Dead Man Code: A Jarvis Mann Detective Novel

by R Weir

  “Is your gun made of the same material as the building?” I quipped. “The sun reflecting off of it is blinding me!”

  He didn’t even blink at my humor.

  “I’m the head of security, and I’m about to have you arrested for trespassing. So you better give me a good reason not to call the police.”

  “May I reach into my back pocket and show you my ID?”

  “Show me where it is and I’ll grab it. But if you do anything silly, I’ll put you down.”

  I pointed to my rear cheek, and he came over and pulled it out. I wanted to do a leg whip and knock him on his ass, but the trigger-happy twins would probably shoot me at the slightest twitch.

  “So you are Jarvis Mann, Private Detective,” said the head of security. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your name would be?” I asked.

  “Head of security is all you need to know.”

  “Alright, Head. As I told your underlings, I’m here looking over the crime scene of Aaron Bailey. I’ve been hired to look into his murder.”

  I’m not sure he liked my pet name for him. But what else would I call him? I certainly wasn’t going to say “sir.”

  “You should have checked in with us first.”

  “I didn’t expect you’d let me on the scene.”

  “You are probably right.”

  “So I came up here on my own, figuring I’d ask forgiveness later.” I paused a second, then spoke as if I were a child. “Forgive me.”

  He didn’t seem happy with my quip.

  “Who hired you?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”

  “And we are not at liberty to allow you to snoop around our building. You will walk out of here, never to return.”

  “Gee, I’d think you’d want to find out who killed one of your employees.”

  “It is a matter for the police.”

  “For me as well. I’m licensed for this work. I will do my job, with or without your help. It will be harder, but I’ll get to the bottom of who killed him. Helping me might be in your company’s best interest, if you want the killer found.”

  “Of course we do. It’s a matter of not dragging our enterprise down in the process.”

  “Nothing would drag it down, unless someone at WANN was involved.”

  “Which is absurd.”

  “Maybe. Or could it be the head of security doesn’t want to look bad, being he let it happen on his watch. And didn’t make sure the security monitoring system was working properly. Or is that a common problem, it failing?”

  “I was not head of security when it happened. The man in charge was relieved of his job shortly afterwards. Our company takes this type of situation seriously. The failure required changes be made.”

  “Or a fall guy be found. It would be good to talk with him and get his thoughts. Can you tell me his name?”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “How about the guard who called the murder in. Is he working today? Or did you let him go too? Maybe it’s one of these two strapping young lads.”

  “We don’t work the night shift,” stated Spud, before getting a tense look from his boss for saying anything.

  “We will speak of this no further,” said the head of security. “Now start walking out of here before I lose my temper.”

  I didn’t need the names, since I already had them from the report. Now I needed to find them. I got up and headed towards the stairwell, the taller guard following me about ten feet behind at all times. Once we reached the bottom the two carts were waiting, just in case I’d done something rash. I reached my bike and waved goodbye, riding off now knowing Aaron Bailey’s former employer was not going to help me any. That in itself told me something, though I wasn’t sure what it was—at least yet.

  Chapter 6

  April had set up a rendezvous with the first officer to arrive on the murder scene. He was on duty today, but had some spare time to meet. I pulled up and waited in a nearly empty shopping center on the corner of South Broadway and West Belleview. It was empty because the Kmart that occupied a huge section of this corner had very few customers. It was hard to believe the place was still open, given the financial shape of the once-mighty retailer. I stood beside my bike enjoying the warm day. The season had been hot and dry, not unlike most summers in Denver, even though the masses complained otherwise. In about ten minutes a Denver Police car pulled up and the driver put down his window.

  “Are you Jarvis?” said the baritone voice.

  “I am. You must be Officer Bale.”

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t you a little out of your district?”

  “Dropping off a suspect in Littleton and was on my way back. April said you wanted to talk to me about a crime scene I was first to arrive at.”

  “Yes. Aaron Bailey, the computer engineer for WANN systems who was murdered. Happened a few months back.”

  “Sure. April says you are a PI working the case for the widow. She said you were pretty cool and that Mallard gave the OK to talk with you about it.”

  April had stretched the truth some, but I didn’t mind, especially the cool reference. I’m sure Mallard would be thrilled for my help, as always.

  “April is pretty cool herself,” I said.

  “Yes, she is, and a sweet lady. How long have you known her?”

  “A little while now. She provides me information when I need it. Normally I go through Bill Malone as well.”

  “Bill is a good guy too. I asked April out a couple of times, but she doesn’t like going out with cops. Or so she said.”

  “Probably thinks two people armed with mace and handcuffs is one too many.”

  Bale smiled and then stopped to check something on the computer that was anchored down on the center console. After clicking away at the screen he turned back to face me.

  “What information are you looking for?”

  “Mostly want to know what you recall when you arrived. I read your report, but it’s always good to hear it firsthand.”

  “Sure. Let me call into dispatch.”

