by G. K. Parks
“He’s not an alcoholic. Well, he might be, but that’s not the reason for his symptoms. He was poisoned.”
“Stay put. I’ll be right there. And don’t eat, drink, or pour out Marty’s scotch in the meantime.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t call me sir.”
Disconnecting, I glanced into the full trashcan in my kitchen, wondering why my neuroses were always so prevalent. Just because Eastman was poisoned didn’t mean anyone broke into my apartment and laced my food. I was careful. I tried to be. After my last case, I had zero desire to relive accidentally dosing myself with high-powered sedatives and hallucinogens, so I made certain everything in my apartment remained completely undisturbed.
While I waited for Mark to arrive, I dialed Martin and was surprised when he answered, instead of letting the call go to voicemail. “Hey, shouldn’t you be asleep or working or something?” I didn’t feel like figuring out the time zone differences.
“I just woke up in preparation for another early morning meeting.”
“How’s the trip?”
“Insane. I’ll be happy when it’s over. Absolutely nothing went right yesterday. I’m just hoping things will improve. We fly to Dublin tonight. Seventeen cities in twenty days sounds like a job for a rock star, not a CEO.”
“Clearly, you need to learn to delegate.”
“I will. This is all in regards to our recent merger with Hover Designs. It’ll be over soon enough, and I shall be exempt from traveling for the rest of the year.” His voice held the hint of a smile. “Although, you can persuade me to go anywhere with you.”
“And yet, I failed to convince you to stay locked inside my apartment. Strange how there’s a flaw in your logic.”
“Ouch. I deserved that.” He paused, and I wondered if he planned to confess to phoning earlier. “I’m about to jump in the shower. If I put you on speaker, you can join me.” His voice was sultry, and I sighed.
“Mark’s on his way here. But you’ll be happy to know my client has been cleared from the murder charges.”
“That’s great,” he replied, sounding slightly dejected. “Is your job over? You could meet me in Milan on Thursday.”
“Not yet. There are still a few more things I need to handle, and I completely forgot to call Luc today. I found a solution to the elevator issue, but it needs to be approved and implemented. With any luck, it’ll be done by the time you get back.”
“Alex,” the water turned on in the background, “it’s hard…”
“Jackass.”
He laughed. “Sorry, that’s not what I wanted to say. I…being away from you has never been this worrisome before. I know you think I’m overreacting. And I’m sure I am, but ever since I found you on the bathroom floor, I just…it’s been a little over a month. I can’t shake it. That feeling. The fear that you would never open your eyes again.”
“James,” I whispered, the familiar pang constricting my chest. My job was dangerous, and I never wanted to put him through this type of torture.
“Don’t you dare start using my first name, Alexis. It never leads to anything good. I’ll try to chill out about this but cut me some slack, okay? That’s why I want to hear from you every day.”
“Well, you’re not the only crazy one.” I swallowed, giving the garbage pail a dirty look. “Your scotch was almost poured down the drain in a moment of insanity, but rest assured, it’s fine. And so am I.”
“The scotch I can live without. You are a different story.”
Our goodbyes were cut short when Mark arrived. We hung up, and when I turned around, he was surveying the contents in the trash. He shook his head and poured himself a glass of scotch.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taste testing. We need concrete evidence that your apartment hasn’t been breached and your position hasn’t been compromised.”
“What position is that? I don’t have an official position on anything, do I?” Maybe Mark found a way to get us involved in the case.
“You were hired to clear Eastman’s name. I’m guessing the next step will be determining who poisoned him.”
“Isn’t that a job for the authorities?”
“Yes, but you’ll still investigate. Your empty fridge speaks volumes on its own. You want the party responsible. It’s how you’re wired.” He put the scotch on the counter. “It tastes okay to me. Do we have any idea what type of poison was used, how it was introduced, or who might have planted it.”
“Fluoride that built up to toxic levels over a five day span. The prelim report suggested it was in something Eastman ingested regularly. If he wasn’t in custody, he might be dead.”
“It could be in anything. Maybe he was eating his toothpaste. After all, too much of anything can be detrimental.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think it was in whatever he was drinking each night?”
“Well, it gives new meaning to pick your poison, now doesn’t it?”
“Was he still staying at the hotel or was he back home?”
“As far as I know, he was home. After the conference and being questioned by the authorities, he wouldn’t have any reason to stay at the hotel.” I took a seat in front of my computer. “I don’t know much about my boss. For all I know, the guy has a wife or cohabitating girlfriend. We should determine who has access to his house and the contents of his fridge and liquor cabinet.”
“Poison is generally thought of as a woman’s preferred method of killing, but assuming he doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend that wants him dead, anyone he’s cohabitating with could become an accidental casualty.”
“True.” Eastman’s basic information popped up on the screen, but there was no mention of a wife. After a few minutes of digging, there was no mention of an ex-wife either. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a live-in girlfriend or someone close by with keys to his house who might make themselves at home. “I’ll call PDN and see what they can tell me about his personal life.”
