by Nell DuVall
“Check it out, and let me know.” She paused. “I’ve got a funny feeling about this. I think it has to be someone with access to your office.”
“No way. I didn’t recognize the gunman. Surely, I’d recognize someone I worked with.”
“What about cleaning staff? Or the building owner’s staff? He could even be on the construction crew.”
“Construction crew?” Ian laughed. “They wouldn’t have keys to my office.”
“The cleaners would. And they would also know about the construction.”
“That would explain the bricks and the gunman. A cleaner would have keys to the building and the offices.”
“Of course.” Cassie sounded excited. “Then we can eliminate the construction crew, can’t we?”
“Yeah, but that still leaves a lot of choices. We’ve got to narrow this down somehow.”
“What about the coffee?”
“The coffee?” Ian frowned. “Look, I’m still not sure about the coffee.” Silence hung between them for a moment.
“Look, Ian, you can’t accept part of it and discard the rest.” Her voice had grown hard. “The coffee points to someone in your office or at least someone there at the time the coffee was made.”
Ian sighed. “Nobody else had any problems with the coffee or got sick. We never tested it. The only evidence comes from your dream.”
“And they’ve been right so far. Then there was the motorcycle.”
“What motorcycle?” Suddenly, Ian saw Justin and Bert racing out of the parking lot, side by side, on twin Harley Davidsons.
“The black motorcycle that almost ran me down when I left your office.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Ian gripped the phone harder.
When the gunman had threatened Cassie, he had acted instinctively to protect her. Now, it seemed Harrison had tried to kill her before. Somehow, some way, he would find Harrison before he could do any more damage.
“Well, I never really had the chance to tell you. It happened right after I spilled the coffee.”
“Bert and Justin ride motorcycles.”
“Bert and Justin?”
“Two young men who work for me.”
“What if Harrison used an assumed name?”
“What are you getting at, Cassie?”
Ian’s stomach churned. James Harrison all over again. He didn’t want to believe that someone he saw every day, someone he trusted, could possibly be planning murder.
“Harrison could be one of them. What do you know about them?”
Ian dredged through his memory for the facts on the two young men. “Bert Hansen is an accounting major we hired a year ago, and Justin Lord joined us about the same time as our co-op student from Columbus State. Justin’s been one of the best we’ve ever had.”
“Bert Hansen?” Cassie paused for a moment. “Is he a weightlifter?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I met him at a friend’s party a few weeks ago. I didn’t know then he worked for you. Bradford Harrison. The initials are the same.”
“So?”
Cassie sighed. “Criminals often choose aliases based on their initials. At least that’s what I gather from all those true crime shows.”
“Maybe, but I can’t see Bert as the criminal type.” Not Bert, he was far too nice a kid, but that left Justin. No, neither could be a potential murderer.
“Did you check his references?”
“Of course we did.” Ian tried to temper his annoyance. He sighed. “I’ll check them again.”
“That would be a good idea.”
“Cassie...” Ian stopped, hesitant to proceed.
Regardless of who Brad Harrison might be, he had tried to kill him and had threatened Cassie. He didn’t want to worry her, but she was far too trusting. He struggled to find the words to make her recognize her danger, but not to frighten her too much. The motorcycle and the gun — that made two attempts on Cassie’s life.
“Yes?”
“Look, I’m a little worried about you. Harrison has tried twice to kill you.”
“Me? It’s you he’s after, remember?”
“Yeah, but you keep getting in his way. He might come after you first next time. Please, be extra careful. You do lock your car?”
Cassie sighed. “Yes, I lock it. Satisfied?”
“No, I won’t be satisfied until we locate Harrison. Once we do, you and I have some serious business to discuss.”
“Serious business?”
“About the future, our future.”
“Oh.” She sounded just a little breathless. He hoped that meant she wanted one with him.
“Good-bye, Cassie.”
