by J A Whiting
Bradford Bilson stood before Claire in a fitted, dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. A bit of gray showed at the temples of his medium brown hair. In his mid-fifties, the man had a wide forehead, close set, pale blue eyes, and a long, sharp nose. His bearing gave the impression that he was a man of authority, someone important, someone who got his way.
“Claire, a pleasure. Thank you for coming.” Bilson shook her hand. “Please have a seat.”
The handshake was so brief Claire didn’t have a chance to pick up on anything from Bilson.
The two sat side by side in nautical blue chairs with a glass and pewter table between them. A uniformed man arrived in the room, Claire didn’t know where he came from, carrying a small silver tray with glasses of white wine and a platter of fruit, a dish of nuts, and a selection of cheese and crackers. He placed the snack items and the two wine glasses on the table and then disappeared.
“I heard you had quite the unpleasant experience the other morning.” Bilson sipped his wine. “I was very sorry … shocked, to be honest, to hear about the death of our firm’s associate, Ms. Smith.”
“Yes. It was horrible.” Claire offered condolences for the loss of his employee.
“Can you tell me how you happened upon the vehicle and what you saw?” Bilson kept his face looking sincere and concerned.
The part of the question about what Claire had seen seemed intrusive and inappropriate. “May I ask why you’d like to know?”
“Ashley Smith worked for us for several years. She was an impressive talent. We’re simply concerned for our employee.”
“Did you know Ashley well?” Claire asked.
“Not well, no. We’d met several times, but I receive updates and information regarding the associates, how they’re doing, what needs improving, what they excel at. I felt I knew Ms. Smith. She was part of our firm’s family.”
Claire never liked men like Bilson … an air of superiority, well-spoken and articulate, but never saying much of importance, a well-cultivated air of sincerity which was often just a phony façade. “Ms. Smith was an account manager with the firm?”
“She was. Doing very well. She was a rising star.” Bilson nodded and clasped his hands together with his forefingers pointing to the ceiling. “How did you find her? How did you come upon the car?”
Claire had no intention of revealing that she was employed in a chocolate shop and was on her way to work so she said, “I was out for an early morning walk. I saw the car parked at the curb. I passed by, and … there she was.”
“Did you know Ms. Smith?” Bilson asked.
Claire was surprised by the question. “No, I didn’t.”
“Were there signs that the car had been vandalized?”
“How do you mean?” Claire tilted her head in question.
Bilson gave a shake of his head. “Were the side windows broken?”
“No. The windows were down.”
“Did you notice if anything looked like it had been stolen? Were the contents of her purse on the floor of the car? Was there a purse in the vehicle at all?”
“I didn’t see a purse, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one in the car. I didn’t linger very long to notice. I saw Ms. Smith, backed away. I called the police.”
“Were you there when the police did the preliminary inquiry?”
“I stayed at the scene until the police arrived and I left after giving a statement and answering some questions.”
“Did you happen to hear anything?”
“Hear anything? Like what?”
“What the investigators were saying about the crime.”
“No.” Claire gave her head a firm shake. “I didn’t hear anything. I wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying. Why don’t you ask the police these questions?”
“We have. They aren’t forthcoming. It’s an active investigation and they aren’t sharing information.”
“That’s understandable. Why do you want to know these things?” Claire asked the man. “What bearing does it have on the firm?”
A shadow passed over the man’s face. “It could have quite a lot of bearing.”
Claire eyes widened and she squared her shoulders. “Do you suspect someone at the firm of having something to do with Ms. Smith’s murder?”
Bilson’s eyebrows shot up at the question. “No, no. Not at all.”
Claire leveled her eyes at the man. “What about a client? Are you worried that one of your clients might have had a hand in this?”
Bilson hesitated for a moment. “No. I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“Then what could the murder have to do with the firm?” Although Claire was getting impatient, she kept her voice even. “What are your concerns? Why did you ask to speak with me?”
“Because our employee was killed.” Bilson shifted in his seat and reached for his wine glass. He took a long sip and set it back down on the table. “Financial institutions have far-reaching associations, a web of people criss-crossing in many directions. A firm is only as good as its reputation.”
Claire marveled at Bilson’s practiced ability to dodge a direct question with an indirect reply. “So you worry that one of your associates or connections has something to do with Ashley Smith’s murder.”
“I’m only trying to gather information. To be proactive. We all cared very much for Ms. Smith.”
Claire held the man’s gaze.
After several seconds, Bilson let out a long sigh. “We’re concerned with what Ms. Smith might have been involved in and how that might reflect on our institution.”
“Were there any indications that Ashley was mixed up in something illegal?”
“Not to our knowledge.”
“Was she working on a sensitive case?”
“That wouldn’t be unusual. Many of our clients and cases need to be handled with care and discretion.” Bilson’s pale blue eyes were like lasers on Claire. “You live in the Beacon Hill area, correct? Adamsburg Square. Had you ever run into Ms. Smith? Do you recall seeing her in the neighborhood?”
