Termination Notice (Action Girl Thrillers)

by A. D. Phillips

  Lucy stepped on her waste basket’s pedal to open its steel lid, scraped the food into a black plastic bag, and dropped the plates and utensils in the sink. She sponged them down in a bowl of bubbly water.

  “Leaving me all alone in your apartment to deal with domestic abuse,” Adrian said. “Does that mean you’ve crossed me off the suspect list?”

  “Every relationship has a degree of risk. Sometimes the danger is obvious.” Lucy scrubbed grease off a plate. “Other times it’s hidden beneath the surface. A woman needs to be careful who she gets involved with. So, who was on the phone?”

  “What do you mean?” Adrian feigned surprise, but dropped the act after Lucy gave him an all-serious, ‘don’t screw me around’ look. “Oh, that. Just junk mail. Nothing important.”

  “Relationships are built on trust, Adrian.” Lucy cleaned a second plate. She scrubbed hard until she’d removed every last bit of grease. “Wallace thinks you’re guilty, and right now he’s the one with the badge and gun. I believe you’re innocent, but keeping secrets from me stretches that belief. Whoever called you, you need to come clean and tell—”

  There was a click - the sound of a lock mechanism snapping shut. Water splashed over the sink bowl as Lucy dropped the plate. She turned around, hands dripping wet.

  Adrian had left her apartment.

  ***

  Lucy - with her soapy shirt sleeves still rolled up - exited her tenement to see a Philadelphia taxicab drive off. She stared at the passenger’s head in disbelief. Adrian had his mobile phone out, and stared apprehensively at on-screen text. Then the vehicle turned around a corner, and vanished from sight.

  “You stupid bastard,” Lucy muttered.

  A high-powered engine alerted Lucy to the motorbike coming from behind. She instinctively turned and grasped the railing of a nearby fence. Her shoe heels were lifted slightly off the ground. Like an athlete in the starting blocks, Lucy was ready to run.

  She watched the motorcyclist ride closer, but saw little except her own anxious reflection in the mirrored visor. The rider slowed down on approach, booted foot easing off the accelerator pedal. Dipped headlights shone on Lucy’s trousers as the vehicle stopped a few feet from her.

  “Detective Duvall!” the rider shouted. Her voice was muffled, but definitely feminine.

  Lucy kept a firm grip on the railing as the biker lowered the motorcycle’s support stand. The woman raised her helmet visor, exposing brown Asian skin, loose black hair, and spectacles that fit snugly within an inlaid cushion.

  “Tania.” Lucy relaxed - but only a little. “You’ve been watching us? Following us?”

  “I need to talk to you. About the security footage at Taurus.”

  “I thought it was wiped. Adrian said there were no backups.” Lucy eyed Tania suspiciously, and came to a speedy deduction. “But you made one without his knowledge. That’s why you waited to get me alone. Either that or… What did you find?”

  Tania stepped off her motorcycle, leaving Lucy to ponder the answer. She opened a storage box behind the seat strut, and removed a computer laptop from protective padding.

  “The killer,” Tania said ominously. “I’d better show you inside.”

  ***

  Lucy stood behind Tania as she booted her computer. The laptop was placed on the cleared dining table, with its raised screen flat against the wall. Tania had left her motorcycle helmet on the kitchen counter. Dressed in biker leathers, the Asian seemed a different woman to the shy programmer from Taurus Studios. With her thick-soled boots on, she rivalled Lucy for tallness, and conveyed an aura of confidence.

  “I’m not sure I can help,” Lucy said. “They took me off the case. If you have proof Adrian’s the killer…”

  “Here, take a look.”

  Lucy studied Tania’s figure as she stepped aside, noting her lean-but-powerful thighs, leather gloves, and coat that gave her an almost masculine appearance. Her irises were magnified by convex spectacle lenses, making them seem unnaturally large.

  Lucy kept her hands in front as she glanced at the screen. Tania used the laptop mouse pad to click on a CCTV camera icon. A media player opened in a separate window, its interior totally black except for a progress bar. The percentage done statistic increased from zero, and incremented by a few points every second.

  “Does it come with a cable?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t have it with me.” Tania appeared oblivious to the insinuation.

