Likely Suspects (5 page)

“Okay, let me
grab my notes and belongings, and I’ll be right back.” I was out the door before he could reply.

I collected my notes and the rest of my things, figuring I could leave after my meeting with Martin, locked my door, and headed back into his office. The door was propped open, and he was sitting on the sofa. His suit jacket was folded over the back of the couch, and his tie was undone and hanging around his neck. The first three buttons of his shirt were open, and he had one leg propped on the seat. For a brief moment, I thought I walked into a life-sized ad for cologne or vodka, but I quickly pushed the thought out of my head.

“Shut the door,” he
instructed, swirling the ice cubes around his glass. I kicked the doorstop out of the way and went inside, placing my belongings on one of the mahogany tables. “Come, sit down.” He indicated the other end of the couch, and I sat primly. “You know you can relax. I won’t bite,” he grinned mischievously, “well, unless you ask nicely.”

“Mr. Martin,” I began, disregard
ing his playboy demeanor, “shall we get on with it?”

He cocked an eyebrow up
. “Most definitely.” I regretted my wording but continued anyway. I told him what I had noticed about this floor, the security in his office, how I would need to run more extensive background checks on the employees, and that I needed a list of past employees. His green eyes stared intensely as I spoke; it was a rather unnerving effect. When I was finished with my list, he simply nodded his head.

“Okay, everything seems doable.
” He smirked at his own word usage. He glanced out the glass window into the hallway and spotted Griffin leaving her office. He sat up straighter and leaned toward me. “Laugh,” he instructed, reaching out and rubbing his thumb across my cheek before tucking my hair gently behind my ear. I laughed uncomfortably. Now what game was he playing? I noticed out of the corner of my eye Griffin staring at us as she hurried past to the elevator. As soon as she was out of visual range, he leaned back.

“
What the hell?” I blurted out, scooting even farther away from him. 

“Perpetuatin
g some misinformation. If people think there is something scandalous going on, they aren’t going to be too concerned about why you are really here.”

“It could backfire
, you know. They could be even more curious.”

He waved my warning away.
“Trust me. I know how these things work. Gossip mills like juicy stories about private consultants, not new security hires.”

“B
asically last night when I told you your idea for an undercover security analyst was a bad idea, you just overlooked that?” I was annoyed because he was still playing games despite my insistence to be upfront and serious.

“
I took it under consideration and then made a unilateral decision. It happens fairly often. You’ll get used to it.”

I
rubbed the bridge of my nose. Any minute the headache would set in. “Fine, we will do it your way.” I was tired of arguing. “So, the twenty something people last night, how much misinformation did you give them?”

He
grinned again. “Let’s put it this way. You were the only woman who applied for the job, and you got hired. You aren’t sitting downstairs in the security office, so maybe it wasn’t because of your shooting ability.” He cocked an eyebrow up, and I fought the urge to call him a pretentious, chauvinistic pig.

“And of course you’re cr
azy enough for them to think it was just you playing an elaborate cops and robbers game for shits and giggles.” I was trying very hard not to take things personally or be pissed.

H
is green eyes brightened. “Exactly!”

I wanted to get back to business, so I let it go.
His plan did have some merit. Worst case, people would think he hired a security consultant who was also sleeping with the boss, which I wouldn’t have minded so much if I weren’t the consultant.

We spent the next hour p
rinting out lists of employees, along with blueprints of the building which he kindly marked and labeled based on department and office. I needed to call Mark and see if he could run backgrounds on everyone or give me access to the crime databases so I could do my own checks. I also asked Martin to think of any personal problems or issues with specific employees or departments which might warrant further investigation.

By
six o’clock, I was ready to go home. I had more lists and tasks than I cared to think about, and most of these could be done on my own time, away from curious eyes. We rode the elevator down to the lobby together.

“What time does everyone go home?” I asked as the doors dinged open.

“Depends, if we are dealing with foreign business, it might be really late due to time zone differences, but on a normal day, the place is pretty much dead by four thirty. We have a night crew that cleans and provides additional building security. Sometimes we have a stray worker, maybe from marketing or something, working on a presentation or trying to meet a deadline.”

“N
ames would be good.”

“I’ll h
ave those for you tomorrow,” he assured. I didn’t want to discuss matters in the lobby, but we were being vague so it shouldn’t hurt, I hoped.

“Good evening, sir,” a different security guard said as we walked out
together.

“Night
, Todd,” Martin replied, not bothering to glance up. I followed Martin to the parking garage. His car and driver, Marcal, were waiting for him.

“Good night, Miss
Parker.” He opened the back door. “See you tomorrow.”

