Innocent Conspiracy_A Sam Prichard Mystery

by David Archer

  “Mr. Wilson,” Jade said. “I was looking forward to meeting you. I understand it’s your job to keep track of all the money this company makes. From what I see, that must keep you pretty busy.”

  Wilson laughed. “More than you can imagine,” he said. “Between them all, my bookkeepers have to keep track of thirty-seven individual revenue streams, which range from advertising to merchandise sales to production services and several other things that I don’t even understand. It doesn’t matter, though, because all the money that comes in has to be carefully accounted for. Uncle Sam gets really upset if he thinks you’re hiding any of it.”

  “I can imagine. So, just what kind of total dollar amounts are we talking about?”

  “This is the part where everybody looks at me like I’m crazy,” Wilson said. “That’s because it’s very difficult for most people to believe the kind of money that can be made on the internet. However, when you’ve got approximately forty-two million pairs of eyeballs looking at your website each day, an awful lot of businesses want to be placed in front of those eyeballs. Each pair of eyeballs will see an average of twenty-three different advertisements each time they come to the website, and most of them come back several times each day. That can give you as many as 1.6 billion ads served each day. At an average cost of one tenth of a cent each, we’re looking at roughly one million, six hundred thousand dollars per day in advertising revenue alone. Merchandising can generate another two hundred thousand per day, as many of those people browse through our gift shop online and decide there’s a poster or something they simply can’t live without. When you add in every stream of revenue, we end up with a total of close to 2.2 million dollars per day.”

  Jade’s eyes were wide, and Stacy’s were about to pop out.

  “Are you serious?” Jade asked. “That’s over eight hundred million a year.”

  Wilson nodded. “Yes, and those are just averages. During the week of the quarterly awards, and the two-week period around the annual awards show, those numbers will triple or even quadruple. What it boils down to is a fairly regular annual revenue of slightly over one billion dollars.”

  “Wow. No wonder you’ve got such a beautiful building downtown.”

  “Oh, but we haven’t discussed the overhead,” Wilson said. “There are over two hundred and twenty employees in the company, and that adds up to a payroll of about twenty million a year. That’s not counting the top executives, who can take home another forty million between them. We’ve got our own advertising bills to pay, which adds up to several million dollars each year, and there’s an incredible amount of travel involved. With the cost of our servers and the bandwidth necessary to be able to stream live video the way we do, we spend another six to eight million a year. Altogether, counting building and equipment costs, travel, servers, bandwidth, employees, taxes, and everything, the company net each year gets cut down to about three hundred and fifty million dollars.”

  “Is that all?” Stacy asked, her face deadpan. “I could live on that.”

  “A bunch of us could,” Jade said. “That’s some serious net profits. Maybe I should be in the internet business.”

  Wilson laughed. “Well, now that you work here, you are,” he said. “And while it can be quite an adventure, I should probably warn you to buy stock in your favorite aspirin company. Believe me, you’re going to get a lot of headaches from now on.”

  10

  Sam went back to his office and started writing his own report, detailing the conversations he had with Charlie Barr and Patricia LeClair. He was almost finished when Jenna announced that Karen Parks was there. Sam told her to send her in.

  “So,” he said, “what’s going to happen with Mr. Barr?”

  “John Pemberton says he may decide to charge him as an accessory to the shooting,” she said. “On the other hand, he’s doing his best to cooperate. If he does face charges, John’s probably gonna go for a plea bargain that will keep him out of prison.” She grinned and winked. “I told him you’d appreciate that.”

  “I’m not sure John wants to do me any favors,” Sam said. “He was trying to get me to come to work for him when I took this job, but he wanted me to go after corruption in the police department. I didn’t really want to do that, considering just how many dirty cops have already tried to kill me before. The way I see it, that would’ve shortened my life expectancy and put my family at risk.”

