"Okay, sweetheart, your desire for my fair body shall be rewarded, and we shall indeed go to the ball, Cinders." The pair packed the file away into Joe's case, then opened the door, and after thanking the attorney, left the office building. Joe and Alex walked across the pavements, and into the parking lot entrance, paid the toll on the ticket, and went up to their car, shortly afterwards reappearing on the city street, and heading for Alex' office in the Garden Mall. Dropping her near the entrance to the shopping complex, he waited while his wife came around the car and brushed his lips with her own, then watched her walk the few steps into the Mall. He reversed out, and sent his car along the roads which led to the Continental office complex, and finally parked the big car in it's usual place. The car jockey stepped forward, hand out for the keys, but Joe simply said, "No, Lenny, I might be going out again shortly, so I don't want it taken around the back, okay?"
The jockey stepped back, and Joe jogged quickly up the steps, and into the familiar surrounds of the complex. His late entry had caused the usual pile of return messages, so Joe spent the first hour of his day in getting all his queries sorted out, leaving the message from Virginia Horrigan to the last. Finally, he hit the keys which called the Finance Department Vice President, and heard her voice through the loudspeaker, "Horrigan. Finance!" before answering, "Virginia, it's Joe, Joe Kozcinski, you left a message."
"Ahh, Joseph. Can you drop over, and have a cosy chat, we need to talk a little!"
"Sure thing, Virginia. Five minutes?"
"See you then, Joe," replied the accountant. However, as Joe was preparing to leave, his secretary popped her head around the door, asking, "will you have a quick word with Harry Lassitter, Mr. Kozcinski?"
Joe picked up the phone, and Harry's voice echoed into his ear; "Joe, you won't have heard the news, Allison Klein, the account director from Morson, Zeno; she's dead!"
"Dead, how? What happened?"
"Seems there was some sort of a gas leak at her house, out in KingsBurgh north of New York, the central heating clicked on early in the morning, and everyone died in the explosion. They've only just got around to telling us! Jeez, what a way to go!"
"I know it might sound rather ghoulish, but did she get around to getting any result from the survey she promised us; the re-check on attitude towards the new ranges?"
"It seems she did. The polling organisation delivered the results to the Morson offices, and I am getting them to fax a copy through from the print-outs. Seems that it ain't the ads, at least from the preliminary copy which I was told about. It seems the paperwork went home with Allison, and got burnt, but the disc copies stayed at the computer, fella called Webster has been given the job, and he called me with the news about Allison, and also with the results of the survey. Seems as though we gotta look elsewhere for our problem."
Glumly, Joe replied, "Thanks for the call, Harry. Would you drop a copy of the survey through in the internal mail, and I'll have a look later. Thanks, Harry!"
Deciding he would stroll down to Virginia's hideaway, he told Mrs. Grady where he was heading, but not to forward any calls, then started down the block-long walk to the lair of the Finance whizzkids. Joe had, in his office, an old lithograph of the first Continental plant, and tacked on at the rear, almost as an afterthought, was a small block where the administration of the company was carried out. Joe compared the small beginnings, in his mind, with the bloated bureaucracy which existed at present, with departments hiving off from one another with the only efficiency shown in the whole office complex. He paused, gazing out of the window, formulating a new strategy which may help make his company stronger, before strolling on towards Virginia's own little empire.
He was welcomed in by one of Virginia's two secretaries, settled down with a coffee, and waited while the Finance VP finished a phone call. "Joe, thanks for dropping by; I wanted to ask if you had given any further thought to our proposals. We need to start casting our net wide, and soon, if we want to hold the damage down to a minimum, and I would like to know what you have recommended to Nick Cavalieri; if it is not a state secret, that is?"