Ian replaced the phone and sat back in his chair. Bert or Justin? He found it hard to choose between them. So far as he remembered, they both had backgrounds unrelated to Harrison. He tried to look at Cassie’s assertions objectively.
The bricks had made him suspicious, but the gunman clinched it. The coffee he still doubted, but Cassie had been right about everything else, and she had known about Harrison. He didn’t want to believe that anyone who worked for him, anyone he trusted, could be Brad Harrison. It meant someone in his office had tried to murder him.
Luckily, Jim Mears was too old to be Harrison’s son. Ian sighed. He liked both young men and trusted them. He had trusted James Harrison, too. Damn. He slammed the desk with his fist.
Massaging his hand, he then lifted the phone and buzzed. “MaryLou, bring me the files on Bert and Justin.”
Within five minutes, she walked in carrying the two files. She stared at him, her eyes filled with questions. “What’s up? First you ask for the Harrison file and now the ones for Bert and Justin?”
“Just doing some checking. You did the background checks on both of them?”
“I always do. My notes are in the file.” She handed the folders to Ian, looking puzzled. “Is there anything you want me to do?”
“Yeah, could you run a credit check on Bradford Harrison?”
“Bradford Harrison? Jim’s son?”
Ian nodded. “I’ve got some papers of his father’s I’d like to return, but I don’t know where to send them.”
“Okay.” MaryLou looked unsatisfied, but said nothing as she turned and left.
Ian set the files before him and opened the top one, Bert Hansen’s. Bert graduated from Ohio State with honors in Accounting. He had worked for two years in a family owned firm before joining McLeod Enterprises. According to MaryLou’s notes, the owner of the firm and Bert’s professors all recommended him highly.
He flipped open Justin’s file. He attended Columbus State Community College. He still had quite a ways to go before completing a degree. He had worked in a series of fast food restaurants and had a stint as a pizza delivery driver. Like Bert, MaryLou’s note read ‘highly recommended.’
Nothing in either file looked suspicious or unusual. He tried to look at the data with Cassie’s eyes, but nothing struck him. He compared the dates of birth for both. They were the same age.
Ian studied the employment dates again. Bert had worked summers in college. Before joining the firm, Justin had taken a year off. His employment form said he spent the year traveling. A lot of young people got itchy feet.
Bert and Justin both had well-documented life histories. MaryLou had checked and validated them. He would never have hired them otherwise. After Harrison, he had insisted on even more care in checking references. He couldn’t believe Bert or Justin could be anyone other than themselves. The gunman had keys to the office, but that didn’t mean he worked for the firm.
Ian called Cassie Blake to report his findings. “Cassie, I can’t find anything odd about either of them. Justin took a year off, but his school records and references all checked out.”
She sighed. “I have this feeling. We’re close to finding out who Bradford Harrison is, but I don’t know what to do next.” She remained silent for a moment. “Do you have birth dates for them?”
“Sure, but how will that help?”
“I don’t know, but something tells me we just might find something. You can fake a lot of things, but the official records are something else.”
“Okay, but I think your chasing a wild hare.”
Cassie groaned. “Ian, that is exactly what this entire business is all about. Just give me the dates and where they were born.”
He flipped open the files and pulled out the application forms. He found the dates and read them to her. “They were both born in Columbus.”
“I’m going to check the birth records on three people: Bert Hansen, Justin Lord, and Bradford Harrison. We know the dates on the first two and I can try several on the last. Bradford is not such a common name. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“I think you’re wasting your time.”
“Well, if you have another avenue to try, do it. I know it’s a long shot, but I think it will tell us something. It can’t hurt to get the data.”
“All right, meanwhile, I’ll try to think of something else. And thanks, Cassie.”
“I’m doing this for me too. The sooner we nail this guy, the better. He knows who I am, and I don’t like that. I’ll call you when I find anything.”
“If you solve this, I owe you dinner,” he said. “The best dinner in town.”
