Otter Under Fire

by Dakota Rose Royce

  “So your book about living with squirrels is also about eating them?” Tempest asked.

  “Only the stupid ones,” Leonard explained. “It’s a lot like culling the herd. Listen, I was raised in Alabama and we regularly hunted and ate squirrel and game. Many people do.”

  Tempest shuffled some more pages and pictures. It was then she saw the carefully drawn title page for the second section of the book with the title scripted over a picture of the two of them standing in front of the aforementioned Mercedes. It read:

  “The Recipes: When the Little Assholes Won’t Stay off Your Car”

  Greg, the IT guy brought a box into Otter’s office and set it on the floor.

  “What’s this?”

  “The boss said you were to get everything in Clark’s office that wasn’t personal.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  He shrugged. “You’re supposed to figure it out. I’m just the messenger. I hooked your system up with his last night and gave you his computer.” Greg reached past her and tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “If you want to access his files, you just click on this icon. It will take you to what he was working on.”

  “I have some of his e-mails?”

  “Only the last couple of days, in case there is something important in there. If you need to see a whole thread, let me know and I’ll get it for you.”

  “OK, thanks, I think.”

  “Just part of our four star service,” He grinned. “So what do you think of your new job?”

  “I think I’m going to be very busy.”

  “Yeah, like you were lounging around here before.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Did you know that four different people stormed into Michael’s office demanding this computer?”

  “I figured other people would want it. It’s the newest we have.”

  “One of them was Defray.”

  “Of course it was. He was livid when Clark got it in the first place. He thought he should have had it all along.” Otter lifted the box onto her chair and started to look through the contents.

  “Looks like mainly plans and blueprints.” She said, “Nothing unusual.”

  “Keep digging to the bottom,” he suggested.

  She pulled more papers out of the box. “So why would his appointment book be here?” She asked. “Why wasn’t it with him?”

  “Clark told me once that he left it at work if he was leaving town, that way he wouldn’t lose it,” Greg said.

  “Odd that it would be in this box,” Otter said, looking Greg in the eyes. You would think it would go to Michael or Mitch,”

  “Nope, I made sure and I asked,” Greg said. “They both said that you were to get everything.”

  “And why would that be important?”

  “Because you might find a clue, make absolutely sure we’re talking suicide and not murder.”

  “You do know that I know nothing about solving a murder, right? If I had any interest in doing such a thing, I would be a detective. I am not, I am an engineer.”

  “Well you’re the best person to have this information. You’ll do the right thing.” Greg said.

  “Well if he was murdered, it wasn’t one of the four that stormed Michael’s office for his computer, then.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Because everyone knew he was old fashioned and used this book. He didn’t like using his computer for his meetings and appointments. Whoever wanted his records would have demanded his appointment book.”

  “Well not everyone would know he didn’t have it. He did put copies of his stuff on his computer as back up. In case he did lose the book.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I’ll bet somebody did. I’d take that home if I were you. Make sure it’s safe until you have time to look at it.”

  “Stop it Greg, you’re starting to creep me out.”

  Greg shrugged again. “Just saying.”

  After he left, Otter put the book in her lunch bag and locked the lunch bag in her file cabinet. Just to be safe, she kept her office door locked the rest of the day. It was a pain in the ass to keep the keys with her at all times and have to mess with the door every time she came and went. She was used to just breezing in and out. And so what if she did find something in his book? What if there was something in there that clearly said he was murdered? What the hell was she supposed to do then?

  Brad sidled up to Otter while she was alone in the lab. “You should probably stop telling people that Clark didn’t kill himself. You’re starting to look stupid.”

  “That’s not what I said.” Otter said thinking that Brad would certainly know about looking stupid. “I said I can’t believe he killed himself, it’s not like something he’d do.”

  “You think you’re pretty smart,” Brad continued, “Smarter than the police and the coroner and even Clark’s wife, who all say he killed himself.”

  “I don’t see what difference that could possibly make to you,” Otter said looking through her paperwork.

  “You’re upsetting his wife. She doesn’t like this kind of talk.”

  “Who would be telling her ‘this kind of talk’ if it wasn’t you Brad?”

  “I dunno, people I guess. I just know she’s not real happy.”

  “Her husband is dead; it would be weird if she was happy.”

  “But you are such a know it all. Are you going to march into the police station and tell them they made a mistake?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know, start looking for clues and prove he didn’t kill himself.”

  “I have no intention of doing any such thing.” Otter looked up at Brad. He was one of the welders. She never thought of him as being overly bright and he was most definitely a follower. His favorite occupation was to eavesdrop on conversations and pretend he was the man in the know.

  Brad was starting to look excited. The one lonely thought in his head was probably thrilled to have a playmate.

  “Who have you been talking to Brad? Who got you all fired up so you would come and talk to me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he pouted. “You don’t think I can figure things out for myself?”