The Sales VP sat back in his chair, and gazed at the woman before him, and gathered his thoughts together before beginning, "Ginny, you submitted a proposal to the committee, and I put a precis of your comments and costings in the minutes, a copy of which you have received. I also submitted a review of our progress to the CEO, and in this review I said that, in my view, we should adopt your path and proposals, only as a last resort. Now you will disagree with both me and Nick on this issue, but it would, in our view, be commercial suicide to scrap the new lines, push the selling of the existing lines, and start easing forward models which are only a quarter designed as of now."he held his hand up as Virginia started to speak, "please let me finish. We have conducted an Advertising review, that would have been told you at the next meeting, and the results of an extra awareness poll apparently, from what I have been told, state what we would expect, that the ads are working! I expect that you want to push your proposals, but I don't think you have a runner, Virginia!"
"We gotta do something, Joe. You must understand that, every time a Stiletto rolls out of the plant, the interest charges on the money that it has cost to make the goddam car starts clicking up; and the bankers are starting to get twitchy. I don't know why, but suddenly, over the past three days, we have received a bundle of calls from virtually all our funding organisations; all of which were concerned with our apparent lack of success in the Stiletto and Sabre sales range. If I didn't know these people, and how they never, ever, talk to one another, I would say that someone is ganging up on us. Our roll-overs, you know, Joe, the automatic credit renewals which we exist on, suddenly we are getting hassle. No one has come out yet and said that we are a bad bet, but I have a contact with D&B, and there has been a whisper that they are looking to downgrade our rating!"
Joseph looked across at the Finance boss with a new interest. "has someone floated a rumour, or do you think it's organised. Are we coming into play?"
"Our shares are down, there is no doubt about that! The news in the trade papers and the finance columns is having an effect on our price, and there is some selling pressure, steadily down by more than a hundred points, but we still seem to be a popular buy; there are always buyers for Continental stock, and, before you ask, there is no one buyer. Hell, they're all over the place. We keep a sharp eye on stock sales, and no-one has a big position, so there is no real worry there. The pension fund guy, Drew Garnett, was in to see me three, four days ago wondering if a Continental share sale by our pension fund would give the wrong message, but I said their duties were to the fund, and whatever they decided would be the best for the people who derived their income from that fund was fine by the regulators. He seemed to be happy with the way the fund was going these days, even after the revised benefits package went through."
"Which revision was that, Virginia?"
"It had something to do with the Enhanced Benefits thing. It was talked about a while back, don't know the whole story, because pensions are a world apart, but someone apparently got it right. I know I'm on the Pension Fund Trustee Board, but even I ain't got the full story"
"Funny, I mailed a memo through to Drew at Grand Rapids just the other day, thanking them for the fine efforts they put out for the father of a friend of ours. Seems good that people get something right."
The two executives talked for another five minutes, before Joe said his goodbyes, and walked back to his office, where the first thing he noticed, on his desk, were the copies of the results from the survey from Morson, Zeno. Before settling down to study, he buzzed his secretary, and asked her to organise a wreath from Continental, to be sent to the funeral of the family of Allison Klein; then sat back and scanned the graphs and replies which formed the last poll which Allison Klein had commissioned.
Chapter 12
Eudora Crickell waited patiently on the hard bench which was fitted in the receiving area of the 95th precinct
. She had delayed for three days, until she had received the first reassuring phone message from her daughter; then had walked the six blocks to the police precinct building. The building, and the office, exhibited all the signs of a City administration which had little interest in making the work environment of the police any brighter. The windows had been cleaned, but only about a year back, the standard issue brown paint on the walls had not been cleaned, or renewed, for five years, and the furniture bore the same signs of neglect. She sat, a tall, forbidding woman, neatly dressed, with a black coat over a black dress, polished shoes, and a black raffia hat, held firmly into place with the biggest hat pin money could buy. Her eldest son, Henry, often swore that his mother had never really needed the services of the .38 revolver she had illegally acquired, because if she had to defend herself, all she really needed was to draw the hat pin, and the offender would run a mile. The desk sergeant beckoned her over, just as a young patrolman came up into the Precinct house.
"Mrs. Crickell, this is the officer you wished to speak to. Officer Melchek, you can use Interview Room one, this lady wants to talk with you."
Once she was installed in the Interview Room, the eyes of Eudora Crickell bored into those of Ken Melchek, trying to see what the man was really like, underneath the uniform and the skin. She saw a six foot tall, good looking white policeman, with a frank, open face and an encouraging smile, but hesitated, for the outer sheath often hid darker sides. "Officer Melchek, persuade me that you are doing everything to protect my daughter Claudia."
