“Morning, ma’am.”
“Kelly. How are you today?” The last thing I wanted to do today was deal with company shit. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.
“Not so good. I’d like to give you a briefing. We’ve had some developments over night and I need to bring you up to speed.”
Kelly’s developments were no doubt bad news.
“Where are you?”
“Outside your building.”
“I’ll buzz you up and you can make the coffee while I take a shower.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I wanted to crawl back under the duvet but instead I threw on some sweats and a T-shirt and waited at the front door for my daily dose of crap to be delivered.
Kelly placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of me when I climbed up on the stool at the kitchen bar. He had spent plenty of time in the apartment the last forty-eight hours and knew his way around the kitchen. It felt familiar, sitting at the bar with a coffee but Kelly was standing where Jay usually did - on the other side.
“Help yourself to some food, if you like,” I offered.
Kelly shook his head. “Not hungry.”
I agreed. I’d lost my appetite when the phone rang twenty minutes ago.
“So, Staff Sergeant,” I gently teased him. He looked so damn serious all the time. “What’s going on?”
“Well, for starters, we’ve lost touch with our guy on the ground in Flagstaff.”
“What’s his name? Jerry?”
“Right. Jerry Rigley. We haven’t heard from him since Friday night.”
Fuck.
“He was supposed to be checking out those addresses for Natalie and Ben. What happened with that? Is he the type of guy to stop calling in?”
“No,” Kelly said. “He’s usually very reliable. Most of my guys are.” Kelly’s face was grim - more so than usual.
“You said ‘my guys’, Kelly. Is he one of our employees? Should I be thinking the worst?”
“No,” Kelly said. He reached his hand across the counter, as if to touch me, but he pulled it back quickly. “No, he’s not an employee. He’s just one of my guys.” Kelly sipped at his coffee.
“How so?”
“One of the guys in my network. There’re dozens of us. We all knew each other in the military, in one capacity or the other. We’re all retired now and a lot of the guys freelance. They do contract security work. I needed someone to investigate in Flagstaff, so I called up one of my guys.”
“My escort yesterday, Chris, and the gentleman driving? Your guys?”
Kelly nodded. “Of course. It’s all about trust. When you serve in the military and see some action, you trust the guys who have your back. We’ve all stayed in touch and we all help each other out, from time to time.”
“So, not hearing from Jerry is unlike him?”
“Very.” Kelly put his empty coffee mug in the dishwasher. What a good man.
“Frankly, it’s totally unlike him. He did call me later Friday afternoon and let me know that he was still working on tracking down some individuals who might have known those two out in Flagstaff. That was the last contact. He’s not answering his cell phone. We checked all the motels and hotels and he hasn’t registered at one of those.”
“Does he have family that he might have called?”
“Just his mom and dad, and when I spoke with them last night, they said they haven’t heard from him in while.” Kelly put both hands on the counter top and leaned forward a bit. “That’s just one of the things we needed to talk about,” he informed me.
“There’s more?” I shook my head. “Jesus Christ, Kelly, what the hell is going on?” I slid off the stool and rummaged through my purse that was sitting on the counter. “That poor man’s parents must be worried sick. He’s out doing work for us and he disappears and you’re standing here, all business, not worried at all.” I found my pack of cigarettes and greedily lit one. “Just standing there, listing off the bad news, as if you’re reading a newscast.” That was nasty, and I knew it as soon as I said it. “Sorry,” I quickly offered. I had to stop acting like a spoiled child.
“Fine,” he said in a low voice. “But please keep in mind that one of the reasons I’m good at what I do is I try to keep it all business. But don’t think for one minute that this is just business for me. I’m a professional but I care about the people I work with. Jerry’s a friend. Yeah, I’m worried. But Jerry’s a big boy. He’s been known to be able to look after himself. Do you see me screaming and crying and making a huge fuss about it? No. ‘Cause I’m all business. And I’ll find him.”
I felt chagrined and looked down at my feet. When was I going to learn to keep my trap shut?
“I’m sorry,” I told him again. “I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t care.” He nodded in acknowledgement of my lame apology.
“What’re we doing to try and find him?”
“Two guys drove up from Phoenix yesterday afternoon. They haven’t found him yet. I’m expecting to hear from them this morning.”
This couldn’t be good. Someone reliable who hadn’t checked-in and hadn’t been heard from in over twenty-four hours. “Did we check the hospitals? Call the local police? Maybe he was in an accident or had a heart attack or something.”
Kelly’s head nodded as I talked. “Yeah. We’ve checked with local authorities. No one matching his description has turned up.”
“What’s the other bad news?” I reluctantly asked.
“There’s no trace of Natalie Scott or Ben Tucker.”
That sounded like good news to me, and I said so. Kelly didn’t agree with me.
“No, it’s not good news. We’d rather know where they are. In fact, I want to know where they are because it’s time they answered a few questions. We spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening trying to track them down. Neither of them are answering at their apartments.”
Well, call me kooky, but if I didn’t want to be found, the last thing I’d do is answer the door. Kelly and his guys were not the police so it wasn’t as if they were going to force the door open.
