"Word is the CEO Jeff Fere is real innovative, but he holds the reins pretty tight and refuses to be dictated to by a board of directors. HI-Data's fighting for its life right now. The big guy in Europe, Steinmetz A.G., is trying to take them over."
"I heard something about a hostile takeover."
"It's not really a hostile takeover," Scotty said as we stood to allow fellow fans in and out of our aisle. "HI-Data isn't a public issue, it's privately held. The company's owned by a few major investors. Jeff Fere's probably the largest shareholder."
"How is Steinmetz A.G. going to take over HI-Data if there's no public stock?"
"Over the past few years HI-Data has experienced tremendous growth."
"Yeah, Tom Joyce was telling me the same thing."
"Oh, yeah. I'll have to meet him one of these days. So he knew something about HI-Data?"
"I asked him to do a quick check on the company before I started. He was only able to give me the bare facts."
"Speaking of bare..."
"Cut that out. If I take that off now, I'll freeze to death."
"You're probably right. We'll wait till later. Okay, back to HIData. Well, he probably told you that the company financed its expansion through venture capital and lots of debt, right?"
"Yeah, he did say that."
"Well by now, all that paper has been sold several times and all his debt is probably callable on demand."
"What does that mean in terms of a takeover?"
Scotty leaned over and kissed me, his lips surprisingly warm. A surge of desire made me momentarily forget the numbing cold.
"Speaking of takeovers," he whispered, "wait till I get you in bed."
"Damn," I yelled at a guy in a dark blue furry parka who stepped on my toes.
"Sorry, lady." He burped and continued down the aisle.
"You all right?" Scotty asked, yawning again. "Sorry. Can't help myself. Not you. Jet lag."
"Tell me more about the hostile takeover."
"Technically like I said, it's not a hostile takeover. Steinmetz A.G. made an offer to purchase HI-Data, but the deal was nixed. Rumor had it that HI-Data was about to put the finishing touches on some ground-breaking software which would bring in major bucks."
"That must be the `something big' that Tom Joyce mentioned was on the horizon."
"It's still under wraps, but everybody knew something was up when the shareholders turned down the obscenely good offer from Steinmetz. The buzz over the rejected offer sent HI-Data's profile way up. Word was that they were about to go public and offer shares so they could pay off all the debt and maintain control of the company."
"Hmm. I heard a little about that software breakthrough. I saw a portion of a sales promotion Ken Gordon made, you know, the guy who was killed."
I felt his body stiffen. He said, "Tell me what you heard."
I smiled. "Wouldn't that be considered industrial espionage?" Now at last I knew something he didn't.
"DD, you can trust me to keep it confidential." "
I don't know any details that would break client confidentiality, so don't get your hopes up. All I heard on the sales promo was what the rumors are all saying-that they've developed a revolutionary program that allows them to take apart the software of any other program."
"If they have successfully done it," Scotty said. "HI-Data will not only survive, it'll flourish."
We stood up while several fans returned to their seats in our row and the two teams came back on the field.
"I don't get it. If HI-Data refused the offer from Steinmetz A.G. -hey, what's the A.G. stand for-then why is it fighting for its life?"
"A.G. is like our Inc. or Co. It's the German abbreviation for an incorporated conglomerate. And HI-Data is in financial trouble right now because Steinmetz bought up a lot of their debt from various banks. Now Steinmetz is calling in the debt, and HI-Data needs a massive infusion of cash to meet the balloon payments. You know credit is so tight right now-nobody's giving loans, so they're stuck. Maybe this new software will be the ticket to get them back into the black."
Play action jolted us back to the game. The Pack came on strong and moved the ball at will, scoring twice, turning the score upside down, 24 to 17 in favor of Green Bay. By the end of the fourth quarter, the Bears defense had been on the field most of the game and looked tired. Under our blanket, I felt as cold and damp as an unheated medieval cathedral. Then the Bears defense intercepted a Green Bay pass and ran it in to score. The crowd went ballistic.
