The basement was a very awkward place to dump a body. To gain access, they'd needed to break into a secure site, but only after everyone had left. Then Walthers would have been led or carried down several flights of stairs in complete darkness.
No, the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that the killing was somehow related to the building or to Samuel Olsen. This was a very unsettling thought; I'd known Olsen for many years.
Did I really know him as well as I believed I did?
I sat back down on the couch with my coffee. Olsen wasn't exactly someone I would hang out with, but nor was he my first pick as an ax murderer. However, he was undoubtedly ruthless in business, and there were rumors of his possible future political career.
I had to concede the possibility that Samuel Olsen was capable of going to great lengths to protect his interests, both in business and politically. The question was, could he have killed or arranged to kill someone that threatened those interests?
The more pertinent question was, I realized, what had Walthers uncovered that was important enough to have him killed to keep it a secret? If I could find out what that was, the who and why would then be revealed.
But where would I start trying to uncover it? I couldn't go to the construction site, not that I expected to find anything there. The police would be searching the whole area carefully at this moment. Pete had also expressly forbidden me to work today.
I sighed. What was I even doing trying to solve this whole thing? The police were far more capable than me at that particular task and Detective Mark Symonds had obviously known the victim. There was no doubt that he wanted to find Walther's killer.
The thought of the slightly eccentric detective reminded me of his advice to check the contents of my purse. I had completely forgotten about my misplaced purse after finding the body. I grabbed my handbag from the bedroom and pulled my purse out.
I had already briefly checked inside the following evening, but now with the time to look properly, I laid the contents out on the bed. My driver's license and all of the cards were there, and the cash I was carrying appeared to be intact.
There was also a significant number of crumpled receipts for various takeaways, coffees and junk food that I'd collected over time. I was terrible at cleaning them out of the cash pocket. With a sigh, I started flicking through them. I checked a couple of the dates, there were a lot of them and they were all fairly recent. I really needed to spend less on cafes and restaurants and prepare more food for myself.
I was about to discard the rest of the receipts when I spied a torn corner of paper between a receipt for Thai takeaway and one for a bagel I'd bought the previous week. That wasn't in there before, I was sure. I drew in my breath sharply, dropping the remaining receipts on the bed and looked closely at the paper.
In untidy handwriting, as though the writer had been in a hurry, was one word: "GEO."
How on earth had that gotten there? Apart from when it went missing, my purse was in my handbag, which was always with me or in my office in a secured building.
I didn't recall anyone giving me the note, and while it was possible that someone had put it in my purse at work, I didn't recognize the handwriting. However, it was so untidy that Pete or another colleague may well have written it and placed it there.
The best way to be sure, I realized, was to ask. I took my phone off its charger and rang Pete, my boss.
"Nat!" he said, his phone obviously displaying my name from his contacts list. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you."
"Hey, Pete."
"I was going to ring you later on, but you saved me the trouble. How are you feeling today? I hope that you're taking it easy."
"I'm fine, Pete, just a little tired. Don't worry, I'm having a quiet day."
"Good to hear," he said, sounding relieved.
"So the reason I called was, did you happen to leave a note in my purse with the word "GEO" written on it?"
Confused, he replied," No, not me. Why?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I just found it in my purse now and wondered if you knew anything about it."
"Sorry, Nat. I have no idea. I doubt anyone here would have done it. Maybe Dave put it there?"
I hadn't considered that. "Oh, I'll ask him!"
"Well, you take care, Nat. Don't come back in until you're ready to. Old Man Olsen will just have to wait."
"I will be back in the office tomorrow, Pete. I'm feeling fine."
"Hmm," Pete replied in his best manager's voice. "How about you see how you feel in the morning and make a decision then?"
I sighed. "All right. But I really am okay."
“We’ll see,” he said. “I will let you go, Nat. Speak with you tomorrow.”
“See you, Pete.”
We both hung up. I hadn’t thought of the possibility that Dave may have put the paper in my purse. I didn’t think it was likely, but still worth checking.
I called his number. He answered after a few rings.
"Hey lovely, how are you feeling?" he asked.
"I'm good, babe. I'll be fine to go to work tomorrow."
"Good. What's up?"
"Listen, did you happen to put a note with GEO written on it in my purse?"
"No. Why?" He sounded suspicious.
"Because someone did. I already spoke to Pete and he said it wasn't him."
"It wasn't me either. Could it have been put there by mistake? Got caught up with something else you picked up?"
"Maybe. I don't think so."
"I know that after what happened yesterday you're feeling jumpy, but it's probably nothing. I know what you're thinking, but it's probably a coincidence."
"Maybe," I said, unconvinced.
He sighed. "Let me take a look at it when I get home, okay?"
For all his protestations and attempts to calm my nerves, I knew Dave would take my concerns seriously.
"Thanks, babe. See you when you get home tonight. Love you."