  “Bit of an oversight. What if you need one? Things don’t always go to plan. Sometimes you run into unexpected trouble.” Tania’s confidence appeared to ebb away, and Lucy kept the pressure on. “It just occurred to me. Doctor Vickers - our forensics woman - said something very interesting at the first murder scene. I could have done it.”

  Tania’s eyes shifted slightly to the side. “Done what?”

  “Killed Norris.” Lucy paused to give Tania an obviously phony, Ron-like smile. “He was too pissed to put up a fight. Levitt was fat on doughnuts. The other victims were both female. Sophie and Jenna weren’t strong women. Not like you.”

  The progress bar stalled at 68%. Tania took her trembly fingers off the laptop pad.

  “Are you saying—”

  “Just thinking. People assume the killer’s a man, but the Taurus Strangler could just as easily be a woman. A woman with inside knowledge of Taurus’ computer systems. It’s quite easy to falsify video evidence. Especially when you’re the only one who knows it exists.”

  Tania shook her head, almost in tears. “Is that why you think I came here? To set up your stupid boyfriend?”

  “Love and hate.” Lucy gave her no respite. “Both make good motives.”

  “Okay, I hate the bastard!” Tania screamed. “But not enough to hurt him. Or Sophie. Or the others.” She removed her spectacles to rub her watery eyes. “I know you care about Adrian. I can’t understand why. He’s always exploited his employees.” Tania’s assessment was scathing and resentful. “I never told him about the backups because I thought I might need proof someday. Or maybe show the world what the head of Taurus is really like. After the last two murders, I searched the backup files, hoping to prove Adrian was the killer. That he’d wiped the data to cover his tracks. But… I found something else.”

  “What did you find?” Regret crept into Lucy’s voice.

  “Video footage from five days ago.” Tania directed Lucy’s attention to the laptop screen. “In the president’s office.”

  The progress bar was gone. The media player showed the same images Tania had viewed the previous night: downward shot of the Taurus president’s desk, green low-light filter, Adrian’s angry argument with Miles Dawson over the cellphone.

  “More like his guilt.” Lucy grunted in frustration. “Don’t see how this helps him.”

  Tania wiped her nose dry, and used the laptop mouse pointer to click on a bookmark icon. The footage changed to an empty office - a recording by the same camera on a different date. Lucy watched attentively. Her hands pressed on the dining table as a round-headed shadow fell across Adrian’s desk.

  The Taurus Strangler stepped into view, leather outfit and balaclava seen from the back. Lucy stiffened and looked across at Tania. Her leggings were vaguely similar - though noticeably tighter - and her gloves were a good match, but the jackets were totally different. Tania’s was a lot shorter around the waist and shinier.

  Tania read Lucy’s gaze. “That’s not me.”

  “I know,” said Lucy apologetically.

  She returned her attention to the laptop. The strangler vaulted onto the desk, reached up, and removed a ventilation grille from the ceiling.

  “What’s he doing?” Lucy clicked to expand the image to full screen.

  “How do you know it’s a he?” asked Tania with lingering bitterness. “It might be a woman.”

  Lucy ignored Tania’s obvious swipe and pointed to an object in the killer’s hands. “Any idea what that is?”

  “You’ll see in a se
cond,” Tania said unhelpfully.

  The killer turned to face the camera, booted feet placed to avoid disturbing items on Adrian’s desk. In the low-light filter, the Taurus Strangler’s eyes appeared as bright green rings around black dots. A gloved hand rose into view, holding a thumb-sized plastic box with a shiny aerial sticking up. A glassy glint from the opposite end created a brief lens-flare effect.

  “A camera,” Lucy said. “Fitted with a transmitter. Why plant a camera in Adrian’s office?”

  “Look at where it was pointing,” Tania replied. “Down at his computer keyboard.”

  Working quickly, the killer replaced the vent over the camera, and stepped down out of sight. With the intruder gone, the office looked exactly the same as it had a few minutes ago.

  “The killer saw everything Adrian typed,” Tania continued. “All his e-mails. Even those he deleted. His login details, passwords.”