The extra point was good, tying the score, and the two-minute warning sounded. Green Bay had the ball. If we could keep them from scoring, the game would go into overtime.
The crowd roared as Green Bay fumbled and the Bears defense recovered at the Packers 45-yard line with under thirty seconds to play. Scotty and I jumped to our feet with the crowd. The next three plays went for short yardage gains but no first down. The Bears had to kick for a field goal or go into overtime. The kick would have to be over fifty yards with the wind right off the Lake.
I held my breath. The kicker thunked it, and it sailed dead center over the goal post into the history books just as time ran out. The crowd was on its collective feet, and no one in the packed stadium was thinking about the cold anymore.
On the way home, Scotty didn't mention the tire again, but he did ask about Ken.
"On top of his being one of the partners at HI-Data, he was Frank's half-brother," I explained. "That's why the cops think I might be involved."
We dropped the subject, but both of us were subdued the rest of the drive.
When we got back to my apartment, I uncorked the bottle of Veuve Clicquot Champagne I'd stored in the refrigerator for New Year's Eve. That lightened our mood, and I can personally attest that making love with Scotty that night gave lie to the saying that there's no thrill like beating the Cheeseheads at home.
THIRTY
IT WAS ANOTHER COLD and dreary winter morning. I, however, didn't feel at all cold or dreary because I woke up next to Scotty. After we finally left our warm bed and showered, I put on the water for tea and walked around with a silly grin. I was daydreaming and didn't even try the crossword.
Auntie's homemade scones tasted good with the English Breakfast tea. Cavalier emitted a scolding meow to remind me to serve his fish stew. I realized I was going to have to shape up and come down from the clouds if I was going to get through the day.
Scotty left for a meeting, and I tried to put last night's lovemaking out of my mind. I'd promised to move out of Consolidated yesterday, but I hadn't had any calls on those available spots I'd found advertised. I knew I was in trouble. I drove to Consolidated, hoping there'd still be electric and phone, and hoping also to avoid Michael Drake. I'd pack up my stuff. Maybe that would keep Michael Drake happy.
At the Oak Street curve on Lake Shore Drive, the sun emerged from some flat morning clouds. I love this particular spot. You can see the beautiful Drake Hotel, Oak Street Beach, and Michigan Avenue all at the same time. It's the very best of Chicago, and I never tire of the view.
South on Michigan Avenue, sidewalks bustled with people around the John Hancock Center. Approaching Wacker, I passed the stately white Wrigley Building and the gray Tribune Tower, both throwbacks to an older-but never gentler-cityscape. I turned down Madison Street toward Dearborn and caught sight of the Sullivan Center, my favorite Loop landmark. For years it had housed the Carson Pirie Scott flagship operation. Now Carson's was gone, and it was filled with smaller retail stores and offices.
The same winter sun that made the rest of the Loop look so beautiful now highlighted every depression made by the demolitions team on Consolidated's exterior. The building was sadly on its last legs. I hated to see it go. Lines from an Ezra Pound poem raced through my mind:
Struck of the blade that no man parrieth,
Pierced of the point that toucheth lastly all.
Inside, the fog of plaster dust was so thick I didn't see George Vogel, my landlord, until h
e jumped into the elevator as the door was closing. I'd forgotten he'd be back this week from his holiday in Puerto Rico.
He coughed. "So it's true. You are still here. I ran over as soon as I heard you hadn't moved."
Everyone from the bank except me had relocated to temporary quarters in the Beech Building, a few blocks away. They'd be moving back into the brand-new Consolidated building after it rose, Phoenix-like, on the same ground. For successfully supervising this difficult move to temporary quarters without a hitch, the bank had rewarded George with the trip to Puerto Rico. All that was left for him to do was to straighten out any remaining problems. That meant me. At the very least I was in for a George Vogel lecture.
"You promised you'd be out of here the day after I left two weeks ago. Don't you realize the risk involved for the bank and for Drake Demolition, not to mention yourself?"
"Jesus, it's cold," he complained as we got off on my floor.
