Both Ends Burning (Whistleblower Trilogy Book 3)

by Jim Heskett

  He nodded. “You have to make sacrifices sometimes for the greater good, you know? She understands that.”

  “I hope so.”

  “So what’s our next move?” he said.

  While I’d been sitting alone in that interrogation room, I’d invented one last plan. It was a long shot, but I didn’t have a wealth of brilliant ideas to choose from.

  I studied him, saw the determination on his face. I opened the plastic baggie with my confiscated possessions and took out one of the prepaid cell phones. Checked the time. “I have an errand to run. I don’t think it’s illegal, but it’s probably not a smart idea. Do you want to give me a ride somewhere?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  We parked across the street from the IntelliCraft building in the Denver Tech Center and waited. With a clear view of both the front entrance and the parking lot that led to the back entrance, we watched the sun’s movement reflect off the mirrored glass exterior.

  As the work day was ending, scattered groups of twos and threes left from the front and back entrances. In the old days, you’d see two hundred people make a grand exodus from those doors. Now, the trickle of people numbered only in the dozens.

  We waited in silence for twenty minutes.

  “How’s your son?” I said.

  “Noah’s good. He’s a good kid, for the most part. Drives me crazy a few times a day, but that’s parenting.”

  I bobbed my head a few times, thinking about what it must be like to have to raise a teenager.

  “It’s worth it, though,” Rodrick said. “Are you getting excited to be a dad?”

  “Everything that’s happened lately has put a lot in perspective for me. When they took Grace, it made me realize how I’d had blinders on, and could only think about myself. I don’t think I was prepared for it before.”

  “And now?” he said.

  “Now I’m ready, but I just hope I can still get the chance. It’s not a certainty anymore.”

  The silence resumed for a few more minutes.

  “Who are we looking for?” he said.

  “She’ll be coming out any minute.”

  We’d follow her, coerce her, do whatever it took to get her to set up a meeting with Thomason. Somewhere I could control the outcome. Force Thomason to give up some piece of information I could use. There had to be a way to get back on track and find new evidence.

  Then I saw her. Alison and Thomason himself walked out of the front entrance together.

  “There she is. My old boss. And that’s the son of a bitch who threatened us.”

  I considered that maybe we should follow him instead to cut out the middleman, then demand a meeting. Or maybe he’d see through that tactic and refuse to come to me on my terms. If I lost control, then there was no point.

  She leaned over and touched his arm, and they both cast glances around the parking lot. They were the only two present. She kissed him deeply, and he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Alison is married, but that’s not her husband. Actually, you know what? This is perfect. Even better than what I was thinking.”

  New plan: put some fear into Alison. Make her communicate that to Thomason, then that might spark him into taking me seriously, if he thought she was in danger.

  Not that I would harm her, but Thomason didn’t have to know that.

  Rodrick started breathing heavily through his nose. I glanced at him, but he averted his eyes and wiped his hands on his pants.

  “You okay?” I said.

  “I’m fine. It’s just, uh, this espionage stuff makes me a little anxious.”

  “I’m no expert at it either. I’m making it up as I go along.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We need to follow her. She’s in that Benz.”

  Rodrick blinked a few times and started up his car. As Alison left the lot, we followed her, and I reminded him not to get too close. He was fidgety and uncomfortable, repeatedly adjusting the rearview and side mirrors.

  “What’s going on with you?” I said.

  “It’s nothing. I mean, it’s not nothing, but it’s something I don’t know how to say. I tried to tell you the other day, but I couldn’t get the words out.”

  We turned onto the highway. I figured he was going to tell me he wasn’t comfortable with what we were about to do, and I was already thinking of ways to persuade him. Or if not, I could do this alone.

  “Just go ahead and say it.”

  “Every time I’ve tried to tell you, I didn’t, and that only made it worse. Like keeping a lie inside that grows and festers over time.”

  “Okay, Rod, say whatever you need to say. You’re freaking me out.”

  He took a deep breath and it came out in hiccuping snatches. “I’m in love with your wife.”

  Rodrick’s statement was like being smacked in the face with a frying pan. In the next lane, a truck honked at a little sedan that had just tried to cut into its lane. Both the drivers gave each other the finger.

  “Okay,” I said, not quite sure if I’d heard what I thought I’d heard.

  “I’m so sorry that I’ve kept this from you. I’ve never laid a hand on her, never done anything inappropriate at work, but I’ve been in love with her for years. Ever since she came to work for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re just friends, you have to believe me.”

  Alison changed lanes, put on her turn signal. I pointed. “You’re losing her.” My voice sounded distant, disconnected.

  He switched lanes, casting an uneasy look at me.

  “Does Grace know?” I said.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve never said anything to her.”

  I could have responded any number of ways to this. A jealous man might have cracked him across the jaw, then called up Grace and accused her of having someone else’s baby. But I’m not the jealous type. At least, I don’t think of myself that way.

  And I believed him when he said he’d never touched her. Plus, the idea of Grace cheating on me seemed ludicrous.

