by Rayna Morgan
"What specifically are you looking for?"
"Any signs of impropriety in the Department that the staffers may have noticed."
"Why do you think they'd tell me?"
"Because of the anonymous tip we received. Someone has seen something they think is illegal, but they don't want to be a whistleblower."
"Any way to identify the caller?"
"Whoever placed the call was careful. We hoped tracking the call would lead us to an extension at City Hall, but it traced to a burner phone. The call came in late, after office hours. It was a woman's voice. No identifying inflections or speech pattern."
"Doesn't narrow it down much, but I'll see what I can do. Anything else?"
"My gut is telling me Charles White was the late visitor to Neal's office the night before his murder. Maybe delivering Neal's permits in exchange for a cash payoff. It would account for Neal being in a good mood the next day as his stepmother reported."
"I'll nose around and see what I find." Doubt crossed Paul's face. "I suppose I do appear less imposing than you."
Tom put on a tough guy face. "Oh yeah. I'm Mr. Intimidation. You're Mr. Nice Guy."
"That's what I hear from my wife all the time," Paul grinned. "It's why I get no respect at home."
"I get the same amount of respect from your wife's sister, believe me."
"You mean as in none."
"I mean as in none."
The two men laughed as they headed for the locker room.
• • •
Paul stood outside the Planning Department excited he’d been able to obtain information that should prove helpful to Tom’s investigation but unwilling to walk away without digging deeper into the Planning Director.
He understood Tom's reluctance to investigate further into possible corruption in the Planning Department; it wasn’t the Detective’s bailiwick and most likely had nothing to do with the murder. But regardless of his friend's position on the matter, Paul felt a need to determine for himself if there was any truth to the allegations. He felt an obligation on behalf of his clients, most of whom had dealings with the Planning Department. If there were improprieties in the issuance of plan approvals or permits, his clients could be treated unfairly. On a personal level, even the intimation of duplicitous behavior affronted his sense of integrity in business.
Paul considered his strategy. The Director doesn't know the police won't pursue allegations of misconduct. If I drop an intimidating hint, he may tip his hand.
He returned to the counter and asked to see the Director on the premise of seeking approvals for a client’s recent Plan submissions. Agreeing to a fifteen to twenty-minute wait, he was escorted into an inner office where a secretary worked at a small desk beside a door with the nameplate Charles White, Planning Director. He had met the man on one previous occasion when a client had introduced them. It was a brief exchange, and Paul doubted the Director would remember him.
The secretary introduced herself as Marcia Thomas and quickly resumed her work. Paul sat on a metal chair next to a table with an assortment of outdated magazines. Leafing through one of them, he was able to observe her more closely.
A modestly but well-dressed woman in her forties, color-treated hair tastefully styled, makeup expertly applied to accent her eyes, undoubtedly her best feature.
Noting the stack of files beside her computer and on the credenza behind her, Paul attempted to strike up a conversation. "Looks like they keep you pretty busy."
Her reply was forthright but cordial. "We're used to hearing the complaint that government is bloated, too big a budget to accomplish too little of what constituents want. But we're actually understaffed here at City Hall; most of us do the work of two people. We haven't had a raise for several years, especially with the housing slump and the resulting loss of property tax revenue."
"How long have you worked for the City?"
"Twelve years, the last four with Mr. White here in Planning. Before that, I was in the Finance Department."
"I would imagine Planning to be more interesting than Finance."
"You probably think that because your clients are real estate developers. But yes, I've found working with Mr. White to be rewarding. He's smart, congenial, and politically savvy. We make a good team." She couldn't hide the pride in her voice. "He tells people I'm the nuts and bolts behind his genius."
Do I detect a hint of entitlement in the way she speaks about her relationship with the Director?
"You mentioned the amount of work. Does it require working past regular office hours?"
"I don't mind working long hours. I have no family of my own; I have the time available. But it doesn't usually mean extra money. The budget has minimal provision for paying overtime."
"Does the Director work overtime as well?"
"He puts in his fair share. Of course, he's at a much higher pay grade so he's more than adequately compensated. Enough, in fact, that he and his wife recently returned from a cruise to the Bahamas." There was no mistaking a trace of bitterness in her voice.
"Doesn't working late wreak havoc on his family life? My wife reacts even when I don't make it home in time for dinner."
"The Director's home life is in a habitual state of havoc."
Surprised by her candor, Paul continued to probe. "Because he spends so much time at work?"
"Because nothing he does for his wife is good enough. She's always complaining. About his job, wanting a larger house, a newer car, more money to spend."
"That makes for an unhappy marriage. Has he considered divorce?"
Marcia snickered. "She'd take him to the cleaners. He finds it easier to tune her out and find diversion elsewhere."
I wonder how long Marcia's been his diversion. Has she realized Charles White can't or won't deliver what she wants from a relationship?
Am I sitting across from the source of the leak to the police about the Director? She said she doesn't report overtime. She may have been working late the night Tom's office received the anonymous tip but there's probably no record of it.