A shiver ran along Claire’s skin and not knowing why, she made the decision not to reveal having seen the woman running on the path by the river. “I didn’t know her.”
Bilson cocked his head slightly. “That’s odd, since you lived in the same neighborhood.”
“It’s a popular and populated part of the city,” Claire said. “People come and go all the time. Tourists visit every day. I don’t know and haven’t even met the majority of people on my own street.”
“A downfall of modern living, I suppose.”
Claire didn’t respond.
Bilson changed the subject and smiled. “You’ve been happy with Cameron Gannon’s handling of your accounts?”
“Very much so,” Claire told him.
“Excellent.” Bilson nodded and leaned forward about to stand up. “Well, I appreciate you coming to speak with me.” The meeting had obviously come to a close. “Too bad it was under such unfortunate circumstances.”
“Why did we meet here on the boat?” Claire remained sitting. “Why not at the office?”
“Some discussions are better suited to a more private environment.”
Claire and Bilson stood at the same time.
“How did you know that I found Ashley’s body?” Claire watched the man’s face.
A momentary break in Bilson’s composure flickered over his face, but his experience kicked in and he responded smoothly. “Word came through several associates. I don’t know who the initial person was who brought the information to our attention.”
Claire didn’t believe it and this time when they shook, she placed her free hand over their locked hands for a moment in a gesture of compassion in order to try and sense what she could from the man. He walked her to the sliding glass door where the uniformed employee stood waiting.
Claire and Bilson exchanged goodbyes and she followed the escort to the metal walkway that would take her to the dock. For most p
eople, the meeting would have felt like a waste of time with nothing of importance coming from it.
But Claire wasn’t most people and her interaction with Bilson could not have been categorized as a waste. When she shook hands with him, little zaps of electricity pulsed into her skin and she sensed that the senior vice president was not being fully forthcoming with her. He was concerned about what had happened to Ashley Smith, but more so than what seemed appropriate in an employee-employer situation.
Bilson was worried about something.
Very worried.
5
Claire got in touch with her financial advisor, Cameron Gannon, at Pennington Wealth and asked him to meet her early in the morning at a coffee shop in Charlestown. When he asked what she wanted to discuss so that he could prepare whatever she needed, Claire told him it had nothing to do with her accounts and that she hoped he could keep the fact of their meeting in confidence.
The coffee shop was located near the Navy Yard, which in its hey-day was a bustling shipbuilding facility of the United States Navy. Closed in 1974, the area was transferred to the National Park Service and anchored one end of the Boston Freedom Trail.
The Freedom Trail runs through the city passing locations important to United States history … graveyards, churches, the site of the Boston massacre, Faneuil Hall, the Paul Revere House, and the USS Constitution, a wooden-hulled, three-masted frigate of the US Navy launched in 1797 and named by President George Washington.
The coffee shop had photographs of historical sites framed and hanging on the walls. Claire loved history and enjoyed looking at the pictures while she waited for Cameron to arrive.
The thirty-four-year-old financial advisor hurried through the door of the busy coffee shop and he waved to Claire with a smile. Cameron, a tall, thin, well-dressed young man with short brown hair and intense blue eyes, carried a black leather briefcase and joined Claire at a small table near the windows.
“I was surprised you didn’t want to meet at the office,” Cameron said after they ordered tea and muffins.
“I really wanted to keep the meeting confidential.” Claire eyed her advisor. “You didn’t tell anyone we were meeting, did you?”
“Absolutely not.” Cam sat up straight. “I’m happy to keep our discussion quiet. Whatever you need, Claire. You know that.”
Claire had been working with Cameron for over a year to handle the weighty portfolio she’d inherited from her husband and they got along well. The young man was easy to talk to, listened to her concerns and investment ideas, and offered good advice about how to maintain and grow the assets.
“I brought along a folder with a summary of your investments.” Cameron reached to unzip the briefcase.
“That’s okay, Cam,” Claire told him. “I’m interested in talking about something other than my portfolio.”
Cameron looked at Claire with surprise, wondering what one of his most important clients had on her mind. “Oh.” He folded his hands on the tabletop. “How can I help?”
Picking up the mug of tea that had been placed on the table by the server, Claire sipped and then let out a sigh. “You may or may not know, but I was the person who found the body of Ashley Smith, an associate at the firm, who was recently murdered behind the State House.”
Cameron’s facial expression didn’t change, but his eyes locked onto Claire’s and he swallowed hard. “I didn’t know that you were the one who found Ashley,” he said quietly. “I’m very sorry.”
“I wanted to talk to you about her. Since I found Ashley, well, I can’t get the murder out of my mind. I wondered if you knew her or if you knew someone who knew her.”
Cameron said, “I knew Ashley from the firm’s meetings and social events. We were friendly, but not friends or anything like that. We’ve chatted. We’ve been at the same large charity events.” He looked down at his hands. “It was a shock to hear about the murder. I really couldn’t believe it. It was so unexpected that it hit hard.” He made eye contact with Claire. “The fragility of life. I guess you’re well acquainted with that,” Cameron said making reference to Claire losing her husband, Teddy.
