Toxic Blonde

by David Stever

  Foster was an investigator’s wet dream. I caught Quade’s eye and could tell he was chomping at the bit, but I went first. “Foster, how many years in law enforcement?”

  “This is my twelfth, sir, and my second year with Bellamy and damn proud of it. Tough to catch on here, too. Requires a federal background check, which takes a solid year to complete.”

  “You wearing a side arm?”

  He flipped open his suit jacket to reveal a holstered pistol. “Glock 9.”

  “Your men all carry?”

  “No, only me, and the guys in uniform who work the front gate and our outside perimeter patrols. We have a separate team who monitor the security cameras and make interior rounds. They don’t carry.”

  “You all work for the Federal Protective Service?”

  “Yep, sure do. We are not normally assigned to contractors, but this building and the operation is classified.”

  Quade couldn’t wait any longer. “Well, Foster, I am damn glad we got a guy like you on our side. We need some information and I’m sure you can help.”

  “Of course.” Foster beamed. “Let’s move someplace where we can talk.” He ushered us down a corridor to a small conference room and we sat around an oval table. “Coffee, water?”

  “No, no, we’ll only take a minute,” Quade said.

  “Anything I can do to help a brother in blue—”

  “Mr. Foster, we’re here to see Mr. Bellamy, but before we do that, what can you tell us about Keira Kaine?”

  “Ms. Kaine, huh? Nice lady, always speaks to me. She and I started about the same time. Senior executive. Some say she is the mastermind behind the new project. Some type of breakthrough for the company.”

  “Other employees talk about her?”

  Foster smiled. “Well, she’s an attractive woman, looks like a fashion model, so of course all the women gossip. What can I say? A little skinny for my taste.”

  “They gossip about her and Bellamy?”

  “I don’t pay close attention to rumors. Prefer dealing with facts.”

  “George Ainsley is missing and Bellamy is a contractor for the Department of Defense. Those are facts. I want full disclosure and nothing leaves this room,” Quade said. “Understood?”

  Foster nodded, took a moment. “Well, the word is Bellamy’s wife left him because of her.”

  “Ever see anything that would make you suspect them of having an affair?”

  “No, never.”

  “Hard to believe. You watch the security monitors all day, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Nothing? They ever stay late, that sort of thing?”

  “Never.”

  “Is she here today?”

  “No, haven’t seen her in a few days.”

  Quade let a minute go by. “Mr. Foster, I respect the fact you are loyal to Bellamy. No doubt in my mind he’s been good to you, but you are chief of security for a government contractor with a top-secret clearance. Any inappropriate behavior at the executive level could trigger a forfeiture of the company’s contract and the next thing you know, you’re a night watchman at Walmart.” Foster shifted in his chair. “Remember where your paycheck comes from. I guarantee Bellamy won’t protect you so I suggest you be on the right side of this.”

  He thought for a second, cleared his throat. “Between us guys?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Never fails to amaze me the stupid things people do in the name of love—or lust. Cameras in every corner of this building.” He pointed to the ceiling and the smoked-glass sphere above us. “One day, we observe the two of them walking along a corridor, and all of a sudden, he grabs her hand and pulls her into a conference room. We switch to the room, he yanks up her skirt and right there on camera, he bangs her on the table. All on video. Then they straightened their clothes and went about their business. We had six guys crowded around the screens and must have watched it twenty times.” He chuckled. “We were proud of him, too. He hit it hard and we always thought he was a bit of a milquetoast. Inappropriate behavior, hell yeah.”

  “Thank you. You did the right thing by telling us. Confirms their relationship, if nothing else,” Quade said.

  “One more thing. I lied. She’s a world-class bitch. The entire company hates her. She treated everyone terrible, especially George. Supposedly, he constantly challenged her but Bellamy stood by her. As soon as word broke he was missing, the first thing we all thought—Keira Kaine.”

  “That she had something to do with his disappearance?”

  He shrugged. “People are capable of anything these days.”

  “Good intel. We’ll talk again.” Quade handed him a business card. “You hear anything, do not hesitate.” Foster slipped the card into his shirt pocket. “Now, we’d like to talk to Bellamy.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “What? His car is out front.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sometimes he asks us to go to his place and bring his car over. Every so often he’ll come in with Ms. Kaine—sorry, should have mentioned that earlier—and won’t have a car to go home. So we go to his house and drive his car back here—”

  “And you moved his car this morning?”

  “Yep. One of my guys.”

  “Who drove it? I want to talk to him.”

  Foster made a call and a minute later, a tall, skinny kid of around twenty-five came into the conference room. Foster introduced him as Nick. He wore black pants cinched tight around his waist with a black belt, and a white, short-sleeve shirt at least two sizes too big, with a BST Security patch on the left sleeve.

  “Nick, these two are FBI and have some questions,” Foster said. Nick sat at the table and clasped his hands together, his fingers locked so tight his knuckles were white.

  Quade opened a notepad. “When you went to Mr. Bellamy’s house today to get his car, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No. No, sir.”