  Only in an alternate universe, Otter thought. “Well you figured things wrong. I’m not a cop; I’m definitely not a detective. I’m an engineer with a plant to run and you need to get back to your department.”

  “OK boss,” he said turning to leave. “Just keep in mind what I told you and let that be a lesson to you.”

  Otter stared after him for a few lingering minutes and then just shook her head.

  Otter was on the couch, surrounded by cats, looking through Clark’s appointment book when Tempest got home. She was jotting down notes and a timeline and all employees that were listed. There were some papers tucked in between the pages too, but she hadn’t gotten to those yet. Every time she came across a new fold of papers, she would note where they were in the diary and continue reading the appointments.

  “So junior detective, what have you got so far?” Tempest said playfully sitting on the other side of the pile of purring cats.

  “Lots and lots of notes and papers,” Otter answered. “Clark was a born bureaucrat. He has a list here on all the new forms he wanted to make everyone use. He even has a form to list all the forms. We don’t have enough employees for that kind of bullshit.”

  “Maybe he was looking toward the future.”

  “It might not be his intention, but it looks like he was trying to slow down production. He has a form that you have to fill out when you move a job from one department to another.”

  “Sounds reasonable,”

  “It would if you didn’t know that all our jobs have bar codes on them. When a job moves to the next department on the traveler, we just swipe the code and it goes into the computer system. I can check from any computer in the shop where a particular job is. Clark knew that. There are more similar type f
orms here. Each form is redundant or just extra work for no discernable gain.”

  “Maybe they are redundant to you, but to someone else they may have made sense. He may have had some other purpose in mind.”

  “Well I’ve told you before that his methods have always driven me nuts. This is not news.”

  Tempest began doing some research on her phone as Otter continued to go slowly through the book, looking at each page carefully.

  “Here’s the church meeting he went to,” Otter said. “He went back in July. I remember he said he was going up north to get out of the heat.”

  “So that is where he would have met the other Bishop that he mentioned to you.”

  Looks like it,” Otter flipped through a couple of pages. “Ok, here he is. Clark had an appointment with a Marvin Jones in Otisville Michigan.”

  “Sounds like a bustling metropolis,” Tempest commented as she scrolled on her phone. “Let’s see what my clipping service says about Marvin Jones in Otisville Michigan.”

  “Can’t see that they would say much,” Otter commented as she opened up a folded thick packet of papers, “good thing this book has pockets.”

  “Well, you’d be wrong about that,” Tempest said. “There’s an article in here from the Flint paper that talks about Marvin Jones and his amazing work with troubled kids. Looks like Mr. Jones had been an alcoholic and a drug user and credited his faith in the Church of Latter Day Saints as the catalyst toward kicking his addiction. It’s pretty long. Do you want me to read it to you?”

  “No, just sum it up.”

  “That’s pretty much it. He converts to Mormon, gets sober and then devotes his life to helping kids with problems.”

  “Sounds like a good guy.”

  “Here’s something from the Detroit newspaper. Marvin gets an award from civic leaders for helping with a local gang.”

  “I can see why Clark wanted to meet with him, probably wanted to help him make some forms or something.”

  “Let it go, Otter. Let’s see. More awards and fund raising for his center, looks like the local politicians liked to get their photos with him.”

  Otter started getting absorbed in the packet of papers and didn’t notice that Tempest had gotten very quiet. It took a few minutes before Otter looked up from her reading.

  “You need to look at this Tempest. It could be a life insurance policy receipt made out to that kid I saw at the funeral. Well a receipt anyway. Can you take a look and tell me what you think?

  “What’s the matter?” Otter asked, Tempest’s face had gone white.

  “You’re not going to like this.” Tempest said slowly.

  “Not going to like what?”

  “There’s another article in the Flint paper. Marvin Jones got drunk and high and jumped off a building in downtown Otisville—which is a small town outside of Flint.”

  “When did this happen?” Otter managed to ask.

  “About 3 days ago.”

  “Did they say why?”

  “Nope, nobody has a clue why such wonderful person would kill himself. One person thought they saw him with a woman with long blond hair, but they didn’t recognize her.”

  “Could have been anyone,”

  “Could have,” Tempest agreed.

  “Someone could be killing Mormon Bishops.”

  “That’s also a possibility.”

  “We have a welder at AzTech named Dolan who has long blond hair. Chuck Dolan, actually, but everyone calls him Dolan. He’s about my height and kind of slender. From the back, he might look like a woman—from a distance.”

  “Why would you think of him?”

  “Odd, I hadn’t thought of it earlier, but he’s quite seriously threatened Clark before. He swore an oath that he would be the one to kill him if he ever got the chance.”

  “Yeah, but threatening and doing are two different things. I threaten to kill my graphic artist at least once a week.”

  “You may be right, but it just struck me, and I had a visit from this guy from welding that was making all kinds of veiled hints about how I needed to stop saying Clark didn’t kill himself. He heard someone else say it, I’ll bet on it. Who better to eavesdrop on than someone you work next to?”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We’ll have to think about it carefully,” Otter said firmly. “I’m better at figuring out mechanical problems.”