I kept quiet. I wasn't about to remind him the heating system had already been shut down.
"Haven't you found other space yet?"
I said nothing. I was grateful he'd kept my rent down these past three years, but he was annoying in so many other ways. I had hoped to find office space somewhere else and sever our relationship instead of moving into the temporary quarters.
"So I take it you haven't. Well, I've got a deal for you. I've been holding on to the last temporary office for you at the Beech Building. I'll even give it to you for the same rent as you had here. But I need to know right now if you'll take it." His sweet offer was soured by the fact that he was talking to my chest.
"Well?" He eventually looked up when I didn't reply. "Have you made up your mind?"
I smiled, relishing one of our infrequent eye-to-eyes. "George, I want to thank you for all the trouble you've gone to, but..."
"You can't stay here any longer," he insisted. "I'll be forced to evict you. This demolition is happening fast. Even though we're paying a bonus to the company to get it down by the first of the year, nobody expected it to really happen"
CCI...)J
"C'mon. Say yes. And you can count on me to give you a hand." He picked up a few papers from my desk. "I'll even help you pack and straighten out your stuff."
I almost screamed. Mr. Neat Freak wouldn't allow a paper clip to be out of place on his desk. The thought of him near my stuff made me shiver.
"George, I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I've already found another place. I'll be gone later today." I shooed him out the door and waved good-bye to him and his pleas to reconsider.
I surveyed my office. It wouldn't take me long to pack. But I still had some serious digging to do on the two trainees. I had to satisfy myself that their lifestyles matched their incomes; that they weren't involved with unsavories; and that they didn't have any nasty habits that could lead to their being easily blackmailed or corrupted. I had to finish what HI-Data was paying me for.
Before I dug in, I played the messages.
"Miss McGil, this is Jennifer Brand, Mr. Fere's secretary. Mr. Fere would like you to give him a progress report on the trainees at two o'clock this afternoon in his office here at HI-Data. Please call to confirm."
I was anxious to see Mr. Fere, and hoped he could shed some light on Marcie and Ken and their too coincidental deaths.
Before I could call Jennifer back, the phone rang. It was Miss Fresher calling with the Ph.D. dissertation outline on Joe Tanaka's thesis, "A New Approach to Digitally Processing Composite Signals." The outline, which I translated from science-itis into plain English, covered converting real-world sound, video, and graphics signals into binary digits-ones and zeros-then recording the binary digits into a computer. Once recorded, these signals could then be manipulated in the computer or replayed to get exactly what had been recorded. Tanaka's work involved developing algorithms or series of algorithms to break down the composite signal into its basic elements. For example, on a recording of a live performance of a symphony, if someone coughed during the performance, the composite signal would contain that cough. Tanaka's algorithm would be able to distinguish the non-music sounds such as the cough and eliminate them from the recording, allowing only the essential musical elements to remain.
Even I could see the profound impact of this technology. Tanaka was one smart boy, and it was obvious why HI-Data had hired him.
I thanked Miss Fresher and hung up to forestall her calling me Miss McDull one more time. Then I phoned Jennifer Brand to confirm the two o'clock at HI-Data. She mentioned that Mr. Fere liked punctuality.
I'd almost finished my notes on the trainees when the phone rang again. It was Greg McIntyre, the lead investigator on the Mooney Investment embezzlement case.
"I guess somebody else besides you thinks Eric Daniels might have something to do with the missing funds," he told me.
"Really? Who?"
"A Mr. Anonymous. He sent Mooney a tip in today's mail. Said we might be interested in some off-shore accounts in connection with Daniels. We got account numbers, deposit dates, the works."
"Sounds like somebody has it in for our Mr. Daniels," I said. "Gonna check it out?"
"Already in motion. Just wanted to keep you in the loop. It would be funny if that female intuition thingy of yours was right after all."
"Yeah, funny." I thanked him for the call and hung up, silently wishing Mr. Eric Daniels a very unhappy New Year.
