“For fear of sounding like a broken record, Detective Gamble, the technology is unproven. As far as I’m concerned it means nothing until I see it working.”
“It means nothing?” I scoffed. “You must think I’m a damn idiot, Bach.”
“How so?”
“If you’re not that interested, and it means nothing to you”—I leaned forward and glared at him—“then why the fuck are you tailing me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I made your car. You had me followed, and I want to know why?”
“Do you have any evidence of this accusation?”
“A silver Lincoln. I got the plate number. Had it traced back to your company. So like I said, cut the crap. Why are you following me?”
“There are dozens of cars belonging to this company and its subsidiaries. It must have been a coincidence.”
“You know what I think? I think you’re more than just a little curious. I think it’s the night before Christmas and you can’t wait to tear open your present. But then you get told you can’t have it, you can’t open your present right now, there’s something wrong with it. So you get impatient. And like a spoiled kid in the night, you sneak downstairs and you take it anyway.”
Malcolm laughed and it rolled out of him as smooth as the amber liquid in his glass. “That’s hilarious.”
“What happen, Bach? Was your guy stealing the tech out of the garage, then Nicholas shows up at the wrong time?”
Bach’s bullshit smile slid off his face. “You're barking up the wrong tree, Detective.”
“Am I? X-ray technology worth billions of dollars slipping out of your hands. You have more motive than anyone, Mr. Bach. You see, apart from the three working on the project, no one else knew about it. And now it’s stolen, and Nicholas Hartmann is lying on a stainless steel table. So you see, it doesn’t look good for you.”
Malcolm placed the glass down on the table. “You don’t have anything, Detective.” Then he leaned forward to meet my own gesture, his steely eyes firm and cold. “And I don’t appreciate the accusation. I’m a cooperative man, Detective Gamble, but I can’t help but feel my hospitality has been taken for granted.” Then he suddenly reached across the table and snatched up my cell phone. He stopped the recording, closed the application, and held it in his giant hand.
“Blake Gamble, I think I’ve heard of you.”
My eyes narrowed.
“I have friends over at the Santa Clara DA’s office, you know. They say you’re a bit of a lone wolf. That you don’t play nice with others.”
“Hand over the phone, Bach.”
It rolled in his giant hand, turning over and over, his eyes looking down at it. “They tell me you’ve had a rough couple of years.”
I stood up, gritting my teeth. “Be very careful what you say next, Bach.”
He smiled, then gently placed my cell on the table, his giant finger resting on the screen. Then he pushed, and it slid toward me. I had to stop it from going over the edge.
“I think this meeting has run its course. I’ve answered your questions, Detective, but if you intend to interrogate me any further, I will require my lawyers to be present.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to need them.” I gave him my best impression of his own bullshit smile. “I’ll be seeing you around, Bach.”
The rain was falling heavy in San Francisco as I stood under a shelter, watching it cascade down, gathering in puddles, the road traffic sloshing past. I pulled my cell out and called Romero, bringing him up to date on what I knew.
“You think this Malcolm guy did it, then?” he asked.
“The asshole’s involved somehow. You got those warrants yet?”
“Shouldn’t be far away. Schultz is getting them for me now.”
“Okay. Go to Nicholas’s place first, then Arnold.”
“It’s getting late in the day, Blake. Can’t they wait till tomorrow?”
“You sound like a whining bitch, Romero.”
“Come on, Blake.”
I gritted my teeth. “Do it tonight, Chris, you got me?”
There was a long pause. “Sure thing.”
I hung up, then stood a while, watching the rain and traffic, people walking by, their umbrellas shielding them from the downpour. A woman in a red coat held her boy’s hand as they rushed toward me. Toward the shelter to get out of the rain. She was faster than he was, and was practically pulling him along. He thought it was funny, laughing his little head off. She glanced back, and when I saw her face again, she was laughing along with him.
I thought of Pier 39 again.
ELEVEN
The traffic was bad. It was worse than bad. It was nearing the end of the workday and the rain slowed everyone down until we were all kissing bumpers. Wipers were jolting and brake lights were glowing. I hated traffic, but then again, who likes traffic? Lots of people tell me they hate traffic. It’s redundant. It’s a given. No one wants to sit around breathing in fumes when they’ve got somewhere else to be. Fortunately for me, I could see the silver lining. It gave me time to mull over my meeting with that mountain of an asshole, Bach.
I’d had a hunch about the guy. He was involved, big-time. All I needed now was something concrete, ’cause a hunch means shit in a court of law. I’d string the guy up for just being an asshole, but I wasn’t in charge of the legal system.
The guy was smart, and there was no way he’d be stupid enough to leave evidence around. I had my fingers crossed Vicky would come through for me, ’cause if she didn’t, I had nothing.
I wondered where Elise Daniels and Stuart Arnold fit into the case. I wondered if they were innocent bystanders or had a more sinister role in all this mess. Stuart had run off like a spooked rodent for a reason, and Elise was hiding something, I was certain of that. They knew things I didn’t. And it bothered me.