"Mrs. Crickell, as I explained to your daughter when we talked, the case is now being handled by the Homicide Squad, here at the 95th. The guy who died, a loser by the name of Dougan, literally died by mistake. Your daughter was the target, but we have nothing more to go on, since Miss Crickell did her disappearing act. Unless we have Claudia's co-operation, there ain't a whole lot more the guys can do!"
"Claudia went on the sling because I told her to, Officer, and she ain't gonna emerge until you catch the people who wished her ill." The black lady's eyes drilled into Ken Melchek like a laser, as her voice continued, "you know as well as I do that she wouldn't be offered any special protection, and a patrol car driveby once every hour ain't gonna deter the low lifes who wanted my daughter dead. Now this is what I want you to do, Officer Melchek, and heaven help you if anything gets left out. You have to get your friends in Homicide to call their opposite numbers in KingsBurgh and ask for details of the explosion and deaths which occurred the same morning as my Claudia's car was burnt. Then get them to investigate the scene once again, because that poor family was killed, just as sure as I am sitting here talking to you!"
Ken Melchek, who had realised that this was no ordinary person seated opposite, was taking notes of Eudora's instructions as fast as he could write. "Could I maybe talk to Claudia, Mrs. Crickell, we really need to get some firm details...", his voice tailed off as the woman opposite raised her hand to command silence.
"I have means of communication with Claudia, but it is always from Claudia. I don't know where the poor child is, and that is the way it is gonna stay. You will pardon the statement, but there are too many cops getting two envelopes, for me to even think of telling you where she is staying. However, for some reason, she seems to trust you. The next thing you do, " she said, pointing at Ken's notebook, "is to find out what was so goddam important about some ad campaign that Claudia's company did a run-down on; because that is the thread connecting Allison Klein, the poor lady who got killed in KingsBurgh and my little girl. But," she paused, gripping the young policeman by the hand with a strong fist, "this you don't tell just anyone. There is something very wrong with this survey, Claudia was sure that it was carried out correctly; but the answers were somehow all wrong, according to Mrs. Klein, when Claudia went over to see her. According to Claudia, the poor woman just did not believe the results which my girl had worked out, on the base from the answers given by this survey. Now I don't know diddly about surveys, computers, and all that stuff, but I do know when my daughter is telling the truth, Officer, and I expect you, and someone you can trust if you need to spread the word; to help find out what is going on. Any questions, Officer Melchek?"
Ken's pencil ceased scrawling and he stared back at the lined, worried face before him. "Mrs. Crickell, we will investigate any possible link, and your daughter will be safe, please accept my word on this!"
The face opposite softened slightly, and Eudora Crickell's voice also softened, "Claudia also says, Officer Melchek, that she will keep her promise, and maybe go on a date. You made a good impression on my daughter, Mr. Melchek, and I can see why she said she maybe liked you. Look after my daughter, Policeman, and you shall be welcome in my home on 75th street!" The tall figure rose, shook him by the hand, and left the precinct, leaving Ken in a state of elation; the girl who had gently kissed him actually wanted to see him once more!
Ken Melchek had come through the normal selection process to become a policeman, and as it was all he had ever wanted to be, he was elated to actually be a cop, with all the chances and dangers there were. He had ruefully acknowledged his visitor's remark about cops having two envelopes, as small corruption was rife in all parts of the city, and some policemen went much further, in return for a plain envelope stuffed with greenbacks. He was therefore wondering which way to approach the tricky question of persuading his precinct Homicide squad to widen their investigation, based on the surmises of a vanished witness, when his name was called as he walked into the squadroom.
"Melchek, my office!" As the voice belonged to his Lieutenant, Francis Patrick O'Leary, he swerved and speedily presented himself at the door of his Commander. "Melchek, the case you want to hand over to Homicide, the junkie who got fried. Well, my good friend Sam Johnson, homicide Lieutenant, is having kittens on the hour, as half his team is tied up on this serial rape-murder, and the Mayor is making noises, so that takes priority. Sam has asked that a patrolman or a team be assigned from our squad, to take this case forward, as he ain't got the staff to give it any priority, which our Homicide friends agree it deserves. Can you and Brad Davis handle this, in addition to maybe three-quarters of a normal shift on the street?"
