The Body in the Building
Copyright 2020 Jane Stockwell
Published by Jane Stockwell at Amazon
Kindle Edition License Notes
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About Jane Stockwell
Other books by Jane Stockwell
Connect with Jane Stockwell
Acknowledgments
For Benedict, Laura, and Hannah.
Foreword
This was one of those ideas that started, as most things do, with a problem.
The problem I had is that with life, work, family, and still trying to build a profile as an indie author, I find it very difficult to find the time to write! I get frustrated when I know what I want to do, but don’t seem to progress as fast as I would like.
My (sometimes scarily smart) partner, Benedict, came up with an idea that was so crazy that it might just work. He suggested because I always try to maintain a presence on Twitter to build up a following and to make connections, that I write a story on Twitter, tweet by tweet!
The very first reaction I had to this was to reject it, thinking it was just never going to work. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made a kind of strange sense. After some more thinking, I embraced the idea, and here I am.
So how did it work?
I decided, as a starting point, that I would write a short story that follows on from my novella, “The Map in the Fortune Cookie.” It is not intended to be a sequel, you can read this book without ever having picked up “Map” and vice versa.
There were some challenges in writing this way. Unlike how I normally write, I couldn’t go back and edit and swap things around; what I tweeted was part of the story. This required a lot more planning as I needed to have story-boarded the whole thing out before I started to write.
The other thing is that each tweet needed to be self-contained. Not necessarily make sense in the context of the story, but I couldn’t write half a sentence and leave it at that. I had tested this idea once or twice already, by taking parts of another work in progress and condensing it down into a tweet or two.
Every time that I wrote a new segment on my Twitter profile, I appended it to the work in progress on my home page. There was no editing or modifying, just the story as I wrote it on Twitter.
In the end, the story expanded far further than I expected and grew from my original intention of a short story into a full novel. I decided to keep a hold of the ending and the reveal of whodunnit in the published version of the book. The manuscript also underwent a proper editorial process; when writing on Twitter, constraints on the length of each tweet also put an upper bound on paragraph length, which can make wording a little clunky.
So that was the crazy idea! I believe that the whole process was successful and achieved the goals I set out. It got me that writing time and the motivation to do so. And that was the whole point of the exercise.
Chapter 1
“You look like you really need this coffee, Nat!”
Rosie, the barista at the coffee shop near the office where I worked handed me a steaming cappuccino. She had started to make it when she saw me enter.
She was right. I had worked late. Again.
I took a sip of my coffee after I’d paid and started walking the half a block back to the building I worked in. My little trip to Rosie’s Café was the extent of my break for now. The stress and responsibility went with the job - I was the chief architect for a new shopping mall, and the pressure to progress construction was considerable.
I entered the foyer of the office complex and pressed the lift button. The doors opened immediately, so I stepped inside, swiped my access card and pressed the button for my floor. I sipped at my coffee absently as I rode in the lift, deep in thought. It had been nine months since my plans had been signed off, and the pace had been crazy ever since. Samuel Olsen, the owner of the project, was a hard man at the best of times, but he had the bit between his teeth and was determined to be finished.
Samuel Olsen had started from humble beginnings as a property developer to be one of the most respected and successful businessmen in the city. He was known for being uncompromising and hard-nosed, he hadn’t made his money by being gentle with those around him.
He had partnered with the firm I worked for, Andersons and Andersons, for every one of his projects for several years. I had worked on three of the last four construction projects, but the current one was his most ambitious to date. It was to be the largest shopping mall in the whole city – when it was finished.
There was a lot of money riding on the completion of this project and most of it was Olsen’s. It was little wonder that he was pushing everyone; until the mall was finished and tenanted, he saw no return on his substantial financial outlay. Every day the mall remained under construction cost him many thousands of dollars.
The lift doors opened on the second-top floor and I stepped out and walked toward my office. Pete Larson, my boss, looked up from the computer on his desk as I walked past, his tie hanging loosely from his unbuttoned collar and his sleeves rolled up. He looked stressed, which he did most of the time. It was rare for him to not arrive at the office early and leave late, much to his wife’s chagrin.
I sat down in my office and placed my disposable takeaway coffee cup on my desk beside an expensive reusable one I always forgot to take with me. Too much going on in my brain, I sighed to myself, not believing my resolve to remember it the next time.
Reaching into my bag, I extracted my laptop and plugged it into the docking station on my desk. I had barely logged in when there was a knock at my door. I looked up to see Pete standing in the doorway. He stepped into my office and took off his glasses, cleaning them with the end of his tie.
“Sorry to barge in on your break, Nat,” he said apologetically as he put his glasses back on. He leaned against the corner of the desk and gestured at the fresh coffee on my desk. "I shudder to think how many of those you've had today already."
