"He had an appointment with his allergist at 2:30 this afternoon. If you'd been here on time, he'd have gone down to his car in sufficient time to warm it up. See, Jeff can't stand the cold. So when you were late, that made him run late, too. Oscar was warming up the Lincoln for him. Oscar's the one who's dead."
"So it was Oscar in the car when it exploded?"
"Unfortunately, Yes."
"Oh, my God." A dead partner, a dead trainee, and now a dead security guard. Death times three equals ... what?
"One of the officers told me they don't think there's enough left of him to make a formal identification. They'll have to do a DNA analysis. It's awful. Oscar's been with HI-Data for seven years."
"Who ordered Oscar to warm up the car?"
"I don't know. Probably Jennifer Brand, Jeffrey's secretary. Jeffrey would never make that kind of call himself. Is that important?"
"Just curious," I said.
"Jeffrey's on his way to personally notify Oscar's family. He feels terrible about this, as you can imagine. He won't hold any meetings today."
"Of course," I agreed.
"Have you encountered any more problems with the other two trainees?" she asked.
"So far, things are looking good on both of them. Before I go, Sparky, I'd like to see that file about Marcie you were going to show me.
"Well that poses a problem." She stood up and walked to the window, looking out. "The file's not here anymore."
I must have been holding my breath, because I heard a big sigh and realized it came from me.
She turned from the window and went back to her desk. "Norman came in yesterday and cleaned out all the files on both Marcie and John Olson."
I'd counted on seeing that file. But if my suspicions were right, it probably didn't even exist anymore.
I mentioned the information I'd reported to Jeffrey Fere on John Olson, aka Dan Karton, and asked if they'd located him yet.
"No, he wasn't at the address listed on the master computer files-no big surprise considering what you've uncovered. But Norman's still looking."
"Do you think he was a spy, Sparky?"
"Norman certainly does. We're checking out some leads to see if he has ties to any of our competitors."
She sat down. "Norman, as head of security, doesn't look so great, and he's got to blame someone. You're the chosen candidate."
"So he's blaming me for everything."
"Norman said he told Jeffrey that it had to be more than an unlucky coincidence for you to have been there when Marcie died, too."
I wasn't worried about Jeffrey Fere. I knew he didn't suspect me. He suspected somebody inside the company. But what did Sparky think?
"I was hoping you could tell me some secrets, Sparky."
"Believe me, I would if I could. This used to be such a wonderful company. Jeffrey does so much for all his employees. He really cares. He wants everybody to succeed and make money. Do you know he takes the time to give the entire workforce lectures on investing? He gives advice on what stocks and bonds look good. If I had any money to invest, I'd probably be rich by now."
Jeffrey Fere, CEO, appeared to be a statistical outrider.
"Most corporate executives are out only for themselves," I said. "Think about Enron and Madoff and all those others."
"It wasn't like that here at HI-Data. But everything's been different since the day those trainees came aboard."
"Then I arrived and stumbled on Ken's body."
"And Marcie jumped off the balcony. Now Jeff's car has exploded. Maybe you can make some sense out of it all, because I can't," she said.
I stood up to leave. "Sparky, I seem to have walked into a viper's nest here. I think somebody from HI-Data deliberately snipped my brake line last week. Somebody wants me out of here, and given what's happened, I don't think Marcie committed suicide."
"What? My God. Wait a minute, Miss McGil. You think maybe John Olson-I mean Dan Karton might have ... ? Maybe he and Marcie were ... ? That file on Marcie may not be here anymore, but I can tell you what was in it."
I sat back down. "So?" I prompted.
"We have that special phone security system that keeps track of all incoming and outgoing calls. It tells us, minute by minute, what extension is placing calls and what number they go to. And, vice versa for calls coming in. Want some coffee?"
"Thanks, no. I know about those systems. Please go on," I said.
"Well, I routinely review these detailed phone reports for Jeffrey. He insists it's good business to have two cross checks on all company data, so Norman and I both monitor these reports. I noticed that during the last several weeks, there were a bunch of calls made from Marcie's extension to an off-shore bank, and a similar number of wire transfers from the off-shore bank to local banks where Marcie had accounts. Our first-line credit check found something like ten accounts in her name. And I don't think our Marcie was by nature a saver."