  “So the strangler could access his computer remotely,” Lucy surmised. “To post the video of Sophie’s murder online. And who knows what else?” She exhaled. “Tania, about what I said…”

  “I get it,” Tania interrupted. “Near death experience, someone showing up on your doorstep wearing leather. I’d be suspicious too.” She closed the computer and stowed it underneath her arm. “Adrian would already know the passwords to his computer accounts, so if someone broke into his office… and tried to erase the footage. It means…”

  “Means he’s not the killer,” Lucy said, invigorated with relief. “Tania, you’re a genius.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The ornate-handled, glass double doors swung inward, and urban Philadelphia briefly came alive. A chaotic mix of ambient sounds told the story of a busy metropolis during rush hour: shoes clacking on the pavement, flapping coats, innocent everyday chatter, and slow-moving traffic. Pedestrians scurried past, ignoring the frosty-cheeked man who’d just entered the office building. If any of them had glimpsed under his winter coat hood, they might have recognised Adrian Pryce.

  Adrian stepped through the threshold and shrugged off the cold. He waited until the door fully closed - and the sounds stopped - before he lowered his hood. The lobby he’d entered was from a different century than Taurus Studios. Instead of modern chrome, there was varnished wood and polished brass. The floor was smoothed white-grey marble, with classical Roman pillars and plush ruby-red carpets for decoration. There was no darkened glass, only clear. Silver letters were engraved on a twenty-foot-long, mahogany reception desk: Frank & Bennett, Attorneys at Law. Facing the entrance doors, it resembled an oversized plaque.

  Adrian ignored the receptionist - a white-haired, librarian-like lady with horn-rimmed spectacles - and strode towards the elevators. He pressed the call button, and impatiently looked up at the floor indicators. One of four black-iron pointers rotated anticlockwise around a semicircle of Roman numerals, moving slowly from XIII to I. The elevator arrived with a bong - closer to a clock-tower chime than a traditional ping - and the hand-crafted, pine doors opened to reveal a watercolour painting of Colonial-era Philadelphia. That was mounted on the far wall, in a solid gold, animal-engraved frame. The side walls were considerably plainer, with only recessed panels and brass buttons to choose a floor.

  Adrian stepped in, pressed button XIX, and turned to face the closing doors. Cogs clanked as unseen motors pulled the elevator up. Outdated machinery, but there were no rusty screeches or jittery shifts to suggest it was unsafe. Adrian stared vacantly ahead, like a nervous candidate attending a job interview. The elevator took roughly a minute-and-half to reach the nineteenth floor, even though it made no additional stops en route. A bong signalled its arrival, and the doors slid open.

  “Mister Dawson’s expecting you, Mister Pryce,” the petite blonde secretary told him. “You can go right in.” Her somewhat awkward, formal introduction was eloquently spoken.

  “Thank you, Lisa,” Adrian said.

  The waiting room was furnished with traditional wood, brass and leather like the lobby, but computer equipment was modern. The secretary’s desktop, headset phone, organiser, and printer-photocopier combo were all state-of-the-art, rivalling those at Taurus Studios. Lisa’s pearl-white blouse, sandy-orange skirted suit, and diamond-studded earrings gave her the appearance of a high-salaried professional, and she was evidently capable of multi-tasking.

  Adrian inhaled and walked past the secretary’s desk. The electronically-sealed doors ahead of him were opaque black glass like those in the Taurus building, except these ones had gold contact points in the middle. Lisa tapped a touch-sensitive button beside her organiser while she loaded fresh paper into the printer. The doors opened soundlessly, and Adrian stepped underneath a security camera on his way into Miles Dawson’s private office.

  The attorney waited under a gold-plated, six-branched chandelier with candle-shaped bulbs. He made no effort to shake hands with his business partner, and his grim face suggested the meeting would be anything but cordial. Adrian turned to see Lisa lift her finger off the door release button. The black glass panels slid back together, sealing off any potential retreat.

  “I wanted to keep this matter between the two of us,” Dawson said sternly. “Give you an opportunity to explain yourself.”

  Adrian broke off eye contact to glance round at Dawson’s collection of fine antique furniture: beautifully-restored writing desk and chairs, bookshelves stocked with leather-bound law journals dating back to the early 1900s, watercolour portraits that looked even more expensive than the one in the elevator.

