Death Opens a Window
Page 3
Wayne laughed. “Oh, I ain’t nowhere near ready to stop. You always hated PIs. Now look at you. You are what you hated. Pathetic.”
Fists cocked, Jeff was about to lunge at Wayne, but Emory stopped him with a hand to the chest. “Let’s go.”
After several tense seconds, Jeff relaxed his hands. The two PIs withdrew from the crime scene and returned to the hallway.
Emory looked through the glass wall at the TBI special agents conversing with the police. “What about Virginia?”
Jeff shook his head. “She’s just comforting a friend. She’ll be fine. Hopefully, she can get some worthwhile information from her.”
“Well, at least you got what you wanted.” Emory stepped in front of the elevator and stared at it as if the door would open without pushing a button.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t even want to take this case.”
“Are you kidding? Now I want it out of spite.” Jeff jabbed the elevator button to go up. “We’re going to solve it first so we can cram it down that smug asshole’s throat.”
“What are you doing?”
“Going to the roof before we’re banned from there.” Jeff glanced at his partner. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. I’m just not used to being kicked out of a crime scene.”
“It’s irritating, but this won’t be the first time. You’ll get used to it.”
Emory growled, “I don’t want to get used to it.”
The elevator doors opened, and the PIs stepped inside. “Why is the TBI here anyway?”
Emory hit the button for the top floor. “Because the victim is an employee of the Tennessee Valley Authority. It’s a federally owned corporation, so any potential felony that might be linked to it is investigated by the FBI. However, in recent years, the federal government has been pulling back on its oversight of the company, so the TBI has taken over investigations.”
They exited the elevator on the top floor and climbed the single flight of stairs to the roof. To their good fortune, the police had not yet cordoned it off.
Emory took a moment to snap pictures of every feature of the rooftop – from the expansive seven-foot ventilation system at its center and the sole access point through which they had just come to the empty flagpole jutting upward forty feet near one edge and the most prominent feature – a huge billboard that bisected one corner of the roof. The far side of the billboard protruded beyond the vertical planes of the building, making the hair product ad splayed within its frame more visible to drivers heading downtown.
Emory followed Jeff toward the side with the broken window, scanning the silicone flooring along the way for any evidence. As they neared the edge of the building, he stumbled and fell onto the three-foot-high metal railing that bordered the roof.
Jeff grabbed him and pulled him back from the edge. “Are you okay?”
“I stepped on something.” Emory glanced back for the culprit in his misstep, and he saw a translucent object in the path he had taken. “It’s just a rock.”
For extra security, Emory grabbed the barren flagpole positioned two feet from the railing before poking his head over again.
Jeff looked over as well and pointed to the broken window. “There it is.”
“No protrusions in the wall. It’s straight down to the sidewalk. How could he have fallen from here and then horizontally into that window?”
“Well, the wind certainly couldn’t have pushed him into the building.”
“No.” Emory backed away from the railing. “Assuming Corey Melton did jump from here, he was maybe two feet from the building on the way down. He weighed about 140 pounds, and the glass curtain walls in this building are laminated and tempered, requiring more horizontal force to crack than could’ve been exerted by his body if he had encountered a strong gust on the way down. It would’ve taken a tornado to push him through the glass from that short of a distance.”
Jeff thought for a moment. “What if he jumped out, away from the building? He could’ve been maybe six feet from the side on the way down, which would’ve given more time to build momentum if the wind pushed him into the window.”
“The wind still would’ve had to be super-strong, faster than the rate he was falling. No, I don’t see how he could’ve originated from here.”
“Then how did he do it?”
Emory looked around before answering. “I don’t know. Maybe the autopsy will tell us more. Until then, I suggest we proceed as if he were murdered while the trail’s still hot. If it turns out he wasn’t, nothing lost.”
“Except our time, effort and money.” Jeff pulled a vibrating phone from his pocket and answered. “Hi Virginia. You’re on speakerphone.”
Virginia spoke from the hallway near the elevator. “I’m going to drive Becky home in her car. Can I call you later to come pick me up?”
“Of course.” A biting gust of wind flew into Jeff’s unbuttoned pea coat, giving him the momentary appearance of hulking out. He clenched the lapels together. “What did you find out?”
Virginia saw Becky leaving the office and heading toward her. “I’ll tell you later. What’s that noise?”
“It’s the wind. We’re up on the roof looking for evidence that he jumped from here.”
“There’s no way.”
“You never know. Some people are good at hiding depression.”
Virginia held up an index finger to an approaching Becky and walked further away from her so she could talk about her husband. “It’s not that. He had a major fear of heights. He would’ve never gone to the roof of a skyscraper.”
“Then maybe someone forced him up here and pushed him off.”
Emory shook his head and interrupted their conversation. “That still doesn’t explain how he fell sideways into the glass wall.”
Jeff grunted. “The truth is, we’re at a loss, and that really pisses me off.”
Chapter 4
“They’re leaving.” Jeff held the door open a crack to watch Wayne and his new partner leave the TVA office on the fifth floor and waited to hear the elevator doors close. “Okay, let’s go.”
