She found Toby Lang, the tech assistant, in a small room with lots of monitors and computers, whose blue-lit cooling fans gave the dimly-lit room an eerie glow. The tech was a young man in his late twenties with long, brown straggly hair and red-rimmed glasses. Even though he was sitting, McCall could tell that he was tall. He was thin and pale, wearing jeans and a grey T-shirt on top of which he had an unbuttoned brown-checked shirt. He sat at his workstation going through possible online storage places for Donald Major’s account. McCall hadn’t really found much information at the workshop but the tech was good at what he did.
“You got that address for the unit?” he asked, his body not moving from the position it was in, almost as if he was afraid to miss something on his screen. She put a small post-it onto the workstation and then watched as his fingers flew across the keys faster than she had ever seen anyone do it before.
“Okay, just so I know, what are we looking for?” he asked.
McCall walked round the room, looking at the many different computers, each of which was performing its own specific task. “Anything unusual, really. Someone else who may have access to his workshop or someone who may have visited.” McCall shrugged, wishing she had more for him to go on. But this was a big box of straws and she was grasping.
“From when to when do you want the feed?” he asked, his feet doing a little dance of excitement.
“Around two months ago to the present, plus keep it open just in case he gets a visitor.”
He nodded. “I can programme it on to stick when I find something, okay?”
She smiled and placed a grateful hand onto his shoulder. “Thanks, Toby,” McCall said as she walked away. He didn’t respond: the tech was ‘in the zone’, deeply concentrated, and McCall thanked him and left him to it.
As Tooms was waiting for the CSU report on the John Barr case, he looked over at Tony, who was getting on with his investigation into Bill Foster’s death. Bill Foster was a forty-two year-old who moved from Boston to join the Cartwright Global organization. This was a firm that specialized in import and export sales, that dealt with everything from butter to weapons. Foster had no financial problems, he was getting on well in his job, and he was making big money for the firm. So the day he walked into his office and ended it all by eating the barrel of a .45 revolver, made no sense whatsoever.
Tony was getting ready to go to the firm to talk to Foster’s co-workers and to try to get a ‘feel’ for the guy.
“Need a hand with your shooter?” Tooms asked.
Tony leaned back in his chair and stared inquisitively. “Why, you given up on yours?”
Tooms shook his head as he took a mouthful of water from the bottle on his desk. “I am waiting for CSU, who happens to be backed up due to everything that has been going on, so until then I am at a stalemate. Thought I could help you with yours—it’ll do my eyes good to look at something else for a while.”
Tony gave a slow nod. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, standing up and slipping on his jacket.
“Where we going?” Tooms asked, taking his badge and gun from the locked top drawer of his desk.
“Lower Manhattan. A place called Cartwright Global.”
Tooms slipped his coat on as the two headed for the elevator. “So I take it I am driving?” he noted as Tony tossed across the keys to the police Dodge Charger.
“You wanted in, you gotta pay the toll.”
Tooms mumbled under his breath as the elevator doors closed behind them.
The offices at Cartwright Global were in the lower part of Manhattan. The tall mesh of concrete, steel and glass housed the masses of money-making opportunists and the lawyers who kept them out of trouble. The area was loud and bustling with life: taxis fought their way through the traffic while pedestrians tackled the oncoming crowds. It was organized chaos, but it held a vibrant feel that no other city possessed.
Detectives Tooms and Marinelli parked their car and made their way into the lobby of the Grant building, which housed many businesses and companies within its twenty storeys. Cartwright Global had the whole of the fifteenth floor. They rode the elevator up to fifteen and got off onto a bright and well-lit lobby full of people moving purposefully from office to office. To their front lay a long sandstone-tiled floor with glass-walled offices on either side that led down to the left. To their right was a long pine reception desk. It stretched around seven feet long and was around five feet high, contrasting with the white walls. The company’s name was embossed on the desk’s front in large brass lettering, almost glowing from the reflection of the overhead lights.