  “Damn right it would,” Karen said. “If you ask me, you were extremely lucky with the last couple cases you dealt with on that. Lemmons in particular wanted you dead, and I’m not sure Carl Rivers wasn’t trying to kill you. Hell, Forsyth shot me in the ass, remember that? If you’d taken that job, I would’ve been staying as far away from you as I possibly could.”

  Sam chuckled. “Can’t blame you,” he said. “Anyway, at least we know who was on the inside. Any information on the Prius?”

  “Michaelson Auto Rental has a dark red Prius that seems to be the one we’re looking for. We went through their rental records already, looking at everyone who rented it during the time period Charlie’s talking about. It was out every day around that time, but only one name didn’t check out, Henry Yenko. He fits the general description Charlie gave us, tall and bald-headed, so we’re pretty sure it’s him. Unfortunately, the name comes back to a man in Clearwater, Florida, who hasn’t been anywhere near Denver in years.”

  “Rental company get a copy of the driver’s license?” Sam asked. “They usually do. Any chance it had our guy’s actual photo on it?”

  “They got it, and we got it. It does show a bald man, but there’s no way to know if it’s the same guy or not. Unfortunately, Michaelson doesn’t have security video in their office, so there’s no way to be sure if we’ve got the right guy or not.”

  Sam looked at her for a moment, then picked up his phone. He called Indie and asked her to look for cameras close to where Michaelson’s office was located.

  “Yep,” she said. “I’ve got a traffic camera right there on that corner, and the bank across the street has a security camera on the drive-thru lanes that’s pointed almost exactly at Michaelson’s front door. What am I looking for?”

  “Karen, what was the date when they rented the car?” Sam put the phone on speaker so Indie could hear her response. “You’re looking for a tall man with his head shaved. Probably has a thin young woman with him. I don’t know how they got there, but they left in a dark red Toyota Prius.”

  “Okay,” Indie said. “The bank uses Laredo Security Video Services, and Herman already has a backdoor into them. Give me a few minutes to find the archives and track down the right date. Any idea on a time?”

  “Yeah,” Karen said. “It would’ve been between 10:05 and 10:15 that morning.”

  “Okay, that narrows it down. Hang on, I’m getting there. Got the right date, but this thing stores video in three-minute increments. I’ve gotta pop a few open to get the time stamps. Okay, here we go. I see a taxicab dropping off a man who looks like he’s got his head shaved, and yes, there is a young woman with him. They went directly inside the building, so I did not get a good look at his face. I’m skipping ahead, looking for when they came out. There they are! Oh, that couldn’t be better if they had posed for it. I’m sending you a link to the video, Sam, but I’m also sending you a really nice still shot of both their faces. And before you ask, I’m going to run them through every facial recognition database Herman can find.”

  The computer chimed in front of him, and Sam opened the email. He downloaded the attached photo and looked at it, then turned the monitor so Karen could see it.

  “Thanks, babe,” Sam said. “You are definitely the best.”

  “Sure, sure,” Indie said. “I bet you say that to all the hacker girls.”

  “Nope,” Sam said with a grin. “Only the one I married. Love you, babe, talk to you soon.”

  They hung up and Sam clicked the link to the video. They saw the front of the Michaelson building, and then the couple
stepped out. For a brief second, they were looking straight at the camera, but Sam was quite certain they didn’t realize it.

  “Send me that picture,” Karen said. “I want to get an all points out on them right now.”

  Sam forwarded the email, then printed out the photo and picked it up. He stared at it for a moment, then shook his head.

  “What’s that about?” Karen asked. “Why are you shaking your head?”

  “I don’t know,” Sam said. “I guess they kind of look familiar. Probably just reminds me of someone I’ve known in the past, but I would almost swear I’ve seen both of them before.”

  He opened the email on his phone and downloaded the picture again, then sent it by SMS to all of the investigators. He included the note that these seemed to be the people who had gotten the cue sheet from Charlie, and the woman appeared to be the same one who had installed the remote control rifle.