“Did you call at Nat’s apartment before eight at night?” I told him what Miss Everwood had shared with me about no one being allowed in or out after eight.
“Yeah, we tried during the afternoon. The front desk here can’t remember the last time they saw her. Or her mother for that matter.”
chapter fifty-one
Kelly’s phone rang and I could tell by the look on his face that he was not receiving good news from whoever was on the other end. The apartment phone started ringing and I was reluctant to answer it, wanting to hear from Kelly as soon as he hung up. As it turned out, I should have ignored it. The caller identified herself as a business reporter from The Wall Street Journal. By the name of Portia Wellington. I wondered out loud how she got my phone number.
“From Tom Connaught. We used to talk often. I put two and two together and thought I’d try this number to see if you were at his apartment,” she explained.
“Well, you found me,” I said, making a mental note to change the phone number. “What can I do for you?” I probably sounded a little curt with her but reporters should be used to that.
“I’m calling about the press release your company issued on Thursday. About the loss of the Global Devices contracts.”
That crisis seemed like a lifetime ago but in reality the press release in question was probably less than seventy-two hours old. And what the hell was I going to tell a reporter? This was not something I wanted to deal with. Hell, it was something I didn’t know how to deal with. At the last company I worked for there were authorized company spokespersons who were up to speed on the issues and knew what and what not to say. As the CEO, I was likely an authorized spokesperson for the company, but having had no experience with reporters, I was a little wary about saying anything. But how do you put off a reporter from The Wall Street Journal who could knowingly do more damage to your company and your share price than if you a
dmitted that Arthur Andersen were your auditors?
“Yes, what can I help you with?”
“I’m trying to understand why the contracts with Global Devices were cancelled.”
“Well,” I told her, “this happens in business. Contracts are terminated. The reasons remain between the parties. That’s about all I can say on the matter.”
“I suppose your lawyers have warned you not to speak about the reasons, in case of future litigation?” My silence was probably answer enough for her, so she pressed on. “Is there any connection between Tom Connaught’s death and the cancellation of the contracts?” Well, it’s certainly looking like it from my point of view, but I wasn’t going to say anything on that issue.
“Hardly,” I lied, in a slightly indignant tone. “Is there anything else?”
“Have the police got any leads at all on Tom’s murder? Do they have any idea what happened?” Miss Wellington was getting into the type of news that The Wall Street Journal never covered.
“You’d have to ask the police. I’m sure they have their theories. Is that all Miss Wellington?”
“I guess that’s all for now, Miss Monahan. Although I would love the opportunity to have an in-depth interview with you. About the company, your job, your background. I’m sure our readers would love to hear more about you.”
“Well, that’s certainly flattering, but I don’t think there’s much about me that’s newsworthy,” I said with a modicum of modesty. I just wanted to end this conversation.
“Oh come on,” she laughed. “Don’t sell yourself short. That picture of you on the front page of The Toronto Sun, climbing into the back of an ambulance. That picture alone must be worth a story.”
That fucking Toronto Sun photo was going to haunt me for a very long time. The cover photo she was talking about was of me climbing into the back of an ambulance after I was terrorized by that madman. The photo was payback for me refusing to let the paramedics put me on a stretcher. It was very unflattering and showed more of my ass than I cared to share with the world. And there wasn’t any story, any more. That was past history, and something I’d rather forget about. Although it wasn’t surprising that a reporter had gone digging. There was a lot of press coverage of the murders, suicide, and company failure that I was involved in several months ago. So I fake-laughed right back at her and we ended the call.
I wasn’t laughing though when I saw Kelly’s face. He was still talking on the phone, and jotting notes in his little notebook. His face was all business. “When we know anything at all,” he was saying into the phone, “we’ll call you. Count on it. Yeah. Bye.” He flipped the phone shut and tossed it on the counter top. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
“What? What’s going on?”
They had found Jerry’s car in a neighbourhood on the outskirts of Flagstaff. But no sign of Jerry. Kelly’s guys were knocking on doors. So far, nothing.
“The good news is it’s early in the morning out there and they’re likely to find lots of people at home. That was Jerry’s mom I was talking to. She’s waiting to hear from us. She’s a soldier’s mom and she’s spent lots of time over the years waiting to hear about her son.”
I hugged myself and thought about Jerry’s mom, and wondered why I felt so bad about someone I didn’t even know. The enormity of being responsible for so many people hit me. Our company employed hundreds of people, and those hundreds had relatives who cared for them. And then there were the men and women who were only peripherally involved in our company. Like Kelly’s “guys”. My head reeled. I actually felt a little faint. My insulated world that three weeks ago had included little ol’ me, Jay, my family, his family and a few acquaintances, had grown exponentially. How could I possibly care about people I didn’t even know? Hadn’t even met? Yet my heart was pounding, my breath was short, and deep inside me I knew that Tommy had cared for these people. Employees yes, but Tommy would have cared for them and their families like they were his own. I resolved to do the same.
“I can help. I can’t sit around and do nothing. I’ll go out of my mind.” Kelly and I were arguing, and I was losing.
“There’s too much that we don’t know at this stage. I can’t allow it.” I almost let him get away with it, but I was born argumentative.