At that instant, the subject of the conversation walked through the door. "Not speaking out of school, are we, Marcia?" His tone sounded friendly, but his eyes threw daggers.
Without further regard for her, he approached Paul and shook hands vigorously. The grip was strong but the palms were moist.
"Good to see you, Paul. Please come in."
Marcia was right about his being politically savvy. Score a point for him. He remembered my name.
The Director led the way into his office, calling to Marcia for two coffees.
Charles White was a big man, broad-shouldered, with a belly beginning to expand over his belt. He had a long face with a thin chin, wide distance between the eyes, and a large prolonged nose; the facial traits of a higher IQ confirming Marcia's assessment. Thread veins around his nose suggested rosacea or fondness for an evening cocktail or two.
After spending several moments with prerequisite pleasantries, the Director looked at his watch. "What can I help you with, Paul?"
Score two for him. He took control by letting me know he's a busy man. I need to throw him a curve to establish equilibrium.
"You're aware of the murder at the Pier."
"Of course. Big news for our little town." Charles leaned back in his chair resting his arms across his stomach, appearing relaxed. But his eyes were once again at odds with his words, narrowing into slits of wariness.
"The police approached me about possible irregularities in Neal's business dealings. Knowing of my real estate consultancy, they felt I might be able to lend insight into activities prior to his death."
"What kind of irregularities?"
"They examined his bank statements and found significant, unexplained cash withdrawals."
"That's some kind of cloak and dagger material, Paul." His voice dripped sarcasm. "But what does it have to do with your reason for coming to see me?"
"You didn't let me finish. The police are l
ooking into Neal's recent activities with the Planning Department."
Score one for me. Throw your opponent off guard.
For a large man, he moved swiftly to close the door. It was too late. From the expression on Marcia's face, she had overheard the conversation.
Those two will have a lot to talk about at their after-hours session tonight.
"Is there a point to all this?" His voice sounded impatient, with an undertone of anxiety.
"They haven't been able to locate the plans Neal should have resubmitted to get final permits on his last two projects."
"Maybe he never got final permits."
"Oh, he got them alright. I checked Public Records myself. The revised plans should be on file as well. No one has been able to find them."
"What information did the police want from you?" Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead.
"They asked how Neal could get final permits if the plans rejected by the City Council had never been revised and resubmitted."
The Director tried to recover his composure. "I'm sure our Department will be able to locate the revised plans. With the amount of paperwork that flows through Planning, things get misplaced from time to time. Thankfully, it doesn't happen often. I'll make sure our clerks look more diligently for the missing plans."
Score two for me. Put your opponent on the defensive. He’s making excuses and false promises. He’s attempting to place blame on an incompetent staff, but he has no intention of having his clerks waste time looking for something they can't possibly find.
"Surely, this isn't what you came to discuss," he continued, making a point of looking at his watch again. "Marcia said you made the appointment to discuss plans which one of your clients is submitting."
"Actually, my visit’s in the same context of what we're talking about. If Neal was, in fact, able to get Plan Approval without resubmitting plans, it appears there have been changes in plan requirements. I have a responsibility to my clients to stay on top of any new policies and procedures." Paul let the words hang in the air. "I'm sure you understand my need to assure my clients that all developers are treated equally in the process."
The sunlight filtering through the window was blocked as the man rose to his full height. "There have been no changes in Plan requirements."
His hospitality has worn thin. No cordial use of my first name now.
The Director walked around his desk and opened the door, leaving no doubt the meeting had concluded.
"I think you've been subjected to a vast overreaction on the part of someone at police headquarters. I'm certain no evidence will be found of irregular behavior of any kind by Neal Henderson. After all, don't forget he represents Don Carson, the biggest developer in the County. Don would never allow a dishonest man to rise to Neal's rank in his organization."
"I'm sure Neal wasn't dishonest when he started working for Don. All of us are subject to financial pressures of raising a family, maintaining expensive lifestyles, and living up to other people's expectations. Men don't start out dishonest as much as they become less and less honest over time. Their integrity dissolves as their ideals are subjected to a slow process of erosion."
Charles put a hand on Paul's shoulder walking him to Marcia's desk.
"Thanks for coming in, Paul. My secretary will see you out." He returned to his office and closed the door without looking back.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tom stopped at the chocolate shop on his way to meet with the Councilwoman. The girl behind the counter offered him a sample of a chocolate truffle. "Delicious. Give me a small box of those."
Watching her box the confection and wrap a bow around the box, he considered getting a box for Maddy. Maybe it would restore him in her good graces. As usual, he had no idea what had angered her or what he should be making amends for. He sometimes felt on more solid ground dealing with criminals. At least he could halfway predict their behavior.
Arriving at the appointed time, he saw the interior office was empty.
"Don't worry," Rosemary assured him. "She's not standing you up; she's been delayed. She should be here in ten or fifteen minutes."
Tom wasn't surprised. He figured the Councilwoman would be late for their meeting as part of her game of one-upmanship.