I continued collecting and rechecking data on the two trainees. Everything was coming out clean, but I was getting a headache. I'd had a horrendous week, starting with my stumbling over one corpse and ending with another dropping at my feet. On the other hand, Eric Daniels was in store for a heap of trouble, which made me feel really good. And Scotty was here in Chicago, which made me feel even better. Despite the headache, the plaster dust, and my need to pack, I realized I was hungry and decided to grab lunch at a Portillo's that was conveniently located on my route to HI-Data.
I locked the office and hurried out, successfully avoiding Michael Drake.
THIRTY-ONE
DRIVING WEST OUT OF Chicago into what used to be the great prairies, the city's gray factories and apartment buildings give way to bare trees and cookie-cutter shopping malls with vast parking lots. There are no colors left in Chicago during the winter-all the colors die or move south. I was beginning to think more and more about moving south, too.
The oldies radio station was playing "Little Darling" by The Diamonds, and a cardinal streaked past my windshield, heading for some nearby trees. Cardinals, the twins had said, mate for life and don't migrate south over the winter. I wondered why. Or why not.
I pulled into Portillo's, one of my favorite eateries, and ordered a combo Italian beef and sausage. Portillo's started with a makeshift hot dog stand and now has twenty-five restaurants across Chicagoland. The combo, a heart-buster, would fortify me against the cold as well as against HI-Data.
I took my place in a long line of cars at the drive-up windows. where two workers dressed in parkas with telephone headsets conveyed orders as fast as they could to keep the line moving. Lunch was tasty and so were my daydreams about Scotty. I'd completely lost track of time and was now officially running late for my meeting with Jeff Fere. The throaty roar of the Miata's racebred engine eased me back into traffic on the Tollway. I stepped on it, keeping an eye out for cops.
I was making great time, but had to brake suddenly to avoid a pinkish heap of gray fur that once had been an opossum. The oldies station switched to news, and I turned up the volume just in time to hear their traffic copter report an explosion.
"The DuPage County Sheriff's Office has just confirmed that a car exploded moments ago in the parking lot of the HI-Data Corporation off the Reagan Tollway. Sources are telling us that a body was found in the vehicle, a white Lincoln Town Car apparently belonging to the company's President, Jeffrey Fere. We'll keep you updated as further details come in. Back to you, Jim and Jan."
I veered onto the shoulder and
turned off the engine. I took a deep breath and fogged up my windows immediately. Whatever was going on at HI-Data had apparently just claimed its CEO Jeff Fere as the latest victim. Nothing I could do there was going to help the situation. In fact, my being on the scene of a third death would not look good on my police blotter. I put the car in gear and put down my window to get rid of the fog, intending to turn around and head for home. I put the window back up, then stopped short. My client was now dead and, like it or not, whoever was responsible for these deaths had involved me. That made me mad. My prime suspect was still Olson/Karton. I wasn't going to feel better until I found out what was going on. I ditched the idea of turning around and instead checked the rearview mirror and merged back into traffic toward HI-Data.
THIRTY-TWO
YELLOW TAPE CORDONED OFF a large section of HI-Data's parking lot. Smoke from the explosion was still spiraling into the wintry air as I steered into an open spot on the far side of the lot. Cops were all over, and one of them agreed to check my status on the guest list. My name was there, but he told me I would need an escort. He pawned me off onto another uniformed cop who then called a HI-Data guard over. He immediately called Sparky to come get me.
She arrived, out of breath, somber and disheveled. "Everything's in turmoil," she said.
"I heard about what happened on the radio. I'm very sorry."
"Let's go to my office. It's private there."
We walked in silence and sat down across from one another. She shook her head. "I'm still in shock from Marcie's suicide, and now this."
I, for one, did not believe Marcie had committed suicide, but I decided not to say so. Instead, I asked, "What exactly happened?"
She frowned. "Nobody's sure. The cops are interviewing everyone. Jeff was waiting for you to show up for your appointment..."
"I was running late. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Your being late saved his life."
"What?"
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