I shifted the puzzle pieces around in my mind, but all I came up with were dead ends. What was the missing piece? My skull started throbbing. The pressure was building. The aspirin was wearing off. The traffic was bad. My head had gone through various degrees of headache and right now I’d had just about enough of it all. It was like trying to think through mud and it was frustrating the hell out of me. The driver in front of me was infuriating me. The suit couldn’t decide which lane to pick. His blinker came on and he switched lanes. I sped up to fill the gap but he changed his mind and swerved back into my lane.
“Goddammit!” I punched the steering wheel and the horn blasted.
I pulled my cell out of my pocket and clicked on recorded files. Brought up my conversation with Malcolm and clicked play. I started listening to the meeting, grinding my teeth together, listening to the fathead’s voice. When it finished, I pressed play again. It was the third time when I hit pause shortly after the recording started.
Malcolm had said he had only met with Elise and Stuart. That he’d never even met Nicholas Hartmann. He hadn’t recognized the name right away. I thought about that . . .
Why didn’t Nicholas go with the other two to the meetings? Maybe he just didn’t want to go. Or maybe Nicholas didn’t want to make a deal at all.
Were all three signatures required to make a deal? Or did Stuart hold sole control of the project? Did Elise and Stuart go behind Nicholas’s back? To make the deal, surely all three of their signatures would have been required.
The deal would be worth a lot of money. If Nicholas Hartmann was stopping Elise and Stuart from a big payday, and he ends up dead, well, that doesn’t look so good for them. That could be what Elise was hiding. And it might explain what they were all arguing about. Maybe Nicholas was the reason the deal got put on hold, and not some bullshit technical issue. The idea excited me.
I had thought Nicholas’s death was an accident. That he’d returned because he forgot something. He walked in on the guy and got shot. But maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe someone told him to come back to the garage. Maybe someone gave him a call. So he walks in and is ambushed
.
But where did that leave Malcolm Bach? He had as much motive as Elise and Stuart for killing Nicholas, if he was in fact stopping any deal from going ahead.
The traffic moved on at a slow pace and I spent the time compiling my thoughts. I came up with three possible scenarios.
One, Elise and Stuart killed Nicholas so the deal with Malcolm Bach could go ahead, and Bach had no involvement at all. Two, Malcolm killed Nicholas without Elise or Stuart’s involvement or knowledge. Or three, and the one I liked the most, Malcolm Bach hired someone to do it, and they were all in on it.
One big happy conspiracy.
And if I couldn’t find Stuart, and Malcolm wasn’t going to give anything up, then I had one option left: Elise Daniels.
I needed to speak with her again. I needed to get her secret out of her. Maybe that’s why she was so damn upset, because she couldn’t handle the guilt. It was gnawing at her. And all I needed to do was press a little.
My cell rang. It was Schultz.
“Blake, how’s it going?”
“Slowly. But I’m making progress.”
“Chris left a few minutes ago. He’s heading over to Hartmann’s place to do a search. I’ll be heading off shortly, so Doug will be taking over, but call my cell if you need.”
“I’ll let you know,” I said and hung up.
The asshole in front of me still couldn’t pick a lane. He was moving in and out, thinking, maybe this one’s quicker, or no, maybe this one. I punched the horn again.
Damn, I hate traffic.
The dark clouds rolling over the Valley were drowning out what was left of the daylight, threatening and ominous. Summit Road was wet and I was stuck behind a slow-moving truck. I checked my cell. It’d been more than an hour and a half since I’d visited Malcolm Bach. Just as I dropped it back on the seat beside me, it started ringing.
I answered it, thumbed the speaker. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Blake. It’s Vicky.”
“Hi, Vick, how’d it go?”
“There was a lot to dig up,” she said, letting out an exasperated breath. “The guy has a lot of properties. But there were a couple I didn’t like. He tried to hide them under an LLC in Mexico. If someone has something to hide, they set up a company in Mexico ’cause their privacy laws are rock solid.”
“You hit a dead end, then?”
“Anyone else would have. But I’ve got a friend over the border. I cashed in a favor. Bach owns a property in San Francisco and another one in Los Altos Hills. The one in San Francisco is a condo. Eight million. The other is a mansion worth eighty million.”
I whistled. “I’d say the condo is for a mistress, or a girlfriend. The house could be of interest. Can you send me the addresses?”
“I’ll email them to you.”
“Okay, thanks. I owe you one, Vick.”
“No problem, Blake. Hey, before I go, Molly wanted me to ask if you were doing okay.”
I didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m all right.”
“I spoke to her ten minutes ago,” she said.
I clenched my jaw. “How is she?”
“She’s doing okay. Working again.”
“That’s . . . good to hear. You speak to her again, tell her . . . tell her I’m happy for her.”
“Okay, Blake. You take care of yourself.”
“Thanks, Vick. You too.”
The marked car I’d sent was sitting in the front of Elise’s white house when I pulled up in the driveway. The two officers were sitting in the front, windows half-fogged, the exhaust blowing out clouds of vaporizing steam. They were running the heater.
I leaned forward in my seat and looked over at them. A couple of mustache-wearing heavyweights, and not because of muscle mass. I knew them. Chuck and Joe. Good old-fashioned cops. They waved and smiled. I waved back.