"Love you too, Nat. Be home around 6 pm." He hung up.
I tossed my phone on the bedside table and sat on the bed. Now that I had eliminated the other likely possibilities, there were really only two people left who could have put that note into my purse.
Elliot Walthers, or his killer.
The question was why?
Chapter 7
There was little I could do until I could talk to Dave or examine the murder scene again, so I busied myself with tidying the house. My mind was racing, however, trying to make sense of what the note meant and why I had been given it.
What did "GEO" mean? It was hastily written. If it was Walthers, maybe he wanted to make sure I found it, but the person who ended up killing him wouldn't. It would explain why my purse was where I left it, but away from where he was apparently killed.
On reflection, this was the only thing that made any sense. He must have realized his danger, written the note and hidden it in my purse where I would eventually find it, then trusted the darkness to conceal it. If he was investigating Samuel Olsen, he would have known who was working with him on this project. My drivers' license was in my purse so he would have immediately known who I was.
That meant the note was intended for me and that it would make sense to me.
If only it did.
I heard the rattle of a key at the front door before it opened and Dave came inside. I looked at the clock in the living room. Four o’clock.
"Hey babe, you're early!" I said as I stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss.
"Yeah, I was going to meet with Elliot's widow this afternoon, but the police called her in to make a statement about his death," he replied, kissing me back. "Not that they think she had anything to do with it, but it's standard procedure."
"The poor woman," I said. "It's bad enough losing her husband, but then having to prove that she wasn't the one who killed him."
"Don't worry, the police are very sensitive in cases like this. They'll make it as easy as they can for her." Dave was an ex
-cop and knew the procedures well. He still had a lot of friends on the force so he tended to be better informed than most.
He had also been investigating Walther's disappearance prior to his death so was closely following the case.
"Oh, I spoke to that detective, Mark Symonds, this morning," he called out as he put his keys and wallet and the bedroom. "Seems pretty old school. Suspicious type." He walked back into the living room. "He asked me a few questions about you."
I sat up in my seat. "My God," I exclaimed. "Does he think I'm a suspect?"
"I don't know," he confessed. "He fed me the standard "following all lines of inquiry" bullshit. I made sure he knows we're together so he can't claim obstruction of justice."
Dave sat down beside me. "He clammed up after that but told me that he'd read the file on the fortune cookie case and he'll want to speak to you again."
"He seemed nice when we spoke yesterday," I said, upset that I was suspected of being involved.
"Well, he's a cop," Dave replied. "Everyone's a suspect, even if he's being nice to them. It's one reason I left the force. A good cop is always on duty and nobody is above suspicion. It's not personal, it's just the job. I couldn't keep doing that."
"I can understand that," I murmured. Dave had never spoken much about why he'd quit the police force. When we'd last been together, he had been newly promoted from uniform to detective and under a lot of pressure. No wonder the relationship had failed then.
"You've done nothing and hopefully Symonds will realize that sooner rather than later," he said. "He's just doing his job." He leaned forward. "So anyway, show me this note that you found."
I took it from my pocket and handed it to him. "Here."
He took it carefully in his fingertips, closely examining it. "Damn, it's been in heavy moisture. That will have screwed up any chances of getting fingerprints off it."
"My purse was lying next to a puddle in the basement," I replied. "Sorry."
"Not your fault. I wasn't really expecting to get any." He held it out and read aloud, "GEO. What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know," I said, "But someone seems to think I should." I explained my theory that the note was specifically for me.
Dave listened carefully, then nodded. "I think there is a good chance that you're right. It was a stroke of luck for Elliot that you lost your purse, and presented an opportunity to pass his information to someone in case something happened to him."
"Which it did," I said sadly.
"Yes. But that now makes you as the person most able to help solve his murder."
"I am? How?"
"Because for whatever reason, Elliot, fearing for his life, chose to give YOU one word that would mean something to you. GEO."
"But I don't know what it means."
"Stop trying to frame it in terms of Elliot and his murder. If you heard the term “geo” in your job, what would it mean?"
"Well, normally it refers to geological surveys."
"So assume it's about geological surveys."
"But..."
"No buts. Why would Elliot be interested in geological surveys?"
I thought a moment. "Normally, they are used to check for stability of the ground prior to the design and approval of a construction project."
Suddenly, horror washed over me. I now knew what Walthers had found, and what had gotten him killed.
"Oh shit, Dave! I exclaimed. "I think Elliot found something, something big that could jeopardize the whole Olsen construction project."
Dave stared at me, confused.
"You know the seeping water problem in the lower basement I've been investigating? I think it's related. I think Elliot uncovered something in the geological reports."
My voice shook. "I think Samuel Olsen killed him."
Chapter 8
For what seemed an eternity, Dave looked at me in shock. At last, he found his voice and said, “Samuel Olsen!?”