  He quickly called in, using one of the fancy ten-codes you always heard the police use, this one saying he was on a break or talking to a cool PI. He stayed in his car with the engine running. He filled the seat, a large black man who worked out, as his arms bulged at his shirtsleeves. If he hadn’t been a multi-sport participant, I would have been surprised. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty-five, and from what April mentioned had not been on the force for too many years.

  “Are you looking for anything in general?” he said. “It has been a while, so the memory is a little foggy.”

  “No, just whatever you can tell me is helpful. Like when you first showed up, what did you see?”

  “The call came in as a man down, at the top of the parking garage. I rolled and was the first to arrive. So I drove up and saw the car there. I approached from the passenger side, as I recall, so I didn’t see him until I got out of my unit. He was down and there was a security guard standing nearby. I asked him to step away and lie on the ground, face down until I had some backup. Another car arrived a couple minutes after me, and that is when we checked on the body and determined he was dead.”

  “So the garage gate was up?”

  “Yes, the guard said their boss told them to open it, since they knew the police were coming.”

  “Anything odd about the WANN guard?”

  “Not really. Normal rent-a-cop type. Heavy set, carrying a gun. He said he was the one that called it in. But we needed to be certain he wasn’t the killer. One never knows and we need to cover all angles.”

  “How was the body positioned?”

  “He was leaning against the driver’s side, his back against the door. A lot of blood on his chest, leg and on the pavement. You could tell from the blood loss he was dead.”

  “No sign of a weapon? Or who did it?”

  “Not when we arrived. Of course, once it was known
he was dead the detectives and crime scene teams took over. We get pushed back and mostly do traffic control. Once Mallard arrived he took my statement and that of the officer who showed up afterwards. Then it was mostly paperwork and making sure no one trampled on the scene.”

  “Did the WANN guard do any trampling?”

  “As I recall, he touched the body. Wanted to see if he was alive and needed tending to. Not smart on his part, since like I said, with the blood loss it was pretty obvious there was no hope for him. Besides, he wasn’t using gloves. Crime scene folks were not happy about it either.”

  A car drove past us, curious about what was going on. I smiled and wondered if I looked like an informant. Or a criminal.

  “Anything else you recall?”

  “Yeah, one thing. I do remember someone high up, saying he was with security, showed up. He kept trying to crash the crime scene. Mallard was not a happy guy and yelled at us to take control and if necessary arrest anyone who didn’t comply. This one guy was an asshole, and I about had to wrestle him to the ground to get him to back off.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “No. But he was dressed to the nines. Expensive suit and shoes, with a shiny gun under his jacket that he must have polished every day. But he was real concerned about the company name being smeared. Didn’t seem all that bothered about the death of one of his employees.”

  “I think we met earlier today. Anything else you can add?”

  He reached down to grab his drink cup and took a long draw though the straw.

  “Sorry, that was about all I can recall. As I said, not much more than what was probably in the report.”

  “No, you gave me some other details. May not mean much but everything is important in a case like this. I appreciate the help. If you are ever around the DU area, stop into Boone’s. If I’m there stop by and I’ll buy you a beer. If not, tell the bartender and he’ll put it on my tab. April even hangs out there at times. Maybe a chance to get to know her better.”

  “Something to keep in mind,” he said, laughing. “But I’ll have to pass on the beer, as I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “How about chicken wings or ribs?”

  “Wings are a vice, so yes, I’d take you up on that.”

  “No worse than donuts.”

  Bale started laughing.

  “I’ll take a dozen wings over a dozen Krispy Kremes any day.”

  “They will pull your union card for that statement,” I said with a smile. “Do you have any thoughts on what happened at the murder scene? So far, they are calling it a robbery gone bad.”

  “Not really. Being a street cop you don’t get into the whys or hows. Just try to keep the peace and maybe once in a while prevent a crime. The detectives get to do all the heavy thinking. Be nice to catch the bastard who did this. What about you? Do have any thoughts on what happened?”

  “Not yet,” I said with a smile. “I’m just beginning the heavy thinking, and I hope I don’t sprain a muscle.”

  Chapter 7

  The day was winding down, so I went home. I parked my bike next to another in the parking lot, sharing the space, since parking was in short supply. Kate’s Harley was similar, though a couple years newer. She had ridden a lot more miles than I had, having cycled for years. After dropping off my helmet, jacket and gloves, I stopped by the salon to say “hi.”

  Once she saw me Kate came over and gave me a hug. We were close friends now, thanks to the help I gave her last year, assistance which in the end saved her and her kids’ lives. I now had free haircuts for life, but lately I was letting it grow out, especially in back.

  “Need a trim?” she asked with a smile.

  “No, I’m liking it the way it is right now. Looking for change, for some reason.”

  “I understand. How about we dye it blond?”

  I laughed.

  “No, I like my natural brown hair color.”

  “No gray, at least yet, to worry about like me. We women love to mess with our hair color. It’s the simplest thing we can change about ourselves.”

  Which was true, as Kate recently had dyed hers an auburn color with some pink highlights. It seemed every six months or so, she would try something new with her color or hairstyle.

  “The length is probably more about me being lazy right now. I’m not too worried about how I look at the present.”

  “Nothing new from Melissa?”

