by R. L. Akers
After all, a hellhound wouldn't have needed something so mundane as a door to enter or exit the room.
"The way I see it," Gray said, "we've got three possible scenarios here."
"I'm listening," Mack acknowledged from the other end of the line. Gray had just finished explaining to him about the security access logs, which seemed to suggest no one had gone in or out of Blake's office between Ed Weiss's entrance at 8:42 a.m. and the cleaning crew's arrival at 7:07 p.m.
"First possibility," Gray enumerated, endeavoring to keep the smile out of his voice, "the hellhound dragged someone down to hell."
There came a sort of choking sound over the line, and Gray wasn't sure if his partner was laughing or genuinely distressed.
"Second possibility," he continued, "the cleaning ladies are in on it... whatever it is. And final possibility: the security logs are lying to us. So," he concluded, "thoughts?"
Mack took a moment to process. "I'll buy that," he agreed. "Whether we're looking at a prank, an animal sacrifice, a bona fide homicide, or... something else... that about covers all the bases."
Gray nodded to himself, looking out over the city. After leaving the security office, he'd found a quiet break room to make his call to Mack. With the sun fully up, it was hard for Gray's day-blind eyes to distinguish the familiar skyline clearly, but the window faced westward, so at least it wasn't painful. "Are we comfortable ruling out the hellhound theory?" he asked, turning away from the reminder of his infirmities.
"I dunno, Gray," Mack responded in a joking tone. "You have to admit the hellhound fits the facts of the case very nicely." Despite the older detective's tone, Gray couldn't help but wonder if his partner was more serious than he let on.
"Yeah," Gray countered, "except for all of Charles Blake's missing knickknacks." When questioned last evening about Blake's empty shelves, the cleaning ladies had explained that they previously held 'knickknacks — you know, of the expensive sort.' Some aging leather-bound books, numerous sculptures and trophy-type awards on pedestals, and apparently an antique-looking curved dagger in a sheath. Like so many high-powered executives, Blake had used his office's built-in shelving to display the evidence of his wealth and success. "I haven't actually seen the hellhound movie," Gray admitted, "but I don't think stealing collectibles matches the hellhound's MO."
"I'm willing to set the hellhound theory aside for now," Mack said magnanimously, "but I reserve the right to return to it at a later time."
Gray's lip twitched in a smile. "Okay, possibility number two: the cleaning ladies are in on it."
"Just to be clear," Mack said, "in this scenario, the logs have not been doctored, right?"
Gray shrugged. "Let's say no for now. I suppose we may eventually have to consider a scenario in which the cleaning ladies were in on it and the logs were doctored, but... Well, to explain the facts we've currently established, only one or the other explanation is necessary, so let's keep it simple for now."
"Ha," Mack grunted. "We're already beyond simple on this case." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Okay, assuming the cleaning ladies are in on it... Either Weiss was responsible for making the bloody mess — as some sort of prank maybe — and the ladies opened the door to let him out... or an actual murder happened in that room between 8:42 and 7:07, and the cleaning ladies let the murderer out when they arrived."
"And in that latter scenario," Gray added, "Weiss — or whoever was using his keycard — was either the victim or the murderer. But that means someone else must've entered the office at 8:42 with Weiss. Either the person he murdered, or the person who murdered him." Gray cracked a smile. "Weiss didn't murder himself."
"No," Mack answered, "but maybe it was only Weiss that entered, then the cleaning ladies murdered him when they arrived."
"Then managed to move the body before the uniform arrived at 7:30? The uni did a thorough search of the floor shortly after that, and he didn't find anything unusual outside of Blake's office." Gray shook his head. "I have a hard time believing the cleaning ladies burst into that office at 7:07, murdered Weiss, immediately phoned the police, then somehow disposed of the body — without tracking a single drop of blood into the hall — before the cop arrived twenty minutes later."
"Unless they entered earlier than 7:07. But if that's true, the security logs would need to have been doctored."
"Exactly," Gray nodded. "No matter how we cut this, I think those security logs are suspect. Besides, it's not like Weiss — or whoever — was locked in that office all day long. He didn't need the cleaning ladies to 'let him out.'"
"Not unless he was trying to make it look like the hellhound did it," Mack countered.
Gray snorted. "We're doing all sorts of logical gymnastics here, trying to explain away facts that are more easily explained by doctored security logs." He shook his head decisively. "Aren't you the one who's always telling me to keep it simple? That the simplest explanations are usually correct?"
"Wait, you were listening when I said that?"
Gray smiled. "Okay, so we've arrived at the most likely scenario: someone doctored the security logs. From what I've been able to gather, ATC is in the computer programming business, so surely there's more than one genius here who could do such a thing."
"I assume you'll have Bobbi take a look?"
Bobbi Falmer was one of the precinct's data forensics experts, or — as Gray and Mack liked to think of them — resident geeks. "I already sent the raw log data over to her," Gray said. "Or, well, I had the security guys do it. Bobbi opened up an FTP folder for them to use."
The door to the break room opened, and a young man entered, catching Gray's eye and motioning with a file folder. The man was completely unfamiliar to Gray, and Gray's every instinct told him he'd never laid eyes on this man before... but Gray was learning to ignore that instinct. Given the familiarity the man seemed to exhibit towards him, the detective assumed this must be Lloyd or Boyd.
"Thought you'd like to see this," Bloyd said, waving the file folder again. "It's a copy of all the people who accessed this floor at any time yesterday, which doors they unlocked, etc. Not just Blake's office, in other words."
"Just a sec, Mack," Gray said into the phone before accepting the folder. "Anything stand out?" he asked the security man.
"Nah. I confirmed Mr. Blake was definitely never here yesterday, and Weiss's keycard was used to access only two doors — the main entrance at 0839, then Blake's office at 0842."