I
headed to my own parked car. I had a lot of work to do, and I pulled out my cell phone and called Mark. “Are you still at the office?” I asked when he answered his phone. I didn’t feel like exchanging pleasantries. I was tired and still steamed about last night.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m coming over. See you in a few.” I clicked end call and drove to the OIO, figuring we might as well start burning the midnight oil while things were fresh on my mind. 

*       *       *

Mark and I were sitting in his office. He had ordered takeout, and we were surrounded by Chinese food cartons and piles of paper.

“You mean to tell me
you’ve already run backgrounds on Martin Tech employees?” I asked around a mouthful of orange chicken.

“Yeah, first thing I did
when Marty came to me with the death threats.” He put his chopsticks into his carton and rummaged through his notepad, looking for something. “Here.” He produced a sheet of paper. “I narrowed the list down to some likely suspects.” There were twenty or so names on it.

“Current or past e
mployees?” I was skimming the list, but none of the names stood out. Although after reading almost two hundred employee names earlier in the day, I wasn’t sure I would recognize my own name.

“Current.
Marty never gave me the list of past employees. I don’t think he’s much for recordkeeping.” Mark and I exchanged a look. Typically, it’s disgruntled past employees that pose threats because current employees don’t want to risk losing their jobs.

“All right
, I guess we’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” I adopted a valley girl accent. “Hi ya, I’m like totally new here and don’t know anyone, so I’m going to follow you around and be your friend, and you can tell me like all your deep dark secrets. Have you ever fantasized about the boss or like wanting to kill the boss?”

Mark laughed.
“You should work on being a bit more subtle.”

“B
ut what fun would that be?” I took a sip of my soda. “How did you determine who made the cut?” I indicated the names on his suspect list.

“Previous criminal re
cords, history of violence, y’know, the usual.”

“I thought it was the company line
not to profile,” I teased, and he rolled his eyes.

“You know
, as well as I do, the greatest predictor of committing a future crime is by having a past history of criminal activity.”

“Wouldn’t the company background checks ha
ve eliminated ex-cons?” How stringent were Martin Tech’s hiring policies and applicant reviews?

“They do a decent job, but some h
ave jackets without convictions. And others might have just slipped through.”

“
Lovely,” I replied sarcastically.

“Honestly
, most of this stuff was fairly petty, if I remember right. Minor drug offenses, some domestic disturbances, nothing screamed out conspiracy or murder to me.” He flipped through a stack of papers containing a list of offenses by our pool of potential persons of interest.

“Anyone seem smart enough to pull so
mething like this off?” I asked. “Granted, everything has been unsuccessful so far. Maybe whoever’s behind this is stupid or just unlucky.”

“I can’t tell you what their GPAs were or if they are members of MENSA.”

“At least it’s a start. If anything, it will eliminate some potential suspects.” I looked back at the paper. “Just for my own clarification, are we positive the threats and everything are on the level? Martin is eccentric. Maybe has a few screws loose. Perhaps he missed his meds one day and hallucinated the whole damn thing?”

Mark shook his head.
“I wish that were the case. It would be a much better alternative. Unfortunately, he’s on the level. He might be a bit unorthodox in his methodology, but he’s a stand-up guy. Don’t let the eccentricity or the playboy act fool you.”

“Fine.”
I tossed my takeout container into the trashcan. “I guess I’ll take these,” I picked up the list of names and the corresponding files, “and see if I can’t narrow this down further.”

“Good
luck.”

“I’m su
re I’m going to need it,” I retorted.

The next morning at
MT, I moved in some personal effects: a coffeepot, a couple of mugs, a laptop computer, and a side arm and box of ammunition, just the essentials. I was surprised there were no metal detectors to alert security of incoming weaponry, and I made a mental note to discuss this with Martin. Jeffrey greeted me on my way to the elevators, and I slid my ID card through the slot and rode up to the seventeenth floor alone.

I unlocked my office door and placed
the box on the table. Shutting the door, I took out the handgun and ammo and stowed them in the top desk drawer. There was a lock, and I found the key inside. This was just in case I ever needed them. Then I opened my office door a crack. I was just setting up the coffeepot when there was a tap on my door.

“Here’
s the list you wanted.” Martin poked his head in, holding a small phonebook sized sheaf of papers.

I gawked at
its magnitude. “You’ve got to be kidding. This can’t be what I asked for.” He entered and closed the door.

“That’s everyone who has ever been fired, dating back to the beginn
ing. You didn’t specify a time frame, so I figured I’d give you everything.” I flipped through the pages. “They’re listed chronologically, hope that helps.” He opened the door. “Gotta go, see you later.”

“Holy crap
.” I put the list on my desk with a resounding thud. Mark had obviously been incorrect when it came to assessing Martin’s recordkeeping skills. At least it’s chronological.