"I feel I can speak for Officer Davis, as well as myself, if I say we will be happy to take this case forward, Lieutenant!"
As he had been expecting the usual moan about double duties playing havoc with lives outside the force, the Commander was pleasantly surprised. "Good thinking, Melchek. I'll have Homicide send down all the reports on the case, and see what you can dig up. Thank you, Officer Melchek, dismissed!"
Ken Melchek sat at a spare desk in the squadroom, explaining his reasons for accepting the split duties, to an annoyed partner. "Brad, you gotta understand, we can maybe work this case off, and not even bite into spare time. We get the Homicide boys in KingsBurgh to gently re-run the burn of the Klein home, and see what they pry out of the woodwork, and we can drop down to the polling company and the Ad agency on Madison. Hell, we can even work that one in as part of our tour, we drive down and drop in as we do our normal cruise. I've already spoken to the squad commander on the 21st Precinct, and he has no objection to us coming on to his turf for an investigation; mainly because his guys are overstretched as well. What say, Brad?"
His partner, shook his head slowly, as he replied, "Ken, ever since you and I became partners, I've always told you; 'never volunteer for anything, and look what you've done'. I just know I'm gonna regret this, but, despite being tee'd off because I hate split duties, you're my partner, and I suppose someone has to hold your goddam hand!"
Ken's face split into a wide grin, as he slapped his partner on the back, and opened up the file which had been sent down from the Homicide section. Leaving Brad to contact the supervisor at the polling company, and ask if they would maybe open their files for a police investigation; as well as the ad agency, he called the Homicide detectives in KingsBurgh and politely asked if they were truly happy with the 'accidental death' ve
rdict announced by the primary investigation. The KingsBurgh detective, Mario Guareschi, queried the call, as he had seen the fire investigators' report. "Officer Melchek, are you sure that you are checking the correct fire? The guy from the fire depot caught the bad clip within ten minutes of starting his search, one of the two uniformed guys who attended the fire even saw the worn thread on the clip himself."
"Detective Guareschi, I certainly am not in the business of doubting anyone's competency, but would it be possible to ascertain if any one ran a make on this guy Klein, to see what sort of a guy he was, whether he was sloppy, did he fix his own car; that sort of thing? What I am asking is for a fast run-over on this guy. If it comes up as it should, with him being sloppy, please drop the whole thing. But if our friend ran a taut ship, with safety for his family top priority, maybe, just maybe, we ought to know about it.!"
"Officer Melchek, you made your point. We will run the family through the routine checks, and go over the remains of the house once more. All in the interests of harmony with our big city brothers. Satisfied?"
"Thanks for the co-operation, Detective Guareschi; we appreciate the favour!"
The young policeman finished his call, in time to hear his partner firm up a visit to the offices of Dawson, French and Peabody, the polling company who had employed Claudia Crickell. The two officers finished their coffee, made sure they had all their equipment along, then went out to their cruiser, started up, and rolled south. After a trip with only one stop, to give a caution to a driver who had just parked badly, they arrived at the Dawson offices, to be greeted by Emily Sweichek, the day supervisor. "Well, Officers, I don't know if I can be of much help. Claudia was a damn good stats worker, she knew how to interpret the streams, the loading techniques; that's how we spread a poll which asked maybe a thousand people to represent how folks all over the States would re-act to the same questions. Yup, she was good, and, like most of the people we use, she did her own thing, and never asked unless she was uncertain. I know that she did a double-check against the previous survey that we did for Morson, Zeno on the same account, that's Continental, maybe because the results were maybe a little out of line, but she went down to see the account director at Morson's, so I presume she completed the run. We don't have any thing on file at all, Officer, because she took it all with her; and she ain't been back since."
Continental Attack: Murder and Mayhem in Detroit's Auto Industry Page 11