“I would have to concur that it’s probably Mandi. What you’re describing just doesn’t sound like typical behavior from her. Did she assault Ms. Hollingsworth physically or verbally?”
“She did both,” he says, practically cutting me off. “I assure you that this woman got quite violent. A security officer was forced to give her a zap. Considering the circumstances surrounding her family, we became quite concerned about the safety of our employees. Carolyn is quite shaken up by the ordeal.”
It was only a matter of time before Carolyn Hollingsworth’s conceitedness rubbed someone the wrong way. The self-righteous nag hails from New York City and hasn’t acclimated to small-city living. To someone from the Big Apple, the residents of Bluff Ridge might seem like simple folk, but we’re not uncivilized and below her station. Well, that goes for the majority of us in the county.
“We take all employee safety quite seriously, Mr. Leighton,” I express. “I’ll need you to please give that application to the arresting officer. We’ll return the application as soon as we’ve scanned a copy and made it part of her file. When a signature is involved, it’s our policy to make a copy from the original document.”
What I’m not telling Matthew is that our department has been using a beta version of a revolutionary ‘app’ that determines underlying changes in a person’s demeanor by analyzing the strokes of their signature. For the best results, we scan the original directly into the program. Unlike those goofy machines that used to circulate at county fairs and evaluate a person’s handwriting for a dollar, this high-tech app can be as accurate as fingerprinting. Bluff Ridge is one of five police departments in Illinois giving it a test drive. In two years, the app is likely to become universally used.
“Officer McDaniels has already requested it,” he states. “One of the reasons for this call is that we’ve been having a bit of a struggle with him. When he stood in Carolyn’s office, he noticed an operational security camera mounted in the upper corner. When we asked for Ms. McAllister to be arrested, he agreed to remove her from the premises, but he also wanted to review the video to see if anything preceded the altercation.”
“Is there a problem with him viewing the footage?” What happened in the office is beginning to sound very suspicious. Not that receiving a direct call from Matthew wasn’t skeptical in itself.
He pauses for a few seconds—similar to the uncomfortable feeling when a conversation with an estranged friend reaches a lull. Matthew either has nothing to say or is about to bring up something touchy. The last time we spoke, I barely got a word in edgewise. “Reviewing the footage could pose a slight issue.”
I need to get into his reasoning, but I have yet to ask the most obvious question. “By the way, how is Ms. Hollingsworth doing?” This is a bit rhetorical, but I don’t want to come off as being insensitive to a physical assault.
“Carolyn is shaken up, but she did not suffer any injuries. The paramedic thoroughly checked her over.” Matthew is taking lengthy pauses between each sentence. “Her neck is a little sore, but she is more disconcerted over being attacked by a McAllister; it just made the incident more harrowing.”
“This is unlike Mandi,” I relay cautiously. Hopefully, my tone does not give off the impression that I condone such erratic behavior. We’ve had more than our share of scrapes when she causes trouble in Bluff Ridge, but she’s hardly a threat to anyone except herself. I add, “She does not have a propensity for violence. Were her actions provoked in any way?”
“Carolyn assured me that Ms. McAllister was not taunted.”
“You mentioned before that the security footage might be a problem. Can you elaborate?” McDaniels was correct to retrieve a copy of that recording to review the moments leading up to the transgression. There may have been some subtle body language on both sides of the desk that was misread.
Matthew hesitates again; he is clearly on speaker. Carolyn and a few other essential department heads are probably in that room. I could be flushing a potential writing career with his company down the crapper, but police business takes priority.
“Due to the sensitivity of printed correspondence on Carolyn’s desk, I don’t feel comfortable with a digital recording being removed from our server. We have all of our surveillance recordings protected by a state-of-the-art firewall. We just don’t know who might see what. I presume that the recording would become part of her file.”
He must be wishing he hadn’t made this call right about now. I explain that this evidence will be very critical if Ms. Hollingsworth has any plans of pressing charges against Ms. McAllister. I make it clear that if the recording shows entirely no fault on Carolyn’s side, the case should be open and shut. After another hesitation, he explains that Carolyn does not wish to press any charges against Mandi. He does bring up the subject of a restraining order, but I also discourage this because Mandi has not previously made a threat against Mrs. Hollingsworth.
Without question, Matthew’s call was a knee-jerk reaction. Since “McAllister” was relayed in the conversation, he expected a completely different response from me. I look at all the angles concerning an altercation regardless of the surname.
“Prichard will demand to see the footage if you wish to move forward with any form of legal action. Since I wasn’t the arresting officer, you are stuck with Officer McDaniels, and he will insist on following the rules to the letter.”
It’s becoming a game of chicken and Matthew expects me to swerve first. “If charges aren’t being filed, do we need to hand over the recording?” he asks, somewhat suspiciously. Something happened than he’s not willing to relay. At this time, nothing can be gained by ruffling any feathers.
“If she is not being charged, seeing the footage will not be necessary. The matter will be considered closed upon her release.”
“We’ll drop these matters, but we don’t want to be concerned about Ms. McAllister showing up again. We have a top-notch security team, but they can’t always do much about the far end of the parking lot or in our own driveways.”
