She wore a beige suite with a high collar, and her dark brown hair was coiled into a bun against the slightly tanned skin of her neck. She regarded the approaching visitor through her black-rimmed eyeglasses, but carried on with her phone conversation.
Sam overheard the PA was arranging a two o’clock meeting with someone named Jonathan Hendricks. Her fingers flew across her keyboard as she spoke into the Bluetooth headset.
Sam paced the waiting area to the left of the wooden desk. Here, four black leather armchairs fanned round a thick glass-topped coffee table, and behind them there was a large window with a breathtaking view of greenery.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the lady addressed Sam McCall at last.
“I had to arrange a last minute business meeting for Mr Brown.”
Sam turned and walked towards the desk, giving her a polite business-like smile.
“You must be Detective McCall?”
McCall took a perverse pleasure in showing her badge.
“That’s right, we spoke earlier. I am here to speak with Mr Brown.” She assessed that the lady’s antenna for scandal was working overtime: something was up, and she was determined to know what it was. McCall could picture the gossip flying round the canteen, a bit of excitement to spice up the employees’ dull workaday lives.
“Can I ask what it is with reference to?”
Sam was amused: she knew this type of scandalmonger —facts or not, the story would be blown completely out of proportion until one greedy sap went and talked bullshit to the tabloid newspapers. No, she decided. She would keep this between herself and Brown: it was up to him to smother any rumours. She was here to solve a murder, not to kick-start the gossip mill.
“Sorry, Ma’am, but that’s between Mr Brown and the police department. I suggest you talk to him about it.”
The PA shot a disappointed look in McCall’s direction and pressed an intercom button on the desk, saying,
“Sir, the detective is here to see you.”
There was a brief silence.
“Okay, could you send him in?” the detective heard him say. She raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the two large wooden doors the left of the desk.
The PA nodded and smiled, wishing she could see Brown’s face when the attractive female entered his office, picturing his mouth drop open with surprise to see a woman.
The office of William Brown was completely different from the rest of the building. It had the feel of a British stately home to it: lots of oak furnishings and a couple of brown leather chesterfield armchairs, with waxed wooden floorboards mostly hidden underneath a large Persian rug. The red flock wallpaper complemented the fine paintings hung on the walls. Even the windows with their high pointed arched tops, would have been more in keeping in a British country manor house.
In the middle of the room there was a large Victorian oak partners’ desk, behind which Mr Brown sat in a high-backed red leather button-backed chair, but as she came in, he was facing the windows, away from her.
“So what can I do for the NYPD?” The man’s voice boomed out, still not even looking at her. Sam had the impression that the guy was doing his best to intimidate her. As if he enjoyed showing off his power.
“Well, Mr Brown. You can start by dropping the James Bond villain act and turn your ass round and face me!”
His chair swivelled round swiftly, revealing a startled and diminutive man. His high forehead glistened with sweat, and his tiny blue eyes were wide open with shock. McCall hated to admit that she had enjoyed watching the man crumble but she could tell this man got a buzz by engendering fear. Yet how could anyone be afraid of a man like this? she wondered.
“I am Detective Samantha McCall and I am here investigating the death of Donald Major.”
William Brown nodded at once, filled with remorse.
“Yes, poor man. When we heard we were shocked, truly shocked.” He stood up and walked round his desk to a Victorian drinks cabinet. Big-shot Brown was all of five-foot six but he held a good posture, his back straight and shoulders rammed backwards as if he was trying to make himself taller.
“Can I offer you anything, Detective? Water? Coffee?”
The detective shook her head and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, the creak of old leather and the unmistakable waft of aging filling her nostrils. He watched her sit and she waited for him to finish getting himself a drink and returning to his chair. She just sat there and watched him. Sam sensed that he had become uneasy and that, for her, was a good sign. She didn’t have time to go through any of the usual run-around questions, she simply wanted to know the facts, so that she could leave.
As William Brown sat down, McCall flicked open her notebook and switched on the small Dictaphone. He watched her movements as she prepared for the interview.
“So, Mr. Brown, how long had Mr Major worked for you?” Sam began.
William Brown sat back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, as if he was scanning documents in his mind’s eye.
“Oh, around fifteen years now.” His mouth opened in surprise at the realisation of how long the man had been employed by them.
“My God, fifteen years! I never realised until now.”
McCall noted it down. “And what did he do here?”
The man smiled, but this was a fond, even a proud smile.
“He was one of our best electricians; now please understand, I am not talking fixing plugs and TVs. No this guy was a genius at installation. He was responsible for all of our high-end projects: surveillance equipment for homes and banks—even for military establishments.”
The detective looked up, her mind picking up the key words, especially ‘military’.
“I’ll be honest, Ms McCall, he was a good worker, a good man—everyone liked him. Hell, even contractors asked for him by name. He brought in the business because everyone wanted him.”
Brown saw her eyes widen at the thought of a jealous colleague being responsible for his death.
“Now I know what you’re thinking, Detective, but the other guys never had any problems working with him—no one would have harmed him. Donald was the kind of guy who, if he went on a job he would get one of the others who was unemployed at the time to help him out, just so the guy got some pay. Like I said, he was a good guy. Everyone liked him.”