  She knew the whole story of what happened, as I’d spilled the beans shortly after.

  “No. I don’t expect anything to change.”

  “Hard to forgive a man for cheating. I did once with Jack, but couldn’t a second time.”

  “She has a right. I’m having a hard time forgiving myself.”

  “I’ve known you for a while now, and have seen you with some of the ladies who’ve worked here and you dated, if you want to call it that. It might not be in your nature to be a one-woman man.”

  I’d come to the conclusion myself, only wasn’t certain why. If I examined it hard enough, maybe I’d find the answer. For now, work would be my shelter from the hurt. Help me to fend off the internal self-analysis. Small talk with the ladies didn’t hurt either. I spent a few minutes saying “hello” to the others there, all happy to see me, the light and joyful conversation pushing the pain to one side. Once done, I returned to my home-office to make some dinner. Food options were limited, so I stuck with a ham and cheese sandwich on wheat, and a few low-fat chips, which was an oxymoron, washing it down with some lemon iced tea I’d made the day before. Once the stomach was full, I turned to my computer to begin research.

  The Internet was a vast wasteland of information, which in this case would provide me with a bevy of innuendo, mixed with facts, about Waterton Albers New Networking Systems. Using various search strings, I found numerous articles and printed them out, finding the printed page easier to study than on the computer screen, since there was so much to absorb. I took to the sofa and started sorting through it all.

  The company was founded nearly two decades ago by two college students, Burton Waterton and Logan Albers. Both had complementary computer skill sets. Burton’s strength was in computer programming and languages, while Logan was the designer, with hardware smarts and business skills. They had been roommates in college, having clicked as friends, and soon were talking about building a business, bouncing ideas off of each other, and working on concepts in their dorm room in their free time. Since their families had money to float them, they leased some small warehouse space near their campus when they needed more room. With used computers and servers they found cheaply, they began building their networking empire, taking many years to see any gains in the industry. They first designed an operating system language, making it as lightweight and simple to use as possible, borrowing from others in the process, though not so much that they would expose themselves to lawsuits. As in many industries, borrowing in the tech world was common. The idea was to sell it to others to install on their hardware and make a killing. When few wanted it, they decided to manufacture the hardware to go with it, and slowly build the business a client at a time. Using tech conferences and press events, the two men together were impressive in front of a crowd. They were billed by many in the media as the two-headed Steve Jobs. It would seem they could turn shit into shinola. Though that wasn’t a motto or logo you’d care to have plastered on the side of your building, or printed on your marketing materials.

  Burton was the tech genius, who could code like few others. Many other tech companies tried to hire him in college and then away from their new-founded business in its early days, when it was struggling. But he stuck with it even though the company nearly folded on a couple of occasions. Logan, with his business and sales skills, worked the streets for financing during the hard times, bringing in the needed capital when all seemed doomed. A couple of eleventh-hour deals saved them on two occasions, the last one providing an infusion of capital that put them over the top, where they never looked bac
k. Their yearly revenue now pushing one billion dollars and seemingly growing. Though with razor-thin margins—the profits did not match some of the other big boys in the industry. Nevertheless, they were a force in the tech world to be reckoned with, as the other tech giants were leery of them, always watching in their rearview mirrors.

  Down to the more personal information, Burton was married with four kids. He had a house in the Silicon Valley, as well as houses in Hawaii and Florida. He was athletic, playing tennis, racquetball and golf. His collection of antique motorcycles was extremely valuable. His wife, Judy, did lots of charitable work for the homeless and children growing up in poverty. All their kids were either in high school or college, the youngest a sophomore, the oldest working on his masters at Cal. All in their lives appeared perfect and squeaky-clean. Really too clean, as I had to wonder if this was all part of the publicity machine of a large corporation.

  Logan, though, had been married for thirteen years, but was now divorced, with only one child, a girl, who went to Stanford. The breakup between him and his wife Lyndi, apparently because of her infidelity, was fairly private, but some tabloids through the Internet search played it up for a few months, with various gossip items, before tiring and moving onto something which provided more one-clicks. The biggest story was the large settlement she received, even though she was at fault. Nothing ever concrete was learned, but it appeared Logan may not have been as faithful as portrayed in the press releases. Corporate PR working in his favor. His passion, beyond the business world, was traveling to Las Vegas. He was a high roller welcomed at several casinos. Rumors again claimed he could drop many thousands of dollars playing blackjack, Texas Hold’em and craps. Now that he was single again, he was often seen at many of the Vegas shows with an entourage of young women and men, throwing around money like he could print it at will.

  I then turned my attention to Aaron and Mandy. I did a blanket search of their names and found very little. Most led back to Facebook. Once there, I found Aaron’s Facebook page had been removed. The caching of the search engines still held the link, but when I clicked it, said it no longer existed. As for Mandy, her profile page hadn’t been updated in months, and earlier postings had only been pictures of her and Aaron out and about. It seemed they liked hiking and biking together. Various milestones, birthdays and anniversaries, were listed. It was plain and boring. Trying other searches led to nothing. Their digital fingerprint was insignificant.