  “What exactly do you do when you go for his car?”

  “Mr. Foster here gives me the keys, one of the guys drives me over, and I drive Mr. Bellamy’s car back.”

  “His car in his garage?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “So you know the alarm code?”

  “Yes.”

  Foster jumped in. “No way, boys. I can’t do it. You need a warrant for that. Thanks, Nick.”

  Nick took his cue and wasted no time leaving the room.

  “Understood, Foster. Where is Bellamy then?”

  “No idea. He does not tell us on a day-by-day. He’s usually here, or at a meeting off campus, whatever. He could be at the warehouse.”

  “Warehouse?”

  “Yeah, a few miles from here,” he said.

  “What happens at the warehouse?”

  “Storage. They build satellite prototypes here but the materials are stored there.”

  Quade flipped open a notebook. “Address?”

  “Umm, the exact address is in my office, but it’s two miles on the same road.”

  “We’ll stop by there.”

  Foster beamed. “Not without me.”

  40

  Quade and I followed Foster the two miles to the BST warehouse. It was a single story, white cinder block building, with two loading docks on the right side as we approached. No cars in the parking lot or any trucks in sight. We parked beside the front gate.

  The guard came out to greet us, a younger guy of thirty or so. “Hey, Mr. Foster.”

  “Sanderson, these gentlemen are with the FBI. Have you seen Mr. Bellamy today?”

  “No, not at all. Been quiet.”

  Quade flipped open his badge. “Special Agent Quade. You keep a record of everyone who goes through?”

  “Of course.” He stood with his hands on his hips.

  “Sanderson, the log.” Foster rolled his eyes.

  “Sure, sure.” He was back a moment later with a log book. “Like I said, quiet. Nobody today.”

  Foster took the book and traced h
is finger down the page. “Only person in the last twenty-four hours is Miss Kaine at eight thirty last night.” He looked at Sanderson. “Were you working when she came through?”

  “No, my shift ended at three. Mackey was on after me.”

  “Does Ms. Kaine often come to this building?” Quade asked.

  “Umm, not too much. I’ve only seen her a few times during the day.”

  “Foster, does she have access?”

  “Sure, vice president of the company. She comes over now and then—inventory, I think. I don’t keep track of what she does when she is here, only know they keep the solar panels and other materials they use to build the prototypes.”

  “Security inside?”

  “Only one man who monitors video then makes hourly rounds, plus a man out here at the gate. All I need. Not much happens unless we get a delivery.”

  “So when she comes over, is she escorted while in the building?”

  “No, no reason. All raw materials, lightweight metals. You know I can’t say much.”

  “So you’ll have video of her inside the warehouse?” I said.

  “Of course.” Foster got to where I was going and held up a hand. “Pushing it. Need to come up with a warrant. Besides, I thought this was about Ainsley?”

  “Running down every angle, that’s all,” Quade said. “Any chance you can watch the video and tell us if you see something unusual?”

  “I suppose. Not sure what I’m looking for.”

  “Anything you think is out of the ordinary.”

  “I can only review video back in my office, so I’ll call you if anything jumps out.”

  My best ally is my gut instinct and it has yet to fail me. “What about the man who was on duty last night? Can we talk to him?”

  Sanderson spoke up. “Mackey. He works three to eleven, but…umm…he called me at home. Said he had an emergency and asked if I could cover for him until Stanley got here at eleven. I wasn’t doing nothing so I came in.”

  “That all needs to go through me.” Foster said. “You guys can’t switch shifts without my permission.”

  “Sorry. It was last minute.”

  I pointed to the cameras mounted around the front gate. “What about video?”

  Foster sucked in a deep breath and motioned to Sanderson. “Pull it up.”

  We crammed into the guard booth and watched the video of Keira, in her Mercedes, coming through the checkpoint at eight thirty. We spotted her and Bellamy after ten at the motel, and the safe house was hit at eleven. “What time did Mackey call you?”

  “Around nine. I got here at nine thirty,” Sanderson said.

  Foster and Sanderson both wore their BST company ID badge around their neck with their name and photo on it. “Foster, you keep employee ID pictures on file?”

  “Yeah, sure do. Need to access it from my office computer.”

  “Send his picture to Quade as soon as you can.”

  “You think Mackey is involved—”

  “Again, all leads.” Quade cut him off. “You’ve been very helpful, but we need a favor. Can you call Bellamy? His number in your phone?”

  “Sure.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not comfortable giving out Mr. Bellamy’s cell phone—”

  “Foster.” Quade snapped. “How long do you think it will take for my office to get Bellamy’s phone number? Huh?”

  “I’m sure you guys—”

  “Right. So you are either working with me, or against me.” Quade towered over Foster by a solid six inches. “What’s it going to be?”

  Foster pulled up the number on his phone and Quade jotted it on his note pad, along with Foster’s. He stepped out of the booth and placed a call.

  A moment later, he was back. “Okay, Foster. In one minute I want you to call Bellamy and if he answers, keep him on the line as long as possible.”

