by Glenn Rogers
Moffat looked at Lyell. Lyell gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
“Well, it might be the chairman, the CEO, the CFO, myself, maybe a couple of others. Only a handful of people could pull off something like that.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “It wasn't Mr. Lindell. It wasn't Mrs. Morrison. They’ve each been eliminated as suspects. How do we eliminate you, Mr. Moffat?”
He thought about it for a moment. I let him think. “Audit my books for the last twenty-nine years.”
I studied him for a moment. “Do you keep two sets of books, Mr. Moffat?”
“I certainly do not. I have not stolen from this company. I owe everything I have to Lyell Lindell. I would not steal from him.”
I said, “Perspective is an interesting thing, isn't it, Mr. Moffat. From Cole Jamison's perspective, he was not blackmailing Lindell Industries. He was being compensated for an attempt on his life and for the loss of his livelihood. And from the perspective of the one paying Jamison, he wasn't stealing from Lindell Industries, he was protecting the company from damaging information being made public, information that might have resulted in the loss of millions of dollars in stock value and revenue. Perspective is everything, Mr. Moffat. So when you say you did not steal from Lindell Industries, that may be true from your point of view.”
“I did not attempt to kill anyone,” Moffat said. “And I did not pay anyone to remain quiet about corporate secrets.”
I said, “That may be, Mr. Moffat. But if you didn't, who did?”
Chapter 50
“I don’t know who it was, Mr. Badger,” Moffat said. “What I know is that it wasn't me. Did Cole Jamison say it was me?”
“No.”
“Okay. Then do the audit. R & D has not spent the kind of money you’re talking about in consulting fees that cannot be accounted for.”
“I think you can count on a very thorough audit Mr. Moffat. Our goal will be to eliminate you as a suspect. In the intervening time, however, if you can think of anything that would be of assistance to us in this investigation, please let us know.”
I looked at my watch. The interview had taken twenty-five minutes.
“Thank you for your time,” I said.
Moffat stood, looked at Lyell and nodded, looked at June but didn't nod, turned and left.
When Moffat closed the door behind him, Lyell took a deep breath and said, “You're very good at your job, Mr. Badger. I'm sure your departure from the FBI left a considerable hole in the institution.”
“It did,” Alex said. “It did.”
“I'm wondering though, “Lyell said, “is it essential to hit quite so hard?”
June turned to look at him.
“Mr. Lindell,” I said, “whoever has been paying Cole Jamison also tried to kill him. That same person has sent two teams of men to threaten me and has sent multiple assassins to kill me. He has succeeded in having Julie Winthrop killed and now has someone else after me or June or both of us. We have to break this thing open before someone else gets killed. So, yes, I have to hit hard.”
He sighed and nodded, reserved to watching his people subjected to a rather severe questioning.
The sessions with Ben Simpson and Gordon Baker went very much like the session with Joel Moffat, except that Simpson got angry enough to say some unpleasant things and Baker got so nervous he appeared to be suppressing a gag. I was afraid he might vomit. They both admitted knowing about the mistakes and failures and to participating in the cover-ups. Unlike Joel Moffat, neither of them knew Cole Jamison. They denied paying anyone. They denied trying to have people killed. They were open to investigations and audits. They had nothing to hide. They pledged full cooperation and complete disclosure. Gordon Baker, however, pointed out that since he was CFO his reporting encompassed the finances not of a department or division but of the entire company. An audit of his books would amount to a full-blown corporate audit. It would be extensive and time consuming. As the CFO, preparing the corporate books, he had not discovered any irregularities. Whoever was paying Jamison, Baker had said, was hiding it very well. It would not be easy to find.
After Baker left Lyell's office, June looked at her father and said, “I'll handle the audits myself.”
Lyell stood and to June said, “We’ll both do it. This is my fault. If I had handled these problems as they occurred, we wouldn't be having to deal with this now and Julie Winthrop wouldn't be dead.”
“Dad, you were trying to protect your company. At the time, what you did seemed to you to be the best thing to do. Don't beat yourself up over it.”
He looked steadily at June and said, “That's a bunch of crap and you and I both know it.” Then he left his office.
June took a deep breath and shook her head. “I don't know if he'll ever be able to forgive himself,” she said.
I gave her a minute, then said, “So where are you going to start with the audits?”
“I'll hire an outside firm but also do my own internal audit, see if the two match up.”
“How long will the audits take?” I asked.
“Depends. Couple of weeks, maybe.”
I nodded.
“What are you going to do while I'm working on that?” she asked.
I didn't want to tell her what I was really going to do, so I said, “While you're working one side of the case, I'll work the other. I’ll see what else I can learn about Jane. That seemed to satisfy her.
When she stepped into the private restroom of her father’s office, Alex asked, “So how are we going to play this?”
“The first guys who tried to warn me off were Lindell Industries security guys. We can't assume that just because she's in the building, she's safe. I want you with her all the time.”
“No problem,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
“You didn't buy the learn more about Jane stuff?”
He frowned and gave me an, Oh please, look.
