“That’s my basement,” Rick stammered. Suddenly, an off camera voice sighed and the camera shook slightly, causing the image to jump. An attractive, dark-haired man with striking blue eyes appeared in front of the screen. It was David Michaels. Unlike the few photos I had seen of him, he did not look his best in the video. His eyes were red, and his strong jaw line was covered in stubble. He was wearing a white, long-sleeved button-up shirt that was untucked and half buttoned. He sat down in the chair and sighed again. I glanced at Rick. On his face was the same unreadable expression he had had when we passed Sunset Park. Finally, after what seemed like a great deal of time, David spoke.
“Well, Audrey, if you’re watching this, something has happened to me,” he started. He paused and stared at the floor for a few moments before looking back into the camera with a pained expression. “I’m so sorry, Babe. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just wanted to take care of you and Ricky. I wanted to give you the best life possible. I—I’m so sorry.” David clapped his hand over his mouth and looked away again. After composing himself, he continued, “The reason for this tape is information. What you do with it is up to you. Martin Conway, the CFO before me, was murdered. It was not a random mugging. He was murdered for what he knew and what he planned to do with that knowledge.”
I glanced again at Rick. He was fixated on the tape, but his face was still unreadable. Turning my attention back to the video, I saw David stand up and begin to pace in front of the camera.
“Conway discovered there were a lot of discrepancies with accounting. Although the numbers added up for the most part, he realized a lot of the companies Hepstadt & Lower serviced were dummy companies. Now, I don’t know if I have ever actually explained to you what Hepstadt & Lower does, but we import and export electronics to large corporations. Mainly we deal in high-end equipment, and we have several military contracts, the greatest of these being a contract with Terresolide. Terresolide builds the equipment used in our military’s global-positioning satellites. We import a microchip for this system’s receiver.”
He sat down again and looked behind him, listening. When no one came downstairs, he continued. “Okay. So for Terresolide, we import a receiver component. They pay us for this service. Well, Martin Conway discovered that someone from Terresolide was selling us information about a new aircraft design being tested by our military. Theoretically, this technology would make our aircraft all but invisible to radar. This insider stored the information inside microchips that were returned with so-called faulty receiver components. We would then return these components to the countries where we initially acquired them with the schematics of this design.”
David stood up again and spoke more rapidly. “When I took over, I had trouble believing Conway was murdered in a random mugging. It just seemed too suspicious. His behavior had changed during the last few weeks of his life. He was . . . scared. I knew in my gut something was wrong. Despite this, I did my job, determined to do the best I could. I first became really concerned when they wouldn’t let Estelle continue as my secretary, insisting I use Janine Posey. I don’t want to sound trite, but I don’t like her and I’m uncomfortable having a former citizen of the Soviet Union answer my calls. Anyway, I did fix a lot of Conway’s mistakes and made some simple but lucrative changes that really helped the company. Still, the more I tried to clean up the department, the more things seemed off. I started working more hours because I was trying to figure out what was wrong. Babe, I know you were worried. I know I seemed distant when you got pregnant with Ricky. I was so excited that we were pregnant. I know I didn’t show it, but I just wanted to do a good job, to make things right.”
David sat down again and stared at the floor. “It wasn’t until I discovered a recurring bookkeeping anomaly in the 1985 accounting logs that I made the connection between Terresolide and the faulty components. Conway knew Janine and McCready would not notice the anomaly. I saw it in an instant. Our entire company was a snow job to sell military Intel to the Soviets. Around this time, Sam Johns with the FBI contacted me. He informed me that the FBI knew what Hepstadt & Lower was doing and that they had been watching the company for years. Unfortunately, they were never able to get solid evidence, and no witness ever managed to testify. Audrey,” he looked into the camera, almost pleadingly. “I agreed to help.”
My mind was spinning as David explained how he surreptitiously managed to collect copies of key documents over the next few years. All the late night phone calls were from Johns about the case. He didn’t want to tip the company off to his subterfuge, so he took his time over the next several years collecting data and continuing to help Hepstadt & Lower advance financially. He grabbed the back of his neck and rubbed it.
“I should have gotten out of this thing when I first discovered something was wrong,” he muttered. “But I just wanted to provide for you and Ricky. I agreed to help the FBI, not only for my sake but also for our country’s sake. I didn’t think anything bad would happen until that mugger stabbed me at Christmas last year. Then I knew the company was on to me. I don’t think they intended to kill me. Maybe they did, I don’t know. But that’s why I quit and moved us to Boston. New York wasn’t safe, and I wanted to protect you and Ricky. But this should all be over soon and, hopefully, if you never see this tape, everything went according to plan.” He smiled slightly. “I’m testifying to my knowledge about the company’s treasonous acts next Monday, July 17. After that, this will all be over.” He paused and took a deep breath. “If you do see this, something went wrong, and I’m so sorry. Please know that everything I did was for our family and to make a better life for you and Ricky. I love you both so much.”
From the background, footsteps were audible. David stood up abruptly and stared in the direction of the sound. A smile crept across his face as three-year-old Ricky walked into view. Ricky’s hair was messy, and he was wearing blue cotton pajamas with an image of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe on the shirt. David picked him up and threw him in the air before catching him and giving him a bear hug. Ricky giggled.
