By the time Diane had finished her tasks, however, she had some semblance of hope. Although it was past three in the morning and she felt tired and fatigued, her progress through the office had shown her that she indeed had access to the company files. Though she had not yet garnered the courage to actually open the cabinets and begin reviewing the records, while she vacuumed she planned, plotted and schemed about how she would handle the search in the future. She had good news when she saw Liz later that morning. “I’ll begin looking through the files tonight,” she told her as they ate breakfast together. “It looks like they still have the same filing system as when I worked there.”
“Concentrate solely on the accounts that were brought in after you left,” Liz advised her. “That’s where we’ll find any leads. Do you have access to a copier there?”
“Yes.”
“Try to copy the files J. D. Keaton worked on.”
Diane shook her head. “That would take too long. I’ll have to wait to see if I find any pertinent information.”
“You’ll know what’s best,” Liz countered. “Let me know the second you find anything.”
Diane eyed Liz sideways. Liz’s attitude since their talk on the deck had become more trusting. As Liz had claimed, she was changing her mind about Diane’s guilt. Diane hoped the day would soon come that she could prove Liz right.
It seemed odd to Diane how she slipped easily into the pattern of the following several days. She worked at the R & J late each night and then took one or two hours after cleaning to search through the company files for any possible leads. She would sleep in late the following morning, help Liz with work during the afternoons and then go back to work at the R & J once more. With this course of action, she quickly became reacquainted with the filing system and soon could pick out those submitted by J. D. Keaton with ease. For her own records, she began copying the applicant’s information page that went with each file and took those home to study.
Though Diane worked for two full weeks without running into any employees at the R & J, she still faithfully wore her dark glasses and subsequently felt grateful that she did. During the following week while vacuuming the lobby, she ran into a man she had never before seen at the R & J. He pretended not to notice her as he went about his business. The contact, however, made Diane much more cautious. She locked the door while looking through the filing cabinets, keeping the vacuum on as if she had been working.
As time went on, Diane still resisted talking with Liz about the outside world—what was happening with her grandfather, her job at the paper, and the current disposition of the accusations against her. Her lack of control over the events, if she allowed herself to dwell on them, almost crippled her emotionally. She instead plunged headfirst in the only direction open to her—finding evidence that would implicate J. D. Keaton. The cause literally consumed her. She thought, dreamed of and concocted any possible way he could have swindled money from the company. She went through her own growing file again and again, searching for any inconsistencies in the information sheets she’d gleaned from Mr. Keaton’s files. As the days passed and Diane could find nothing, she forced herself to continue on, trying to not let the lack of a lead discourage her.
After Diane had gathered information sheets for more than a hundred files, she decided to set up a different approach entirely. Instead of organizing them alphabetically as they were in the cabinets, she filed them according to the inception dates on the policies. For two days she worked putting them together before beginning a meticulous search through them again for any subtle clues.
It was during a long, draining Friday afternoon that Diane struck a strange thread that ran through the files. Though most of them had account numbers that fell into a systematic numerical pattern, a pattern beginning with the numbers 100300, after every two or three she’d find an account which began with the number 200300. Diane crinkled her brows, wondering if she’d made a mistake in organizing the papers. She went through them meticulously again, carefully marking dates down before putting them back together. To Diane’s astonishment, there were quite a few dispersed throughout the 100’s that still began with the 200’s. Diane’s heart began to beat faster. This had to mean something. She had never called Liz at work before but she could not contain her anxiousness after her discovery. Liz answered her phone after the first ring. “I think I’ve found something,” Diane told her.
“What is it?”
“I put all of J. D. Keaton’s files together according to the inception dates on the policies. There’s a whole string of files interspersed throughout the others that start with 200. The rest start with 100 and are chronological.”
“What does that mean?” Liz asked.
“Something has to be going on. I don’t know of anyone who worked at the R & J that opened accounts other than in numerical order.”
“It does sound suspicious,” Liz said in a forced monotone. “But just to make sure, check them again.”
“I will,” Diane said. “When I go in tonight, I’ll copy the remaining files from this past year and see if they fit into the same pattern. I’m pretty sure we’ve found something.”
“This might be the break we’ve been waiting for,” Liz answered quietly. “I’d better talk to you later. Carl just motioned me to his office.”
“I’ll talk to you tonight,” Diane said. She let out a relieved sigh as she turned the phone off. This could very well be the turning point she’d prayed for.
Diane walked into work late that night in anxious anticipation, wishing she could go through the rest of the files without doing the un-welcomed tasks before her. She could scarcely summon the energy to meet the challenge of cleaning the restrooms but she did so—and in about a third of the time it usually took. She hurriedly grabbed the vacuum and did the upper floor before beginning work on the main floor where the files were kept. As she usually did, she kept the vacuum running and locked the door to the room where Mr. Keaton’s files were kept. Her fingers trembled slightly as she hurriedly pulled out several files, sifting through them for those done by Mr. Keaton himself. She then grabbed the information sheets, getting ready to take them to the copier in the next room. She soon had a small pile of papers ready. She still left the vacuum on but cracked the door open and habitually peered about for signs of anyone outside. Her wariness had become almost instinctive over the past few weeks. With the possibility of a lead close by, she felt like a cornered panther, ready to spring and run at the least sign of provocation. The lobby remained still and quiet so she stepped over to the copy room and began her work, silently urging the copier on in its progress.
