by I. L. Wolf
“What are you talking about?”
“Stop playing a brave little detective. You’ll only get more people hurt. And the next one will likely be you.”
“Let her go.”
“Not unless we’ve reached an arrangement,” he said.
“Fine,” she said, “whatever you want. Just let her go.”
“I haven’t told you what I want,” he said. “And it’s not negotiable.”
“Then get to it,” she said. “But first let me talk to Marlene.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to argue, Venetia.”
He knew her name and he knew how to pronounce it. That had to cut down on the number of people it could be. “I’m not making any deals with you unless I know that Marlene is OK, and that you actually have her.”
“I’m talking to you from her phone, aren’t I?”
“It doesn’t mean she’s with you. Let me talk to her.”
There was a short silence. “I’ll do you one better.” A new text popped up. She opened it. There was Marlene, her hands tied in front of her, sitting in a chair. There wasn’t enough background to give her any idea where she might be. “There,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“You need to leave it alone. All of it,” he said.
“Fine,” she said. “Let her go.”
“I’m not done yet. I want the documents.”
“What documents?”
“Don’t play stupid, it’s really unbecoming. You know the ones I mean. I want them, and if you don’t bring them in 24 hours—”
“What? You’ll hurt her?”
“Do you want the answer to that question? And if you involve the police, she’s the one who will pay.”
The phone went dead.
Venetia sank down onto the nearby bench, overwhelmed by the thought that she was going to have to tell Julian his wife was being held hostage because of her. She put her face in her hands and rubbed hard. Nope, when she took them away, everything was still there, exactly as she left it.
Her little life watering plants. That was what it had become, until this. A nice life. A quiet life.
And it was boring the crap out of her.
It was the only explanation as to why she was here, sitting on a bench, wondering what the heck she should do. With Marlene in danger.
Would the guy really hurt her if she called the police? How would he know? There was only one person she could trust right now.
And he was calling her.
“Detective James,” she said. “I was about to—”
“You need to come down to the station immediately.”
“Is something wrong?”
“You need to come down here. Now.”
“My car’s at the funeral home, I was waiting for cab. But I have to tell you—”
“You can arrive here in a squad car if you prefer.”
“You’ll send someone to get me?”
“I don’t think you understand me, Ms. Shipman. If you are not willing to come down to the station willingly, right now, I will send officers who will bring you in.”
“You mean arrest me?”
“We’re not quite there. Yet. But I suggest you get here immediately.”
“What’s going on? And I really need to tell you—”
“I don’t have time for small talk,” he said. “See you within half-an-hour.” She stared at the phone number for a minute after he’d gone, to make sure the call had actually come from him. It was so strange, he barely sounded like himself.
As if she’d know. They’d only met days ago.
He’d been so cold, so terse. She raised her hand and stood. Finally, there was a cab heading toward her.
Chapter 14
Large windows covered one entire side of the police station, while several officers sat high behind a tall counter on the other. The lobby area was strangely quiet
“Hi,” she said, smiling. The officer didn’t smile back. “I’m Venetia Shipman, I’m supposed to see Detective James?”
Saying nothing to her, the officer picked up a phone and mumbled something she couldn’t hear over the gulf.
“Ms. Shipman,” she heard from beside the end of the long counter. She couldn’t see anyone beyond the desk. Then he stuck his head further out around the edge. “Ms. Shipman,” he said again. Cadby was all business, his tone level, without a hint of the humanity she’d seen mere hours before. “Step inside, please.”
She followed him through the plain steel door and around the gray corridors. He opened another door and gestured for her to go in. It was small, with a single table in the middle. She saw the camera near the ceiling.
“Are you interrogating me?” she said, a lilt in her voice. His expression didn’t change.
“We need to have a conversation,” he said. He indicated the seat in the sight line of the camera, and pulled the other wooden chair from the table.
She adjusted herself into the chair, the legs scraping hollowly on the linoleum. “That was a joke, but you seem awfully serious. Am I under arrest?” she said.
“No,” he said evenly. “We’re only talking. For now.”
“So I’m free to leave.”
“At the moment, yes.”
“What is going on here? You dropped me off this afternoon at the hospital, you were fine, you had that Brooks guy—”
“That’s not what we’re here to discuss,” he said. The door opened, someone handed him a thick brown envelope, and closed the door again.
“There are people watching this? Are you honestly interrogating me? For what? “
Looking at her, not the envelope, he undid the clasp and slid out a sheaf of papers. He took the first clipped bunch and tossed them on the table.
“What do you know about these?”
She turned them so that they faced her. They were the incorporation documents for ShamCorp. “You know what I know about these. You gave them to me.”
“And you’re claiming that that was the first time you saw them?”