“Alex,” Mark stopped me before I reached the phone, “it’s after eight. No one will be there this late. We’ll try back tomorrow. Plus, I’m sure the police are ripping his place apart to identify the method of delivery. Once we have that information, we’ll be able to narrow down the source, and it might lead to our killer or Costan’s partner, in the event they aren’t one and the same.”
“In the meantime, do you want to reanalyze everything and see if we can determine a list of suspects who might have it out for Eastman? Maybe you can figure out who had access to all three men and had an axe to grind.”
“And the reason I get this task is because I can call the Bureau and ask for favors,” Mark said knowingly.
“Exactly.”
Nineteen
Mark camped out at my apartment again. He claimed he was only here to fulfill his role as Martin’s best friend and protect the scotch at all costs. Realistically, it probably had more to do with the fact that he was afraid I was coming unhinged. Normal people don’t think they might be poisoned just because of their proximity to a victim. Then again, for me, this was normal behavior.
During the course of the night, I dug through dozens of records, looking for connections between Eastman, Costan, and Hodge. When little information was gained through the normal channels, like law enforcement databases, I became desperate enough to surf through the convoluted world of social networking.
This was one concept I would never understand. Why did people think posting their life stories on something as insecure as the internet was a good idea? There were photos, mentions of trips, and thousands of pictures of family and children. It was asking for trouble. One crazy person, read as stalker, killer, kidnapper, or just your run-of-the-mill psycho, could easily determine where people were, who their loved ones were, and exactly where and when to strike. It was dangerous. And everyone did it. If that wasn’t the definition of insanity, then I didn’t know what was. Then again, I had to go grocery shopping in the morning, so maybe I shouldn’t be
throwing stones at any glass houses.
After I made a short list of Eastman’s closest friends, I elected to call it a night. It was around four a.m. when I climbed into bed with my clothes still on. Distant ringing woke me, but it wasn’t my phone. Glancing at the clock, it was noon, and I heard Mark speaking softly. Obviously, his leads seemed more promising than mine.
“Anything?” I asked, stepping out of my room and leaning against the doorjamb.
“Quite a bit, actually.” He scribbled a note on a sheet of paper. “I’m meeting with Walton in an hour, and we’ll take it from there. Jacobs called your house phone this morning a little after six. He didn’t want to talk to me, but somehow, I convinced him I was your personal assistant. So he left a message.”
“Are you hoping the suspense will kill me so you can enjoy the rest of your vacation?”
He snickered. “No, but they determined the fluoride came from the water filter in the guy’s refrigerator. So every time he drank the water, he also got an unhealthy dose of fluoride.”
“Isn’t that in water anyway?”
“Which makes whoever did this kind of brilliant. It might look like an accident, a manufacturing defect, or something wrong with his water filter since it’s designed to filter out chemicals, minerals, and impurities. Maybe it was leaking and putting high doses in the water by accident.”
“And we’re sure it’s not an accident?”
“CSU is examining the canister, but it appears to have signs of tampering. Jacobs said they’re running additional tests, but given the circumstances, we’re hoping something will be conclusive. With any luck, they’ll find prints on the casing.”
“So anyone could have done it. Well, anyone with access to Paul’s house and refrigerator.” Considering the possibilities, maybe my foray into the frightening world of social networking might actually have led to some valid suspects or someone who might know who was puttering around in Paul’s kitchen and be able to point us in the right direction. “But it’s a start.”
“Looks like it,” Mark agreed. “I’m going home to change before my meeting with Walton. I’m not sure how long that will be, so I’ll give you a call sometime later.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
His smile was disconcerting. “Yes, you do.” Without saying another word or hinting as to what type of payback he was hoping to exact, he left my apartment.
Dutifully, I picked up the phone, left a perfunctory voicemail since we were all a little crazy at this point, and then I changed into workout clothes went for a five mile run, took a shower, and phoned Luc Guillot. Martin Technologies was no longer my bread and butter, but there was a soft spot in my heart for the building and people. After detailing exactly how to fix the elevator, Guillot asked for a Thursday afternoon meeting for further specifications. If approved, the modified procedures could be performed during the weekend, and everything would be running normally by Monday. That was one thing taken care of.
The next was determining who had access to Eastman’s house. I ran the names of a few of his friends from his social networking profile through the databases and came up with addresses and phone numbers. The easiest solution would be to visit Eastman in the hospital and ask him myself, but Jacobs wasn’t much into sharing. And Paul might still be recovering, so I would just have to put in some legwork.
I decided to start with his neighbors and move outward, hitting the list of seven names on my drive to the office. It wasn’t necessarily the best plan, but it was a start. As I suspected, Eastman’s property was cordoned off with crime scene tape. It was a small townhouse, and uniformed officers were speaking to people at the surrounding connected properties. So much for starting with the neighbors. Thankfully, I spotted Officer Taylor, who transferred out of vice and was now pulling whatever duty the brass deemed necessary.
“Shelly,” I called, stepping out of my illegally parked car, “do you have a minute?”