“Okay, but don’t get your hopes up. I have a hunch, that’s all.”
“Your hunches have been pretty good so far. I’m happy to rely on them. Don’t forget dinner.”
“I won’t. I’d better go if I’m going to earn it.”
“I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Me too, bye.”
Cassie’s response buoyed Ian as he hung up the phone. He would be thinking of her, and to know she would be thinking of him made him glow. He and Cassie had a lot to talk about and none of it about Bradford Harrison.
Damn. They still had to find Harrison.
He wanted the puzzle of Harrison solved, not only for his own sake, but because he now saw Harrison as a threat to Cassie. He promised himself he would find a way to protect her. Nothing and no one would ever hurt her. She was too brave for her own good. The way she had pushed him out of the way of those bricks. He shuddered, thankful neither of them had been hurt. And that gunman. Facing a crazy man to save him. He didn’t deserve someone so caring and bold.
They had both been lucky, but they couldn’t rely on luck. They had to find Bradford Harrison and soon. One Harrison had almost destroyed his life. He wouldn’t let another finish the job.
Chapter Eighteen
Ian pushed his chair back from his desk and stood. He had to do something. He wouldn’t find Brad Harrison by sitting and brooding.
MaryLou looked up as Ian walked from his office into the reception area. “Here’s the printout on Bradford Harrison. Last address is in Princeton, New Jersey. No current activity reported, in fact, none for over a year. I’m not sure this is much help. Would you like me to send a letter to his last address?”
Ian studied the brief report. Well, it confirmed one thing. Bradford had gone to Princeton. Private schools were always looking for donors so they kept pretty close tabs on their alumni.
“Why don’t you try the Princeton Alumni Association? See if they have a current address. You might as well add this to the Harrison file.” He returned the printout to MaryLou. “Justin around?”
“I’ve got him making some copies. He’s in the workroom.”
Ian nodded as he crossed the office to the far door to the rest of the suite. When he established McLeod Enterprises, he had selected a five-room office suite with separate offices for two accountants and himself. MaryLou’s desk dominated the reception area. It faced the entry door and easily controlled access to both Ian’s office and to the entire suite. She kept the current files in the two large lateral files to the left of the entry door.
Ian opened the door to the general workroom with its files, storage cupboards, and the copier. He walked past the files, nodded to Jim and then Bert as he passed their identical offices on the outer building wall.
As he neared the copier, Justin glanced up. “Hi, Mr. McLeod. You want to make some copies?” He studied Ian with brown eyes that looked almost black.
Ian stopped in mid step. Black like the gunman’s eyes. Ian shook himself and the impression faded. Justin’s eyes looked more brown now.
“No, I just wanted a cup of coffee.”
He crossed to the coffee machine on a long counter along the back wall and busied himself pouring his coffee. How could he find out if Justin was Bradford Harrison? Trip him up in some way, but how?
As Ian walked, foam cup in hand, he mulled over what to say to Justin. He stopped when he reached the copier.
“Princeton’s a nice town.”
“Princeton? Ohio?” Justin gave him a quizzical look.
“No, Princeton, New Jersey, the college town.”
“If you say so.” Justin removed the copies from the hopper.
The plain answer nettled Ian. The seeming mundane nature of Justin’s noncommittal answer somehow implied more. Maybe another tack would work. He watched Justin remove one original, replace it with another, and then hit the start button.
“How’s the cycle doing?”
“Great, except I need to work on the brakes. Bert said he’d help.”
“That’s right. He has one too. You guys ever scare pedestrians?”
“No way — that’s juvenile stuff.” Justin stared at Ian, eyes wide. “Besides, the cops target guys on a Harley. Bert and I want to keep ours.” He turned back to his work.
The copy machine fell silent as the last page dropped into the tray. Justin removed the original and stacked it on top of the copies. “MaryLou’s waiting for these.”
“Here, let me hold the door.” Ian moved in front and opened the door to the reception area.