I thought of Marcie's hundred thousand dollar Porsche, her expensive jewelry, and her beautifully furnished Lake Shore Drive apartment. "You're right about that," I said. "But Marcie was one very smart lady. Why would she risk making calls like this at work?"
"Maybe she didn't think there was any risk. We don't make this phone system general knowledge at HI-Data, and only me, Jeff, and Norman review the reports the system generates." "
I thought you said nobody called him `Jeff' except the partners.
"Well, I'm careful not to do it in front of the rank and file. Longevity's got to have some perks, doesn't it? I've been with the company almost from the beginning when it was just Jeff, Ken, and Ralph. Jeff brought Norman in much later."
"About the phone system," I said, bringing us back to the point.
"Right. Well, as head of security, Norman recommended it. Jeffrey had to approve it, and then I had it installed."
"What does Norman make of these calls?"
"Norman's not what you'd call a detail person. We didn't go over the reports together, and he's never said anything to me. But he and Jeff might have discussed them. I don't..."
The door opened. It was the young guard I'd met yesterday. "I'm here to report, like you said. They've towed away the car, but they're still working in the lot."
When he saw me, his hand went to the gun on his hip. "You," he said.
"Miss McGil is just leaving." Sparky shrugged her shoulders and gave me a look that said we were finished. "Escort her to the elevator and sign her out."
THIRTY-THREE
ALL THE WAY BACK to the city, I thought about what I had and what I hadn't learned from Sparky. I didn't trust anyone at HIData. I'd seen more than my share of dead bodies, and I didn't want to be the next one.
When I entered Consolidated, smoky chaos surrounded me. The landscape had altered considerably since this morning. Now severed masonry support columns jutted out like surreal stalactites and stalagmites. The outside walls had been hit by a wrecking ball. The rapidly fading daylight that seeped through the gaping holes was punctuated by flashes of electric blue from welders' torches. The scene was like a bombed city during wartime. Noise and workmen were everywhere. Air compressors pounded, jackhammers staccatoed, and equipment squealed and shrieked like women in distress.
It was difficult walking in my high heels. Plaster dust and exhaust fumes from the machinery settled like a heavy fog, overlaid with the biting tang of metallic ozone from the welders.
I coughed, rubbed my eyes, and maneuvered around huge bundles of wire near the entrance to the tower.
Michael Drake suddenly appeared out of the smoke, wearing his blue hard hat stenciled with his name.
"I thought I saw you come in," he said as he thrust a similar hat, sans name, into my hands and ordered me to put it on.
"You've got to get out of here." He frowned. "I know you're under a lot of pressure, but now the explosives are here. It's not safe for you anymore." He pointed to a shed-like structure along the side of the wall peppered with red stickers reading "Danger: Hazardous
Materials."
"Is it dynamite?"
"No. We use a precision-engineered specialized material-our trade secret. Today we're placing and wiring all the explosives. You can't be in the building after they're in position."
If something did go off prematurely, I'd be hamburger.
"I'm leaving later today," I assured him as another bobcat weaved around us, stirring up more plaster and white dust.
"Good. The sooner the better. Our timetable's taken a giant leap forward. We were going to do the blasting on the retaining wall between the tower and the main building in a few weeks at midnight when nobody's on the streets. But one of the big cable stations made us an offer we couldn't refuse. They want to televise the demolition on New Year's Eve, so we're going to do it then."
"But that's the day after tomorrow!"
"We've brought in extra crews. We're working twenty-four hours a day. Tomorrow we'll move the computer from the building into the trailer and run some final checks and set up the cameras."
"You mean they're going to televise this?"
"Turn on your TV-the promo ads are already running. 'Celebrate New Year's Eve With A Blast' and so on. They did it a couple of years ago to a huge hotel in Palm Beach and got ratings off the chart."
Talk about motivation. I was absolutely positively going to move out today. "Is there electric still in my office?" I asked without hope.