  “Well,” Karen said, “at least we have faces. Maybe Indie will get lucky, and we’ll have names to put to them soon.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Sam said. “The sooner we close this case, the happier I’ll be.” He looked at Karen for a moment, then leaned across the desk toward her. “Karen, Beauregard says somebody close to me is likely to die on this case. He can’t tell me who, but I’m asking everyone to be very, very careful. That includes you.”

  The detective stared at him for a moment. “Sam, if anybody but you told me an old Confederate ghost said that, I’d say they were crazy. Unfortunately, I’ve seen too many of Beauregard’s predictions come true. Trust me when I say I’m going to be very cautious.” She got out of her chair, then stopped and looked at Sam. “Sam,” she said. “If anything did happen to me, you’d watch out for my kids, right?”

  Sam nodded solemnly. “You know I would,” he said. “And you’d keep an eye on Indie and my kids if it were reversed.”

  She nodded once, then walked out the door.

  Steve and Walter came in about twenty minutes later, and Steve shared with Sam his conversation with Max Petrelli. When he mentioned Max’s comments about the other award programs, Sam’s ears perked up.

  “I’m leaning toward them,” he said. “Nobody hates competition like your competition.”

  “Well, maybe we’re onto something,” Steve said. “I’d like to be able to prove that it was the company they were after, and not Max. Walter thinks the poor kid is blaming himself over this, for some reason.”

  “Human nature,” Sam said. “When something bad happens, we naturally have a tendency to believe he must’ve deserved it, even if we can’t remember what we did to cause it.”

  *

  Wendy had just finished doing her stand up on the wedding they had covered, and she and Harvey were working to pack everything up. He stowed his equipment and they got into the van. The clock on the dashboard read ten fifteen. “We’ve got a couple hours before our next assignment,” Harvey said. “Anything you want to do till then?”

  Wendy smiled. “I could use some fresh coffee,” she said. “How about you?”

  He shrugged. They were free between assignments, so he nodded and said, “Sure. Where to?”

  “Let’s go over to Jefferson Boulevard,” she said. “I know a little place there that’s awesome!”

  “Jefferson Boulevard it is,” he said, and put the van in gear. “Which intersection?”

  “Just hit Jefferson Boulevard and go south about a half mile, you’ll see it.”

  Harvey drove, but part of his mind was on the pretty girl beside him. He’d known a lot of pretty girls, but this one was something special, he thought. Now, the only question was whether she would find him as interesting as he found her.

  They got to Jefferson Boulevard, and he turned left to follow her directions. He’d just gotten straightened up in his lane when, just ahead, a semi truck came barreling out of an industrial complex and headed straight across the street at about forty miles an hour. Harvey saw, too fast to make a turn onto the street, and then he realized that the driver was slumped over his steering wheel. He slammed on the brakes to avoid becoming part of the wreck that was about to happen, and stared.

  The truck flew past the front of the van, barely missing a small car where two kids could be seen in the back seat, and crashed into the wall of an empty warehouse on the other side of the road. Harvey threw the van into park, and reached up to his neck to shove his headset up onto his ears, then turned on the transceiver that connected him to the production room as he bolted out of the van.

  “Production!” he shouted, “this is News Seven, and we’ve got a semi truck that just crashed into a building on Jefferson Boulevard! We’re gonna roll on it, roger?”

  “Roger, Seven, roll footage! Get it, guys!”

  He turned to Wendy and said, “Get ready, I’ve gotta mic you fast, we need to get camera on this now!”

  “Just a minute,” she said, and was out of the van and running toward the car that had almost been crushed. Harvey jumped into the back of the van and got her mic and earpiece, then grabbed his camera and went out the side door, running after her.

  The woman in the car was crying hysterically, and Wendy was trying to calm her, telling her that she was okay. Harvey shoved the mic and earpiece at Wendy. “Get these on, or we’re not gonna be okay! Come on, this is news, let’s get it!”

  She took them and put the earpiece in, then stepped to the middle of the road. All the traffic had come to a stop, and the crashed truck and crumpled wall could be seen behind her.