  “Well, you need to do something.”

  “I started this because I was dumbfounded. It didn’t make logical sense so that made me curious. Then I felt bad for that kid that was Clark’s adopted nephew. Now I’m worried that this is all coming from our shop. I don’t want some crazed killer looking at me.”

  “Just keep quiet. Don’t let anyone know you are looking at this and trying to find a killer.”

  “I’m not looking at this! I’m not looking for a killer! I wouldn’t have the first clue how to start. With my luck, I’d ask the wrong person for information right off the bat. The only thing I know about solving crime is what I read in mystery novels or watch on TV. I don’t have access to CSI crime labs or police data bases.”

  “But don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

  “I do! I really do, but I have no idea what to do now and I’m starting to freak out a little.”

  “Wow, Otter, you never freak out. Not really.”

  Otter took a deep breath. “But I have a friend who is a sheriff’s deputy. Seems to me she just told me I owe her a big favor.”

  “She works with drugs and smugglers, not with murder so much.”

  “But she can help me figure out what to do. I’ll call her and ask her to come to the party an hour early. We can show her the appointment book and all the papers and tell her what we suspect.”

  “What if she tells you to just forget it?”

  “I don’t think she will, but we’ll see.”

  “This is so exciting!” Tempest said. “I’ve never helped investigate a murder before.”

  “Let’s hope mine isn’t one of them,” Otter said as she started looking through the book again. “I would hate that.”

  The first thing Otter did when she got to work the next morning was to get into her computer and erase any trace of Clark’s appointment book. Not only did she erase it, she killed it out of the waste basket and in the deleted section of her computer.

  The next thing that she did was call Greg from IT into her office and shut the door.

  “That appointment book was pretty interesting, wasn’t it.” he said with a grin.

  “Listen Greg, nobody needs to know I have that book.”

  “I mentioned to everyone at lunch yesterday that we couldn’t find it in his office. Is that good enough?”

  “I killed the back up out of the computer this morning.”

  “If you had actually looked at it, you would have seen that I already had. I need to get in there again and make it look more natural. We don’t need anyone getting suspicious that you might have seen something. Or that I might have seen something.”

  “I saw that the person he met with just before he died committed suicide too.”

  Greg nodded as he fiddled with the keyboard. “Yeah, I saw that too. That’s why I decided to give you the book.”

  “Why would you do that to me? Why didn’t you just take it to the police?”

  “Because the police might not listen to me and you have a way to make things happen. I’ve seen you do it.”

  “Geeze I wish people would stop saying that. You know, I found other interesting things in that book.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “A receipt was tucked in there. I think it could have been for a life insurance policy. I think he just put it in there temporarily, until he could put it in his file cabinet. I do that kind of thing all the time.”

  “Was the policy for his family?”

  “No, he had the name of the son of one of his old army buddies scrawled across the receipt. The kid was at the funeral a
nd said Clark had promised his dad that he would take care of him.”

  “You know that if you kill yourself after you buy a life insurance policy, that there is no pay out. Most of them have a suicide clause of some kind in them.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So if he was murdered, the killer didn’t know about the policy.”

  “Maybe it was Dolan in welding.”

  “Dolan! Yes that’s what I forgot to show you.” Greg picked up the box of Clark’s property and dug around in it. “I saw something else in here, I thought you might like to see. Maybe you would know what to do with it.”

  With a cry of victory, he grasped an object in the box and handed it to her. It was a large hunting knife, well over the legal limit. It looked ancient. Carved in the worn and dirty handle was the name “Dolan”.

  “I hated the son of a bitch, Otter, you know that.” Dolan said, swinging his welder’s helmet gently from side to side. “I’m glad the motherfucker’s dead.”

  “Why did you hate him so much?”

  “You know what he was like. He would screw with people and try to catch them doing something wrong, and then he’d lord over you. He caught me smoking out back by the tanks and he held it over my head until he died. Oh shit, I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

  “You were smoking by the tanks? The tanks full of explosive gas? Those tanks?”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t stupid,” he muttered. “I was on my last puff and I was a hundred feet away from the gate into the storage yard. I don’t think it was a serious risk, but he was there and he caught me. He threatened to have me fired for months.”

  “Shit Dolan,”

  “And you won’t fire me cuz you didn’t see it. You might write me up for it,”

  “I might at that,”

  “But it was months ago and I won’t do it again. You might say you gave me my verbal warning and let it go at that.” He grinned at her hopefully.

  “What else did he do? I know you don’t hate someone that much over one little incident.”

  “Years ago, he took something of mine,” Dolan choked a little, “and he destroyed it. It nearly killed me. It belonged to my grandpa, and some said it belonged to his pa. I brought it in to show the guys and he confiscated it. He said he would destroy it and I was lucky he didn’t turn me into the police. I was on probation back then. He could have gotten me in serious trouble.”