“I'm going to see if Monica has the time to do some impersonation work.”
“I seem to remember something in one of our academy courses about not making yourself a target.”
“Really?” I said. “I must have been absent that day.”
“Uh-huh. Just be careful. Remember, you owe me a dinner.”
“I think it's a lunch, isn't it?”
“You said dinner. It's a dinner and I intend to collect.”
June came out of the restroom. I said, “Okay, here's the plan. Alex is going to stay here with you while I'm out and about.”
“Wouldn't you get more done if he was working with you?” she asked.
“Protecting you is working with me.”
“But I'm not in any danger here.”
“Can't be sure of that,” I said. “Remember, the first guys who tried to warn me off were Lindell Industries security guys.”
She nodded grudgingly. “I'd forgotten.”
I smiled. I took out my iPhone and said, “Indulge me. I need a photo of you. May I?”
“Sure.”
She smiled and I took two pictures, one a head-shot and one a full body photo.
“What are you going to do with those?” she asked.
“I thought I would post them on my facebook page and tell everybody you're my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, right. I'm old enough … almost old enough to be your mother.”
I smiled. “A young man should always have a picture of his mom with him,” I said as I put my phone away.
She looked mildly annoyed.
“I'll tell you later,” I said, and headed out the door.
Chapter 51
Monica Nolan had been an MP in the army for eight years before she decided a military career was not her dream. She’d been a captain when she’d retired. I asked her once if she was a slow learner, given that it had taken eight years to figure that she didn’t want to stay in the army. She punched me in the stomach. When she left the army and opened her own investigative agency in Los Angeles, she went f
rom law firm to law firm and offered a half price special as an inducement to give her a try. My father's firm in Santa Monica was one that gave her a try, reasoning that in some situations a female investigator might be advantageous. That had been four years ago. She was now an established and respected investigator with a solid business. She and I had worked together on three previous occasions. We liked each other and worked well together.
I called her to see if she had time to help me out for a day or two.
“Sure,” she said. “Come on by. You can take me to lunch and we'll discuss it.”
Her office was in Culver City. It took me fifteen minutes to make the drive from the Lindell Industries offices. The building Monica's office was in sat well off the street and had a parking lot in front and on the left. I parked in the front, went into the lobby, and went up to the fourth floor.
Monica's office was half the size of mine—a fact that seemed to annoy her. Her no-nonsense but thoroughly cluttered desk was in the corner. Guest chairs that were a matching set but that matched nothing else in the office sat in front of it. To the right was a small beige sofa that was about as comfortable as sitting on an army cot. Monica was sitting behind her desk knitting. She didn't get up when I walked in.
“What's up, Badger?” she asked as I sat down in one of her guest chairs.
Monica was pretty enough to be a model. She was five eleven and looked like she weighed around one forty. A lot of her weight was in her prominent chest. Nice. She had red hair, green eyes, full lips, a perfect nose and straight teeth. But her looks were deceptive. She was a tough as the proverbial junkyard dog. I'd seen her take down guys twice her size. That was her MP training.
“What are you knitting?” I asked. Whatever it was, it was pink.
“Baby blanket.”
“You know someone who’s expecting?”
“No. I donate them to a group called Young Mothers. They help young single mothers.”
“That’s nice of you. How long does it take to make one of those?”
“A week maybe. Depends on how much time I have to knit.”
“They all pink?”
“Nope. Some blue, some yellow, some green. Just depends on what mood I’m in.”
I nodded.
“So what do you need, Jake?” She put the blanket aside.
“I'm in need of a fearless female with oodles of self-esteem.”
“Then you've come to the right place. But it'll cost you.”
“How much?”
“Lunch to start with. I skipped breakfast. I'm starved.”
“What sounds good?”
“Ford's Filling Station.”
“Let's go,” I said.
Ford's Filling Station called itself an American gastropub. To me, it was a bar and grill... a good one.
We each ordered a burger and fries. Monica had a lite beer; I had a Coke Zero. I asked her about her recent cases. One had involved corporate espionage, the other an insurance recovery job—stolen jewelry. Our food came and we dug in.
After a couple of bites, Monica asked, “So what is it you need me to do?”
I took out my phone and showed her the full body photo of June. She looked at the picture.
“I need you to be her for a couple of days. Ride around with me, be seen with me.”
“Why?”
“There's a contract out on me and I think on her as well.”
Monica studied me a moment. “And you want them to take run at us.”
I nodded and took a bite of my burger.
“I need more information,” she said.
I took ten minutes to give her a quick overview of the case, who Jane and June Lindell were, Jane's mysterious departure, the attempts to warn me off and to kill me, and the death of Julie Winthrop.
When I finished the sordid tale, Monica ate a couple french fries and thought about it. “Let me see the photo again,” she said, finally.
I gave her my iPhone. “There's a close up in there, too.”
She studied them both. “What is she, mid-fifties?”
“Thereabouts,” I said.
“The upper body is not going to match very well.”
I gave her my best lecherous look and said, “In some cases, the Lord giveth and he just keeps on giving.”