I turned the coff
eepot on and sat behind my desk. The ex-employee list dated back a decade. The last two years would be an arbitrarily good starting point, moving from the most recent backward. I knew what Mark and I were going to be doing tonight. I called and left a voicemail telling him I had the list and would be stopping by after work. As I flipped through the pages from the last two years, there weren’t many names. A few dozen tops. This might be more manageable than I imagined.

I decided it
was best to get better acquainted with the building and the other employees, particularly the ones with criminal records. I had gotten a hold of an employee directory and knew exactly where everyone worked, so it was now time to tour the building. I double-checked that my consultant badge was clipped on, and I had my office key and drawer key before heading to the elevator.

T
he entire day was spent snooping around the building. I talked to people from every department while they were working. I tried to seem nonchalant and had come up with seemingly good reasons to visit each department. “Mr. Martin needs to confirm the deadline for your project,” or “I’m lost and looking for the ladies room; can you direct me?” followed by “do you like working here?” It seemed innocent, but I simply wanted to make myself more of an everyday fixture. Infiltrate and gain trust, that was my plan.

Around lunch time
, I located the employee lounge and sat there for four hours. I used a half-eaten candy bar and coffee as cover. It apparently worked since I was greeted by everyone who came in during break. The gossip had already spread about the existence of a new girl working for Mr. Martin, and I was positive Griffin had told everyone about my after-hours exchange with Martin in his office yesterday.

I
tried to play the part and questioned my co-workers about their jobs and experiences at the company since I was new and didn’t know what to expect. No one had any grudges or serious grievances, or none they were willing to share, but they all seemed particularly interested in me.

“What do you do here?”

“How long have you
known
Mr. Martin?”

“What department do you work for?”

I kept my answers vague and tried to paint myself as a glorified personal assistant. By the time I left the employee lounge, it was almost four o’clock. It felt like I talked to everyone, or at least the majority of lower level employees. Unfortunately, none of the board members had shown up in the employee lounge. They must be just as busy as Martin, or they enjoyed staying in their plush offices instead of fraternizing with the help.

Unlocking my office
door, I’d wait for Martin, and we could meet again today. While I was waiting, Mark called back.

“Glad you got the
list,” he said when I answered.

“Hello to you
, too,” I teased. “Yeah, it’s a fucking phonebook though. I guess we should start with the last two years and see if it leads anywhere.”

“Just drop it by, and I’ll
start looking into it. See if anything gets pinged in a database.”

“Ok
ay.” Before the conversation could continue, Griffin knocked on my door. “I’ve got company. I’ll see you later.”

“
How can I help you?” I asked her. I had left my door slightly ajar, and she entered and shut it behind her. Somehow, I resisted the urge to hide the paperclips.

“I
wanted to see how well you are settling in.” She looked around nervously.

“Everything’s good.
People here seem friendly.” I was trying to put on a good face and make her feel at ease, but it wasn’t working.

“I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”
She paused, unsure if she should continue.

“How so?” I pushed.
Maybe she knew something I didn’t.

“It’s just, you seem like a nice young lady, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
She briefly contemplated if it was her place to say anything more. “Mr. Martin is a great boss, and he does right by his employees, but I’ve seen a lot of pretty young things come and go around here. You don’t need to get caught up in that.”    

“I’m just con
sulting. There is nothing going on.”

“I saw you two yesterday,” she insisted.
“Do what you like, but,” she faltered, “I like my job so don’t expect to one day replace me.” Before I could respond or ask her to elaborate, she retreated from my office.

I
was once again alone in an empty room. Maybe Martin isn’t the only crazy one here. They really need to test for lead paint, radon, or something equally toxic. My musing was cut short when there was yet another knock on my door, and I began to think there must be a Grand Central Station sign hanging from my office. Or worse, it could be Griffin coming back with a highlighter to finish me off. Instead, it was Martin.

“Grab your stuff
and meet me in my office.” He left the door open and walked across the hall to his suite.

I collected my purse and laptop and
made sure the top drawer was locked before locking my office too. Martin buzzed me in. He was behind his desk with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie knot hanging loosely, and feet on the tabletop.

“Comfortable?” I asked, putting
my belongings down and taking a seat in his client chair.

He seemed to co
nsider my question for a moment. “Getting there.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I just had the strangest conversation with Mrs. Griffin,” I began and filled him in on what transpired.
He placed his fingertips together and tapped his pointer fingers against his chin as he listened.

“She’s prob
ably afraid you’re going to be my new personal assistant,” he dismissed my concerns easily. “She’s been here for years, getting close to retirement age, probably just thinks you’re the newer model.”

“Perhaps because you have a reputation for liking newer models,” I pointed out
accusatorily.