“You know it was,” she said. “Can’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Flip to the back page.” She did, and there was sheet with lists of details. “That’s the metadata,” he said.
“The what?”
“It’s the information that’s automatically created when you create a document. It’s an electronic trail.”
“So you found out who created the fake corporation. Great.” The chair squeaked as she leaned back.
“I’m not sure you’ll think that way if you take a closer look at it.”
She scanned the paper, but nothing stood out. “I don’t get it. Who created it?”
“You know who created it, Venetia. You should stop playing these games.”
“What games? Seriously, what happened in the last couple of hours? I don’t get it.”
He stood up, walked around to her side of the table, and planted a finger flat on the paper. “V.S. Ring any bells?”
“My initials. So?”
“So you created this document. And made all the edits.”
“I don’t care what that piece of paper says, no I didn’t.”
“Do you see this?” He pointed to another line. “That’s the name of the hard drive.”
“And?”
“It’s your hard drive.”
“You took my computer? I hope you had a warrant for it.”
“We didn’t need a warrant.”
“I may not be a practicing lawyer,” Venetia said, sitting upright, “but I know that you need a warrant to seize property.”
“Not when it’s handed over.”
“I didn’t hand anything over. I never once gave you permission—”
“You didn’t have to,” he said, returning to the other side of the desk. “You didn’t have to.”
“Wait, are you talking about my hard drive from my office computer?”
He didn’t say anything. He stretched his long legs in front of him, rested an arm on the t
able, and stared.
“Well, as you know, I haven’t had access to that computer in years.”
He slid his hand across the table, still watching her, and pointed again. “The date fits with when you were still working there.”
“And? Can’t this be altered? You know I had nothing to do with that fake corporation. It’s called ShamCorp, for goodness sake, why would I be so stupid?”
“For all I know, so that you could sit there and ask me why you would be so stupid.” He flipped the papers closed.
“This is ridiculous. You know I had nothing to do with it.”
“The metadata seems to tell a different story.”
“Other people had access to that computer, Cadby—” He raised an eyebrow. “Detective James. Perhaps you should be talking to them.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“I don’t get why you suddenly think I had anything to do with any of this.”
“I understand you had a very tense relationship with Delenda O’Brien.”
“I wouldn’t say tense. I mean, we weren’t the best of friends or anything. But it wasn’t tense, per se. It was mostly nothing.”
“Besides lending her your platter, you mean.”
“What?”
“When you came to the house, after we’d discovered Delenda’s body, you seemed rather irate about a platter.”
“Well, she’d borrowed it and she hadn’t returned it, and she swore that she’d give it back that day. But why are we talking about the platter now?”
Again he said nothing, but the person who’d brought in the envelope now brought in a laptop. Detective James hit a button, and then swung it around to face her.
“We opened the package,” he said, pointing to a thumb drive in one of the USB ports. Video came up on the screen. It was jerky and a bit blurred, shot from an odd angle. It moved and the picture shifted a little, until it finally stopped, more or less straight, revealing the dashboard of a car and a street of storefronts ahead.
“What is that?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
The camera jerked its way out of the car. “Is that in someone’s pocket? One of those spy cameras or something?”
Half his mouth twitched. She was definitely right on that count. A hand blurred into frame, opening the door of a restaurant, and the person went through.
“So we’re going to watch someone eating lunch?”
“Why do you say lunch?”
“It’s light outside?”
“Uh-huh,” is all he said.
“I mean, I know people take pictures of their food, but this seems a little—” she said.
He didn’t give an inch.
The person finally settled in a dark booth, the camera adjusting to the low light. “Wow, those little cameras seem to have come a long way. OK. Still watching. But nothing’s happening.”
“It will,” he said.
“And you got this from Brooks?” She couldn’t help lapsing back into the conversational tone.
“That’s what I said. Keep watching.”
“I’m watching, I’m watching,” she said.
A blur slid into the booth across, the person with the camera bouncing a little from the movement of the seat. When it all cleared, there was Delenda’s face, looking surprised as ever with her drawn-on eyebrows, staring directly at the camera.
“Delenda,” she found herself saying without thinking.
“Keep watching,” he said.
“So,” Delenda said.
“Do you have them?” said the voice of the person with the camera. With the muffled sound, Venetia couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or a woman.
“I have access to them,” Delenda said. “I don’t have them in hand.”
“And you have proof that you got them directly from her?”
“All that and a lot more besides,” said Delenda. “She’s been very busy. I’d say she’s into to up to her eyebrows.”
“Odd choice from her,” Venetia said to herself.
“I think now’s not the time for flippancy,” said Detective James.
“Because you know I’ve got to get her, too,” The disembodied voice said. “If she doesn’t go down, if her reputation isn’t destroyed, it’s not enough.”
