Tina Whittle_Tai Randall Mystery 01

by The Dangerous Edge of Things

  When I was done, he shook his head. “Jesus. Marisa’s got Trey on an investigation? He doesn’t do investigations.”

  “His point exactly. She shot him down. I swear, you should have seen her, like you crossed Scarlett O’Hara and the Terminator.”

  “That’s what they want, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “Her clientele. Ever since 9/11, every CEO in Fulton County wants to know how to kill somebody with a spork, and they want to know how to do it without messing up their suit. Phoenix draws ’em like catnip. But I’ll tell you one thing—I don’t like it in there. Maybe I’ve just been a cop too long, but I can’t shake the feeling that those walls have ears. And eyes. And who knows what else.”

  He dropped his voice, narrowed his gaze. “I don’t even take a piss in there if I can help it.”

  We sat on my hood while the Kennesaw officers finished their look-around. Some of them had known Dexter, had bought from him. They’d introduced themselves, told me how sorry they were for my loss. Every single one was polite, well-scrubbed and white as cream of wheat.

  I rubbed my eyes until I could see straight. “So tell me, Detective—what were you doing at Boomer’s?”

  “Off-duty curiosity. Bulldog used to sell in that parking lot. I wanted to see if he’d been around recently.”

  “Had he?”

  “Not that the manager knew of.” He made a serious face. “Have you told Trey about any of this?”

  “I tried to tell him about the juvie records, but he went all stickler on me.”

  “Then you need to tell him a different way.”

  I was about to let him have it for that one—like Trey being Trey was my fault—when the Kennesaw officer tapped my shoulder. “Ma’am? I hate to interrupt, but does this mean anything to you? We found it behind some boxes under the window. Looks like your perpetrator dropped it through the burglar bars.”

  He showed me the target, a picture of me in the center, the bull’s eye a blasted hole. I felt the blood drain from my face, and an involuntary tremor started in my hands. Tears sparked, blurring my vision. Garrity moved to stand in front of me. “Hey, hey.”

  “Damn it, I hate crying.” I wiped my eyes. “But I’m running on two hours sleep, and now I’m being threatened—again—and I don’t even know why, and I’ve got a shop full of guns that I can’t even carry yet, and—”

  “What do you mean, ‘threatened again?’”

  The officer handed me a tissue. I blew my nose. And then I explained.

  ***

  Once I calmed down, Garrity went off to ask the deputies some more questions. I huddled on my hood, arms wrapped around my knees. I felt empty, but it was a cathartic empty. No more secrets. I couldn’t handle this mess by myself.

  I watched him talking with the other policemen, making a tight official knot with them. When he returned, he wore a strange expression. “You said you knew nothing about the security system?”

  “Right.”

  “And that the camera was just a decoy, hadn’t worked in years?”

  “Right again.”

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “In that case, you really need to talk to Eric. And Trey. Because not only was that camera live, it was Phoenix issue.”

  Chapter 26

  The next morning came in the afternoon. I’d crawled into bed just before six and slept like I’d been drugged, finally dragging myself into the shower a little after noon. One café mocha and a half a cigarette later, I was driving to Phoenix with a mission in mind. My mission was thwarted, however, by Phoenix’s own Cerberus at the gate—Yvonne.

  “Mr. Seaver is out of the office,” she said. “If you’d like to leave a message—”

  “Where is he?”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  A voice behind me cut the argument in half. “He’s at the gym, teaching a karate workshop.”

  I whirled around to face Steve Simpson. To my astonishment, he wore a suit and tie and real shoes, and his unruly curls had been tamed into something like a hair style.

  “What gym?”

  “The one across the street. He’ll be back in an hour. He always is.”

  I peered closer at Steve’s tie. It was bright green, with dollar signs in the paisley pattern. “You’re tech support, right?”

  He looked suspicious. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Forget Trey. You’ll do.”

  ***

  Steve’s office was an extravagant mess. It smelled metallic and dusty, and stacks of DVDs and surplus computer parts covered every flat surface. There was no window, and very little fresh air. I didn’t bother finding a place to sit.

  “Did you install the security system in my shop? Dexter’s Guns and More?”

  Steve removed a six-pack of Coca Cola from his chair. “The one in Kennesaw? Yeah, I remember. Why?”

  My temper flared. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “Hey, I just wire things, I don’t do paperwork. You’ll have to talk to Mr. Premises Liability about that.”

  Back to Trey again. I turned to go, and Steve called after me, “Don’t run off. I have something you might be interested in.”

  I stopped. “You’re throwing bait.”

  “Are you biting?”

  “Depends. What do you have?”

  He waggled a DVD. “Hot-off-the-press copy of the security camera footage at Beau Elan.”

  “The one they mentioned in the meeting, the alibi footage?”

  “The same. I’m supposed to demux it and make copies for the higher ups, Trey included. Which he will share, of course. Because Phoenix agents are such sharing people—”

  “Just show me.”

  “Shut the door.” He slid the disc into his computer and patted the edge of his seat.

  I sat thigh to thigh with him, wary but curious. “Why are you showing me this?”