“What’s that, Daddy?” he asked, pointing to the camera. David sat down on the chair again and put Ricky on his lap.
“That’s a movie I’m making for Mommy. Say ‘Hi, Mommy!’”
“Hi, Mommy!”
David laughed again and hugged his son before addressing the camera again. “Audrey, I’m going to make a request, but please know that you are not required to comply. If you found this tape, there’s a computer disc with it. On that disc is all the information I’ve obtained about Hepstadt & Lower’s illegal actions. If you decide to do this, take the disc to Sam Johns at the FBI’s New York office. He’ll know what to do with it. If something happens to it, I have a hard copy of the most important documents stored at Estelle’s house in that photo album we gave her before she left the company.” He smiled sheepishly. “That might not have been the nicest present to give someone, but only I knew they were there until now.”
“I know, Daddy!” Ricky piped in. David laughed.
“I stand corrected.” His smile faded again. “I’m sorry, Babe. No matter what happens, know I love you and I’m always with you, no matter what. You and Ricky are my life. Okay,” he paused again. “Ricky, say ‘Bye, Mommy!’”
“Bye, Mommy!”
With that, the screen went black.
Chapter 25
My mouth felt dry. The tape ended, and we sat in silence. Although I was thrilled that I finally knew a connection between Hepstadt & Lower and a possible reason for David’s murder, the videotape itself had been difficult to watch. What made it even harder was watching it with Rick. He just stared at the television. I swallowed hard and glanced over at him nervously. I offered him my hand, and he accepted it automatically.
“I don’t remember that,” he said finally.
“What?”
He nodded at the screen
. “Him taping that, that event in my life. I don’t remember it.”
“Well, you were three years old.”
“I was three years old,” he agreed. “Three years old, and my father was murdered and for what? Some stupid microchips? I don’t get it. Why did he agree to testify? Why not just quit?”
I knew the answer, but I also knew that that was a rhetorical question. I knew that Rick knew the answer, too. David Michaels was a good man—honest, hardworking, and even patriotic. He could have walked away from the entire situation, but he cared for his country as much as he cared for his family. And as devastated as Rick was, I knew that, at some level, he was proud of his father. While we contemplated all that had transpired, I faintly heard the doorbell ring. We heard Ace stumble toward the door and fumble with the lock.
“Yeah?”
“Is Jordan James here?” a muffled voice inquired. I strained to hear, but the distance between the rooms and the closed door made it nearly impossible.
“Who?” Ace laughed. Suddenly, there was a strange sound. It sounded like a firecracker had gone off. This sound was followed by a loud thud which echoed through the apartment. In an instant, Rick and I were on our feet. Rick turned off the light and grabbed the tape from the VCR. I searched the room vainly for a place to hide. Outside the room, I heard shoes echoing on the floor and the sound of doors being opened. Before I had another moment to think, Rick grabbed me and practically carried me to the far corner of the room by the soundboard. Next to the soundboard was a thin wall covered in soundproof foam. Three of the walls had this soundproof foam but the wall contiguous with the door did not. It appeared Ace was still installing it. He pulled it back to reveal a small closet-sized room.
He brought me inside and replaced the wall, closing us in. We huddled together in the corner. Looking around I realized that this was the room in which Ace occasionally recorded. Suddenly, faintly, I heard the door to the media room open. I heard footsteps making their way around the room. After what seemed like an eternity, the intruder spoke.
“She’s not here,” the muffled voice stated. “Yes, she came into the building with Michaels’ kid. No, they can’t be far. Don’t worry. We know where their car is parked. If not before, we’ll get them when they go back for it.”
My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I didn’t hear the rest of the call. My entire body was rigid. Sitting in the corner, I prayed with every ounce of energy I had remaining that the unknown intruder would not think to check the walls for hidden doors. I felt faint, lightheaded. Had I not already been seated, I would have surely collapsed to the floor. I don’t know how long we sat there, or when Rick put his arms around me, but when my faculties began processing the situation, I realized he was holding me.
Had he offered such affection at any other time, I would have been both elated and concerned, considering what it meant and where things were going. I would have thought about Jon and Heather, my mother, and Alicia. I would have considered all these people and their feelings and how this event might affect not only my future but theirs as well. But at that moment, I was numb. I sat up slowly and silently and motioned at the door. Rick hesitated momentarily before standing up and walking toward the door. He leaned closer and listened. Walking back toward me, he whispered, “Stay here. I’m going to look around.”
“No,” I shook my head adamantly. “I’m going with you.”
Rick tried to argue with me but finally agreed. Quietly, he opened the secret door an inch and peered out. The light was still off and there was no sign of anyone in the room. Cautiously, he pushed it open further and stepped into the room. The entire apartment was eerily silent. The door to the media room had been left open, so I followed closely as Rick glanced down the hall. Breathing evenly, he stepped into the hall and walked toward the living room. My view of the living room was obscured as I followed him, and it was for that reason I didn’t initially see Ace. I jumped when Rick let out a pained cry and rushed over to the side of the couch. Once he was on his knees, I was able to see Ace.