“Of course I know that,” said Delenda. “I have it under control. We’ll get out clean, and she’ll get what she has coming. I can’t wait to see her smug face when it happens, too. I promised she’d be destroyed, and she will be. Heck, I’d do it just for that.”
“You have them?”
“Why do you keep asking me that? I have it under control. Do you not know what ‘under control’ means?”
“Don’t snipe.”
“I’m not snipping. You’d think I was incompetent, the way you’re going on and on about it,” said Delenda.
“I don’t think you’re incompetent. And I said ‘snipe,’ not snip.”
“I’d do it if it only meant ruining Venetia,” Delenda said, her lips in a tight smile. “That’s reward enough for me. Except, of course, it isn’t.” ”
“’Ruining Venetia?’” Venetia said. “What the hell am I looking at?”
“From where I’m sitting,” said Detective James, “Motive.”
“What?”
“Sounds like she was out to get you, only you got her first. When was the last time you saw Delenda O’Brien?”
“We’ve been over that.”
“Let’s try it again. When was the last time you saw Delenda O’Brien, Ms. Shipman?”
“You don’t actually think that I could have killed her.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“Clearly they were framing me. You already knew they were framing me. With this video suddenly I’m not being framed?”
“When did you see Delenda?”
“I told you, I’m not sure. Probably months ago.”
“But you said she told you she’d return your platter.”
“Yes, on the phone, or e-mail.”
“Which?”
“I don’t remember. If you’re that interested get the phone records.”
“To be clear, you’re giving us permission to access your phone records?”
“What? No. I don’t—” Her phone chirped. “Excuse me,” she said.
“You’re going to answer your phone right now?”
“You said I wasn’t under arrest,” she said, yanking her purse onto her lap.
“On the table,” he said.
“What?”
“Purse on the table.”
“Are you kidding? Did you lose your mind or something?”
“You could have a weapon.”
“I don’t have a weapon,” she said, “You practically saw the contents of my purse earlier. Did I fall asleep? Because this is getting so bizarre.” She finally found her phone.
“You went to the police,” is all the text said. Marlene. Holy crap, she’d forgotten about Marlene. She felt the world shimmer a little.
“What? What happened? Why are you pale?” He made a cutting motion at the camera. “What is it?”
“I can’t believe I managed to forget to tell you. But I didn’t expect you to suddenly think…never mind, that doesn’t matter right now. If you had anything real tying me to Delenda, I’d be arrested.”
“Maybe.”
“Fine, then arrest me, read me my rights, and I’ll get a lawyer. This is more important.”
“What is?”
“Someone kidnapped Marlene.”
“Marlene? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how else to say it.”
“When you say ‘Marlene,’ you’re talking about Marlene Green?” Again, he slid his hand into the envelope and pulled out another, thinner, collection of papers.
“Yes,” she said. “What is that?”
“We’ll get to it later,” he said. “What do you mean someone kidnapped her?”
“What else could those words possibly
mean?”
“Is this a ruse to distract me from the very real possibility that you killed Delenda to cover up something you’ve done?”
“’Very real possibility?’ Are you kidding me? I didn’t kill Delenda, and I don’t know why that video would make you think that I did. No, Marlene was following someone—”
“Who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Given that you’re telling me she’s now been kidnapped, I’d say yes.”
“Dane. OK? Dane Froxen.”
“Your old law partner?”
“Yes.”
“So now you’re trying to implicate him in this supposed kidnapping.”
“What are you talking about, trying to implicate him? She was following him.”
He shifted back into his chair, his eyes showing more distance than his body. “Uh-huh,” he said. She looked at him, her forehead wrinkled, her lips pressed tight.
“Do you not believe me?”
“I’ll say I’m having quite a case of skepticism,” he said.
“What rabbit hole did I fall down today? I’m trying to tell you that my boss’ wife—”
“I thought they co-owned the business.”
“Is that at all relevant right now? I’m trying to tell you that someone has her, and they told me if I went to the police they’d hurt her, and they texted me and said that they know I’m here.”
She couldn’t help it, the tears started welling. She bit her cheek, hoping it would distract her brain long enough to stop them from spilling over. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. She didn’t do damsel in distress. She hated damsel in distress.
His gaze remained cool, appraising.
But then it shifted, barely a hair. “You’re serious,” he said.
“Of course I’m serious. Here.” she flipped through the phone until she found the picture of Marlene tied up. “Look. Not kidding. Not distracting. Check the time on the text. Check the whole freaking phone, I don’t care, something’s going to happen to her and it’s my fault. It may already have happened, I don’t know.”
“How much do you know about Marlene?” he said.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“A pretty clear one.”
“I don’t know. She married Julian years ago, she watches curling on TV whenever it’s on, she runs the office side of the business.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “How long have they been married?”