by Roy Johansen
Mention of the merger sent Lansing’s blood pressure through the roof.
“Is your name Matt Lansing?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever violated any laws in the preparation of business or personal tax documents?”
“No.”
“Have you accepted an offer of leniency or immunity from prosecution in exchange for providing law enforcement agencies with confidential information about your company?”
“No.”
Lansing was getting comfortable. His last response was milder than those for the earlier irrelevant questions.
“Let’s do it again,” Ken said.
He ran the test once more, and again Lansing’s blood pressure soared upon mention of the merger.
Why was the merger freaking this guy out?
Ken tore off the graphs and took them to his desk. He studied them intently, making meaningless marks with his pen. He moved back toward his interviewee.
“Let’s talk about the men who came to see you. I’m sure they asked you a lot of questions, and it’s only natural that you would answer a few, if only to get them to leave you alone. Am I right?”
Lansing shrugged.
“I know you told these guys more than you’re letting on, and if I were in your shoes, I might have too. Those government types are pretty scary.”
“I told you the truth,” Lansing said.
“If you ask ten people for the truth, you’ll get ten different answers. It’s all a matter of perspective. I’m sure you didn’t want to talk to those guys. Anything you said, I’m sure you said under incredible duress. They probably threatened you with everything under the sun. I know you wouldn’t have talked to them otherwise, and I’m sure your company knows it too. So although on one level you feel you didn’t do anything wrong, deep down you’re disturbed about something. It’s all over these graphs. Unless you can talk to me about it, I’m afraid it’s going to look much worse than it really is.”
“Maybe your polygraph needs an adjustment.”
“The equipment is fine. Remember the playing card test?” Ken smiled. “I’m afraid you’re an open book. That’s not a bad thing though. It shows you’re an honest man at heart.”
“Even though you’re calling me a liar,” Lansing said.
“That word doesn’t fit you. You’re between a rock and a hard place, and you’re not sure of the best way out.”
Lansing looked down at the floor.
Stand your ground, Ken thought. Don’t fall for this shit. Can’t you see what I’m doing here?
“Are you sure there isn’t something more you want to talk to me about?” Ken asked. “It would look good for you if we can clean up these readings.”
Lansing rubbed his temples. “This whole thing has been a nightmare.”
“You can stop it. Explain what I’m seeing on these graphs.”
Don’t fall for it, Lansing. The graphs don’t say squat.
“Do you have anything to drink around here?”
“Sorry.”
Lansing clasped his hands together until his knuckles turned white. “I keep telling myself that it’s just a job. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Just give me the truth.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“These readings are too strong to ignore. Are you working with the feds? Is that it?”
“No!”
“That’s not what your boss is going to think after he’s read my report.”
“It’s not true.”
“Then tell me what is true.”
Lansing cleared his throat. “It’s not that bad.”
“Then tell me. It’s for your own good.”
Lansing’s lips quivered. He wanted to talk.
“Tell me!”
Lansing sighed. “The FBI wants me to gather information about Vikkers. They have a list of people in the company they want me to approach.”
“Approach for what?”
“Information. The FBI wants to know all about the inner workings of Vikkers Industries.”
“Why?”
Lansing ignored the question. “I didn’t talk to any of those people. The feds can say whatever they want, but I’m not going to spy for them.”
“Did you report this to your bosses?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Could this be why my readings are the way they are?”
“It could be part of it, but I have to tell you something, Lansing. You’re still holding back a hell of a lot. You know it, I know it, and my machine knows it. And when I make out my report, your company will know it.”
Ken looked at the pulse needle. The man’s heart was about to explode.
“Come on,” Ken pressed. “Talk to me.”
“The FBI threatened me with prison. They said my career will be ruined and my life won’t be worth a damn.”
“Does this have anything to do with Burton Sabini?”
“In a way. Sabini was disgusted with the company. That’s why he did what he did.”
“Why was he disgusted?”
“Because he was a decent man.”
“We’re talking in circles here. Out with it. What’s going on?”
Lansing eyed Ken for a moment. “This is really outside the scope of the exam. I don’t think I should be discussing this with you.”
“Your company hired me to find out the truth. They trust me. Let’s get everything out in the open, okay? No secrets.”
The door flew open and Michaelson hurried into the room. He was holding a Walkman and the headphones were down around his neck. “The test is over,” he said.
“The hell it is,” Ken replied.
Michaelson tore the blood pressure cuff from Lansing’s arm. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
“I’m not finished,” Ken said.
“Yes, you are. I know what I need to know.”
“You were listening?” Lansing asked.
“You bet. Did you put the feds in touch with any other Vikkers employees?”
“No.”
“I want those names. Every last person the FBI wanted you to approach, got it?”
Lansing glanced nervously at Ken. “Uh, sure.”
“I was still talking to him,” Ken said.