Two women sat behind it. Both were in their twenties and wore a black and white uniform that seemed more suited to an airline than a global sales corporation.
The two detectives made their way towards the desk, taking in their surroundings. As they approached, the women smiled almost at the same time, saying, “Welcome to Cartwright Global. How may I help you?”
Their welcoming smiles faded as the two detectives opened their jackets to reveal the police ID shields on their belts. One of the receptionists looked tearful, but maintained control. She had blonde hair and the glamorous looks of a model.
“I am Detective Marinelli and this is Detective Tooms,” Tony began.
“We’re here about.....”
“Bill Foster?” she interrupted before putting a handkerchief to her face to wipe away a tear.
“Yes, that’s right,” Tony answered gently. “I take it you were here that day?”
She nodded, still dabbing at her tears.
“She was the one who found him,” added the other girl, giving her colleague a look of sympathy.
“And you are?” Tooms asked as he leant against the wood of the desk.
“I am Elisabeth, and this is Susan,” replied the blonde woman’s dark-haired colleague.
Tony made a note of the names in his notebook before slipping it back into his jacket pocket. He wanted to see the room first before he started to question anyone.
“Susan, could you take us to his office if that’s okay?” he asked.
She nodded in reply and stood up.
“Who’s in charge here?” Tony asked Elisabeth.
“Mr. Shaw, Nathan Shaw,” she replied. Elisabeth seemed oddly nervous when she said his name.
Tony smiled reassuringly. “Could you let him know that we are in Mr. Foster’s office please?”
“Sure.” She picked up the receiver and dialled a number. As they made for the line of offices Tony heard Elisabeth on the phone explaining the situation to someone who he could only surmise was Nathan Shaw.
Bill Foster’s office was at the end on the right-hand side, set into a corner. Tooms and Tony could almost feel the tension in the corridor as it must have been when the crime scene tape was coming down and the room would be free for other staff to fight over.
As the two detectives approached, they saw a man standing in the doorway of an office opposite the crime scene. He was short, slim built and had round eyeglasses. His black hair had streaks of silver, presumably caused by stress, since he only looked between thirty and forty.
“Hi, Officers,” he greeted them. “Do you happen to know when we can use this office?”
Tooms glared at him. “Are you seriously telling us you want to hijack the guy’s office while his body’s still warm?”
The man shifted on his feet awkwardly, then shrugged before looking round suspiciously, just in case someone saw him.
“What’s your name and where were you that day?” Tooms demanded.
The man looked shocked “Why? You don’t think that I had anything to do with his death do you? I mean it was a suicide... Wasn’t it?”
Tooms glared at the man until he backed off, disappearing into his office. He shook his head in disbelief at the man’s behaviour. “Man, it’s only a damn office. I mean what’s so special about a friggin’ office?”
As Tony slowly opened the door to the corner room he noticed Susan was backing
away. He turned and smiled at her. “It’s okay if you don’t want to come in.”
She smiled. “It’s okay, I am fine.” Her eyes looked red, as if she’d been crying.
Bill’s office was large, with two long windows from where there was a fantastic view of the Manhattan skyline. The furnishings were modern and stylish, with a dark wood L-shaped desk, behind which was an aged leather office chair. There was a fifty-five-inch flat screen TV fixed to the wall, presumably to be used in conference calls as well as a TV or monitor. On the sidewall, a large dark wood cabinet held books and files, as well as a few photographs of family holidays. Between the windows was a black leather couch: Tooms eyed it up, and noting that it looked more comfortable than his own bed did.
“Okay,” Tooms remarked. “Maybe I can see what a nice office it is, but to kill a man for it?”
Susan looked shocked. “Oh no, he wasn’t murdered,” she assured him. “He killed himself. I saw him do it.”
Tooms and Tony looked round at her in amazement. “So why didn’t you stop him?” Tony asked calmly, trying his best not to sound critical.