I smiled at him. "You know that coffee is the most important meal of the day!"
“You’re only supposed to have three meals a day, Nat.”
“Ha! You know my brain operates on coffee, Pete.” Turning serious again, I asked, "What can I do for you?"
"It's the damned footings again, Nat." He sighed as he ran his hand through his thinning hair. "There's still water seeping through the concrete in the lower car park."
"Still?" I asked, surprised. "The geo survey cleared it of that clay deposit. Maybe surface water leaking inside the membrane?"
Just before submitting the plans, I had double-checked the geological surveys, as I had concerns about the location of the nearby clay deposits. The survey charts had shown that the clay deposit was a good fifty m
eters away from the construction area.
Pete shook his head. "Jack doesn't think so." Jack Myers was the chief engineer for the construction phase. "He's not prepared to write it in blood, though."
"I might go out to the site tomorrow and take a look. Best to know now if there's an issue."
"It's probably not a bad idea," Pete agreed. "I still think it's surface water given the lack of other possibilities, but it won't hurt to check."
My phone buzzed in my handbag. Pete said, "You take your call. Say hi to Dave for me." He winked and left my office before I could respond.
I fished inside my handbag to retrieve my phone. Pete was right, cheeky bugger. It was my boyfriend, Dave Forrester.
"Hey, you!" I smiled as I answered. Years earlier, Dave and I had a thing but it didn't work out at the time. After having been drawn together several months ago by circumstance, we decided to give it another try. Everything was looking very promising, Dave had moved into my apartment a month later and we were both happy with the arrangement.
"Hey lovely lady, are you coming home at a decent hour tonight? I've been missing you!"
Dave was an ex-cop turned private investigator. He often worked odd hours so he was obviously hoping for a rare night at home together. I was too, for that matter.
"I hope so, babe," I replied. "There's still an issue with the drainage in the basement. I'm going to have to go out there tomorrow and take a look at it. Pete's worried about it."
"Pete's not happy unless he's worried about something," Dave answered.
"Ha! Probably true," I laughed. "he's got every right to be concerned, though. His butt is on the line as much as mine and both of them will get kicked if there are delays or issues. Old Man Olsen is really applying the pressure, if he was watching this any more closely, he'd be sitting on my desk."
"I know,” he said. “Speaking of butts, get yours home as early as you can, ok? I'm missing it. And the rest of you. I'll even make dinner tonight!"
"Dave, we both know you could burn water, but I’d like that. I'll try. Better get back to it, babe. Let you know when I leave."
"All right," he replied. "I'll see you when you get home. Take care, lovely."
The call ended and I thought about how lucky I was to have found David Forrester. He was strong and dependable, and also one of the most thoughtful, gentlest men I knew. I was very glad to have him back in my life.
I checked my watch. Two o’clock. My boss, Geoff Anderson, and I had a progress meeting with Olsen at three o’clock.
It promised not to be fun. Not that Samuel Olsen was nasty, he was just a very astute and singleminded businessman who paid attention to his investments. Especially those in whom he invested trust. The firm I worked for, Andersons and Andersons, was one of them.
Andersons and Andersons had been founded as “Andersons Architects” by Geoff Anderson's father, James, some twenty-five years ago. When Geoff graduated as an architect a few years later, he joined the company and it was renamed to reflect the addition of Geoff as a partner in the business. James was all but retired now, and Geoff was considered the senior partner.
Three o'clock rolled around quickly, and I barely had time to finish preparing the reports I needed to present for the meeting. As I copied them to the network drive, the lift doors opened and Samuel Olsen stepped out with a purposeful stride.
Olsen’s imposing figure crossed the foyer towards the meeting room. He was dressed impeccably in a grey suit, crisp white shirt, and red tie. His aide, a young woman in a dark power suit with her blond hair in a severe bun, had to double step to keep up.
I met them both at the doorway to the meeting room. Ignoring Olsen completely for a moment, I said to his aide, "Is he making you run again, Sally?"
She grinned. "Always, Nat!" Sally was a quiet, intelligent woman with whom I had worked closely. I envied her flawless makeup; I'd barely had time to touch up my lipstick before the meeting. I sighed internally. I wasn't there to look good, I had a job to do.
"Ms. Shaw. Good to see you again." Samuel Olsen grasped my hand in a firm handshake.
Olsen was a man who believed in himself. To be fair, he had earned the right. He was self-made, coming from humble beginnings to be one of the most influential and richest business identities in the city. He also wasn't known to suffer fools gladly, and anyone who made a mistake didn’t get a chance to make another.
He gave a dazzling smile. His silver hair was carefully trimmed and there was no trace of a five o'clock shadow, even at this time of the afternoon. There was talk that he was considering a tilt at politics, and he certainly looked and acted the part.