“I will speak personally with her,” I promise. “If she even steps on the sidewalk facing your building, she’ll be facing jail time. A restraining order may not be in place, but I will have a written directive in her file that she will be required to sign.”
“Would you be willing to do that?” he asks.
“Absolutely. I will lay down the law before she even leaves the station.”
“I apologize that you have to be handling these matters on your day off.”
“It’s not a problem, Mr. Leighton,” I say, respectively. “This should only take an hour or so. Plenty of the afternoon remains to finish the chapter I’m writing.”
Being pliable keeps from burning a bridge I may need down the line. The day will come when I will need to schmooze with the likes of Matthew on publishing matters as opposed to police business. That’s why I slipped in the not-so-subtle mention of my story.
“Thank you, Derek.” I’m suddenly on a first-name basis with the head honcho at the third largest book publisher in the country. “We are extremely busy today. The ruckus this morning has us scrambling to play catch up.”
“I’m sorry she darkened your busy day.”
“I would like to mention one last thing,” he throws in, hesitantly. “Ms. McAllister claimed that she was ‘treated with disdain’ from Carolyn yesterday morning. There is absolutely no truth to such an allegation. Carolyn did not meet with any job applicants yesterday. We also have no record that Ms. McAllister has ever applied for a position with our company.” I bet he’d be willing to show me yesterday’s security footage to prove that she wasn’t there.
“That is odd that she’d make such a claim.” One detail doesn’t fit with what he just told me. “Did she actually use ‘disdain’ or did you just sprinkle that in the sentence for dramatic effect?”
“That was a word she used when she was pleading her case to Officer McDaniels.”
“Thank you for this information
, Mr. Leighton. We’ll get this taken care of diligently. You won’t see Ms. McAllister anywhere near your company again; I give you my personal guarantee.”
“We appreciate it. Since this woman’s facts aren’t even straight regarding yesterday, we certainly would not want her to be spouting false claims about anything else. I thought you should be aware of the facts.”
Leaving out the facts that actually led to Mandi assaulting Carolyn, of course.
As the call ends, I cannot figure out why Mandi McAllister even applied for a position at Leighton Publishing. Printed words—and spoken words—are not her forte. I guess a building so massive needs janitorial services to empty garbage cans, clean windows, and dust blinds. I am still circling that she had used “disdain” in a sentence. Maybe she got one of those “word-of-the-day” desk calendars for Christmas.
Hard evidence is the glue that holds up in court, but it has always been my nature to follow-up on the little anomalies that others disregard—whether it’s a gesture, action, or an out-of-place word. While I may never be part of a national task force investigating baffling crimes, plenty of mystifying action has taken place in this county. I’ve often been told that I suffer from an overactive imagination. Therefore, when an altercation fails to line up logically, I cannot trust the testimony. This has made me both popular and unpopular, depending on the open-mindedness of the person considering my theories.
It was peculiar to receive a direct call from Matthew Leighton regarding police matters. Anytime I say his name aloud, it takes me back to how my ex-girlfriend became livid about my aspirations of becoming an author. For nearly 18 months, I lived with Heidi—a materialistic blonde that grew resentful over the insufficient size of my paycheck. As time passed, her derisive mocking and harsh disposition overshadowed her sexy exterior. I would just pray to get through each day without encountering a hassle.
She unloaded her garbage bag of stored hatred because I refused to test for deputy. I tried to explain that I was not cut out to wear the pointed badge. With my creative goals, my focus would be too divided. At the same time, I refused to pitch a book idea to Leighton. I planned to develop a groundbreaking concept before submitting a manuscript to any publisher—especially a company that deals with all major book chains. Even my promise to pitch an idea to Leighton within the calendar year was too slow for her.
After her sequence of insults relating to my lack of progress, I couldn’t figure out the reason for bartering. I had been unhappy with her for a long time. Unfortunately, counterfeit love dwindles when you don’t live up to someone’s expectations. Heidi would get livid whenever she found me scrawling in a notebook. When you have a primary creative goal, it’s counterproductive to have your girlfriend working against you.
Although being with Heidi lacked harmony, too much time had been invested in the relationship. Unfortunately, her unwavering sneer and absence of honeyed tones became further proof that our relationship had withered. Most men would have caved to keep the status quo. Instead of merely freezing me out until I complied, Heidi removed her belongings and moved to the other side of town. She had no idea of my writing capability because she declined to read anything I had written. When the woman sharing your bed refuses to read a single page of your work, you become twitchy about public approval as well.
Matthew’s unwanted call sparked these volatile memories. Regardless, I manage to write productively for thirty minutes before the damn phone rings again. Fuck! No one respects my time off. I’m already on reduced duty, so the intrusion is even more annoying. This time, Kevin McDaniels is on the line. I’m like Mikey from the old Life cereal commercials; they barely realize I’m alive until they don’t want to deal with something. I can practically guarantee he isn’t calling to invite me to a family barbecue this weekend.
“Hey, Kevin, things must not be peaceful,” I say, hiding my irritation about the interruption. He is my only real friend in the department, so I usually keep it loose with him. When Heidi moved out, I kept circling the subject for nearly two weeks, so I owe him for listening to me tirelessly drone on.