  “Consider it a favor.”

  “Meaning I owe you one?”

  “Exactly.”

  He tapped at the keyboard. I squinted at the blur of static. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Hence the demux. It’s four channels merged into one, see? But watch this.”

  He tapped again, and the images sorted themselves into a neat foursquare grid. Each screen looked exactly like I’d expected—low-resolution footage of cars coming and going, date and time information scrolling in the lower right hand corner.

  “This one tracks the front gate,” he said and clicked on the upper right-hand quadrant, fast forwarding to twelve-thirty. Sure enough, there was the white Phoenix van rolling in. I couldn’t see Steve, however, only Trey and Landon.

  “I was in the back,” Steve said. “Now nothing much happens until…”

  The recorded images sped up, then Steve hit stop. He pointed at the screen. “See, that’s Charley right there, in the Mercedes with the tinted windows.”

  Yes, absolutely Charley Beaumont, her black hair loose about her shoulders, her eyes hidden behind impenetrable sunglasses. She wasn’t smiling. Her car window slid back up, and she disappeared behind the dark glass.

  “This is about five. Now we just go forward an hour until…right there.”

  I watched as the same car rolled out of the gate. Only this time Charley wasn’t alone.

  “That looks like Landon.”

  “It is. She took him back to his car at Phoenix, where he left for your brother’s house. Okay, go forward until six-thirty and you’ll see Trey and me leaving in the van. Well, you’ll see the van, no faces. But he can vouch for me.”

  I checked out the other squares. “So is there any footage of a black SUV?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about a blue pick-up?”

  “You mean Bulldog? No dice. The camera caught him sneaking past the gate Wednesday night, on foot, but nothing on Thursday. And it would have caught him, no doubt about that, whether he was in his car or on foot, because this is the onl
y way in.”

  “No other way at all?”

  Steve rolled his eyes. “So you’ve heard Trey’s little rant, huh? I suppose he could have gotten in over the wall. But the area around Eliza’s apartment is covered by the security camera there—that whole corner is. See?”

  I had to take his word for it. All I could see was an expanse of lawn with people sunbathing.

  “Jake Whitaker lives right across from her apartment.”

  “The manager? Yeah.”

  “What was he doing during this time?”

  “He was with the landscaping people, creating urban gardening space.” He said it with sarcastic little air quotes. “Why is it the people who can afford to do otherwise always want to grow their own tomatoes?”

  I kept my eyes on the screen. “You came to that meeting yesterday just to piss Trey off.”

  “Maybe. I have a problem with authority sometimes. But I’m not a bad guy. White hat all the way.”

  “So why’d they hire you back?”

  “Because I’m good. But mostly because they want to keep an eye on me. Why do you think they made you a liaison?”

  I stood up, dusted off my backside. “Because Mark Beaumont said so.”

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that, it’s control. These people want their fingers in everybody’s pie, especially Marisa. Boss Lady does not like surprises. Phoenix has something you want—access—which means you’ve got to toe the line now.”

  “I don’t do that very well.”

  “Neither do I. But look at me, all suited up and proper today.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Look, tell Trey I said I was sorry. And if you need anything—”

  “How about a copy of that disc?”

  Steve smiled. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  ***

  As Steve promised, I found Trey in a back room at the gym. He wore a white t-shirt and black workout pants, and he was barefoot. A group of yoga-ready females sat on the cushioned floor in front of him, watching intently while he put one of their own into a chokehold.

  “Relax your muscles,” he told her. “I’m using your resistance against you.”

  The pony-tailed woman wasn’t listening—she kept tugging at his forearm, which wasn’t budging. She twisted about, making mousy girl noises, getting nowhere.

  I rolled my eyes. “Bite him. That’ll teach the son-of-a-bitch.”

  A dozen heads swiveled my way, Trey’s included. He didn’t break his hold, however, and his voice remained calm and authoritative. “Bend your knees first, then tuck your hips…yes, like that. Good.”

  She pushed his arm away with a feeble shove, and the entire class applauded as she returned to her spot. Trey finished up briskly after that. As the class filed out, each woman stopped to thank him personally. There was a lot of laughing and hair stroking, soft hands on his shoulder. Trey seemed oblivious to the whole parade, and eventually the room was empty except for the two of us. I noticed that his hands were wrapped like a boxer’s, and that he kept them loose and ready, even though it was just me at the door.

  “Did you need something?” he said.

  “Yeah.” I came into the room. “I need to know why there’s a Phoenix-issue security camera in my shop that nobody told me about.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb. There’s a freaking camera in my gun shop, and I want to know how it got there!”

  “We installed it last week.” He moved to the middle of the room where a weight bag dangled. He steadied it, then took a couple of easy jabs. “You know this. You signed the authorization paperwork.”

  “I did not!”

  “Yes, you did. I have it on file in my office.”

  “Then it’s a forgery.”

  “It’s notarized.”

  I stomped onto the mat. Trey pointed at my feet. “You have to take your shoes off.”

  I pulled off one boot and threw it down. “This is ridiculous.”