Now or never. “Brad,” Ian said just above a whisper as Justin passed, “the game’s over.”
The copies tumbled from Justin’s hands onto the floor. He bent swiftly and picked them up. When he stood up, he gave Ian a strange look.
“Were you talking to me, Mr. McLeod? I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
Ian studied him for a moment. Justin’s’ steady gazed implied nothing. He waited for Ian to answer. Ian saw only casual interest.
“I said, ‘glad the game’s over.’ The Bucks lost again.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve been studying so hard for my exam I missed it.”
Justin set the copies on MaryLou’s desk. “Sorry, I messed ‘em up, Miss Sanders. If you want, I can copy them over again.”
“Let me check them first,” she said.
Ian watched the two a moment longer. Justin lounged against MaryLou’s desk as she thumbed through the copies. He looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Ian closed the door. Had Justin been nervous or had he imagined it? He’d dropped those copies, and he didn’t deny having been to Princeton. He had dark eyes just like the gunman. However, that was just speculation — it wasn’t facts. Ian wanted something tangible to prove whether Justin Lord was Brad Harrison or not.
Ian sighed. He still had to talk with Bert.
As he passed Jim Mears’ office, he nodded to him, and Jim smiled back. Ian knocked at the adjacent open door to Bert’s office. Like Jim, his desk faced the workroom. Where Jim had his bookcase and worktable to the left, Bert had his to the right.
“Keeping busy, I see.” Ian slipped onto the side chair next to the desk.
“It’s that time of year.” Bert sighed and tapped the file in front of him. “I’ve just about finished with Quality Signs. Can I do something for you?” He studied Ian, a quizzical look on his face.
Ian took a deep breath. Might as well get it over with. “What do you think of Princeton?”
“Princeton?” Bert frowned. “I don’t know. They’ve never been strong in weightlifting competitions.”
Nonplused, Ian tried again. “I
meant as a school.”
“Well, it’s an Ivy Leaguer.” He eyed Ian again, before continuing. “Expensive. Good business program through.”
Ian wanted more. So far, Bert had merely said the obvious. “Planning to send your son there?”
Bert smiled. “I haven’t even got a fiancée yet, let alone a son. As a Buckeye, I’d probably send him to OSU. Closer and cheaper too.”
So much for Princeton. “Have a nice day Saturday?”
“Yeah, spent most of it working out. Getting ready for the competition. Only a few weeks away now.”
Ian sighed. He wasn’t getting any further with Bert than he had with Justin. “Ever try to scare pedestrians?”
“Once, when I first got the cycle, but my Dad almost skinned me alive. Took my cycle away for a month. I had to walk to work. I learned my lesson real quick. That’s kid stuff.”
Would Brad admit something like that or try to hide it? "Dangerous kid stuff.”
“Right on. Anyway, I’m getting tired of my cycle. It’s nice in the summer, but this last winter with all the ice, I had to ride the bus. COTA’s not the most convenient bus service. I’m thinking about getting a Lexus. What do you think?”
“Nice car, a little rich for my blood.”
“I’m talking pre-owned or a lease. No way I can’t afford a new one. ‘Course Harleys bring top dollar and get better mileage than some big cars.
Ian finished his coffee and tossed the cup into the wastebasket next to the desk. He straightened up. “Brad, the game’s over.”
“What? Did you say Brad?” Bert stared at him, his brown eyes wide.
Ian shook his head. “No, I said ‘Bucks, the game’s over.’ They lost again.”
Bert grimaced. “I know. I had a bet on them to win too. Maybe next time.”
“Yeah, maybe next time.” Ian stood up and stretched. “I ought to join you and Justin lifting weights. Can’t say I get enough exercise during tax season.”
“Hey, great idea. Why don’t you? We’re going tonight. Mondays and Fridays we have the place to ourselves.”
“Maybe next time. I still have some reports to clean up first. You two have a good one. And good luck in the competition.”