"You do?" He had me on the box again.
"I've been a little slow in following up on Angelo, but I'm going to get to it this week and I'll make a decision. You have my commitment."
"That's good, Alex. It's not why I was calling, but it's good to know you haven't forgotten my request. Hold on for me, would you?"
I slumped down in my chair and eavesdropped as he signed something for his secretary and asked her to send it out right away. I should have known better than to open with a mea culpa. It set exactly the wrong tone and who knows? He may have gone through the entire phone call and never raised the issue. Damn.
"I see we think alike, Alex." Lenny was back.
"In what way?"
"I just got off the phone with Jo Shepard out in California."
Uh-oh.
"She tells me you two had a nice chat."
I slumped down in the chair even more. I was close to horizontal, and the Angelo issue was starting to look more and more workable. At least with Angelo, my sin was in having done nothing. I couldn't make the same claim with Aunt Jo. I almost blurted out my second mea culpa, but decided to wait for his reaction first. "I spoke to her last week." I said. "Human Resources called from Denver and needed some information."
"Why didn't you tell me that you and Ellen knew each other?"
"We didn't. Did Jo Shepard tell you that we did?"
"No. But I surmised that the two of you must have been friends. Otherwise, why would you be interested in gaining access to her house?"
"Well, it wasn't that so much as I thought I could help her with Ellen's personal effects. There doesn't seem to be anyone else."
"Is that why you went up there on Friday? To help with her effects?"
I squeezed my eyes shut. Did everyone know everything that I did? I might as well post a daily schedule. This was getting out of hand. I didn't want to be lying to my boss. "No. No, that's not why I went up there, Lenny. The truth is that Dan has a theory-"
"That Ellen was murdered by the union in Boston. And he wants to get into her house to find the proof. Am I close?"
"You're right on target." I should have guessed that he would have known.
"Alex, listen to me. You should have called me before doing something like that… and I suppose I should have warned you about Fallacaro."
"What about him?"
"He's bad news, Alex. He's already ruined a couple of careers, including his own. And he didn't do Ellen any favors. He's always got his own agenda working, and I'm sure he does here, too."
I sat up straight. "What do you mean by that?"
"He's the one who encouraged Ellen to take such a hard line with the union. She got caught in the cross fire. Now he blames himself, and his way of dealing with it is to deny the obvious, to insist that she was murdered." Lenny's Southern accent grew deeper and richer as his frustration grew. I'd promised myself when I'd called Aunt Jo not to regret it later, not to do that to myself. Fat chance. As I listened to Lenny, I felt the guilt like a clinging vine growing around that defiant resolve and squeezing the life out of it.
Lenny was still going. "And I'll tell you something else. He's destructive. This ridiculous story is destructive for the airline, and as the Majestic Airlines representative in Boston, Alex, it's your job to make sure that a damaging and false story like that doesn't get out of hand. I don't want to see myself on Sixty Minutes. Do you?"
"Of course not, but this doesn't seem like Mike Wallace territory to me."
"No? Think about it. Five years ago you had the female ramp supervisor at Northwest who was murdered at Logan. Now here's another young woman dead at Logan, this time with Majestic. She was young, single, not that experienced, working in a tough place with a tough union. Majestic is high-profile, Bill Scanlon is high-profile, and she picked a strange way to die. You could spin an interesting tale."
That was true, but… "You make it sound as if the company is trying to hide something."
"No. No matter what Dan Fallacaro says, Ellen killed herself. If we did anything wrong, it was in not getting her out of there before it was too late." He paused for a long time, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, with more rounded corners than sharp edges. "That was my fault. I should have seen how overwhelmed she was." He picked up the receiver. "Alex, I'm not going to make the same mistakes again. It's my job to keep you focused on the right things, and that's all I'm trying to do. Pay attention to the airport and what needs to get done there. Get the numbers up and don't get distracted. I'll hold Scanlon off until you can get things under control there."
"Scanlon?" My heart did a double clutch.
"Boston has been receiving what you might call unusual interest from the chairman." He stretched out the middle 'u'-un-yooo-su-al. "I've had calls from him almost every day since you've arrived."
"About what?"
"About the problems in your station. I know you've only been there a week, but he's not interested in excuses. I can only do so much before he loses patience with the both of us."
Lenny had no idea how hollow his threat was. I wasn't afraid of Bill. But I also didn't want him interested in my operation. I stood up, paced over to the window, turned around, paced back, sat down, and stood up again. I didn't want to see him; I didn't want to talk to him on the phone; even talking about him touched on a nerve that was still painfully exposed. Moving to Boston had been a way to put distance between us, and he had promised to honor that decision. I could only hope that in spite of any problems I was having here or what Lenny might say, he would keep his promise.
"Do you understand?" Lenny asked me.
"I understand."
"I appreciate your commitment on Angelo," he said, "and I'd like to ask for another. My plan is to send someone up there from my Human Resources staff here in D.C. to handle Ellen's personal effects, someone who has some training in this area. For my peace of mind, can you promise me that you will work on the problems at the airport until I can free someone up?"