“You know that if I weren’t stuck, I wouldn’t be calling you at home,” he states. Kevin has phoned numerous times on my personal days—almost always regarding an insignificant work issue. “I’m having a hell of a time working out a kink in the handwriting app. I scanned in a signature, and it keeps kicking out an error. Just so you’re aware, it’s Mandi McAllister’s signature from a Leighton Publishing application.”
He clearly isn’t aware that Matthew contacted me. For now, I’ll leave it that way. I was planning to drop in shortly to discuss Mandi’s situation. After a brief pause, I ask, “What’s the program error?”
“It flagged that her signature doesn’t match the one we have on file. The error code was 2703.”
“Hmmm,” I mumble, trying to figure out how that could have happened. “You should reset the cache. It may just be throwing out an error because too many strokes aren’t matching.”
“That’s what I tried initially,” he states, completely flustered by his lack of troubleshooting ability, “but when I compared her signature to a report signed back in March, they look nothing alike.”
“Are you sure the girl you’ve arrested is Mandi?”
“It’s definitely Mandi McAllister. She’s just a bit more polished. It’s amazing what a little mascara and powder can accomplish.”
“Don’t get pulled in by her blue eyes,” I warn. “She can get very unpredictable if you let your guard down.”
“She has been quite cooperative,” he says. “You’d be surprised by her congenial demeanor.”
“I bet I would.” Since this call is an interruption, I need to resolve the programming issue rather than talking about what’s in Mandi’s cosmetic case. “You know, a 2703 error requires a radical difference in penmanship. Maybe her hand was shaky from nerves.”
“That’s not it,” he says. “The previous signature looks like the scribbling of a grade-school child, while this recent one could have been penned by a school teacher. Her signature is so pleasant that she might as well have double-dotted the ending ‘i’ with a smiley face. I’ve never seen such an irregularity in someone’s handwriting like this.”
“Do me a favor and have her sign a sheet of paper. Scan it in and see what you come up with.”
“I’m way ahead of you, Deke.” I hate when he calls me that. “She signed one in front of me. The signature generated the same error. All of her previous signatures in the system match the messy one from March. It’s a real puzzler, guy. I don’t want to bother Prichard because he’s prepared to shit-can the software as it is, you know.”
“This is very peculiar.” I scratch my head, trying to figure out how her handwriting could have changed so drastically in such a short period. “Call Ernie from the sports memorabilia store. He was able to detect subtle differences in the stroke of a fake Roger Maris signature. His efforts led to catching that forger selling fakes to collectors in Lake Forest. Maybe he can compare her signatures.”
“I guess,” he mumbles.
“It’s only three blocks away. It won’t take long.”
“Is it worth hiring a consultant? In a strange turn of events, Leighton is not charging her.”
“The double-check has more to do with the program than to do with Mandi. And since she’s not being charged, that should make your paperwork easy.”
“Not exactly,” he says, summarizing the events that took place earlier. When he gets to the part of how they didn’t want him to view the security footage, it’s time to weave a little magic.
“You know, Mandi doesn’t typically react violently. There’s no point digging around for a clue that probably doesn’t exist anyway.”
“Mr. Leighton claimed that the printed correspondence on Carolyn’s desk contained rather personal information. Due to the sensitivity of that data, they weren’t comfortable having a digital recording viewed by an outsider. Did they overlook that I work fo
r the police department? We’re not in the habit of stealing information from surveillance imagery. I took offense that they couldn’t trust a police officer to view it.”
“The contract for the new Trixie Cardenelli book may have been lying on Carolyn’s desk. It’s doubtful they’d want anyone seeing how much money they’ll be netting on the first pressing. From the camera’s angle, you could probably zoom onto anything.”
“Do you really think that could be it?”
“Yeah, it’s most likely a money issue—not anything that ensued in the office.”
“You’re probably right,” he says, surrendering to my viewpoint. “You know a hell of a lot more about the publishing game and how those suits think.”
“Well, I know they get worked up whenever the subject of money is involved. A business like that will go to great lengths to keep financial information from leaking out,” I add, hoping I’m not overselling it. “You know, I would like to look at the conflicting signatures more than anything.”
“I can fax them to you.”
“Na,” I say, keeping it light. “I’ll come in and take a look myself. After reviewing the signatures, I’ll have a short chat with Mandi to see what got her so agitated.”
McDaniels can be laid back off the job, but he often follows directives way too closely. He used to be a bit rebellious, but he’s toning that down because both of his kids are in grade school. His big dream of owning a food truck has become a discarded goal. We all reach a point when we forgo our aspirations for contentment—I’m just not there yet. Due to pressure from his wife, Kevin has been thinking more about the pension than the freedom that would result from being his own boss.
“I’m glad you’re coming in because this app error is too weird,” he says, flustered. “This isn’t the only abnormal thing happening around here. I overheard Prichard talking to Mandi. When he asked her to recap the events, she said Carolyn disrespected her because of her uncle’s criminal record.”
In Dark Places Page 13