?” I asked my empty apartment. Setting the mail down on the only empty counter space I could find, I pulled out a huge garbage bag. Beginning in the kitchen, I methodically discarded anything that was destroyed. Everything else was tossed into the sink to be cleaned at a later point. I called a haul-away service to get rid of my couch, bed, and other ruined furniture. I needed to go shopping and replace a lot of things.

A
lmost seven hours had passed, and I was getting ready to start on the bedroom when the phone rang. “Want to get dinner?” Martin asked, and I smiled.

“You miss me al
ready?” I teased, looking around my room.

“Of course, Bruiser just isn’t as sarcastic.
He doesn’t keep me on my toes the way you did. Plus, he can’t pull off a dress very well.” I couldn’t help but to laugh. “Come on, meet me. You have to eat. I have to eat.” How could I argue with that kind of reasoning?

“Fine, but I swear to g
od, if some gunmen try to rob the joint, I will hold you personally responsible.” I flashed back to my interview.

“No gunme
n. You can even pick the place.” I looked around my apartment. I had no furniture and very few nice things left.

“
How do you feel about a diner?” Eating cheaply would be a priority until everything was replaced.

He agreed to meet
at the place around the corner from my building, and I changed out of my clothes into one of the clean, new outfits Marcal had supplied. Then I headed down the street to wait for him.

We sat in a booth and ate cheeseburgers and frie
s. It wasn’t an elegant dinner, but he didn’t complain. “What did you do today?” he asked, and I explained the attempt to clean my apartment. He listened intently, and when I was finished, he looked thoughtful. After paying the check, Marcal brought the car around, and I noticed Bruiser in the passenger’s seat.

“Y
ou really did take my advice.” I was astounded.

“I had to.
You’re a damn good security consultant,” he complimented. “Now get in the car.”

“I’m just a couple of blocks from here.
I don’t need a ride.”

“Come back to the hotel.
Your room’s empty, and you left half of the clothes in the closet anyway. You can’t stay at your place with no furniture.” He was being the voice of reason, but it seemed strange to return to the hotel when we said our good-byes yesterday. “It’s what friends do,” he insisted. “I even promise to be a perfect gentleman, if that’s what you want.”

“Fine, but only tonight.
My new furniture is getting delivered tomorrow.”

*       *       *

The next day, a new mattress and box spring were delivered, along with a sofa and love seat. I was sitting on the floor in my bedroom with Kate, and we were sorting through the piles of clothes strewn about the room. If it was ripped, it was tossed into the large black trash bag, and if it wasn’t, it was tossed into the large white trash bag for sorting before being washed in the laundry or sent to the dry cleaner. Kate had agreed to help if I supplied the pizza and wine.

“Y
ou mean to tell me you never slept with him?” she asked, tossing another blouse into the garbage bag.

“Kate,” I said patiently,
“I worked for him. We weren’t like that.”

“I would have been.
” She grinned evilly. “Did you see those eyes and that body? Grr-rowl.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed another slice of pizza from the box. As if on cue, my phone rang.

“Hello?
” It was Martin calling, but I didn’t want to give her another reason to tease me.

“Did the furniture
arrive?” he asked.

“Yeah, i
t’s here, all nice and assembled. Kate’s here too, helping to clean up.”

“That’s g
ood,” he sounded distracted. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need a place to stay.”

“I appreciate i
t.” We stayed on the phone for a moment, not saying a word. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Okay.
Dinner next week, pencil me in.” He hung up before I could respond.

“Who was that?” she asked, suspecting
it was him.

“Just a friend,” I responded
, trying not to let my expression betray me.