Torch Scene (4 page)

“Oh,” he said, stretching out the word. “I gotcha.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll check back with you later.”

He saluted me and left for his mission. And I went to check on Willie.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Willie was in the shower, so I went into my office, better known as my sanctuary. My favorite books, mostly mysteries and a collection of rare, first-edition detective novels fill floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall. I have a DVD case full of film noir and detective movies that I love, along with the ‘Best of Alfred Hitchcock’. A glass case in the corner holds a first edition of
A Study in Scarlet
, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and a first edition of Raymond Chandler’s
The Long Goodbye
.

I sat down at the desk and went to work. I started by searching on Nick O’Rourke. The first thing that came up was his LinkedIn profile, so I checked that. The latest job listed was with FirstData, a data company, and his job title was ‘software developer’. The profile showed he was currently working there, but I wondered if that was the case, since Willie had said that she wondered if Nick was still employed. He could have been so pressed for money that all his income was going places other than his rent. Or he hadn’t updated his LinkedIn profile. I would’ve bet money on the second because most people don’t update their LinkedIn profile to reflect that they
lost
their job. Instead, they wait until they have a new job and then they change their employment status on LinkedIn.

I scrolled through the rest of his profile. He listed a number of job duties with technical phrases that meant little to me. Prior to the position at FirstData, Nick worked at a company called Jupiter Data, and he was listed as an owner. That’s as far as I got. I heard Willie leave the bedroom and go to the kitchen. Next came muffled thumps, cupboard doors opening and slamming shut, if I guessed correctly. Was she angry? At me? What had I done wrong? A moment later, Willie poked her head into the office.

“What’re you doing?” Her voice had a tone I wasn’t used to, a mixed of anger and exasperation.

I pointed at the monitor. “Doing some research on your buddy Nick.”

“He is
not
my buddy,” she snarled.

I raised my hands in supplication. “Hey, I was just making a joke.”

“That’s not funny.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Like things aren’t bad enough.” She whirled around and muttered something else. Then my bedroom door crashed shut. I winced. She was hot, and I didn’t mean the good-looking kind of hot. I stared at the computer screen, then got up. I went to the bedroom and opened the door. She was lying on the bed, her back to me.

“My timing was bad,” I said. “But I –”

She flew off the bed. “I don’t want to hear it!”

“Don’t yell at me,” I said, backing into the hallway.

“I need your help, not your teasing. I’m a suspect, Reed. Do you know what that feels like?”

“No, I don’t. And I am trying to help you.”

By now, I’d backed into the living room.

She glared at me. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll leave.”

“Good.” She stormed back down the hall to the bedroom.

I grabbed my keys and left, slamming the front door for good measure. I stomped down the stairs, got in the 4-Runner and drove away. A few blocks from the condo, I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

“What’s up?” My best friend Cal Whitmore didn’t waste time with long greetings.

“Willie and I got in a fight, and I had to leave. Can I come up?” I asked. I’d called him the day before and he knew about the fire, but nothing else.

“Sure. I’m working.”

“That’s ok –” I said, but I was talking to the dial tone. That response was even shorter than usual, and that meant one thing: he had a deadline.

Cal lived in the foothills west of Denver, off of Highway 285 past the mountain community of Pine Junction. He was the classic computer geek, a genius who knew everything about computers and technology and most everything else. He rarely left his house, had his own business specializing in computer viruses and virus protection. He also occasionally served as Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes, although he’s more like Holmes because he knows so much.

I usually loved the drive to his house, with the gorgeous mountain scenery, but at the moment, my mind was on my fight with Willie. How did it escalate so fast? And how was it that it was
my
place but
I
was the one who left? I was a good detective, but apparently not when it came to the opposite sex, because I had no clue how to answer those questions. Nor did I seem astute enough to keep my mouth shut when I'd sensed she was upset. My timing with the joke about Nick had been bad.

I pulled over, grabbed my cell phone, and called her, but it went immediately to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message, then tossed the phone on the passenger seat and got back on the road, growling as I focused on the headlights that cut a path through the darkness. Before I knew it, I was pulling into Cal’s dirt driveway. I got out and knocked on the door, and after a minute with no answer, I let myself in.

“Hey!” I called out.

“In here,” came a muted reply.

I darted into the kitchen and stole a Coke from the refrigerator, then strolled down the hall to Cal’s home office. His office contains multiple computers and other computer-related stuff, and a rolling chair that Cal propels from monitor to monitor across the hardwood floor. Books, manuals, and boxes filled with computer paraphernalia cover most of the available floor area. He is more at home here than anywhere else, although I’d seen him tested when, on one of my previous cases, a woman had invaded his hallowed ground.

He threw me a curt nod, too focused on his work to give me more. I leaned against the doorjamb, opened the Coke, took a sip, then surveyed him. Matted hair, wrinkled clothes, stubble on his chin, circles under his brown eyes. He looked like hell, not unusual when he was focused on a project. I waited and he finally stopped and turned to me.

“You look like hell,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

His face scrunched up as he pondered that, clearly not getting my joke. Cal was brilliant, way smarter than me, but he had little common sense.

I eyed the ratty loveseat that sat against the wall opposite his desk. “Isn’t it about time you upgraded this?” As I flopped down on it, the usual cloud of dust greeted me.

“Why? It’s comfortable.”

I wiggled around, trying to avoid springs. “How would you know?”