“Was he working on anything special before he was killed?”
Brown leant over to his computer and typed in the name: Donald Major. A small icon spun round to indicate the initiation of a search. The screen opened up into a calendar screen showing all the workers and their employment whereabouts for that year. He leant closer to the monitor and adjusted his glasses.
“Well, for the past three months he had been working on a special project for one particular company. I would have to get someone to locate the file for you if that helps.”
She nodded. “That would be a great help, sir, yes please. Tell me, was anyone helping him on that job?”
Brown looked at the screen again.
“Uh, no. Looks like he did that one alone, which sure is unusual for him, as I told you, he liked to rope in other guys to help him whenever he could.”
McCall stood up.
“Can I talk to some of his colleagues? Maybe see his office?”
Brown got to his feet as well and wiped his gold-rimmed eyeglasses with his handkerchief.
“Why yes, Detective McCall, of course. You’ll find most of the guys out on jobs, but those that aren’t will be in their offices. But unfortunately Donald didn’t have an office here. He had a workshop somewhere downtown.”
She thanked him and headed for the wooden doors. Then she stopped and turned.
“You said that was his last job?”
Brown nodded, looking confused.
“That’s right. Why?”
McCall tucked away the Dictaphone and her pen.
“Because his body was found in a 7-Eleven store installing lighting. And if that wasn’t one of the job
s you gave him, then who was he working for?”
The door clicked shut behind her and she headed for the elevator. As she passed she noticed that the PA lady she’d met earlier had reddened eyes that she was dabbing with a tissue, as if she’d been crying, and a handful for tissues lay in the waste basket next to her desk.
It seemed as if William Brown had been right: people had loved Donald Major. Perhaps they had loved him more than some had realised.
McCall finally made it back to the station house. She had spent most of the morning talking to co-workers about Donald Major. He was well liked and respected, that much was obvious, yet someone had wanted him gone.
As she passed the desk sergeant, she shot him a wave and a smile, saying: “Hi, Sarge.”
The white-haired officer yelled over the commotion in front of the booking-in area:
“Hey McCall, you got a message from Tina.”
McCall raced over to take the note which said: Sam, have something, meet me A.S.A.P.
Sam stopped and looked at her watch, finding that it was nearly two o’clock.
“Okay, thanks, Sarge.”
Sure, she had stuff to do but she could do with some ‘Tina time’. Her plan was to get some coffees on route and recharge her batteries chatting to her friend.
As she walked down the long sterile white corridors of the ME’s office, her phone buzzed, signalling incoming text messages. Pulling her cell phone from her jacket pocket she saw she had several: one was from Tooms, while the others were from Tony and Jenny. They were all brief messages on their progress. She put the phone back into her pocket as she entered Tina’s office.
Music played in the background, but it was being drowned out the ringing of the office phone, its strident tone dominating the small room. McCall looked round but found she was alone. Reaching for the receiver, she answered it. Tooms’s voice in her ear, sounded taken aback.
“Hey, McCall, what you doing there?”
She smiled. “Can’t a girl visit a friend? Tina sent me a message asking me to come over. Why? What’s up?” McCall took her cell from her jacket and pressed the speed dial for Tina’s mobile phone.
“Funny,” Tooms replied. “She sent me a message to come over as well.”
Sam could make out a distant ringing tone, recognizing it as Tina’s cell phone. “Tooms, can you hold on for a second? I just got to go check on something.”
McCall put down the receiver and walked slowly out into the corridor, her cell phone resting in her left hand and her right shadowing the grip of her Glock pistol.
As she edged down the brightly lit hallway, the ringing noise stopped. She quickly redialled. At the far end was the cold storage room, and as McCall looked up from her phone her heart rose into her throat. She ran quickly towards the sound, hearing it grow louder all the time. Tina had to be in the cold storage room and McCall feared the worst. As she struggled with the latch handle, she banged on the door, hoping for a response. Looking down, McCall noticed Tina’s phone on the tiled floor. Fear electrified her into renewed action as she tried the latch handle again, unable to shift it. Glaring down with tearful eyes, in her blurred vision at last she saw the securing pin embedded into the hole, that had effectively locked the door. She ripped it out, turned the handle and yanked the door open. There on the ground lay Tina, her body covered in a light silvering of frost. McCall reached down and checked the pulse in her neck. She detected slow shallow beats. She was alive!
Tooms sat with his feet resting up on his desk, the receiver crammed between a large shoulder and his unshaven cheek while he started to make a paper airplane. All was quiet, with just the gentle background music playing in Tina’s office in his ear as he listened. Tooms hummed along to the tune playing in the distance.
“Tooms, get your ass here now!” he heard her bawl down the phone.
“We got a situation. And get the paramedics as well. Tina’s been hurt.”
Tooms nearly fell backwards with fright at the sudden shrieking down the phone.
Tony looked over at his partner, who was suddenly panicked and sweating.
“What’s up, man?” His voice trembled, his mind thinking the unthinkable.
“Get your ass to the ME’s now,” Tooms told him.