I returned the firm grip and smiled, "Hello, Samuel." I gestured towards the door. "Shall we begin?" He nodded fractionally and we entered the room.
To my surprise, instead of Geoff, James Anderson was waiting for us in the meeting room, sitting at the table. He stood and grasped Olsen's hand.
I couldn't remember the last time that James had been present in a meeting, at least eighteen months, maybe more. He and Olsen had known each other for many years, but the job of managing his contracts had since passed to James's son, Geoff.
"Samuel," James said as they shook hands.
Samuel Olsen evidently wasn't expecting to see James either. "James. What a lovely surprise. You're looking well."
That was a lie. James Anderson had been ill for some time, and his skin was pale. His blue tailored suit clung loosely to his thin frame.
"No I don't, Sam, and you know it." Both men sat down. "But there's still a bit of life left in me yet. I just want to see one more project through before I retire. Or drop dead, whichever comes first. Either way, Geoff will then take over the firm."
It was distressing to see James look so unwell and to hear him speak this way. He was a good man and was always friendly and approachable. He'd been on my interviewing panel when I had first started with the firm seven years earlier. I liked him.
Olsen smoothly stepped into the awkward silence. "Let's not dwell on such morbid thoughts any further, James," he said with a disarming smile. "Shall we begin? I am certain that Ms. Shaw has much to show me with regard to the project's progress."
“Oh, I’m sure she has,” James answered. “Nat’s been working hard on all of this. She’s aware of the urgency of completing this project on time.”
“I would hope so,” Olsen replied, the practiced smile replaced with a hard expression. “I would be most displeased if anything causes any delays in the opening date.”
---
It was just after 5:30 pm when the meeting came to an end. Olsen was mostly satisfied with the progress we had made, but he made a point of picking on a few issues, just to keep us on the back foot. It was a tactic he frequently used to his advantage.
I walked back to my office, exhausted. The meeting had added even more to the mountain of work that I had to do. I unlocked my computer and scanned the list of emails waiting for me.
"Screw it!" I said to myself. "That's going to wait until tomorrow."
I rang Dave. “I’m leaving work now, babe. I’ve had enough for one day.”
"My Lordy, are you actually leaving there at a half-decent hour?" Dave asked in mock surprise. "Will the world end if Natalie Shaw spends some time with her boyfriend and not working?"
"Oh my God, I'm not sure!" I laughed. "Let's find out, shall we?"
"You're not bringing that bloody laptop with you, are you?"
"'Fraid so, babe. I need to take it with me tomorrow, and I have a few emails..."
"Stop right there!" Dave commanded. "If you even try that tonight, I will hack in and change your password."
As a private investigator and ex-cop, Dave had some rather interesting skills. I wouldn't have put it past him to be able to carry out his threat.
"If you touch my laptop, you are so busted," I laughed. "I'll try to leave it alone though, okay?"
"Best I'm going to get, I suppose," he replied. "All right, see you when you get her
e, lovely. Be careful driving home." He hung up.
I unplugged my laptop and stuffed it into its case before grabbing my handbag and walking out to the lifts and my car.
Chapter 2
I arrived home half an hour later. As I opened the door to my apartment, I was greeted by the delightful smell of Chinese food. I dropped my bags on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen, where Dave was pouring two glasses of red wine.
I stood on tiptoe to kiss him as he handed me one of the glasses.
"Mmm," he smiled. "I've been looking forward to that all day."
I kissed him again. "Me too." I looked around the clean kitchen. "Either you're the tidiest cook I know or you cheated."
Dave looked embarrassed. "Given I'm an even worse cook than you," he said, then winced as I hit him in the arm, "I thought you would prefer something edible tonight." He opened the oven, where a takeaway bag marked "The Peking Garden" sat warming.
"Ha!" I replied. "Well after that slight on my cooking, you can do the honors and serve it out!" I kissed him once more as I grabbed my wine glass and sat down on the couch while Dave was busy in the kitchen, piling the steaming noodles onto plates.
"How did the meeting with Old Man Olsen go this afternoon?" he asked as he grabbed a large bowl and poured pink prawn crackers into it.
"Ok," I replied, taking a sip of my wine. "He asked for yet another variation on the second-floor mezzanine level."
"He probably wants everyone to be able to see that bloody fountain in the main atrium. Grab my wine, will you?" Dave said as he sat down next to me, two plates in his hands. “Oh, and the forks!" he called out as I stood up and walked into the kitchen. My lack of skill with chopsticks was legendary and he knew better than to even suggest using them.
“Not this time,” I laughed as I grabbed the forks and the bowl of prawn crackers off the bench, then walked back to the couch. I put the bowl on the coffee table, gave him a fork and sat down again. “I’m more worried about the basement footing thing.”
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