Lying flat on his back beside the couch, Ace was obviously dead. There was a single bullet wound in his head, and a puddle of blood was beginning to coagulate beneath him. Rick knelt beside him, careful not to kneel in the blood. Despite the obvious wound and vacant expression in Ace’s eyes, Rick felt for a pulse. Gently, he closed Ace’s eyes before standing up and backing away from the body.
“He’s dead,” Rick muttered. Rick was overwhelmed by this development. I, who had only known Ace Larkin briefly and therefore had no strong emotional connection to the man, felt bad but was, at that moment, more concerned for myself and Rick. I carefully surveyed the living room. A half eaten sandwich sat on the coffee table. The doors and windows all appeared to be locked, but I realized how cold I was. I zipped up my parka as I walked through the living room and into the kitchen, checking to confirm that the intruder was, in fact, gone.
“It’s pretty cold,” I commented, shivering slightly. I glanced over at Rick. He was still staring at Ace. “Rick?”
By the time he finally looked up at me, my attention was no longer on him but on a small plastic box I noticed near the large mahogany fireplace. I crossed the room quickly and read the temperature. Someone had shut the heat off and turned the air conditioning down to its lowest setting. It didn’t take long for me to comprehend the purpose. The intruder wanted to delay decomposition. The colder the apartment, the longer it would take for rigor mortis to set in and, in turn, for Ace’s body to begin to decompose. This would give the intruder, should the issue ever arise, plenty of time to be in another place, most likely a public one, to establish an alibi.
This revelation caused me no concern, but what I noticed next did. There were a few items on the coffee table besides Ace’s last meal–a newspaper, Ace’s cell phone, and some other miscellaneous items. I realized quickly that one item was missing: Ace’s keys. I had noticed them when he made a pass at me earlier. The key ring had caught my eye. It was a plastic key chain commemorating the 1999 End-the-World Tour of his band, Tarnished. It struck me as narcissistic, even for a rock star, to carry his own band’s key chain around with him. Now, the keys and that chain were gone.
My heart began to race again, and my thoughts turned to my conversation with Henry O’Neal at the Constitution. Henry agreed with my conclusion that the scene of David Michaels’ car accident appeared to have been staged. As I surveyed the room, a theory I would have once thought preposterous began to formulate and actually seemed plausible. I dashed out of the room, raced down the hall, and retrieved the videotape from the hidden room. When I ran back to the living room, Rick was clearly out of his trance.
“What’s going on?”
“We've gotta get out of here,” I replied, shoving the tape inside my purse. I glanced around the room to make sure there was no evidence that we had been there. “Listen Rick, whoever did this to Ace is coming back here to finish.”
“Finish what?” Rick blurted out. “He’s already dead!”
“Yes,” I nodded, “but he turned the air down and took Ace’s keys. Your father was murdered and his body moved. He was moved to the Big Dig in order to destroy the evidence left by the killer and to create a plausible alternative for his death. That’s going to happen to Ace, too.”
“We can’t leave him here!” Rick protested. I took Rick’s hands and pulled him toward the foyer.
“Rick, we can’t worry about that right now. If you want any justice for Ace or your father, we have to leave. We’re not going to be able to show this evidence to the authorities if we’re dead, too.”
Rick hesitated. “Where are we supposed to go?” he said finally. “They know where my car is.”
I looked past Ace to the large windows overlooking Central Park. The blissfully serene winter scene outside contrasted with the macabre picture inside.
“We
need to go to Estelle Barnes’ apartment,” I decided.
“My father’s secretary?” Rick asked, perplexed. “Why do we need to involve her? We have the floppy disc and the tape.”
“That’s true, but there are two reasons I want to get those documents. First, if the disc is damaged and we can't retrieve the data from it, the paper documents will be the evidence we need to corroborate your father’s statement. Second, even if they are unaware of Estelle’s involvement right now, there’s no way to guarantee her safety if they think she is involved in this.”
Rick stood with his arms crossed. He stared at Central Park while I spoke. When I finished, he looked at me and then at Ace and nodded slowly.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Even if it weren’t to get those tapes, I still would want to do whatever I could to protect Ms. Barnes. I don’t want anyone else to die.”
He wasn’t suggesting that the blame for Ace Larkin’s death was mine, but I still felt enormous guilt as I glanced back at Ace once more before pulling the door to his apartment shut.
We made our way down the hallway slowly and quietly. Before we reached the elevator, Rick pulled me into a small hallway which led to a service elevator. I pushed the down button, and we waited in nervous silence for the elevator to reach our floor. When the doors finally opened, we hurried inside. Rick pushed the button labeled “P.”
“What’s that? The parking garage?”
He nodded as the elevator began its slow, quiet descent. “Yeah.”
“What is your plan exactly?”
Shifting his weight in place and keeping his eyes fixed on the numbers as they lit up, he said, “Well, you want to go to Estelle Barnes’ place. We can’t take the subway. We can't hail a cab, and my car's out of the question, even if we somehow managed to reach it.” He frowned at this thought. “So we’re going to borrow Ace’s car.”
Cold Ambition (Jordan James, PI) Page 25