“Well, I wasn’t in the room exactly,” Susan backtracked. “See, I was in the corridor at the time heading back to the front desk.”
Tooms looked confused. “So where had you been? This corridor ends in a dead end—you could only have come from one of two offices.”
Susan nodded and wiped away more tears. “I had just dropped some files off at Brian’s office.”
Tony looked back to the door where the strange man they’d just met had come out of. “Brian?”
Susan looked confused for a second as she realised her mistake. “Brian Fuller. He’s also in the US/European sales team, same as Bill was.”
Tony nodded as he made notes. “And then what?” He kept his voice kind and gentle, hoping to calm her.
“That’s when I heard the shot. I rushed in to find him just sitting there, lying there in a pool of his blood. It was horrible!” Susan’s legs buckled as Tooms caught her and led her to a nearby office.
“It’s okay, ma’am, we can take it from here,” he reassured her. “You just go back to your desk and have a drink of water.”
Susan thanked him and walked slowly back to her desk, every so often looking back at the door to Bill Foster’s office.
Inside Foster’s office the two detectives moved around, trying not to disturb anything as they searched for any evidence that could support either a suicide or a murder scenario.
Wearing their blue sterile gloves, they painstakingly worked the scene. Tony took out his small camera and began to take photos just in case they never got the pictures from CSU or there was something they had missed during their sweep. Tooms walked up to the desk, its polished dark wood surface tainted by a massive dried blood pool in the centre. He stood in front of the piece of furniture and studied the wall behind, examining the gory pattern of blood and skull contents that covered its white-painted surface. Tooms moved slowly towards the heavy-looking leather chair and inspected it, only to find blood on the back of it, running down from the headrest.
“Hey, man, come and take a look at this, will ya?” Tooms called across.
Tony joined his partner. “What you got?” He saw Tooms leaning over to look at the rear of the office chair. Tooms stepped back to enable Tony to take a better look.
“It’s blood,” Tony pointed out. “So what happened? Did the guy shoot himself here?”
Tooms shook his head. “There’s too much blood, as if he had been left here for a while.”
Tony photographed the chair and made a note for CSU to take it away for examination.
Tooms could see that his partner looked anxious about something. “What’s up, man? Is this case getting to you?”
Tony shook his head, frowning in thought. “Think about it. We have lost two possible days for investigating this case. One because we didn’t get to hear about it till late, and the second due to that break-in at the ME’s office.”
Tooms returned his gaze. “Sure, there was a mix up so we got the files late. But we got it now. And besides, we have done investigations with less information.”
Tony regarded his friend and lost his frown, reassured by the other man’s faith and confidence.
“Don’t worry, we will get whoever did this. Well after I’ve solved my case, anyway. Then I can help you with yours,” Tooms added jokingly.
Tony disguised giving Tooms ‘the finger’ by scratching between his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”
They spun around suddenly at the sound of someone clearing their throat. There in the doorway stood a tall well-built man in his late fifties. His tanned skin seemed dark in contrast to his grey suit and pinstriped shirt.
“You must be the detectives, I am Nathan Shaw,” he introduced himself. Shaw stayed in the doorway as if he was reluctant to step inside for reasons other than not wanting to disturb a crime scene. His large stature almost dwarfed the doorway. He stood around six-foot five, and had broad shoulders and a muscular face, while his silver hair was neatly styled.
Tooms and Tony walked over to him and they all shook hands.
“I am Detective Marinelli and this is Detective Tooms,” Tony began. “We wondered if there was somewhere we could talk?”
Nathan Shaw thought for a second then beckoned them to follow him down towards the other corridor. As they left the room, they saw heads disappearing back into their offices along the corridor.
“You will have to excuse my employees, gentlemen,” Nathan Shaw apologized. “This is the most exciting thing that has happened to them outside their own little worlds.”
Tony glared in anger. “A man taking his own life isn’t what I would class as excitement.”