As the copier completed its last scan and the copier lay still and quiet, Diane breathed a thankful sigh and then suddenly froze. The sound of two male voices, like a small, dull alarm, drifted quietly through the doorway, stopping her in her tracks. She panicked as she stepped behind a nearby partition, her heart lurching suddenly in her chest. Had they seen or heard the copy machine being used? She carefully listened to the voices outside but they were only a casual drone against the persistent hum of the vacuum in the next room. Her breathing stopped for several moments before coming out in a slight, shaky stream. She forced herself to remain still, her heart beating so rapidly she almost felt faint.
“That’s all the information I can give you right now, Mason. Is that enough to go on?” came a voice near the doorway where she hid. Rick! It was Rick. She could pick out the familiar timbre even with the hum of the vacuum. She stood breathlessly still, almost certain the hammering of her heart could be heard by the two men outside.
“I’ll get started on it tomorrow,” was the answering reply. A short pause ensued. “It’s not much to go on but I’ll do my best. Boy, someone is sure working late. You drive your employees pretty hard, Rick.”
Rick chuckled, his voice fading as he began walking down the hallway. “I’ve got a few more papers in my office. Just a minute.”
The seconds that followed seemed lik
e eons. Every possible consequence of Rick finding her in the copy room flowed through Diane’s mind in swift but clear rapidity. What should she do? The chance of Rick using the copier loomed as a frightening but very real possibility and if he caught her hiding there… Diane cleared her throat in forewarning as she hung her head, carefully perching the papers in her hands. She walked out of the room, almost colliding with the man that Rick had left alone in the hallway. “Excuse me,” she said, her tone almost shrill. “Just making a few copies of the weekly cleaning schedule for the crew. I’ve got to get back to work.”
“I don’t envy your hours,” the man commented good-naturedly as he stepped back from her. For the first time, Diane lifted her eyes through the darkened lenses of her glasses, momentarily startled. It was the man she had seen some time before when she had been cleaning alone in the office. She forced herself to smile at his remark as she quickly left him, slipping back into the other room without being seen by Rick. She sank against the door in inexpressible relief, avoiding the impulse to lock it. With Rick around, the maneuver might seem too conspicuous.
Diane quickly sorted through the sheets, separated the originals from the copies and then crammed the originals back into their files. She folded the papers and bunched them beneath her baggy T-shirt before grabbing the vacuum and continuing her work. She subconsciously counted the agonizing seconds that followed, realizing that her length of stay in one place could be as condemning as finding her hidden copies. After several minutes, she bravely turned off the vacuum and opened the door. Although she strained her ears for any sounds, all remained quiet. She wound the vacuum cord back in its place before cracking the door again. Before she exited, she pushed her dark glasses securely against her nose. If Rick and his associate were still outside the room, she could avoid a direct confrontation with them by returning to the custodial closet without finishing the remaining jobs. She scrunched her shoulders and headed in that direction.
To her relief, silence met her ears as she went out the door. Not wanting to take any chances, she kept her head slanted downward as she made her way to the closet. She began to relax after she had forced the vacuum into its storage space but she abruptly jumped at the sound of Rick’s voice down the hallway. “Excuse me,” he said to her, “but did you see anyone come in and use the copier this evening?”
Diane didn’t dare turn toward him. She wasn’t sure if his question was an innocent one or one designed to catch her in a snare so she kept her head half way in the closet before answering shakily, “I had to copy a few schedules for the cleaning crew. I’m sorry if I didn’t turn it off.” Her voice needed no disguise. It was already tinged with strained apprehension and sounded foreign even to her ears.
“Were you the one who left this?” he asked, addressing her again. Diane froze. She had left the last information sheet from J. D. Keaton’s file in the copier! “I left the copier the way I found it,” she lied, keeping her face hidden as she pretended to work inside the closet. She tensed as she waited for Rick to question her further but he didn’t. She finished her tasks and shut the door, keeping her back toward him as she began walking toward the exit. Suddenly, without forewarning, the papers Diane had carefully tucked inside her baggy shirt slipped out, scattering themselves in disorganized array beneath her. Diane stared at them in stupefaction before she could force herself to move. She felt panic arising within her as she hurriedly crouched down to pick them up, jamming them into one trembling hand.
To Diane’s utter astonishment, she could soon hear Rick walk up behind her and bend down to help her gather the papers. Diane kept her back against him, hardly able to move. She tried to force herself to continue the painful task when Rick’s form suddenly slipped into her peripheral. She watched his hand from the corner of her eye, trying desperately to notice if his movements indicated that he had seen the information on the sheets. At first he seemed oblivious to it but suddenly his movements slowed. He carefully picked up another sheet, holding it more closely as he read it. He didn’t move.