“Alex?” She spun, surprised to see me while she canvassed the neighborhood. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Glancing around, I didn’t spot Jacobs or any other familiar faces, so I figured it was safe enough to ask a few questions. “Paul Eastman’s a client. What do you know about the poisoning and people who might have access to his place?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Her eyes darted around to make sure the other cops were out of earshot. “But there’s nothing to talk about. The guy kept to himself. Didn’t talk to his neighbors, never threw any wild parties, and didn’t have any steady visitors, at least not that anyone around here noticed. The detectives are contacting his family to see if they might know something more substantial, like who he hangs out with or if he had any enemies.”
“Damn.” That wasn’t helping me either. “And here I thought the guy had a drinking problem.”
“He did. He drank too much water.” She shook her head. “I have to get back to work, but if I hear anything major, I’ll give you a call.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She ducked into the next doorway, ringing the bell, while I returned to my car. Apparently my ingenious plan was so brilliant the PD was already enacting it, and they had a hell of a lot more manpower at their disposal than I did.
While continuing my drive to a few of the addresses on my list, I phoned PDN. Instead of starting at the top of the food chain, I questioned the secretary about Paul and his dealings with his co-workers, favorite clients, and any visitors or guests who have stopped by in the past month. There were a few names that I recognized, mine being one of them. The other two were Alvin Hodge and Jason Oster. Pulling onto the shoulder, I scribbled the rest of the list and asked to be passed along to Paul’s temporary replacement. From there, I asked to speak to his supervisor, and lastly, I asked to speak to the man in charge. By the end of it, my list had fifteen names.
Pulling back into traffic, I proceeded to the first address, but the unmarked cruiser out front served as an indication I should move on. Not wanting to be thwarted again by great minds thinking alike, I went to my office, ran a check and people search on the fifteen names, and impatiently stared at the computer monitor. Perhaps I should be ecstatic that the police were doing such a magnificent job investigating. After all, we were looking in the same places for the answers.
Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I printed out driver’s license photos of the fifteen names the various PDN employees provided, along with the few friends I pulled off his social networking site, and went to the hotel. Maybe Jason Oster or one of the other security guards would recognize someone. Granted, Oster was a potential person of interest, especially since he seemed friendly enough to have access to Eastman’s house, but I wasn’t sure where to look. On the way, I tried to figure out how Oster could fit into all of this. If he wasn’t working for Costan’s partner and trying to silence everyone involved, then theoretically, he might become a victim himself. This would be so much easier if I could have another long chat with Paul.
“Knock, knock,” I called from outside the open security office doorway. When two guards who were monitoring the cameras turned at the sound of the intrusion, I smiled warmly. “Is Jason around?”
“He’s with the manager right now. Can I help you with something, Miss?”
“Do you recognize any of these people?” I let them skim through the photos, but they remained outwardly clueless. “I just really needed to see Jason.” A look was exchanged between the two men, and they grinned. “Did I miss the joke?”
“No,” a big smile erupted on one of their faces, “not at all. In fact, you have excellent timing. Wouldn’t you agree, Bob?”
“Oh yeah, excellent.”
“Guys,” I hated being out of the loop, “I work with PDN. I helped review and implement the procedures this hotel used during the recent conference. I need to talk to Jason about a security issue.”
“Oh,” Bob blushed, “sorry, we didn’t realize this was work related. We thought you needed Jason for something else.
” The two exchanged a glance and a snicker before looking at the wall clock. “He should be back from the morning meeting in fifteen minutes. The meeting room next to the breakfast bar is empty if you want to wait for him there.”
“Sure. I’ll wait.” From the way the two chuckleheads were acting, it was hard not to jump to conclusions, but it seemed apparent Mr. Oster had an early morning visitor who needed a service provided which had nothing to do with security.
While I sat in the empty conference room, I pulled out my notepad and reviewed the names and possible leads for identifying Paul Eastman’s would-be killer. Frankly, if what Officer Taylor said was true, then not many people had access to Paul’s fridge. Could Paul be poisoning himself to throw off any suspicion? No, I shook my head. The FBI wouldn’t have encouraged the DA’s office to trump up charges in order to protect the guilty party. So who was the guilty party? My mind considered the key players and the only common denominator I came up with was Jason Oster. Unless Oster and Eastman were working together. Shit, conjecture was impractical. It was time to get back to the cold hard facts. I just began my outline when the door opened.
“Parker, what the hell are you doing here?” Detective Jacobs growled.
“Jeez,” I threw my pen on the table and leaned back in the chair, “I can’t catch a freaking break. Every place I went today was crawling with cops. Stop stalking me.”
“What are you talking about now?” He sat across from me and sighed heavily.
“I wanted to get a jump on possible suspects. It seemed something Paul might ask about in the future, so needless to say, everything I thought to check into is already being investigated by police personnel.”
“Like me being here.”
“Precisely.”
“I phoned you this morning. Did your…assistant...give you the message?”
“It was the water filter in the kitchen with the fluoride.” It wasn’t every day the perfect chance to make a Clue reference came about, so I couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.