She smiled brightly, obviously proud of her endowments.
I said, “I'm sure your best effort at minimization will be sufficient.”
“How much are you going to pay me for risking my life?” she asked.
“Standard daily rate.”
“You're such a romantic,” she said. “When do you want to get started?”
“How about right after lunch?” I said.
“Okay, but you have to buy the wig and the clothes.”
“Deal.”
After lunch she told me to take her to the Westfield Mall. She could pick up everything she needed there. She went into the mall looking like Monica Nolan. She came out a reasonable facsimile of June Morrison. The chest was bigger, but not so much as to spoil the illusion.
We climbed into my Jeep and Monica asked, “Okay, where to first?”
“Out and about in Century City and Studio City.”
Chapter 52
As I pulled out onto Sepulveda, Monica asked, “What kind of a car were your would-be assassins driving yesterday?”
“White Mercedes C class.”
“And they knew that you made them?”
“Yep.”
“So they would have switched vehicles.”
“Maybe. Depends on how smart or arrogant they are.”
“Okay,” she said. “So we're watching for a tail, maybe a white C class, maybe not.”
“Doesn't get much easier than that, does it?” I said.
“But if they've already been tailing you this morning, won't they know June is back at her office?”
“Maybe. Depends on when they picked me up this morning. But even if they know you’re not June, if they've got a contract on me, they may still make a run at me.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“If they do,” I said, “what are you carrying?”
“Glock 17.”
I shook my head. “Ever a slave to fashion.”
“What are you carrying?” she asked, “that big .44 magnum you've got?”
“No. That would be overkill. I’ve got a .357. Taurus 608, with an eight shot cylinder.”
“Really. I haven't seen one of those yet. Let me see.”
I pulled it from my shoulder holster and handed it to her.
“Nice,” she said, appreciatively. “Good balance. Four inch barrel. A little on the heavy side. Weight cuts down on the recoil, though, doesn't it? Certainly get the job done.” She handed it back. “We ought to go to the range again,” she said. “We haven't done that in a long time.”
Monica is as good with a handgun as I am, maybe better. “That'd be fun,” I said. “Let's do that.”
We drove around Century City for a while, going in and out of a few buildings so it would look like we were working. I pulled into the Lindell Industries underground parking structure and we sat for thirty minutes. Within a few minutes of pulling back into traffic Monica spotted a tail. She'd had me adjust the right side mirror so she could use it to see behind us.
“White Mercedes,” she said. “C class. Made the same turns we've made for the last two or three miles.”
“I see it.”
“Want to take them out somewhere where we can double back on them?”
“Tried that the last time. They didn't go for it.”
“What, then?”
“Let's just be casual and give them an opportunity.”
“Casual how?” Monica said.
“Like stopping for gas. I'll pump the gas. You go in the store and watch.”
“How close should I let them get?” she asked.
“Not so close so that you have to kill them.”
“So you want me to make sure they don't kill
you, but you don't want me to kill them.”
“Right.”
“Why does everything have to be so complicated with you?”
“I'm just saying it would be nice if we didn't have to kill them. The LAPD's already got two in the morgue with my name on the paperwork.”
I pulled into a Chevron station.
“Two or twenty-two,” Monica said as she opened the passenger door to get out, “if they're trying to kill you, you've got a right to defend yourself.”
“This is true,” I said. “Bring me back a Coke Zero,”
As I pumped the gas, I thought about the three interviews earlier that morning. I believed all three men. None of them was paying Jamison and none of them had hired multiple people to kill me. But someone had. Who?
As I pondered the question, the weird exchange between June and Lyell's administrative assistant, Ms. Wentworth, crept into my mind. But just as it did, the pump clicked off. Just as I turned my head to look at it, a bullet tore through the window of my Jeep, burning my ear as it went by. I ducked as a second shot, fired almost immediately after the first one, exploded the window of the Chevron Extra Mile Store. The shots had been fired just a second apart at two different targets. That meant there were two shooters and they were after both of us.
I was hidden behind a gas pump, so I quickly put the gas cap back on and closed the little door that concealed it. Then I peeked out to see where the shot had come from. Across the street and down a couple of blocks I saw the doors of the white Mercedes closing.
I jumped into my Jeep just as Monica was arriving, gun in hand. She jumped in and we tore off after the Mercedes.
The driver of the Mercedes had hit the accelerator a couple of seconds before I did. The Mercedes was faster and more maneuverable than my Jeep, but I wasn't going to let little things like horsepower and time deter me.
Chapter 53
A lot of people involved in a car chase might head for the freeway, thinking that the higher speeds possible on the freeway would be to their advantage. Actually, that’s not the case. On the freeway, all you can really do is get on, go fast, and get off. The car following you can likely go just as fast. Losing someone on surface streets is actually easier than losing them on the freeway. The guy driving the Mercedes knew that. He stayed on surface streets and turned, first one way then the other. He was good. It was all I could do to keep from losing him. I had to run a couple of lights and cut through a parking lot to close some of the distance between us.