“I
t happens, but I’m not as bad as she made it out to be.” I ignored him, best to get back to business.

I informed him about the lack of metal detectors, the ease of bringing a gun into the building
, and also how I was familiarizing myself with the employees. Apparently I was doing a satisfactory job in his opinion, even though I felt like I had no real plan and was running in circles, but at least one of us was pleased with my work. We walked out together as we did the night before.

“Good night, Miss
Parker,” he said, getting into his chauffeured car.

“Good night, Mr. Martin.
”

I drove straight to Mark’s office and gave him the updated list.
There was something going on at the OIO because he accepted it and showed me to the door. “I will get back to you after I get a chance to run backgrounds,” he promised.

I wen
t home and made dinner and notes about Griffin. I double-checked to make sure she didn’t have a criminal background and wasn’t connected in any way with anyone on the list who did have a criminal background. Was she actually just looking out for her job and my morality, or could she be part of the threat against Martin? I put the news on and fell asleep halfway through. Getting up early didn’t agree with me.

*          *          *

Over the course of the next week, I spent every day trying to get a feel for the employees. I was beginning to be accepted, and I heard gossip about which of the board members were schtupping which secretaries, who was gay and in the closet, and who was hired because they dated someone in human resources. I liked the inclusion, but none of it was actually leading anywhere. Griffin was cordial if we bumped into one another in the hallway or the elevator, but she never said another word about the conversation we had.

Martin and I
had a ritual of meeting for lunch and grabbing a quick bite from one of the street vendors near the building. We would meet for lunch sometime between eleven and noon. We’d grab a bite and talk as we walked to and from the food carts, not about work, but just some small talk about life in general. He had a little more substance than I originally suspected. These brief rendezvous would last for only ten or fifteen minutes but were enough to further perpetuate the ruse of a budding relationship, especially in front of many curious onlookers. The two of us would meet again around four or four thirty, at the end of the workday, discuss any important discoveries and leave together. It probably added to the illusion we were a couple or at least having some type of clandestine affair. Although, no one ever directly asked about it; maybe decorum wasn’t dead after all.

It was now Thursday
, and I had been in Martin’s employ for the last eight days. No more threats had come in, but besides marking some names off the list of potential suspects, no real progress had been made either. Maybe we were looking in the wrong direction, and it wasn’t an employee or ex-employee but someone else completely unrelated to his work life. Kidnappings are usually personal, and that could be key to figuring out who was behind this.

Martin knocked on my door.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting at 12:15, so maybe we can just grab whatever’s out front.”

“Sure.”
I picked up my purse and locked my office door. I wasn’t picky, especially since I spent so much time in the employee lounge. I could get a sandwich or snack out of the vending machines if I wasn’t satisfied with our dining option.

“Enjoy y
our lunch,” Jeffrey said as we passed the security office.

We were just exiting the front door when I thought I saw a
light glinting off of something from the building across the street. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things or not, but my training kicked in. My brain screamed sniper, and I grabbed Martin’s arm and pulled him back through the doorway. I pushed him against the wall and threw myself against him.

“What the
,” he began to exclaim but didn’t get to finish his statement because, at that moment, the hotdog stand parked in front of the building erupted in a sea of flames. I turned my head away as shrapnel from the cart blew everywhere, breaking one of the glass doors to the MT building. I felt some stinging in my arm and turned to see what had happened.

Outside was pure mayhem.
My ears were ringing, but screaming could be heard over the din. I cautiously poked my head around the corner, trying to make out a sniper or more reflective glare, but I didn’t see anything. Although, it was hard to see through the smoke and raining debris. I hoped no one was hurt, but I was almost positive the hotdog vendor must be dead, likely incinerated by the explosion. What had caused it? My mind was going in a hundred different directions. Focus, I commanded my brain to obey.

“Call 911,”
Martin yelled to the security guards.

I wanted to go outside
to help, but I heard sirens on the way. My first priority was to protect Martin. “We need to get you secured,” I urgently told him. He seemed to want to argue but saw the look on my face and agreed. “Secure the building,” I told Jeffrey, “try not to let anyone in or out.” There might be wounded or those fleeing. “If you have to let people in, keep them in the lobby, and keep an eye on them. Don’t let anyone leave. The cops are going to want to question everybody.”

Martin and I headed for the
elevators. Climbing seventeen flights of stairs is never fun, and although protocol and training would dictate to use the stairs in an emergency, I needed to get him away from the danger ASAP. However, I didn’t want to risk the elevator stopping on a different floor either. He bypassed the elevator call-stop function, and I pulled out my phone to call Mark. The circuits were temporarily jammed, and I cursed for leaving my gun in my desk drawer.