“I’ll finish up my own way,” Michaelson replied.
Ken spoke to Lansing. “Tell me about the merger!”
“Not a word!” Michaelson barked.
“Just thinking about the merger scares the hell out of you, doesn’t it, Lansing?”
Michaelson fumbled with the perspiration sensor and chest cords, freeing Lansing from the polygraph. “Come on,” he said as he pulled Lansing to his feet.
“Tell me about it!” Ken shouted.
But Lansing was silent as Michaelson pulled him out of the office and down the empty corridor.
Ken stepped to the doorway. Dammit. Lansing was so close to saying more. Why was Michaelson suddenly so skittish? If information was what he wanted, why did he shut down the session?
One subject sent Lansing’s blood pressure soaring and compelled Michaelson to yank him out of the room.
The merger.
It all kept coming back to the merger.
—
“This takes time, Kenbo. The stuff comes from a lot of different sources. You gotta be patient.” Stan Warner rifled through a stack of papers.
“That’s something I’ve never been good at.” Ken stood next to Warner. He had known it was probably too early for results, but the Q&A with Matt Lansing whetted his curiosity. After Michaelson pulled the plug, Ken had driven to Warner’s to see if the information broker had uncovered anything of use.
Warner handed Ken two legal-sized photocopies. “This is it so far. It’s their DMV reports.”
“What good is that?” Ken took them.
“You’d be amazed. It’s the gateway to a lot of other information. It has the birth date, social security numbe
r, sometimes place of birth. Anybody with four-fifty can get it on anybody else. If you want to wait four to six weeks. It so happens I got a buddy down there who can get ’em for me right away.”
“Good for you.”
“Good for you too. Because he tipped me off to something the DMV would never tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone else has shown an interest in Myth Daniels in the past week.”
“What kind of interest?”
Warner handed him a small sheet of scratch paper. “This chick requested a file on Daniels just a few days ago. My friend gave her name and address to me. It’s all yours. No charge.”
Ken looked at the name Warner gave him: Jessica Barrett.
“Anyone you know?” Warner asked.
Ken shook his head.
“Me neither.” Warner sat on the floor and crossed his legs.
Ken stepped across the dirty room, still staring at the name. “Why would she want this?”
“Myth Daniels is an attorney, right? Maybe it’s someone who’s thinking about hiring her. Or maybe someone who’s going up against her. You never know. The people who hire me want information for all kinds of reasons. Which reminds me, you never told me why you want background on these people.”
“That’s right, I didn’t.”
“That’s cool. I’m into the discretion thing. As long as you know I could probably find out if I really wanted to.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Ken pocketed the paper and headed for the door. “When you get anything else, let me know.”
—
“Just another half block, Bobby.”
Ken gripped his brother’s arm. It was the first time Bobby had been outside in months, and he was struggling to finish the walk back to his home.
“I just—have to catch my breath,” Bobby said.
“It’s okay. No rush.”
“This was a terrible idea. This is your revenge, isn’t it?”
“Revenge for what?”
“For me and my buddies yanking down your sweat pants in front of Cathy Morrison.”
“That was in high school. Besides, Cathy worshiped me after that.”
Bobby started to laugh, but a weak cough overtook him. “We should have brought the wheelchair,” he grumbled.
“Nah. You’ll be fine.” Ken glanced around to see if he was being watched. All clear, as best as he could tell.
“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked.
Ken looked back at him. Bobby had enough to worry about. “Nothing. Tell me how things are with you and Tina.”
“She’s amazing. She’s been calling and writing every politician she can. And she’s still working two jobs.”
“Incredible.”
“Our love life is for shit though. Sick and tired. I’m too sick, she’s too tired.”
“That’ll change.”
Bobby resumed his slow, measured steps back toward the house. Ken kept a tight grip on his arm.
“When I get better, I’m never going to take anything for granted again. Walking, talking, breathing…”
“Yeah, you will. Until the next time you get sick.”
Bobby walked in silence for a moment. He turned to Ken. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“I know you’re the only reason we’re still in our house.”
“That’s what families are for.”
“I get really scared, Kenny. I get these panic attacks in the middle of the night. Sometimes it seems like there’s no way out, and there’s no way things can get better. Do you ever feel like that?”
“Yeah. But there’s always a way out. It may not be the way you want to take, but it’s there if you look hard enough.”
Bobby winced as they walked a few more steps. “The Gulf War Veterans Group wants me to go to Washington. They want me to testify at some congressional hearing. I guess they want to trot out all their sick and crippled.”
“Are you going?”
“Yeah. But you know how much I hate talking in front of people.”
It was true, Ken thought. Bobby had always been the shy one.
“It’ll be a good thing for you,” Ken said.
“Yeah. Tina thinks so too. They’ll pay my way and everything.”
“That’s great.”