He grunted, typed for a few seconds on the keyboard, then swiveled around to face me. “How’s Willie doing?”

I pursed my lips. “Let’s just say she’s been a little tense.”

“A little tense? That’s how you define having to leave your own house?”

“I was trying to be understanding.”

“That’s very charitable of you. Enjoying having her invade your space?”

“Not everyone worries about people touching their stuff.” I threw him a sly grin as I picked up one of his precious computer books.

“Which is why I’ll never get married,” he said as he reached out and gently pried the book from my hand. “And you didn’t answer the question.”

I took a sip of the Coke. “It’s different, knowing that she doesn’t have a place to go home to. But…”

“What?”

“She’s in real trouble.” I sighed heavily.

He set the computer book down, put his hands on his knees and focused on me. “So, what can I do for you, oh Great Detective?”

“A body was found in the building rubble.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “And let me guess, Oh Great Detective…Willie’s a suspect.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s bad. The guy’s name was Nick O’Rourke, and he rented the third-floor studio apartment.” I filled him in on all the details: how Willie owned the building and Nick owed her rent money, and how ugly the situation had been between them. Cal sat shaking his head as I talked.

“This is not good,” he said when I finished. “She couldn’t have served herself up as a suspect any better, could she?”

“You said it. She’s got a meeting tomorrow morning at ten with Spillman, and I’m sure Spillman’s already digging up what she can on Willie.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Will they find anything else?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think so, but what if there’s something Willie forgot? Or she didn’t think it was important to tell me? She’s upset and not thinking straight. But I know this: She didn’t do it. And what that means is someone wanted to kill Nick O’Rourke, and I need to find out who.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not much. He works, or worked, at FirstData.”

“You’re not sure?”

“When Willie called to verify his employment, they said he wasn’t employed there anymore. But his LinkedIn profile shows he’s still working there.”

“Probably never changed his status.”

“That’s what I think,” I said. “And before that he owned a company called Jupiter Data. That’s as far as I got before Willie came in the office.”

“And that ended the research.”

I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “Yeah.”

Cal whirled in the chair, his hands locking onto the keyboard. “Let’s see what we can find out about Jupiter Data,” he said as he typed.

“What about…” I waved at his computers. “Whatever you’re working on.”

He grabbed a pizza crust from a plate sitting on his desk and bit off part of it. “I need a break,” he said as he chewed. Only Cal would see more computer research as a break from computer research.

I eyed an old piece of pizza sitting in a box on the floor. “Ew.” I tried to ignore his eating.

He hummed to himself and then started jabbering. “It looks like Jupiter Data started in 2011 and it folded early in 2013. They focused on ‘big data’.” He made rabbit ears with his fingers.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“ ‘Big data’ is a term for collecting large data sets that can’t be easily processed using common data processing applications,” he said, sounding like Wikipedia. “Most relational database sys –”

“Stop!” I held up a hand. “That’s more than enough. What I
would
be interested in knowing is why the company isn’t around anymore.”

“You’re no fun,” he muttered, focused on the monitor. “Hm, here’s something about how they came up with the name, because Jupiter is the largest planet in our solar system, and they’re dealing with large data sets. Cute. Oh, this is interesting.”

I sat up. “What?”

“Your boy Nick was in a lawsuit with his business partner, Stan Pommerville.”

“Really?” I leaned forward so I could see the screen. “Pommerville sued, saying that O’Rourke stole money from the company.”

“But Pommerville lost. Says that he wasn’t able to prove that O’Rourke actually used the money for personal purposes.” Cal glanced over his shoulder. “Someone steals money from your business, that might motivate you to kill them.”

“Yeah, and Pommerville would have lawyer and court costs, too. That could’ve been a pretty penny.” I tapped the desk. “This is a place to start. Let’s see if we can find Pommerville so I can go talk to him.”

Cal’s hands flew across the keyboard again, and a moment later he sat back. “He works at Pommerville Computer Systems. They provide’ innovative and reliable IT solutions for small and mid-sized businesses’.”

“Are you reading that right from the webpage?”

He snickered. “Yeah.” He paused as he clicked around the website. “In a nutshell, he’s a consultant. He helps people who don’t know technology.”

“Helps them with what?”

He turned around. “With everything. You’d be surprised how many businesses don’t have an IT department, so they hire consultants to help.”

I mulled that over as I jotted down the address and phone number. “I wonder how well Pommerville’s new business is doing.”

Cal’s head stayed focused on the monitor, but he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“Do you have time for this?”

“You know I’m going to help,” he said. “Besides, I’m not just helping you, I’m helping Willie. But I do have to finish this job first.”

“Can you find O’Rourke’s phone records? That’s all I need now.”

Cal snorted. “Do you really need to ask that?” He could hack into almost any system, and it took a lot less time than if I had to flatfoot it around the city trying to gather the same information.

“Let me rephrase,” as I rolled my eyes. “I know you can find his phone records, so would you?”

“Sure. How many days’ worth?”

“Let’s start with a week. I want to know who he was talking to.”

“What else?”

“Give me all you can get on both O’Rourke and Pommerville. Finances, family information, the works. And while you’re at it, see how Pommerville’s doing with his new company.”

“You don’t want much.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Which was true. I’d known him since we were kids, when I’d brought him home, crying from a bee sting he’d suffered after putting his face too close to a beehive. We’ve been inseparable ever since.