Emory followed Jeff from the men’s room. “How are we going to get them to talk to us?”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t make them answer our questions.” Emory tsked, unaware of the tic he had picked up from his father.
Jeff tapped Emory’s chest. “You know, that badge you wore was a crutch. In my years as a PI—”
“You’ve been a PI for two years.”
“Thus the s on the end of year. As I was saying, on the cases I’ve investigated, I never had the luxury of government-backed coercion to get information from people.”
“Then how do you make them talk?”
“I don’t make them. I help them realize they want to tell me what they know.”
Emory huffed. “From what I’ve seen of your interrogation technique, you just wing it.”
Jeff continued walking. “Maybe it seems that way to the untrained eye.”
As soon as he followed Jeff into the TVA office, Emory felt the weight of the air. The layout was similar to the space where the victim had died twenty-four stories higher, but a thick miasma of grief flowed around the maze of desks, cubicles and occasional walled offices. The staff was segregated into bands of two or three or four, peppered with disbelievers, mourners and condolers. A few of them shot curious glances to the PIs walking past, but no one stopped to question them.
Jeff whispered to his partner, “Ever feel like you walked into the wrong funeral?”
The buzz of multiple conversations muzzled the ringing phones destined for voicemail until one voice rose to dominance. “People!” called a fortyish blond man near the door to one of the offices. “If I could have your attention!”
As members of the staff circled around the speaker, so did the PIs, and Emory moved close enough to see his badge. “Darren Gleeson, director of generation resources.”
&nb
sp; Jeff crossed his arms and covered his mouth. “Our victim was manager of generation resources.”
“This is probably his boss.”
“And the one we need to talk to.”
Although accentuated with wrinkles that only deepened his handsomeness, Darren’s face was nevertheless blank. “I know this has been a difficult morning.” He faced the floor, as if looking for a dropped emotion. “Our team has been dealt a terrible blow. We’re all grieving, but the best thing we can do is work through it. Our grief will still be with us at five o’clock.” He waited for a moment before his staff’s inaction seemed to prompt a statement of clarity. “Let’s get back to work.”
While the others sauntered to their desks, the PIs followed the tall man to his office. Jeff called out before he could shut the door. “Darren, could we have a word with you?”
Darren kept his hand on the knob. “Who are you?”
Although he hadn’t moved to allow him entry, Jeff wormed through the doorway. “We’re private investigators, hired by Corey Melton’s widow.”
“Becky hired you?” Darren stepped aside to allow Emory inside.
As he passed, Emory noticed the man’s sturdy frame. “Yes.”
Darren ushered them to the guest chairs before sitting at his desk. “How is she holding up?”
“Distraught, as you can imagine.” Jeff shook his head. “Hearing that her husband’s been murdered—”
“Murdered?” Darren’s eyes widened at the word. “I just spoke to the TBI. They said it was suicide or an accident. I figured it couldn’t be suicide, but murder?”
Why does he do that? With a side-glance toward Jeff, Emory offered a clarifying statement. “Murder is just another possibility. The truth is that we don’t know for certain yet how he died.”
Jeff scowled at him before turning his attention back to Darren. “But based on some clues we’ve already discovered, we’re confident it was murder.”
Emory’s eyes followed the smell of the Starbucks coffee and wrapped sausage sandwich on the desk. “Oh, we apologize for interrupting your breakfast.”
Darren shrugged it off. “I had to drop my car off at the shop, so I didn’t have time to eat at home. I thought I’d be able to when I got in. Little did I know what I would be walking in to.”
Emory asked, “Do you know if Corey had any enemies or someone who might’ve wished him harm?”
“Everyone here liked him. Of course, we sometimes upset people in our catchment area.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jeff. “What was he working on?”
Darren leaned back, almost tapping the large window behind him with the top of his dark walnut chair. The sunlight darkened his features and silhouetted the back of the seat. “I don’t know if I should be talking to you about official TVA business. Some of the information is sensitive, and you’re ultimately civilians.”
Jeff slapped his desk. “You know, Darren, your staff thinks you’re an asshole.”
“Jeff!” Emory blurted, appalled by his remark.
He wasn’t the only one. Darren’s face teetered between anger and shock. “Why do you say that?”
Jeff waved his arm toward the door. “They’re out there devastated because someone they worked with and saw every day has suddenly died and under mysterious circumstances. Did you console them? No. You told them to get back to work.”
“I’m trying to protect their jobs. We’re working against a negative budget and a shrinking staff. Every department is having to meet higher productivity levels.”
“How productive do you think they’re going to be until they get closure for this tragedy? How many of them are wondering if his death was work-related and if they might be next?”
“Why would they think that?”
“We can’t tell you that without knowing what he was working on.” Jeff placed his forearms on the edge of Darren’s desk. “We can help you, but you need to help us first.”
Darren shook his head and pointed at them both. “Just do me a favor and get to the bottom of this quickly.”
Emory wanted to smile at Jeff, but he remained stoic. He did it. He got him to ask for our help.