"Yes, I can do that."
"That means you will stay out of Ellen's house?"
I really had no good reason not to make him that promise. "I'll stay out."
"Do I have your word?"
"You have my word."
"Good. Now, all you have to do is ask and I'll take care of Fallacaro for you. You can bring in your own guy-or gal."
I didn't think I knew any "gals." "Take care of him how?"
"I'll make him a ramp supervisor in the farthest place I can find from New Jersey."
"Do you mean Boston?"
"I mean New Jersey. Newark. If he gives you any more trouble, tell him that. And call me when you've come to a decision about Angelo."
"I will."
When I hung up, Molly was in the doorway with her coat on. "Matt's calling back. He got tired of waiting and hung up."
I checked my second line, unaware that it had even rung.
"And I'm going home. Don't forget that tomorrow is Tuesday and you've got your staff meeting."
"Thanks, Molly. Have a good evening."
I punched up Matt's call. He'd been promoted since the last I'd seen him, so instead of a manager's cubicle in the midst of the hoi polloi, he'd be in a big window office sitting in a high-backed swivel chair behind his turbo desk.
"Have you got your feet up on the desk, Matt?"
"That's what it's for, isn't it?"
"And I'll bet you haven't looked at the mountains for a week." Matt had a magnificent view from his side of the building. I'd spent most of my time in headquarters gazing out the window at the canvas peaks of Denver International Airport and in the background, the real thing-the majestic peaks of the great Rocky Mountains.
"We're much too busy to appreciate the natural beauty of our surroundings. I hear it's more exciting where you are. What's it like out there?"
"It's like an airport, Matt." I checked the view out my window, where I could see a line of purple tails with Majestic logos, one on every gate. "We have airp
lanes here and passengers and cargo. You should come out sometime and see what kind of business you're in."
"No time for that." I heard the clacking of his computer keys, and I knew he was checking e-mail. "I'm talking about all the rumors. Word here is everyone in Boston thinks someone murdered Ellen Shepard. Don't you feel weird? I feel weird, but you're sitting in her chair."
"What happened to her is not contagious, Matt, and I like to think of it as my chair now." I touched the armrest, felt the rough, nubby weave that wore like iron. This chair was probably going to survive the next twelve general managers. "I feel sad about what happened to Ellen, not weird. She was more than a rumor. You know that. You worked with her."
"That was two years ago," he said. "She wasn't suicidal when I knew her."
"I'm not sure she would have announced it, particularly to a sensitive guy like you. How did she sound when you talked to her last week?"
"How'd you know I talked to her?"
"You left a trail of phone messages. What did she want?"
"She had some questions about an old Finance project. I don't think it would pertain to anything you're doing now."
His voice was taking on that arch, staffy quality that really got under my skin. It was a good thing I'd known him since he was a baby analyst. "Matt, if you don't want to tell me what she wanted, say so, but don't give me that secret Finance handshake bullshit."
The clacking keys went silent. "Why do you need to know? Are you thinking she was murdered?"
"I've got some problem employees here, and I think Ellen was building a case to get rid of at least one of them. If she was, I'd like to finish what she was doing."
"Hold on." I heard him get up and close his office door. "That's not why she called," he said when he was back, "but I'll tell you anyway. She was looking for an old schedule, something from our task force days."
"The Nor'easter Acquisition Task Force?"
"Yeah. We worked on it together. She wanted the schedule of purchase price adjustments."
I opened a drawer, found a pad of paper, and started taking notes. "What's a purchase price adjustment?"
"Adjustments to the price Majestic paid to buy Nor'easter."
"What's special about them?"
"Nothing. They're just expenses that are incurred as part of the deal, so they get charged against the purchase price instead of normal operations. That's why you keep them separate."
"What are some examples?"
"Lawyers. You have to have lawyers to negotiate and draft documents for the transaction, and they charge a fee for that. Accountants, consultants, anyone we hire for due diligence. We wouldn't purchase their services if we weren't doing the deal, so their fee gets charged to the deal."
"That doesn't sound particularly relevant to the ramp in Boston."
"I told you."
"There's a schedule of these charges?"
"Yeah. Ellen maintained it when she was on the task force. She didn't have a copy of it anymore, so she called me."
"What does it look like?"
"It's nothing but a spreadsheet. Down one side you've got the payee and the nature of the expense if it's not obvious. Down the other you've got the dollar amount."
"Why would she be interested in something like that two years after the fact?"
"I haven't got a clue."
"You don't know, or you're not telling me?"
"She wouldn't say. I told her where to find it and that was it."
"Which is where?
"Archives. All the merger files have been archived for about a year now."
"Can you send a copy of that schedule to me?"
"I'd have to sign it out, and I don't think I want my name on anything having to do with Ellen Shepard. That whole subject is taboo around here right now. We're not even supposed to be thinking about it, much less talking about it. I could get into trouble."