"We've got a make-shift electrical system going," Michael said. "That's why the light's so spotty. I told them to include your office, but it's only temporary for today. At the end of today, it and your telephone are gone."
"Oh, thanks. I appreciate your trouble. I really will be gone by this evening."
"Be careful!" Michael yelled and stopped me from tripping over a pile that looked like bags of cement. He steered me away. "Watch where you put your feet. Those are the blasting agents-ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel oil mixtures."
Michael explained how they set all the explosives and how important the timing is so the building comes down in the right sequence. I felt like I was standing on ground zero.
"That custom-built computer out there controls everything. If some charges don't go off, or if they go off too early or too late, the entire building could fall the wrong way. We're right next door to the Federal Reserve Bank, and they don't want pieces of Consolidated showing up in their vault."
"So the computer sends out the signal to set off the charges? That I'd like to see." I walked away, hoping my motive of putting a comfortable distance between me and the shack with the explosives wasn't too obvious.
The control room, adjacent to the lobby, was filled with highly sophisticated computer network systems and security scanners. On the screen, a thousand tiny red dots flashed, each one representing an explosives charge.
"See this tells us exactly where to place the charges," he pointed. "As soon as a charge is wired, that light goes off. By this time tomorrow, none of the lights will be flashing, and we'll be ready to go.
Happy Oblivion, Consolidated, I silently wished the building.
THIRTY-FOUR
MICHAEL DRAKE AND I walked back to what wouldn't be my office after today. The bright red Eviction Notice taped to my door was visible at thirty paces.
"I didn't do it," Michael said. "I'd guess it was your friendly landlord, George Vogel."
I ripped it off and pushed open my door.
"Holy ... ," Michael exclaimed.
My office was a mess. Even my closet had been trashed. At least I now knew what Aunt Elizabeth's vision was about.
"Damn, I can't believe this," I said, scooping up some papers from the floor.
Michael picked up and righted a chair. "Who could have done this?"
His words echoed my own thoughts. "Several possibilities do come to mind."
"Like ... ?"
"Somebody from a case I'm working on at HI-Data." I thought of John Olson or Norman Richtor or Joe Tanaka or even Jeffrey Fere. It couldn't have been Sparky because I just left her. On the other hand, maybe it was George Vogel from the bank. Well, probably not. George would never make this kind of mess. Or could it have to do with Auntie's Burns artifacts and Mr. Jack McSweeney?
Michael snapped his fingers. "I did see a guy coming out of your office about half an hour ago. I'm sure he wasn't anybody working on this job."
"What'd he look like?"
"I only saw him from the side and back. He was, oh, I'd say about five foot nine or ten. Gray hair. On the reedy side. And he was wearing a tan overcoat. It looked expensive. Maybe cashmere."
"Let's see. The gray hair eliminates John Olson and Joe Tanaka." I said thoughtfully. "Unless the guy was wearing a wig?" I looked at Michael.
"I don't think so, but I couldn't be sure."
"Right. Well, the expensive overcoat definitely lets out George Vogel." We both laughed out loud.
"That means we're down to Jeff Fere and Norm Richtor from HI-Data. Jeffrey wears expensive clothes, but he's taller and has a bit of a paunch. Norman wears expensive clothes, and he's trim, and he's somewhere around five ten or so"
And, I promised myself, I'm going to find out A.S.A.P. what Auntie's Mr. Jack McSweeny looks like.
THIRTY-FIVE
AFTER MICHAEL LEFT, I checked my computer and ran a scan. My computer wizard friend Jerry, who'd introduced me to Scotty, had insisted on showing me how to run a scan so that I could always ensure my hard disk wasn't damaged. Next I ran a virus check, again taught by Jerry. Then I read through a random mix of my HI-Data files, all of which seemed to be in order. Lucky thing, because I couldn't trouble shoot. I'd have had to call Jerry.
I straightened out what I could, sorting books and papers into boxes for the upcoming move. I'd gotten about halfway through the pile when the phone rang. I couldn't find it under the mess. Finally I spotted the cord, followed it, and unearthed the phone. Then I stopped cold. On top of the phone was the sealed brown envelope I always kept locked in my center drawer. The one envelope I've never been able to make myself look into.