  “It’s to protect—”

  “Not the shoes.” I yanked off the other boot and joined him on the mat. “The situation. You just told me something that makes no sense whatsoever.”

  Trey returned to the weight bag. Up close, I could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  “I’ll make you copies of the paperwork when I get back to the office,” he said. “I suspect it will make sense then.”

  He moved lightly on his feet. Punch, punch, spin and kick. Precise and deadly.

  “Not then, now. I want to see now.”

  “I’m busy now.”

  “Now.”

  He froze, hands up, and shot me a look—annoyance, tamped tight, but definitely percolating. That’s when I remembered I was pissing off a killer. Of course there was another killer I’d pissed off too, one not as polite as Trey, whose current victim was a medium-to-large weight bag.

  “You and your brother own the shop under a cotenancy agreement,” he said. “Equal shares, equal access, equal right to alter property as long as said alterations—”

  “This is Eric’s doing?”

  Trey returned to his workout. “The signed probate papers were all Phoenix needed, and Eric brought those in complete with your signature.”

  “Doesn’t he have to ask me first?”

  “No.”

  I kicked the weight bag, and pain arced across my instep. “Damn it!”

  Trey frowned. “You shouldn’t—”

  “Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t do! I’m sick and tired of it!” I kicked the bag again, and again. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were supposed to be all about rules and shit!”

  “I am, but—”

  “You tell me you’re here to help, you tell me you’ll take a bullet for me, and then you go and—”

  “I thought you knew.”

  I stopped kicking the bag. “What?”

  “Eric said he was going tell you.”

  “He lied.”

  “No. He was telling the truth at the time.” Trey steadied the bag. “But apparently he changed his mind.”

  Before I could reply, my cell phone chirruped at me in a happy way, letting me know I had a text message. I pulled out my phone. It was from Eric. It said that he was coming in that night, that I was welcome back at the house, that he’d see me later.

  I deleted the message. “When did he have the camera installed?”

  “Monday morning.”

  Before Eliza’s death. Before he had any reason to believe that I was in danger and needed protecting. Not for my safety. So he could spy on me.

  I put the phone away. “Trey, do I have the same rights to alter the property without alerting Eric?”

  “Of course.”

  “So I could dismantle the whole get-up if I wanted?”

  “You could. But there may be systems in place besides the obvious alarms and cameras.”

  “Wouldn’t you know if there were?”

  “I should. But then, I’m obviously not being told everything.”

  He said it without a hint of emotion, but I could sense the irritation running under the words. I’d learned a few things about Trey Seaver—he believed in rules and didn’t like it one iota when other people didn’t follow them.

  “So will you come to my shop tonight and help me figure out what’s what?”

  “Simpson is the technical expert, not—”

  “Will you?”

  He unfastened his handwraps, exposing bare knuckle. “Certainly.”

  Chapter 27

  Trey arrived exactly at seven, just as he said he would, back in his official suit, but tieless. His leather shoes crunched on broken glass.

  “Garrity told me about the break-in,” he said.

  “Yeah, it’s a mess.” I showed him my new broom, still wrapped in plastic. “Just getting around to cleaning it up.”

  But Trey wasn’t paying attention. He placed his briefcase on the counter
and popped it open. “I’ll perform a basic sweep first, then decide if more intensive measures are called for.”

  He scanned the shop, making notes on his ubiquitous yellow pad. He frowned a lot. The place did look rough—wooden slats nailed where the window used to be, gravel and crushed glass and the detritus of a dozen law enforcement shoes, the whole scene washed sallow by the fluorescent overheads.

  Trey pointed with his pen. “The windows were wired to an alarm, but not the doors. I don’t understand.”

  I did. Eric was less concerned with keeping me safe than with keeping tabs on me. I would have tripped a door alarm and spoiled his plan. My temper ignited again. When I finally got my hands on him…

  Trey pointed at the ceiling. “What’s up there?”

  “I don’t know. Crawl space?”

  “I’ll check it later.” He moved behind the counter to examine the now-defunct surveillance camera. He fingered the tangled wires and broken black plastic like an archeologist perusing a pottery shard. “This is a wireless system. When it was operational, it could be accessed through an Internet connection, both archived and real-time footage.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that registered users could log in and view the shop at any time, from anywhere.”

  I dropped the broom and joined him behind the counter. “That means we can see what happened the night it got smashed!”

  “No, we can’t. The account is password protected.”

  “You can’t override it?”

  “I could, but that would make this a Phoenix situation. I’d rather keep it a favor. There are fewer complications that way. And less paperwork.”

  I looked to see if he was making a joke, but his delivery and expression were both deadpan. I understood his point, however. As rules went, not involving Phoenix unless absolutely necessary was fine with me.

  But I was dying to see that footage.

  He pulled a file folder from his briefcase. “Here’s another copy of the installation paperwork. I sent two sets with Eric. You were supposed to get yours last week.”

  I glanced through the folder. Nothing unexpected. “What if the Kennesaw cops themselves asked you for the footage? Could you override the password then? Without, you know…paperwork?”