“Tina’s been attacked.”
Meanwhile the quiet stillness of the ME’s corridor was interrupted by the echoing voice of the radio DJ announcing the next record. The calm was suddenly broken as the tactical unit burst through the double swing doors separating the departments.
“Clear! Clear!” Their voices seemed louder in the confined space of the medical rooms. Captain Brant rushed through, overtaken by a pair of paramedics, all of them heading for McCall and the half-frozen Tina. Sam was sitting on the ground, her back against the closed freezer door, cradling Tina, trying to infuse the doctor’s freezing cells with her own body heat. The paramedics arrived, while another group of medical people carrying a gurney followed not far behind.
“Are you okay, Detective?” asked one as they laid Tina down to make an examination.
The detective nodded. “Sure I’m. She was the only one locked in there.”
She watched as they lifted Tina onto the gurney and wheeled her away.
“Don’t worry,” one of them told her. “She’ll be fine.”
McCall gave a weak smile, knowing he was right. Tina was strong, and she somehow had the feeling that whoever imprisoned her didn’t wish her serious harm. It struck her that they simply wanted Tina out of their way.
“McCall, you okay?” Captain Brant asked as he knelt down beside her after the medics had taken Tina away.
“Sure, I’m fine, just a little shaken up, that’s all.”
Brant stood up and offered McCall a hand. She used it and stood up, her legs feeling heavy from the cold.
“Who in hell would want to do such a thing?” Tony asked as he rounded the corner from one of the rooms. McCall shrugged.
“It’s a morgue not a bank, who knows? Could be someone’s idea of a sick joke gone bad.” She didn’t have any answers, only questions. The tactical team had done a sweep and found nothing, so now it was down to CSU (the Crime Scene Unit).
As McCall walked passed Tina’s ‘cutting room’ she glanced inside. All seemed normal, apart from the blue sheet that lay on the floor instead of covering the body that should have been on the table. McCall stopped and rushed in, leaving Captain Brant confused.
“Hey, McCall! Is something wrong?” he called after her, following her in and looking round.
“What’s wrong with this room?” she asked angrily.
Brant looked down at the sheet that was on the floor, realising what it meant. “So whose body was that sheet covering up?” His voice was deadly calm, but furious.
Tony picked up the chart from the end of the table and scrutinized it. “It was our Jane Doe. But why would anyone want to take her?”
Tooms put the chart back, his voice puzzled. “How about the people that killed her?” He addressed all of them: “Listen up! I want this place ripped apart. I want to know how they got in and out. McCall you go with Tina—find out what she remembers. Take a tech with you for trace, let’s hope these bastards left something.”
Everyone shot away to start the canvass. This wasn’t just a break-in to them, this was personal: one of their own had been hurt and this was number one priority, and everything else was put on hold.
McCall paced the floor outside Tina’s room. She had not been allowed in, only the female tech from CSU could enter. McCall was angry, but not with the doctors. She knew enough not to argue when it came to things like this, obviously cross contamination was an issue and she realised that she would have to give up her clothes for elimination purposes at some stage.
McCall felt a loathing for the people who had done this to Tina, not those who were doing their best to investigate things. The door opened and the young CSU tech walked out and smiled at McCall. “Tina’s going to be fine, but I’ll let the doc
explain everything.”
Sam lifted up three evidence bags containing the clothes she’d just changed out of.
“I thought you may want these.”
The tech nodded and took them. “I guess you’ve been involved in this kind of thing before?”
McCall nodded as she looked at the closed door to Tina’s room.
“Sure I have. Too many times.” She took a deep breath and entered the room.
As she walked in she was met by a middle-aged doctor. He was tall and had that ‘George Clooney’ style of good looks, and his brown eyes sparkled with the reflection from the lights above.
“How is she?” McCall asked, looking over towards her friend, who was gently sipping from a white porcelain mug.
“She’s understandably shaken up,” the George Clooney lookalike replied. “A minor case of hypothermia but nothing too serious. But we will keep her here for a while just to make sure she’s okay. Oh, and one more thing—we found some small marks on her clothes. I think she was knocked out by a taser.”
Sam McCall smiled with relief, her attention momentarily wandering. “Thank you, Doctor. Is it okay to talk to her?”
Her knees buckled as he returned her smile. “Okay, but not for too long, she needs to rest.”
As the door closed behind him both women’s jaws dropped in appreciation of his looks.
“Oh boy, the things you do to get attention,” McCall joked.
Tina grinned and rolled her eyes at the thought of the handsome doctor.
“Are you okay?” McCall asked, placing a gentle hand onto Tina’s shoulder.
“Thanks to you I am. If you hadn’t come in, God only knows what would have happened.” Tina took another sip from the hot coffee.
“Tina, I think whoever did this left us a note so we would find you. They wanted you found.”
Tina shook her head in disbelief. “But why? There’s nothing there. Just—well—dead people.”
McCall nodded. “Yes, Jane Doe to be precise. She’s missing.” She sat down on the end of the bed and took out her notepad and Dictaphone. Switching on the latter, she placed it on the special mini-table that was on the bed covers, in front of Tina.
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 11