  “We’re hot, and go!” Harvey yelled, and Wendy looked into the camera.

  “This is Wendy Dawson, reporting for Channel Six News. I’m standing in front of an abandoned warehouse in the eight hundred block of Jefferson Boulevard, where a semi truck has just crashed through the wall and into the building, narrowly missing a car with children in it. We don’t know the cause of the accident as of yet, but it appeared that the truck driver was slumped in his seat, and may have been unconscious. I can hear sirens now, as police and fire trucks are responding already, and there’s an ambulance just coming around the corner. We’ll stay here and keep you updated as we learn more!”

  “Excellent, excellent, excellent,” they heard through their earpieces. “Camera, keep rolling, stay on that truck!”

  “I’m on it,” Harvey said, “and here’s the cops, now!”

  Harvey kept the camera rolling as four police cars, a fire engine, and an ambulance roared up to the scene, and Wendy waited until one of the officers began directing traffic before she stepped up to him.

  “My cameraman and I were here when it happened,” she said. “It looked like the driver just collapsed onto his steering wheel. He was moving pretty fast, there was no way he could have stopped.”

  The officer looked at Harvey. “You didn’t happen to get it on camera, did you?” he asked, but she shook her head.

  “No, we got the camera out afterward. I just thought you’d want to know what we saw. Can I get you on camera?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Wait till we’ve actually got something,” he said. “I’ll let you know when we do.”

  Wendy nodded and walked back to stand by Harvey. He was keeping his camera focused on the police and fire trucks as the officers and firemen went about their duties. The paramedics in the ambulance were getting out their equipment and getting ready to start extracting the driver.

  They waited about ten minutes, while the policemen watched everything that was going on. Finally, the officer who had spoken to Wendy turned and came back toward them.

  He turned on the transceiver again. “Production, we’re going live again, got a policeman ready to talk, I think.”

  “Roger, Seven, we’re ready.”

  Wendy stopped where the action was behind her, and the officer came to stand beside her. “Okay, the driver’s alive; it looks like he had a seizure or something and lost control. I can give you a basic statement, if you’re ready.”

  “Sure,” Wendy said
, “that’s great. Give me a second. And your name is?”

  “I’m Officer Stratton,” he said, “Branden Stratton.”

  “Okay, great, and I’m Wendy Dawson with Channel Six,” she said, and turned to Harvey to give him the “ready” sign, closed fist with a thumb popping up out of it. Harvey nodded, and she looked into the camera.

  “I’m here with Officer Branden Stratton of the Denver Police Department,” she said, then turned to face him. “Officer Stratton, can you tell us what’s happened here?”

  “Yes, Wendy,” he said. “Apparently the truck driver, whose name I cannot release at this time, was leaving the terminal across the street when he suffered what appears to be a seizure and lost control of his vehicle. His foot must have pushed on the accelerator pedal, and the truck sped up and shot across the road to crash into the side of an empty warehouse. The driver is alive and not seriously injured, but he’s being taken to the hospital for observation and treatment for the seizure. We’re just fortunate that no other vehicles were involved, and no one else was hurt.”

  “Yes, we are,” Wendy said. “Thank you, Officer Stratton.”

  “My pleasure, Wendy,” he said, and winked at her as he turned to walk away. Harvey cut the camera and asked, “How’s that, guys?”

  The production engineer came back instantly. “Excellent work, Seven, we got it! Get out of the way now, and let them do their jobs, you’ve done yours and done it very well!”

  “Roger that,” Harvey said. “We’re going dark now.” He cut the feed from the camera and shut off the transceiver, then started stowing his gear. He ignored Wendy until she stepped up behind him and passed him her microphone and earpiece.

  “That was a good bit,” he said. “We’re doing real news, girl, this is awesome.”

  Wendy was smiling. “Yeah,” she said. “And Officer Stratton asked me for my phone number! Isn’t that great?”

  Harvey forced himself to smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Great.”