  “You said it was urgent,” Adrian said.

  Dawson walked to his desk, eyes positively aflame with fury. “So, this is what it’s come to. We’ve not always been friends, but I thought we were at least colleagues. You show up at my office dressed like common street trash. Is that some ploy to convince me you’re innocent? That you had nothing to do with it?”

  “I didn’t,” Adrian said sincerely. “I don’t know who killed them, Miles, but—”

  Dawson slammed his fist down on the desk. “Stop playing games!” He scrunched up a piece of paper and thrust its floppy end toward Adrian. “What did you do with it?”

  “Do with what?”

  Adrian plucked the paper from Dawson’s hand, and flattened it on the desk. His expression became puzzled as he scanned the text. It was a bank statement showing account transactions for Taurus Studios. Most amounts were relatively small for a major company - rarely in five figures - but near the bottom was an electronic transfer of thirty million dollars. Adrian Pryce was listed as the recipient, next to an international financial code as reference. Subsequent account balances were all negative.

  Dawson shifted over into Adrian’s view. “I don’t know how to put this in legal terminology,” he said. “So I’ll put in plain English instead. Where the hell is our money?”

  “I… I don’t know,” stammered Adrian. “I didn’t make the withdrawal. Somebody must have hacked our account.”

  “Like they hacked our impregnable server? I thought you’d have nothing to do with it, so I asked Lisa to prepare a statement in advance.”

  Dawson stormed around his desk, opened a drawer, and presented Adrian with a letter. The typescript was identical to the termination notices left by the Taurus Strangler. Same font, point size and margin width, with the bull logo at the top.

  “What the hell is this?” Adrian eyed Dawson warily.

  “Want me to read it to you?” Dawson pushed the letter across the desk, and recited the text from memory. “Due to an inexplicable accounting error, Taurus Studios has filed for bankruptcy. The company president Adrian Pryce has accepted full responsibility for the loss, and has decided to suspend trading until the matter is resolved. Preorders of Crimson Shadow and all other studio titles will be cancelled, and full refunds provided.” Dawson sat down. His fingers flexed as anger boiled over. “All employees should consider their contracts terminated with immediate effect. Sound familiar? Took that last part from your letters.”<
br />
  “I had nothing to do with those!” Adrian protested. “Miles, you have to believe me.”

  “That’s for a public defender to argue. I don’t think you can afford my services any longer, or those of any other reputable attorney. Unless you have money in a private account to cover my retainer.”

  Adrian responded to the accusation with utter incredulity. He gaped at Dawson, open mouthed.

  The attorney’s stare was unforgiving. “Then we have no more business to discuss.” He tapped a button on his desk. “Consider out partnership formally dissolved. Lisa’s already taken the liberty of calling security.”

  The glass doors opened. Two strong-armed giants stood in the receptionist’s office. Dressed in black shirts and carrying side-holstered automatic pistols, the security men resembled mercenary thugs. There was none of the apathy and laziness that typified guards at Taurus Studios. These were trained killers.

  “I’ve already instructed my secretary not to take any further calls from you,” Dawson told Adrian. “I hope to God you’re just a conniving, backstabbing thief and not a murderer. But either way, we’re done.”

  ***

  Taurus Studios employees streamed out of the company’s tower, a mass exodus that showed no sign of slowing. Quite a few gave angry glares or stuck their fingers up at the security camera on the way out. A good number marched across the roundabout, deliberately trampling the grass, and one particularly irate woman kicked her stiletto heel into the bull statue base. Nobody stopped to give an interview to the press, despite constant efforts by marauding reporters. The news vans that had been outside Adrian’s house were now parked along the approach. Press vehicles stretched so far back they obstructed late morning traffic on the cross streets.

  Kristina Malloy led her camera crew toward the building. She reached the bull’s head before any of her rivals. With a satisfied smirk, she turned to her assistants, took a steel-framed comb from her coat pocket, and hurriedly tidied her hair. Her cameraman gave an approving nod, and directed the lens at her. A spotlight shone past Kristina onto the statue’s golden horns. The second assistant held a poled microphone over her head.