Claire gave a nod of understanding and said, “I met with Bradford Bilson recently.”
A look of concern washed over Cameron’s face for a moment and noticing it, Claire told him, “It had nothing to do with my accounts. I’m very happy working with you. Bilson got in touch with me. He asked if I would meet him in a private location. He knew I’d found Ashley’s body. He wanted to talk to me about it.”
“How did he know you found her?”
“I have no idea. Maybe he has contacts with the police?” Claire wondered aloud.
For a moment, Cameron didn’t say anything until he finally asked, “Why did Bilson want to talk to you about Ashley’s murder?”
“That was my very question … and I still don’t know the answer. Somehow he knew I found the body. Maybe because he knows my association with the firm and because I found her, he wanted to know what I knew?”
“What did he ask you?”
“He asked about the circumstances of how I found Ashley. He wanted to know what was in the car, if she’d been robbed, the condition of the body. Things I thought were morbid. I didn’t understand why he wanted to know those things. I gave him a cursory description of how I came upon the car. I didn’t think it was appropriate to give any more information.”
“That’s understandable,” Cameron agreed. “Did Bilson press you for more details?”
“I told him he should ask the police for the details and that stopped him from asking more questions like that.”
“Why would he want to know those things?” Cameron asked.
“Bilson said it was out of concern for an employee,” Claire said. “He also admitted he didn’t want anything to reflect poorly on the firm.”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “That’s the kind of worry I would expect from him, not so much any concern for what happened to Ashley.”
Claire asked, “Do you know anything about Ashley or her boyfriend, Michael Burton?”
“I know who Michael is, but like Ashley, I didn’t have much to do with him. We handle different accounts, different clients. We work on different floors of the building.” Cameron leaned forward. “I did hear that Ashley and Michael were in a relationship for a while, but then it seemed to have soured.”
“You heard this from someone at the firm?”
“I did. I won’t mention the person’s name, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, that’s fine.” Claire hoped Cameron might have more to say on the subject.
“I know someone who worked with Ashley, another client associate. She told me Ashley didn’t seem herself for about a month before the murder. Ashley was distracted, easily irked, almost depressed at times, like something was really bothering her. She’d made a few mistakes that my friend caught and alerted her to. She told me it was very, very unlike Ashley to be that inattentive and short-tempered.”
“Did your friend ask Ashley what was wrong?”
“Yes,” Cameron said. “Ashley told her everything was wrong. My friend tried to get her to share her troubles, but Ashley wasn’t having it. She wouldn’t open up. My friend feels awful, like she let Ashley down, like she should have shown more concern, tried to get Ashley to talk.”
Claire sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I doubt that would have prevented what happened. Did your friend have any ideas what might have been the cause of Ashley’s distress?”
“My friend told me Ashley went to the doctor a couple of times during the month she was so upset. She never knew what the appointments were about though.”
“Was there any indication of something like drug use?” Claire asked.
“No, nothing like that. Ashley didn’t do drugs. She barely would have one glass of wine at the firm’s events.”
“Do you think she was working on a case that caused her distress? Did she find out that something illegal might have be
en going on?”
“My friend didn’t mention anything like that.” Cameron shook his head. “Their clients are all very straightforward cases. Everything is pretty ordinary with their client lists. More complicated portfolios would be handled by the experienced senior advisors.” The young man’s eyes widened. “I don’t mean to imply that there’s illegal activity going on at upper levels.”
Claire smiled. “I know,” she reassured him. “Did you or your friend ever see Ashley interact with Michael?”
Cameron blew out a breath. “Michael is immature. He’s all about the ladies. Thinks every woman worships him. My wife can’t stand the guy. She’s seen him in action at the things we attend for the firm. He flirts, has his hands on women, even when he was living with Ashley he did this stuff, right in front of her. I don’t know why she ever put up with it. Ashley was a beautiful woman, intelligent, well-educated, did her job well. She must have had plenty of guys who were interested in her. Why she chose Michael Burton, and put up with his behavior, is beyond me.”
“I guess there’s no way to explain who we fall for.” Claire gave a wistful smile.
“Maybe Ashley attracted weirdos for some reason. You know that local cookbook guy?” Cameron asked. “The Boston guy who has all the restaurants?”
“I think I know who you mean,” Claire said.
“Well, my wife and I attended a fundraiser in New York City for the New York arm of Pennington Wealth. Ashley and my friend were there, too. Anyway, the cookbook guy was hitting on Ashley all night long. He was a real pain. My wife wanted to punch him in the nose.”
“Did something happen?” Claire’s intuition started to ping.
“By the end of the night, the guy was all over Ashley. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug and tried to kiss her. She raised her voice to him and pushed him away. She gave him a little punch in his throat, nothing that did any damage, but he got the message finally.”
Claire’s eyes widened.
“Ashley was very upset and left in a huff. My wife actually applauded her.” Cameron looked sheepish about it. “The cookbook guy seemed embarrassed and super angry. He was clutching his throat and muttering. He swore and growled about how Ashley was a witch and….”