I got out and the air was freezing, the tops of the trees rustled and swayed with the gloom of the dark clouds above. Chuck and Joe got out to greet me.
“How’s it going, Blake?” asked Chuck, rubbing his hands together.
“Swimmingly,” I said. “All quiet up here?”
“Yeah,” said Joe. “We checked in on her not long ago for a second time. No problems here.”
“Okay, fellas.”
I headed for the door, rang the bell and looked up at the camera. Thirty seconds later the door clicked and Elise appeared.
“Detective Gamble,” she said. “You’re back.”
“Can I come in?”
She didn’t look as welcoming this time, but she opened the door anyway and I stepped into the warm house.
“What is it, Detective?” she asked, folding her arms as she rested against the kitchen counter.
She looked fresher than a few hours ago. She had showered and changed. Same style of dress only this time it was purple, not green, and she was now wearing black pantyhose. Her hair was damp, brushed, parted in the middle, bringing the length closer to her shoulders. I could smell something sweet in the air. She was an attractive woman. With the warmth of the room and the gloomy weather outside, I would be lying if I said my mind didn’t wander a little.
“You got any coffee?” I asked.
She didn’t respond for a moment, her intelligent eyes taking me in. Then she nodded. “Cappuccino or espresso?”
“I don’t know. I take it strong. No sugar. Creamer if you’ve got it.”
“I’ll make you a cappuccino.”
Her pantyhose-covered feet padded into the kitchen. I took a seat on a bamboo barstool. I looked around at the view. It was better now. The gloomy clouds over the Valley made for a pretty picture. It was cold outside and in here it was warm and inviting.
“I paid Malcolm Bach a visit,” I told her, still looking out at the view.
She said nothing as she grabbed a cup and placed it into a wall-mounted coffee machine. I was in for a treat.
“Interesting guy,” I said. “He told me you and Stuart had a couple of meetings. He liked your idea. He liked it a lot.”
“I know,” she said.
The coffee machine started to grind the beans, a loud whirring sound.
“I found it strange, though.” My voice competed with the grinding. The machine fell silent, then clicked a couple of times, and a rich, dark liquid began trickling into the mug. The scent of coffee filled the air. It smelled first-class. “Malcolm said he never met Nicholas. Said he only dealt with you and Stuart.”
Elise pushed up on her toes, looking at the screen on the machine. She turned around. Folded her arms again and said nothing, but I could see her fragility. The way she forced her body to be still. The way she tried hard to keep her emotions buried deep down. Only she wasn’t any good at it, ’cause they kept breaking through the surface.
“Can you tell me why?” I asked.
“Nicholas wasn’t into the business side of things. He liked the science. And it was Stuart’s call anyway.”
“So Nicholas didn’t approve?”
“Of what?”
“Of the deal with Bach,” I said.
Elise took her time. “He . . . he would have preferred if we didn’t approach Bach Optics. No, he didn’t approve.”
“But you did it anyway.”
“We needed a partner at some point. We couldn’t manufacture it on a mass scale without one. We needed contacts. Sure, we’d give up some control, but it was the only way.”
“Is that what you were arguing about?”
The coffee machine beeped. Elise glanced at it, then back at me.
“Elise. Is it what you were arguing about last night?”
“We did argue about that. We also argued about the problems we were having and . . . other things. Stuart was lead on the project. It was his idea, after all. Stuart had the only encryption key to access the system and it bothered Nicholas.”
“What key?”
“It’s not an actual key. It’s a USB encryption key. It’s basically a digital key which you need in order to access the sys
tem, along with a password.”
“And only Stuart has one?”
“That’s right. He has the key and he has the password. Like I said, the project is his baby.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you argued about the deal?” I asked, a hint of accusation in my tone.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“Why?”
“Because. I don’t know, I guess I forgot. It wasn’t important.” Her emotions were breaking through the surface again.
“I think it is. I think it might be very important.”
She folded her arms, her fingers tapping speedily against her arm. “How so?”
“Because. You and Stuart wanted to make a deal. You both needed Nicholas’s signature to do it. He didn’t want to give it to you. It’s what we in law enforcement call motive.”
“I know what motive is, Detective Gamble.”
“I know,” I said. “I think that’s why you didn’t tell me.”
She looked away, her eyes trying to find somewhere to escape.
“Did you and Stuart have anything to do with what happened to Nicholas?” I asked pointedly.
She looked back at me and tears threatened to spill out. “No. I . . . I don’t know. Not like you think.”
“Tell me,” I said.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Yeah, you can.”
“Look, we were arguing about the deal. Then something happened with the tech. I’m not sure.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “It could have something to do with what happened. I don’t know.”
“What do you mean with what happened?”
“I don’t know!” she snapped, and more tears began to run down her cheeks. I could see how hard she was trying to hold them back, but they just kept coming now. It was frustrating her.
“Come on, Elise. Help me. Just tell me the damn truth.”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Try me.”
“All I can say is that we found something. Something important. And when we found it, we knew we couldn’t sell the tech to Bach Optics. We couldn’t sell it to anyone. Not anymore.”
Beyond the Spectrum Page 7