“Allow it?”
He interrupted me before I went any further.
“Yes, allow it. You’ve put your trust in me. Stop being so pigheaded. You’re getting in the way. I know you’re the boss and I know you want to be in charge. But I have to insist.”
“Fine.” I gave in reluctantly.
“She’s all yours, Chris.” He smiled at Chris, my bodyguard, who had arrived about ten minutes ago. The silent behemoth just nodded his head and stood like a stone statue in the living room, his hands clasped in front of him.
Chris made sure the door was locked behind Kelly when he left and I wandered out to the balcony for a cigarette. The air was feeling muggy and sticky, and it reminded me of Toronto on a humid, July afternoon. There was no breeze and the smoke from my cigarette just hung in the air. The day loomed ahead of me. I was a virtual prisoner in my apartment with a bodyguard for company. I knew I had to keep busy or go out of my mind, worrying and wondering what Kelly was up to. He had told me there were several avenues he needed to explore but first he needed to go back to the 20th Precinct. See if he could enlist some assistance from New York’s finest in uncovering the whereabouts of Natalie Scott, Ben Tucker and Dr. Francis.
It took me all of three minutes to do a thorough job of feeding the fish in the magical aquarium built into the wall. I killed another fifteen minutes making the bed, throwing dirty clothes into the hamper, re-hanging the bath towels and emptying the dishwasher. The mundane tasks did nothing to slow down my thoughts and of course I just made myself more frustrated and pissed off. Locked inside my home. Unable to do anything to help.
But how could you help Kate, I asked myself. Always wanting to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong, I chided myself. But it is my business, the voice inside my head argued. Miss Busybody, who can’t stand it when she’s not in control and isn’t being kept up to date on progress. I shook my head and instead of fighting with myself, I sat quietly in a dining room chair, and tried to be an adult about all of this. Worked at calming down my pea brain. Reasoned with myself. I rubbed the top of my right ear and reminded myself what happened the last time I just couldn’t help myself and got involved in a situation that was way over my head.
My brain had taken enough self-arguing and before I drove myself completely crazy, I decided to go for a walk. Chris the bodyguard wasn’t happy with me, but he did agree that he could protect me sufficiently if push came to shove, on the streets of Manhattan.
The air felt muggier at street level but it felt good to be outside. Standing under the canopy at the front of the apartment building, I looked right and then left, trying to decide which way to go. Across the street was Central Park which Jay and I had explored the day before. If I turned right, I would walk north. For no specific reason, I turned left and when I reached Central Park South, I crossed Fifth Avenue and walked across the southernmost part of the Park. The street vendors were out in full force, their makeshift stalls tucked into the shade of the trees up against the low stone wall which surrounded the Park. Nine horses with their buggies and drivers lined the street. The area teemed with tourists. Chris dogged my heels as I walked and I did my best to ignore him.
When I reached Central Park West, I crossed Columbus Circle and Broadway and kept walking west, down West 60th Street. The area was a mix of residential and businesses, populated with apartment and office buildings. I walked for blocks, randomly turning up different streets. I passed the Julliard School and the Metropolitan Opera House. Tenth Avenue appealed to me so I turned onto it and continued my walk. Within a couple of blocks, I could see ambulances turning into a large complex. A large, white sign with black lettering identified the complex as the Van Buren Health Centre.
Underneath several clinics were identified, and at the very bottom, in smaller letters it read “Deliveries Accepted Only From West 79th St., Monday to Friday, 7 am to 5 pm ONLY”.
I pointed at the Deliveries Only part of the sign and asked Chris, “Where’s West 79th?” He pointed up the street. “The next block,” he said. I headed in that direction, knowing that my wanderings had not been random after all. Another large, white sign appeared with huge red letters reading “Deliveries” and under that in smaller black letters “Van Buren Health Centre”.
A paved road about five hundred feet long and two lanes wide went off to the left. There was no sidewalk but I turned in anyway and headed down the road to the back of the Health Centre.
“Ma’am,” Chris called out to me.
Without turning around I waved him on and said, “Come on. I just want to explore back here.”
I didn’t tell him this was where Tommy’s body had been found and that some sort of magnet was pulling me down the road. Grass lined the road and there were some trees planted on the right side. I could see a chain link fence behind the trees, running along the hospital’s property and disappearing in the distance. After walking a couple of minutes I came to the back of the hospital where there were six delivery bays, each with its own industrial size garage door. Large, cement dividers separated each delivery bay and I imagined that the trucks would back in to a bay and offload their cargo through the garage door. It being the weekend, the area was deserted, with only a white panel van parked off to the side.
I stood quietly and breathed in my surroundings, wondering where Tommy had been shot. Past the asphalt delivery area there was grass, some sad looking shrubs, and the chain link fence. Beyond the fence there were tall, brick buildings, most likely apartments. I turned slowly in a circle, taking it all in.
The back of the hospital building was solid brick with the delivery doors the only obvious way in. Above each of the large doors, yellow light bulbs encased in round wire cages protruded from the walls. West 79th Street seemed quite a distance away, down the long driveway.
Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions Page 28