“It’ll be great if I can walk more than a block without puking my guts out.”
“Just a few more yards, Bobby.”
—
Myth wanted to go home. She had spent the entire day at a deposition, and the last thing she wanted to do was return to her office. But her assistant, Zachary, had left early for a dental appointment and she had to pick up her messages, mail, and faxes.
It was a quarter after five before she made it back to her desk. Zachary had mercifully weeded out the unnecessary or uninteresting mail, leaving her with a contract and a few briefs. She scanned the phone log. No one she especially needed to call back that night. Just the usual, boring…
Except one.
It leapt out at her. A name she had hoped never to see again.
Madeleine Walton.
Someone identifying herself with that name had called at three-ten P.M. There was no phone number; Zachary had checked the “Will Call Back” box on the log.
Myth reached for the caller I.D. unit sitting on her desk. It automatically recorded the phone numbers of all incoming calls, with a maximum memory of forty-eight calls. It worked only for phone numbers within the area, so if the call came from out of state, she was out of luck.
She repeatedly pushed the button, scrolling through phone numbers on the LCD screen and comparing them with those on the log. She scrolled back to when the Madeleine Walton call came in. She flipped to the one previous, then to the one after. This had to be it. As she jotted the phone number, she noted that the prefix was for De Kalb County. She was tempted to dial the number immediately, but that wouldn’t be smart.
She would have to be smart about this.
CHAPTER 13
Every workday for years Gant had purchased a cinnamon roll from the street vendor around the corner from headquarters. But that was before his doctor told him that his cholesterol level was too high. Gant’s wife pleaded with him to adopt a low-fat diet, but it was not necessary; both of his parents had died early deaths from heart disease, and he had no desire to continue that particular family tradition.
So it was a whole wheat bagel he was eating as he walked into the squad room. He was surprised to see a visitor at his desk. It was Alicia Valez, Carlos’s widow. Gant had spoken to her shortly after the murder, but had not seen her since.
“Mrs. Valez, how are you?”
“Not so good,” she replied without a trace of emotion in her voice. “It’s been hard.”
He sat behind the desk and angled his chair in her direction. He nodded as if in understanding, though he could not imagine how it would feel to lose Diane.
“We’re doing everything we can to find the person who did it.”
“I think I know who did it,” she said.
She did not look at him. She stared into the distance, mouth tight and frozen.
“There was a man…He hated Carlos. He told Carlos he would kill him.”
“Who?”
She moistened her lips. “His name is Ken Parker.”
“He threatened your husband?”
“Yes. Carlos took a lie detector test from this man. Ken Parker told Carlos that if he paid him five hundred dollars, he would tell Carlos’s boss he passed the test. If Carlos didn’t pay, he would fail.”
“That’s extortion.”
“My husband didn’t pay, so he failed. He lost his job. He went to see Parker to talk about it. They had a fight. My husband had a temper.”
“So I gathered. Why didn’t your husband go to the police?”
“He told Parker he was going to. That’s when Parker said he would kill him.”
“Your husband told you this?”
Alicia nodded. “After he and his father fought, I guess he was afraid to go to the police.”
“Ms. Valez, if I remember correctly, your husband struck you too.”
“Carlos was angry and confused. He was scared.”
“I read the report. In your statement, you didn’t mention anything about this. Nothing about Ken Parker except to say that your husband had taken a polygraph test. Am I correct?”
She did not reply.
“Am I correct?”
“I don’t remember. I was upset.”
“And when you and I spoke, after your husband was killed, you didn’t mention it then either. Why not?”
“My husband…my Carlos— He was dead. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s been a couple of weeks. It took you all this time to start thinking again?”
Tears streamed down her face.
He hated to ride her, but there wasn’t any alternative. Her story was so riddled with holes that he had to confront her before she could think of convenient lies to plug them.
“You told me to see you if I thought of anything else.”
“I appreciate that you’re here, Ms. Valez. I just need to know you’re absolutely certain about this.”
“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure.”
“Tell me something. If your husband thought Ken Parker might kill him, why was he at Parker’s apartment building?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Who else have you spoken to about this?”
“I don’t remember.” She huddled in her chair as if he were attacking her.
“Think about it. I have time. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
She shook her head.
He stood, walked across the room, and poured himself a cup of decaf. He kept an eye on Alicia as he stirred in the no-fat creamer. Her story didn’t hold water, but it was the closest thing he had to a real break so far. After he thought she had had enough time to consider the question, he returned to his desk and sat down.
“Okay. Who have you discussed this with?”
“No one. Carlos talked to me about it, but I didn’t tell anyone else.”
“Not even your father-in-law? You’re still living at his house, aren’t you?”
“I’m still living there, but no, I haven’t talked to him about it.”
“So you’re telling me that you told no one about the extortion attempt and death threat before now?”