  We drove in silence for a couple minutes, me focusing on my breathing and Rodrick casting furtive glances at me every few seconds.

  “Women tend to know these things anyway,” was all I said to him about it.

  ***

  Alison stopped at a crowded gas station just off the highway, and we pulled in behind her. A few other cars were waiting for their turns at the pumps. One guy honked and flashed his middle finger at me. Lot of that going around lately.

  Rodrick was still giving me the guilty eye. Would it be like this between us now? A dirty secret, a confession, something forever unspeakable?

  “It’s okay, Rod. I’m not angry.”

  “I’m so sorry. I wish I could turn it off, but it’s not that simple.”

  Sounded like he was about to launch into a speech about how we don’t get to choose who we love. No thank you.

  “Look, we don’t have time to deal with this now. Someday, we’ll sit down and talk about it, and we’ll get everything out in the open. For now, this has to go on the back burner, okay?”

  He nodded, and I got out of the car, approaching Alison from the back. I was quite proud of myself for how I’d handled the Rodrick situation. Maybe my reaction would have been different if I had not been in such external chaos. I meant it when I’d said I wasn’t angry. Grace was an attractive woman, so in a way, it was a compliment.

  Maybe that would be different in the future. Would I worry about her going off on a company retreat where I knew they’d spend time together? Would I feel the itch of doubt any time she worked late?

  Back burner. I had more pressing things to worry about. If I didn’t succeed in bringing the company down, there would be no future business retreats for Grace.

  As Alison plugged the pump nozzle into her gas tank, I took my cell phone and slipped it into my jacket pocket. I noticed she was wearing heels today.

&nb
sp; Hesitation gripped me, but I took a deep breath, then stepped up right behind her, pressing the phone against her back.

  “Don’t turn around,” I said.

  “What? Candle?”

  “That’s my name. Don’t do anything strange. Call out for help, and you’ll regret it.”

  “What is that?” she said, turning to look at where I was touching her.

  “I said don’t turn around. Keep your eyes forward and keep pumping the gas.” I’d seen it done in TV shows and hadn’t given it a second thought. Fake gun in the jacket pocket, just as Thomason and Glenning had done to me in front of the police station to get me into that muscle car against my will.

  “I’ve been meaning to speak to you,” she said. “Someone broke into the office building a few days ago, right after you came and accosted me in that stairwell. You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?”

  She didn’t seem scared at all. Not what I was hoping for. “I didn’t accost you. I asked you some questions. Besides, we’re not talking about that.”

  “Fine. What do you want?” she said.

  “I saw you kissing a man who isn’t your husband.”

  This caught her attention, and she stumbled over her words. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but—”

  “Shut up. Shut your face right now. Unless you want me to tell your husband what I saw, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell him that I want to meet with him. Tomorrow, at the La Quinta in Westminster. Noon.”

  “You want to meet my husband at La Quinta?”

  “No, damn it. Frank Thomason. He needs to meet me there tomorrow, at the room closest to the motel office.”

  The guy who’d flipped me off earlier laid into his horn. I flicked my eyes back to him, and he was swearing at me. He could have driven around to get to a different pump, but he chose to get angry at me instead.

  “Why are you doing this?” she said.

  “You tell him I’m ready to give him what he wants. He needs to come alone, unarmed, and I’ll tell him where the memory stick is. Got it?”

  “Memory stick? What are you talking about?”

  “Damn it, Alison, just tell me you got it.”

  “Yes. La Quinta at noon. Memory stick.”

  I backed up, and she turned around to gawk. I narrowed my eyes, trying to look as tough as possible. She pursed her lips at me, and I registered disappointment in her face. Alison’s looks didn’t bother me anymore. She could scowl however much she pleased, as long as she made Thomason do what I wanted.

  She finished putting gas in her car as I slipped back into the passenger seat of Rodrick’s car. The horn honker finally gave up and sped around to a different gas pump.

  “Everything go okay?” he said.

  “Can you get access to a gun?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I slept on the couch that night. Couldn’t look at the pillow depression on Grace’s side again. I wouldn’t sleep in that bed until we were sleeping in it together, with all this past us.

  In the morning, I made some double-strength black death coffee and called Grace as soon as I’d ingested enough liquid caffeine to think clearly. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?” she said, yawning.

  I checked the clock on the living room wall. “Sleeping in these days?”

  “Hey, you. Little Candle kept me up half the night. He was moving around, and each time, it was like slamming a weight against my ribs. I don’t know what I did to piss him off, but I surrender. I’m ready for this baby to be out of me.”

  “I am too,” I said, and I think I meant it.

  “What’s new? Everything okay there?”

  I brought her up to speed, telling her about Alan’s death and my prolonged visit to the police interrogation room. Everything except her boss being in love with her. I did find myself listening for any change in her voice whenever I mentioned his name, but I didn’t hear anything odd. I trusted her, more than anyone else on the planet. I’m not the jealous type, although I suppose most people who think that way might be poor judges of their own character.