Shaw nodded in agreement. “Of course that’s true, Detective. However, you do have to realise that most people jump from the roof if they’re going to check out. Last year we lost three top executives that way. It’s the pressure, you see.”
Tooms shook his head. “Sorry, but I guess I don’t. After all, the man had everything to live for. Sorry, but I don’t buy that. I don’t get why someone would take out a .45 and paint the walls with their brain!”
Shaw stopped and looked round at him. “And believe me, Detective, I hope you never do. Money isn’t everything, people say. But suppose you suddenly lost a lot of money on a deal and that money belonged to ordinary people who had saved for a lifetime to invest, only to lose everything in a blink of an eye.”
Tooms looked even more confused. “You buy and sell. What has investment banking got to do with this?”
Shaw carried on walking towards the conference room at the end of the hall.
The room was long, with a dark wooden table in the middle surrounded by seats for around twenty people. To the left was large window looking out onto the other side of the city, and to the right, in front of an almost empty wall, hung six monitors, each one around forty-six inches in size.
Tooms and Tony joined Shaw as he sat at the end of the table next to the window. Tony took out his notepad and a small tape recorder and placed them both on the table.
Shaw looked down at the recorder. “What’s that for?” He appeared to be offended by the small device.
“It’s for me,” Tony reassured him. “If I miss something, or if my notes get lost I still have this, so I don’t have to bother you again.”
Shaw smiled, impressed by his efficiency. Tony looked over towards the other man, who appeared to be calm and in control as he relaxed in the black leather chair.
“So, Mr. Shaw,” Tony began. “Can you run through the events as you know them on that day?”
Shaw looked down at the table, thoughtful for a moment as he scanned his memories. “It was last Wednesday, around twelve o’clock, I think.” Something crossed his mind which made him smile momentarily. “Yes definitely twelve o’clock.”
Tony looked up from his scribbling. “How can you be so sure?”
Shaw had a twinkle in h
is eye. “I was, er, let’s just say I had a meeting in my office that required my full attention.” Shaw’s grin grew larger and the two detectives guessed at some sexual assignation, and passed on quickly.
“Okay, so you were in a meeting.” Tony ushered him on, his pen hand making small circles.
“Anyway, it had been a tough week with a new client who was using the money from his firm to purchase something that would eventually make all the parties a handsome profit.” Shaw watched as Tony made notes while Tooms just sat there and listened. “Bill was in his office all morning tying down last minute details. He seemed fine until he went out for a short while.”
Tony looked up. “Do you know where he went?”
Shaw shrugged. “Not really. He was gone, what, ten minutes at the most. But when he came back he seemed shaken and upset.”
Tooms leaned forwards and joined in the questioning. “So he could have just met someone in the main lobby?”
Shaw thought for a second then nodded to concur with Tooms’s theory. “Sure, that’s all he had time for really.”
Tooms sat back in his chair and made a mental note to check out the security tapes once they were finished.
“Please go on, sir,” asked Tony calmly as he continued to make notes.
“Well, he came back and went to his office. We were just getting ready for a meeting before lunch, and he was a no-show. So I asked Susan—whom I believe you’ve just met—to go and get him, as she had to deliver some papers to the office opposite his.” He paused for a moment to remember all that had happened. “That’s when we heard the shot. We rushed to see what was wrong, but Susan was coming back as white as a sheet, just screaming.”
Tony sat back in his chair. “So she saw him do it?”
Shaw scowled at Tony. “What are you implying? That she just watched him and did nothing?”
Tony shook his head. “I am simply trying to get my facts here, sir. If she witnessed him do it we can work out if he was under duress, or this terrible tragedy was the result of, as you put it, ‘another bad day at the office’.”
Shaw looked confused. “You don’t think this is suicide, do you? You think that one of my staff did this.” His face flushed red with anger.
Operation:UNITY (John Steel series Book 2) Page 19