Darren pulled up a file on his laptop and turned the screen toward the PIs so they could see a rendering of windmills dotting a small mountainside. “Corey was working on a windfarm we’re planning to build in Brume Wood.”
Emory examined the rendering for a motive. “What’s sensitive about a windfarm?”
“Do you know what we do here?” When Emory nodded, Darren got out of his chair and walked to a wall, where a large photo of a dam hung. “Franklin Roosevelt established the Tennessee Valley Authority in 1933 as part of his New Deal to pull America out of the Depression. It gave people in the country’s most poverty-stricken region jobs, and it brought electricity to Appalachia. Damming rivers for hydropower, like the Norris Dam.” He pointed at the picture. “Back then that was enough. It’s not anymore.”
Darren returned to his chair. “The TVA is deep in debt, and there are two primary reasons why. The number of customers in our service area has ballooned to nine million people, so we can no longer generate enough power to meet the demand. On top of that we’ve been mandated by Congress to increase the amount of electricity we get from green technology. To satisfy the demand and the mandate, we’ve had to import electricity from windfarms in other states. If the TVA is going to survive, we have to start producing our own green energy right here in Tennessee.”
“What was Mr. Melton’s role?” Emory held up his phone to take a picture of the rendering. “May I?”
Darren nodded his permission. “Corey was in charge of determining the optimal location for the windfarm and then securing the land for it.”
Jeff asked, “When you say secure…”
“Once he decided on a suitable tract of land, he purchased the private properties within that tract.”
Jeff opened his hands. “And if the owners didn’t want to sell?”
“We use eminent domain to oblige compliance. The land—” Darren was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in.” A slight, middle-aged man with half-moon glasses and dark, thinning hair entered. “Gentlemen, this is Frank Belcher. Frank, these are private investigators looking into Corey’s death.”
The man in the doorway pursed his face, deepening the lines of his forehead and the corners of his eyes. “Private investigators?”
“What do you need?” Darren scratched the edge of his contoured sideburns.
Frank retreated. “I’ll come back.”
“What is it, Frank?”
“I’m making copies of Corey’s files for the TBI, but there’s some sensitive information I’m not sure we should share.”
“Give them what they want. It’s the TBI for god’s sake.” As soon as Frank closed the door, Darren turned his attention back to the PIs. “I appointed Frank the interim manager this morning.”
Emory tilted his head. “Replacing Mr. Melton? That was fast.”
“The role is too important to leave vacant for even a day. I have people on my ass… Look, I really have a lot of work to get to.”
Emory rose from his chair. “We understand. Could we have a look at Mr. Melton’s office?”
“Why do you need to see his office?”
Jeff answered for him. “If it was suicide, maybe he left a note.”
Darren tilted his head. “Two doors down on the right. Before you go, I want you to know that Corey wasn’t just an employee. I considered him a friend. If someone did murder him, I want you to find out who.”
Jeff followed his partner from the office and whispered, “I wonder how many of those property owners resisted their obliged compliance.”
“We should find out.” Emory pointed to a closed wooden door with Corey Melton’s name on it.
Jeff twisted the knob and found Frank Belcher seated at the desk, pulling a flash drive from the computer. “Are we interrupting?”
Frank looked over his rims at
them. “What are you doing here?”
Jeff answered, “Darren asked us to look around the office for any potential clues. Your turn.”
Frank stood and held up the flash drive. “Corey’s files for the TBI.”
Jeff told him, “We’re going to need a copy of those.” When Frank’s mouth opened in apparent protest, the PI added, “Darren’s orders.”
“I have another flash drive in my desk.” With that, Frank left the investigators alone in the small office – about half the size of Darren Gleeson’s.
“Close the door, and keep lookout,” Jeff ordered before he hurried around the desk.
Even as he asked, “Why?” Emory shut the door to a crack just wide enough for one eye to see through.
“So I can look around for the ‘suicide note.’” Jeff put air quotes around the last two words and began rummaging through the desk drawers.
“People who leave a suicide note tend to put it where it’s easily found, not buried in a cluttered drawer.”
“Man, you have a lot to learn about cover stories.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this without a warrant.”
“We can’t get warrants. Remember?”
“Which is why we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Jeff popped his head up from behind the desk. “Damn it, Emory! Throw away the rules from your last job. This is how we solve cases.” He continued his search. “Besides, the boss gave us permission to look around.”
“Then why am I on lookout?”
“To keep you occupied while I do the dirty work.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Emory rolled his eyes and stepped away from the door. He scanned the room, taking a mental note of everything within the space – fluorescent overhead lighting, a large window behind the desk with the blinds closed, a chair behind the desk and one in front of it, generic artwork on the walls and a tall wooden bookcase against the wall at the side of the desk. Emory headed for the bookcase.
Jeff opened the last drawer. “I’m finding nothing. This guy had to have the most boring job ever, which means he had to be boring. I don’t know why Virginia thinks he was funny.”
Among the books, pictures and knickknacks on the shelves, Emory found an item of interest. “What on Earth is that?” He pointed to an animal skeleton mounted on a piece of driftwood.