  But not me. Grace was solid. Had never given me any reason to doubt that.

  Halfway through telling her the plan with Thomason, a knock came at my door.

  “Can I call you back?”

  “Of course. Be safe, baby, and check in with me often, okay?”

  “I will.”

  I opened the door as a car peeled out of the cul de sac and down the street. I stepped outside and lifted a hand to block out the sun. It was black, or navy blue, some small hatchback. Couldn’t catch the license or get a good look at the driver.

  The neighbor three houses down watched me through his window blinds. I gave him a wave, and he disappeared out of the window. If these people hadn’t thought I was unstable before, I’m sure they did now, after I went on a screaming rant through the cul de sac and left in handcuffs in detective Cross’ car yesterday.

  When this was all over, we were moving. That much, I knew for sure. Screw this neighborhood and its drama.

  Kitty appeared next to me at the front door, gazing at the wide world outside. “What do you think, Kitty? Maybe the meth house guy would still hang out with me. Maybe not, though.”

  Kitty padded outside. As I reached down to grab her, a white envelope looked back at me, resting on the welcome mat. I picked it up and found my name typed on the front. Turned it over, searching for anything strange, like powder residue. Then I almost laughed, because of all the things I’d become in the last few weeks, crime scene investigator was not one of them.

  I ripped open the envelope and found two items inside: a folded piece of paper and a flash drive.

  I opened the folds of the note, and saw typed in an old school typewriter font:

  This is to let you know how seriously I’m going to take our meeting this afternoon. In case there was any doubt. See you soon, and don’t be late.

  Thomason. Although he’d probably dictated the text to someone else, because guys like him didn’t have to do such pedestrian tasks as type notes.

  I held up the flash drive, twisting it against the morning sunlight. I walked it downstairs to the desktop computer and booted the thing up. Kitty leaped onto the back of my desk chair, then wobbled. I heard her claws sink into the fabric as she settled.

  The Windows logo came up, and I jammed the flash drive into a USB slot. In a few seconds, a folder opened. One file: a video file.

  ForCandleEyesOnly.mp4

  I double-clicked it.

  My aging computer coughed and wheezed, then the media player opened. At first, the video showed only blackness, then the color brightened as a light came on from above. A single round bulb hanging from a cord attached to the ceiling.

  The video quality was grainy, black and white. At first, it was hard to see what was going on. I double clicked the video window to make it fullscreen.

  I was looking at a wall. Concrete or cinderblocks painted some light color, but I couldn’t tell with the black and white video. A lone window sat near the top of the wall, like a garden-level room. Black poured through the window. Nighttime.

  There was no sound, and the image showed only the lightbulb—softly swinging back and forth—and the wall until the 37-second mark.

  The camera jiggled, then panned to the other side of the room. To two people, sitting back to back in two chairs, with the camera showing them from the side. At first, I saw gray lines up and down their bodies, around their feet, necks, mouths, and abdomens. Duct tape. They were both held in place by a few rolls of duct tape.

  Both of them were bloodied. The camera jiggled again, then steadied as if it had been set on a flat surface. For twenty more seconds, the camera stayed still as the two people in the chairs sat, struggling meekly against the duct tape.

  I shivered when it occurred to me that one of them could be Grace. But wait, that wasn’t possible. I’d just talked to her ten minutes ago.

  I sq
uinted and leaned toward my computer monitor, trying to focus through the graininess of the video. Neither of them looked like they were seven months pregnant. Both of these people had slender bellies.

  The camera jostled again, and moved in an arc around the chairs, zooming in on each of their faces. Man and woman.

  My dad and Susan Palenti.

  IntelliCraft had them.

  “Oh my God,” I said to the room. “They got caught.”

  Dad and Susan squirmed, but the restraints held firm. The camera stopped after a full rotation around them, and a man wearing all-black clothes with a ski mask over his face stepped into view. At the base of his neck, I saw some gray hair jutting from the bottom of the black fabric.

  Frank Thomason. Who else could it be? I was sure exposing his hair hadn’t been accidental. That way, I’d know who it was, but couldn’t prove it if I showed this video to the cops.

  Clever bastard.

  Thomason removed a pistol from his waistband and pointed it at Susan’s head.

  “No, no, no.”

  While Susan squirmed against her restraints, Thomason turned back to the camera, letting the moment sink in.

  He pulled the trigger, and the screen flashed white for a second.

  I grabbed my monitor. “Oh, shit, no.”

  When the white flash faded, both Dad and Susan were slumped to the side. Blood pouring down over the duct tape. A little wisp of smoke drifted into the air from the nose of the pistol.

  Thomason leaned close to both of them, examining. He lifted Susan’s head, and then let it fall back down to the side. Her whole body quivered when her head lolled.

  Thomason wiped a gloved hand on Dad’s shirt, leaving a smear of blood. Then, he turned to the camera and gave a single wave, curling his fingers at the end.

  The video ended. The media player program taunted me with the circular icon that said I could click to re-watch it.