He leaned over the secretary's desk, handing her the box of sweets. "Put those in your desk where she won't see them."
She wagged her finger as if scolding him. "Why, Detective, are you bribing me?"
Interesting choice of words, Tom thought to himself. Is she letting me know she was the person behind the anonymous tip about the Planning Director?
He observed her carefully, but her expression gave nothing away. "Certainly not, Ma'am. Appreciative of all your hard work here at City Hall, that’s all."
Tom took a seat to await Mrs. Patton's arrival. Certain Neal Henderson and Margaret Patton had an affair, he considered the best approach to get her to disclose their relationship without putting her on the defensive.
What hot buttons can I press?
What was her interest in Neal? A whimsical fling, a mutually beneficial arrangement, an alternative for a loveless marriage?
What had attracted Neal to the Councilwoman? He had been on the brink of getting married to a lovely woman, his high school sweetheart. What did Mrs. Patton have to offer that enticed him enough to break off his engagement?
The three things most important to Neal appeared to be women, power, and money. Margaret Patton provided two of those elements. Had she provided all three?
Tom walked to the window and looked at the hills surrounding City Hall. He pinched his lower lip between his fingers, deep in thought.
Had their relationship soured? Had it put her job, her reputation, or her marriage in jeopardy?
What about the picture of her in the hot tub at his apartment? Had Neal used the picture to blackmail her?
With more than enough motive, the Councilwoman was becoming more than a person of interest in this case. She was rapidly becoming the prime suspect.
Tom answered his cell. "Hey, man." Seeing Rosemary Hanson glance toward him, he was careful not to reveal the name of his caller.
"Can you talk?" Paul asked.
"Go ahead. I'm waiting for an appointment." He threw a smile in the secretary's direction, and she turned back to her work.
"I made a trip to the Planning Department after our little talk. Fortunately, the woman I know was working the front counter for walk-ins. I used the subterfuge of working on a new project for a client who would soon be submitting plans for the Council's approval. Asked if there had been any recent changes or rulings I should know about that might affect my client's outcome."
"Good approach."
"She told me the only plans she had recently seen rejected were for floor space ratios and height requirements not being met per Code.
'Not one of my client's plans, I hope.' I said to her.
'Oh, no,' she responded. 'As I recall, it was one of Mr. Henderson's projects. Victoria Square, I think. I hadn't thought about it since the terrible thing that happened to him.' I commiserated with her."
"All fine and dandy, Paul. But how is it helpful to me?"
"In itself, it's not. But her answer when I asked if the plans passed when they were resubmitted might be of more interest to you."
"Don't keep me in suspense, buddy."
"She looked a little baffled, then shook her head. ‘Now that you mention it, I saw Plan Approvals in the file but there were no new plans submitted.' "
"Bingo. That's what I wanted to hear. Did she give any explanation as to how that could happen?"
"She had a call come in. I told her to take the call, thanked her, and left. I didn't want to push the issue and possibly get her in trouble in case she started asking questions."
"Good move. Exactly what I would have done. I want to wait for the perfect opportunity to tip our hand."
"When do you think that might occur?"
Tom saw Marg
aret Patton walking in from the parking lot. "I think it's arriving now through the back doors of City Hall."
• • •
Hurrying through the outer office, the Councilwoman acknowledged her secretary with a curt nod and called to Tom over her shoulder as she passed through to her inner sanctum. "Give me a minute, Detective."
No apology for being late, Tom noted.
Rosemary looked at Tom and shrugged her shoulders. He gave her a wink.
It was more than several minutes before she called, "Please come in, Detective."
Whatever business she had attended to was not evident. There were no files on her desk; no briefcase in sight. Is she meticulous, or secretive?
She wasted no time on cordialities. Arrogance was apparent from the smirk on her face, but her constant finger tapping belied her self-assurance. "I can't imagine what questions you have for me about Neal Henderson. I hardly knew the man."
In a split second, Tom decided against diplomacy. If this woman wanted to play games, he could play hardball, too. He went right for the jugular.
Pulling out the picture of her with Neal in the hot tub, he threw it on the desk in front of her.
"That would suggest differently."
She blanched. Her eyes narrowed to slits. He could almost see her wheels turning.
In the brief silence, they could both hear fingers flying across a keyboard. She stood and walked around the desk. Gingerly picking up the corner of the picture between her thumb and forefinger, she handed it back to Tom on her way to close the office door.
By the time she resumed her seat, she had collected herself. Steepling her hands in front of her, she looked smug and in control as she responded.
"I'm not saying there are things I've done I'd rather not be made public, but I have nothing to hide that would be of interest to you."
"Oh, to the contrary. I think you’re at the heart of my entire investigation."
Her lips became thinner, and the corners of her mouth turned down in an unattractive manner. "I beg to differ with you, Detective. It sounds to me like you're attributing more to my involvement with Neal Henderson than it warrants."
"Please feel free to enlighten me on the error of my assumptions." He let the sarcasm drip off his tongue in an effort to rattle her.