Hardly realizing what she did, Diane suddenly lifted herself off her knees, letting the papers in her hands fall to the floor. Without even a pause, she sprinted toward the side door, not once looking back. Every instinct told her that if she did not escape now, she would soon be in the clutches of those not likely to believe her story.
“Hold it,” she heard Rick’s commanding tone from behind her as she ran, his voice tinged with surprise and anger.
Diane didn’t slow her movements. She burst through the side door, running in the opposite direction of Liz’s car that she had parked inconspicuously down the street. She threw off her glasses as she ran, her eyes busily scanning the hazy surroundings that were illuminated by a lone streetlight as she searched wildly for a place to hide. She continued on down the sidewalk, her breathing coming in a hoarse, ragged stream, her legs moving in a sprint she had never dreamed herself capable of. Trees, bushes and homes faded into an almost unintelligible blur as she sped past, the wind in her ears almost deafening.
Diane could hardly feel her feet hit the rough pavement as she continued her flight, her eyes partially blinded from the tears that misted them. As she neared the intersection some distance away, Diane noticed a small alleyway behind a row of houses and turned—just as she felt the rugged, steel-like grasp of a hand clamping down on her shoulder. The sudden movement against her momentum caused her to slip and fall, slamming her against the sidewalk. She rolled over and over, feeling the jagged scrapes of cement against her bare skin, the excruciating pain when she finally lay still causing her to curl up in a tight ball. She moaned as she held her injured arm against her, scarcely able to make out the form standing above her in the darkness.
It was Rick. His own breathing was heavy and labored. His stance remained menacing as he watched her in the shadows. Diane felt trapped and helpless as the pain in her arm ached incessantly. She knew Rick didn’t recognize her as yet but the knowledge that she would soon be in police custody crashed down upon her with unbearable intensity. A sob caught in her throat and she began to cry quietly, the tears spilling over onto her cheeks.
Rick bent down to help her stand, his grasp firm and unforgiving. Diane winced as he pulled her up beside him but she didn’t fight him. She limped noticeably as he forced her to walk back with him toward the building. Her hair lay limp and loose about her shoulders, her ponytail lost after her fall. “I don’t know what you were doing back there,” came Rick’s stern voice from beside her, “but it seems you have a lot of explaining to do.”
Diane wouldn’t answer. She walked with Rick silently back toward the complex, dreading each second that took her closer to what awaited. Rick didn’t mutter another sound until they were under the direct glow of a streetlight. Diane heard his sharp intake of breath as his eyes caught her profile underneath the thin beams of light. “Diane!”
Diane could only imagine the shock outlining his features after his exclamation. She turned her face from his, pulling her arm from his grasp. She walked on her own toward the R & J, waiting stoically while Rick grabbed his own key to unlock the door. She walked stiffly in, favoring her injured arm as she waited for him in the lobby. “Go to my office,” Rick ordered, his voice somewhat incredulous but firm. “We’ll decide where to go from there.”
Diane walked slowly toward his office, half-shielding her face from Rick as she walked in and sat down. Her cheeks were still wet from her tears and some strands of her hair hung in thick, damp clumps about her forehead. Rick followed her in but didn’t sit down. He leaned against his desk, silent. Diane finally lifted her face, defiantly meeting his dark eyes. His hair had become somewhat ruffled from his run and his tie had loosened and was flip-flopped over his dress shirt. His gaze was fastened on her injured arm, only half seeing it. “I can only guess what it is you’ve been doing here,” Rick said, his tone cold as he spoke. “I should let you know, however, that we’ve already removed every piece of incriminating evidence you might ha
ve been looking for.”
“According to you, Rick, I’ve already been tried and convicted. Forget the judge and jury,” Diane claimed bitterly. She turned her face away from his. “For your information, what I was doing here was finding evidence that might vindicate me.”
“Oh?” The word sounded condescending. “It seems odd that you would choose to do that secretly, behind closed doors. How long have you been doing this?”
Diane remained silent.
“You must realize that the answer will come out eventually whether you to talk to me or someone else.”
“Call the police then,” Diane taunted him angrily. “It’s what you planned on doing anyway.”
“I don’t see that you’ve given me any other choice,” Rick said. “You’ve left me no other options.”
Diane squinted her eyes viciously as she gazed at him. “No options? Would it surprise you to know there is one person in town convinced of my innocence? Would it also surprise you to learn that what I’ve found here makes it clear that J. D. Keaton has not been an innocent bystander in all of this?”
Rick continued his even glare, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Diane shook her head, turning her face away once more. “It would be much easier to believe,” Rick said, his posture rigid, “that you’ve been planting evidence against Mr. Keaton. Doesn’t that seem more probable under the circumstances?”
Diane whipped her head around. “What I’ve found is a long series of files—dated and signed by Mr. J. D. Keaton himself—that prove he’s been up to something suspicious. After all that’s happened, you must have the sense to realize that finding evidence against him is the only way I could even attempt to prove my innocence.”
Where Lies End Page 6