  Sanderson’s eyes went wide. “What’s going on?”

  Foster glared at him and he shrunk back into a corner. He nodded to Quade. “I’m going to step out because I’ll be too nervous.”

  “Do not say we are here. Tell him his car was brought over but you noticed an oil leak and keep him talking.” Quade made another call. “Ortiz, are they ready?” He signaled Foster to dial.

  The one thing we learned about Foster was that he could talk. Bellamy answered and Foster rambled on about the car and what they should do. After two minutes, Quade gave us a thumbs-up and Foster ended the call.

  “Good work.”

  “He sounded drunk,” Foster said.

  “Makes sense. They pegged him to a bar downtown.” Quade turned to me. “Ready?”

  We both shook Foster’s hand and told him he did great and to send us the video of Keira in the warehouse and a picture of Mackey. His moment of glory with the FBI must have empowered him because when we pulled off, he was screaming at Sanderson.

  41

  Ortiz relayed directions to Bellamy’s location as we drove. Foster came through and sent video of Keira photographing the inventory in the warehouse. He also sent an employee ID photo of Victor Mackey, and because my gut never betrays me, I was not surprised to see he was the same man who caused the distraction by smoking in Club Cuba during my first Keira meeting. He was also the dead man I stepped over in the driveway of the safe house. Who else in Bellamy Space worked for the Russians?

  More information came from Ortiz. Mackey’s real name was Alekzander Kazakova, a confirmed member of Bratva, with addresses in New York City and Paterson, New Jersey. She ran his local address and it turned out to be a vacant lot near the docks. She and Eric were now checking all background sources on Mackey. He made number four in Russian operatives, including Keira and her two flunkies, Vlasova and Makarov, on this case. If Quade’s investigation and presumption is correct, she established herself in the United States, and being the dutiful FSB operative, loyal to the twenty-first century motherland, worked her way into the target company, impressed her handlers, and they awarded her with support in the form of Mackey and the two goons. The looming question: was her end game now in play, and if so, what was it?

  The coordinates led us to the Dark Side bar, the place where Katie and I first photographed Keira and Bellamy with my camera pen. This time, he was parked on a stool. The same bartender was on duty and he gave me a second glance when we came in, as if he recognized me.

  Quade flashed his badge in front of Bellamy’s face. “Thomas Bellamy? FBI. Need to ask you a few questions.”

  Bellamy turned around and faced us. “Well, well, the feds.” He slurred his words, already half in the bag. Quade took him by the arm and led him to a table in the back.

  “When did he get here?” I said to the bartender.

  “Hour or so. He was waiting in the parking lot when I opened. Hey, weren’t you in here before?”

  “He do any talking?”

  “Nah, mumbled stuff about his business and how he got screwed…I barely listened. I have guys in here every day complaining about their lives.”

  “He comes in with a blonde woman. She been here lately?”

  “You were in here. I remember. Had a blonde of your own.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “No. Not on my shift, anyhow.”

  “How many drinks has he had?”

  He shrugged. “Two, three…I’m not sure.”

  “Bring some coffee.” I joined Quade and Bellamy at the table.

  “Mr. Bellamy says he has not seen Keira for three days.” Quade had a notepad open in front of him.

  “Really?” I said. “Swear I saw you two at an Econo Lodge outside of town last night.”

  Bellamy cleared his throat and straightened in his chair in an effort to shake off the booze. “You want to tell me what this is about?”

  “Your business.”

  “What about it?”

  “Let’s start with George Ainsley. Presumed dead. Any ideas?”

  “I told the police everything I know. Which is no
thing.”

  “Then the matter with your wife. She left you because of your affair with Ms. Kaine.”

  “Marriage was over long before Keira joined the company.”

  “Mary Ann doesn’t see it that way.”

  “So, I had an affair. Happens. When did the FBI start doing divorce work?”

  Quade leaned halfway across the table. “You’re a government contractor with a top-secret clearance and new technology that other countries would love to take a peek at, your lead scientist is probably at the bottom of the harbor, you’re sleeping with your senior VP, and your wife wants a divorce.” Quade reached across and jabbed a finger in his chest. “That’s when the FBI shows up.”

  Bellamy got the point. His head down, he sunk back in the chair. “Now what?”

  The bartender served up three cups of coffee.

  “Tell us about Keira Kaine,” Quade said.

  He went through the same story Ainsley and Mary Ann told. How they met at a conference, how she impressed him, and how he invited her to join BST. “Everything was fine at first. A brilliant woman; worked well with George. Then she and I began to work together and we clicked. We spoke the same language about everything. The late nights led to later nights, and eventually we fell in love. At least I did. She told me she did, too. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “How did Ainsley react to your relationship?” I asked.

  “Furious with me. Felt I jeopardized everything he and I built. I figured he was envious of Keira and felt he got shoved aside. All untrue.”

  “You aware he complained to the DOD?”

  “What? No. Why would he do that?”

  “He thought you showed weakness and poor judgment with your involvement with her, and feared you jeopardized the future of the company.”