I didn't want to look now, either. I answered the phone in mid-ring.
"Hi, DD. Vittoria here. I've got that information you wanted."
Vittoria was a friend from Grey Towers, a university reference librarian who'd helped me out when I was writing "Restoration Scandals." I'd phoned her earlier and talked her into doing some research for me.
"Great, Vicky. I really appreciate this."
"I didn't find out very much, but what I did find was extremely interesting. I'm e-mailing you all the citations, but in a nutshell, KB is known as Katherine Bruce of Clackmannan. The story, verified by several accounts, is that on October 4, 1787, Robert Burns and his traveling companion, Dr. James McKittrick Adair, left Stirling. This was after Burns smashed the window pane at the Golden Lion Inn. They then spent October fifth through twelfth at Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire. Dr. Adair recorded they got caught in severe storms and heavy floods that hit central Scotland. As a consequence, they stayed in the vicinity longer than anticipated. During this time they visited Katherine Bruce, sometimes spelled with a `C,' at Clackmannan Tower."
So Katherine Bruce very well might be the KB of the casque.
"By the way," Vittoria continued, "I did a little research on Clackmannan Tower. Seems it's fallen into decay, but it is still there today. It's part of the Bruce Clan holdings. Anyway, back to Burns. When he paid his visit to her in 1787, Katherine Bruce was over ninety. Dr. Adair writes that although she was hard of hearing and afflicted with paralytic speech, she possessed great dignity and was extremely hospitable to Burns. She and Burns shared Jacobite sympathies. She took a special liking to Burns, and Dr. Adair reported that her toast after dinner was, Awa Uncos, or `Away the Strangers,' which referred undoubtedly to the Hanovers"
"I know that toast. It's one of my auntie's stand-bys."
"Your auntie?"
"Never mind. Go on."
"Well, Katherine Bruce was a direct descendant of Robert the Bruce. Even to
day, the family maintains an illuminated vellum genealogical history and family tree. That night, Katherine showed Burns and Adair a helmet and a two-handed sword, supposedly owned by Robert the Bruce. By the way, both of which are still owned by the Bruce family. She was quite well known as a Jacobite sympathizer. A portrait of her painted with a white rose, the sign of a good Jacobite follower, is still owned by the Bruce Clan.
"At some point during the evening Burns knelt before Katherine Bruce, and she knighted him with the sword of the Bruce. One source I checked noted that, although not well known, Burns himself was of ancient Scottish royal blood and also a descendant of Robert the Bruce through his paternal grandmother, Isabella Keith. Keith ancestry can be traced back to Lady Mary Bruce, sister of King Robert I, and it's recorded that Burns knelt to kiss the gravestone at Dunfermline Abbey."
I noted the interesting facts, thanked he, and hung up. Auntie would be thrilled to hear this. Maybe she would know someone in the Bruce family-she knows almost everybody-and we'd find out even more.
I found the brown envelope again in my hand. I put it down. I still didn't want to open it. My heart was aching. Instead, I phoned Tom Joyce.
He answered immediately, but before I could tell him about my office being trashed or about Katherine Bruce, he interrupted.
"Are you sitting down?" he asked.
"As a matter of fact, no. My office..."
"Listen, I've got great news for you and your aunt. That Burns material you left with me is looking good. Basically, most forgeries are not too difficult to spot. It's the genuine article that's difficult to prove. In this case, all the tests are turning out positive. I'm very excited."
"Really?"
Tom knew his job, and if he was telling me it might be genuine, I was more than surprised. I pulled over a chair and sat down.
"Really," he said. "I've done a more detailed handwriting comparison with `The Twa Dogs,' one of the six original handwritten poems from the Kilmarnock Edition. You won't believe this, but I found it on the Burns Federation web site. Just a few years ago, before the Internet, we couldn't have done this. Technology is incredible. Anyway, other tests are confirming that the folds in the paper are original folds, and the ink test revealed the bits of brownish corrosion on the paper are due to the iron content in early ink."
A Cadgers Curse Page 14