“Yes,” I replied. “It has to be related to the building somehow.” As I spoke, the more conviction I felt in my hypothesis. “The location of the body and the note left for me. They both point to there being some connection. And any delays on this project would cost Olsen significant money. If Walthers found evidence of that, it would screw up Olsen's political aspirations.”
"Jesus, Nat, if you're right, then this could be huge."
"Yes."
"There's only one problem."
"What's that?"
"So far, everything is circumstantial. What actual evidence do we have that Olsen is involved in any of this?"
I paused. Dave was right. If we tried to take what we had to the police, they would almost certainly tell us to go away and stop bothering them. Or worse, if Detective Symonds did suspect me of being involved somehow, he may dismiss it simply as trying to deflect blame from myself.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"We need to find out what it was exactly that Elliot found, then take that to the police."
"Need I remind you that Elliot got killed over that piece of information?"
"True. But do we have a choice?"
"Not really, no."
"That's pretty much the conclusion I came to as well."
"So where do we start? Aside from not getting killed."
"Elliot thought something was wrong with those geological reports. If we find out what, we'll have something concrete to take to the cops."
"I have a definite reason to go back to work tomorrow now. All of our geo surveys and reports are there."
"Can you get to them from here?"
"No, there are physical and digital copies, but the digital copies aren't accessible remotely."
"Oh?" Dave was surprised. "Not even via the VPN?" he asked, meaning virtual private networks, used for secure remote access to corporate systems.
"Well, they are, but they're considered intellectual property and require higher privileges than I have."
"Then if Olsen somehow tampered with them, how did he gain access?"
"With the money and resources he has available, couldn't he have hired someone to break through our security? We're architects, not the military."
"What about the physical copies?"
"Same thing. We have a simple swipe card system and the lower floors are tenanted. It's a big building, the security guards don't know everyone who comes and goes, even at odd times of the day or night."
Dave laughed humorlessly. "So what you're saying is that the security measures are enough to keep out an honest criminal, but someone determined will find a way in."
"Isn't that the situation for most places?"
"More than most people realize, yes."
"That's comforting."
"Most crimes are crimes of opportunity. An unlocked door, an open window, a moment's inattention. Unless you have the resources, then the security that most places have is more than enough."
"Samuel Olsen has the resources."
"That may be so," Dave said. "But does he have the triad of means, motive, and opportunity?"
"Ooh, you've gone all detective-y on me!" I smiled. "I think we agree he could have means and opportunity."
"Yes. But what about motive? That's the big one."
Just then, my phone rang. I reached forward and picked it up from the coffee table. The screen showed the caller as an unlisted number.
"Natalie Shaw," I answered cautiously.
"Ms. Shaw. It's Detective Mark Symonds, we met yesterday."
The first name basis from the day before had evaporated. "Yes, Detective, of course I remember. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if we could meet in the morning for a chat. There are a few details I would like to discuss further with you."
"Of course. I am more than happy to help in any way I can."
"Could you come by the station in the morning, say around 9:30?"
"I'll just have to let my boss know, but that shouldn't be a problem."
"Great. Speak then." Th
ere was a click as he hung up.
I looked at Dave as I put my phone down. "That was Symonds."
"I gathered."
"He wants to talk to me in the morning at the station."
"Did he say why?"
"No, nothing at all."
"I'm sure it will be fine. You did find the body, after all."
"I know, it's just a feeling. Like he thinks I'm involved in all of this somehow."
"As I told you, he's old school and the suspicious type."
"I know, but when we spoke yesterday, he was quite relaxed and open with me. Just now, he seemed… tense."
"That's hardly surprising under the circumstances. I'll bet he got chewed out for holding up construction this morning, cordoning off the whole site as a crime scene. Olsen would have been pissed."
"I'm sure my bosses weren't exactly enthused either.” While Geoff Anderson, one of the partners in the business and my boss, would have no doubt been sympathetic and concerned about the death of Elliot Walthers, he also had a business to run. Any delays in its completion also meant a delay in the final payment to the firm.
"See? You're worrying about nothing."
I shook my head. "I don't know, Dave. I just have this feeling we need to get to the bottom of this and fast. That evidence of Olsen's involvement could very well save me from being accused of murdering Elliot."
Chapter 9
The next morning, I drove to the police station to meet Detective Mark Symonds. After my call with him the following evening, I rang Pete Larson, my manager, to let him know I would be late for work. He had, no doubt, expected this possibility.
"Not a problem, Nat," he'd answered. "The police are trying to get to the bottom of this horrific situation, and they need as much information as they can get."
"Thanks, Pete," I'd replied. "Not that I expect I can give them much, but happy to help."
"Take your time, it was a nasty shock for you. For all of us, but well, we weren't there to see it. You were. We’ll see you when you come in." He then hung up. Despite his words, I knew he was shielding me from significant pressure to get the project completed.
The Body in the Building Page 4