"Come on, Matt. How many times did I bail you out in the past? Don't you remember that time when you were working on that appropriations request for San Francisco and you needed that information right away and I was the one who went back out to the airport that night to get it-"
He groaned. "Look, I don't know what you're doing up there, but if I get you this thing, you have to keep my name out of it."
"Your sterling reputation is safe with me."
My second line lit up and flashed several times before I remembered Molly wasn't out there to pick it up. Then my beeper went off. I checked the number.
"There's something going on here, Matt. Operations is beeping me. Would you just send a copy of everything Ellen asked for?"
"Yep. But we never had this conversation."
"If you say so, Matt."
Kevin was talking the instant I punched the second line. "You'd better get down here," he said. "We've got a problem."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I walked down the corridor past the door labeled men's locker room. The second door had no designation, just two flat globs of hardened putty where the ready room sign might have been at one time. I could hear masculine voices inside.
For as many years as I'd worked in the field, it still wasn't easy for me to walk into a ready room. Some airports were better than others, but for the most part, the ramp was dominated by men and the ready room was where they congregated to do what men in packs do. I took a moment to gather myself, then pushed through the door.
There were eight guys in there, all in various stages of readiness-eating, reading the newspaper, playing cards. One was sleeping. All conversation ceased abruptly with my arrival, leaving an old color TV set to provide the soundtrack. I felt as if I was trespassing in the boys' secret clubhouse.
"Gentlemen," I said, concentrating on keeping my voice strong and steady, which wasn't easy, the way they were staring. "I haven't had a chance to meet most of you. I'm Alex Shanahan, the new general manager, and I'm looking for the assignment crew chief."
Most of them went back to what they'd been doing. A few stared with a bored expression that was probably reserved just for management. Since it was an evening shift, most of the men were on the younger side, some just out of high school. They had that pale, hardened look of kids who had grown up in the dark spaces of big cities. I had no friends in this room.
I was really wishing I'd worn a skirt with pockets because I couldn't decide what to do with my hands. That I was even aware of my hands was a bad sign. "Let me ask you again-"
"He ain't here." The voice floated up from the other side of a La-Z-Boy recliner.
I walked around and found a man with a dark, curly beard, a bald head, and a prodigious belly. He seemed right at home reclining in front of a TV.
"Do you know where he is?"
"Could be anywhere."
"I guess that means he could be in here."
"He's not in here."
He tapped his fingers on the cracked Naugahyde armrest. I searched the concrete walls. "Why isn't the assignment sheet for this shift posted?"
The response came from behind me, and it was a voice I recognized. "Because everybody on my shift knows their job." Big Pete leaned against the wall next to what appeared to be an inside entrance to the men's locker room. He must have just come in, because if he'd been back there the whole time, I would have felt his presence.
"Someone doesn't know their job," I said. "We have a Majestic Express flight that's been in for twenty minutes. No one met the trip, the bags are still onboard, and the passengers are down in claim waiting."
"There's no one in here who's on the clock," he said without even so much as a perfunctory check around the room. "One of us goes out there, you're going to pay double-time. Your shift supervisor would know that. Or Danny."
Dan was at a meeting off the field, and my shift supervisor was stuck with a customer down at the freight house-probably the forwarder with the lobsters, or without the lobsters, as the case may be-but I saw no reason to explain all that. "I think you and I can resolve this."
"We
could," he said, "but as you can see, I'm not on the clock yet." He was dressed in street clothes and completely relaxed, a man in full command of his environment. We were on his turf now.
"If the contract says double-time, then I'll pay double-time. And I will also take the name of the ramper who didn't cover the flight."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man at the far end of the room stand and pull on his jacket. "I'm on the clock." he said. "I'll work it?"
I turned to look at him. He was probably in his early forties, with the sturdy legs and all-over thickness that develop naturally from a lifetime of hard physical labor. His manner was brusque-rough even-but there was gentleness in his face that had somehow managed to survive even in this unforgiving place.
"Johnny, you're not on the clock." Pete stared at him, firing a couple of poison darts intended to shut him down. It probably worked on everyone else.
"I am on the clock." Johnny's manner toward Big Pete was polite and entirely dismissive. "You don't have to pay double-time," he said to me. "I'll work it myself."
"That's against procedures, Johnny. The union ain't responsible if you get hurt."
The big man turned and faced Big Pete, his massive arms stacked like firewood across his chest. "The union ain't responsible for my safety," he said, "and thank God for that."
Pete turned and crossed his arms also. Now the two men were face-to-face. "You pay dues like everyone else here, John."
"That don't make you my representative, Peter."
Someone had killed the volume on the TV, so the only sound came from a guy sitting at a wooden table munching potato chips. Another had stopped in the middle of tying his shoe and was still bent over his knee, watching the drama unfold. John wasn't moving a muscle, and Big Pete was no longer leaning against the wall. The way they looked at each other made it clear that whatever was between these two had not started that day, and wasn't going to end there.
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