Gray glanced over the log. "And the last person in or out of the suite before the cleaning crew was... this Katy Cogan?" This was good information. When Gray had chatted with the security guys earlier, they'd been entirely focused on Blake's office, not the ATC office suite as a whole.
"That's right," Bloyd confirmed. "Katy is Mr. DeLancy's assistant. Often comes in and out at odd hours." He cocked his head for a look at the file in Gray's hand. "Looks like she came in at 1420, and I'm guessing she was the one that left through the main entrance just 10 minutes later." So the security guards were right. The system did log when doors opened from the inside, though of course there was no way to know who was exiting.
Gray nodded slowly. "Thanks."
Bloyd smiled and made his exit, and Gray returned the phone to his ear. "I'm back, Mack."
"Security logs?" the other detective prompted.
"Yeah. Not sure what use they are. Assuming they're doctored, can we trust them at all? If one or more entries were deleted, that's one thing — we could still learn something from what's left. But if it's possible the remaining entries were modified, it would probably be better to ignore the logs entirely."
"There's just too much we still don't know," Mack pointed out. "I'm not sure theorizing is worth our time right now. Hell, we don't even know there's been a murder."
"You say that now, after how we spent the last ten minutes?" Gray shook his head. "I hate that we're investing so much energy not knowing if someone's even dead."
"That's the job, young padawa
n." Gray assumed this was a movie reference — Mack loved his movies, and he'd used this phrase many times — but Gray had never understood what Mack was saying. Regardless, he took the older detective's meaning. On the chance this was a homicide, they needed to gather evidence and interview witnesses now, because there was no telling what might be lost by the time they knew for sure someone was actually dead.
Gray shifted his train of thought. "What about you?" he asked his partner. "Learn anything at Blake's house?" He rather assumed the answer was no, or else Mack would have interrupted their theorizing long before now.
"Nothing much to report," Mack confirmed. "Rang his bell, but no one answered. Canvassed a few neighbors, who told me he was out of town all week, but supposed to return yesterday. No one saw him yesterday, but it's possible he extended his trip — that wouldn't be out of the ordinary. Neighbors say he lives alone."
"All of that matches what I've heard here. He was away on a business trip, and the security logs don't show him in the office since Tuesday."
"Whatever that's worth," Mack groused. "Still, sounds like this guy is a dead end for now. I guess this Weiss character should be my next stop."
"Yeah, do you mind? I'll text you the address."
"Have you spoken with the ME yet today?"
"Actually, yes." Gray filled him in on the blood bank angle. "We should be able to get blood samples from them, for DNA comparison. Oh, and I called the examiner's office again, right before I called you, to let them know Edgar Weiss was now a person of interest too."
"Yeah, well, don't hold your breath about getting that DNA comparison done quickly. Even if we convince the lab to expedite, it could be a day before they're able to get started, and that's assuming they get the blood samples sent over that fast."
Gray nodded. "True, but we should find out pretty quickly if blood type matches Weiss or Blake or anyone else at ATC — the ME said he could get that info over the phone from the blood bank. Not that a matching blood type is conclusive until we know for sure it's even human blood, but hopefully we'll know that by the end of the day." Assuming new developments in other cases didn't take priority, of course.
"Good," Mack said. "Okay, I guess I'm headed over to Weiss's house. Don't forget to text me that address."
"I won't. Don't worry, you won't have to drive far."
"You mean even the rank and file have Upper West Side apartments? What kind of computer programming do these people do, anyway?"
"Still a little vague on that, honestly."
"Well, do you think the corporate security people are making the same kind of money? Can you ask about job openings?"
Gray was preparing a witty response to this when the door to the break room slammed open and a steely-haired man stepped in. A very angry, very unpleasant-looking man. "Sorry, Mack, I have to go."
"You're the detective?" the man demanded.
Gray eyed him for a long moment, taking his measure. He intuited almost immediately that this was a man who liked to throw his weight around, to motivate others through intimidation — whether he had the authority to do so or not. "I'm Detective Gray Gaynes, NYPD," he told the newcomer, fishing out his shield and ID, which the steely-haired man barely glanced at. "Your name is?"
"Arnold DeLancy. I'm the president of Advanced Technology Consultants."
Gray nodded, not the least bit surprised. He suspected he'd have no trouble recognizing this man in the future — the overbearing aura he projected was quite distinctive.
"What the hell is going on around here? I keep hearing about—"
"Just a moment, sir," Gray said calmly. Ignoring the man completely, he proceeded to enter Edgar Weiss's home address into his phone, copying from the printout Lloyd and Boyd had provided him. He had no doubt DeLancy was growing livid as he was made to wait. Normally, Gray's policy was to be exceedingly polite in situations like this, but he really did need to get this information to Mack; just as importantly, however, he needed to make clear to this man that Gray Gaynes was not someone who could be intimidated. Finally hitting 'send' on the text, Gray looked up and smiled pleasantly at DeLancy. "Sorry about that. You were saying?"
DeLancy's face was dark. "What's this I hear about a hellhound breaking into my office suite?" he demanded, his tone sarcastic.
Gray frowned. "I don't know. What have you heard?"
DeLancy waved a hand in exasperation. "I walk in and everyone's buzzing about it. They say Charlie Blake's office is covered in blood, that you think he was murdered there, but there's no body. That it smells like brimstone, whatever that is."
Gray's frown deepened. It seemed Judy Fairburn's leopard spots were indeed indelible, though it was probably Bloyd who'd let slip about the missing body. Unfortunately, office gossip could be one of the most complicating factors in detective work. "To be honest, we're not entirely sure what happened just yet," he told DeLancy. "But I can assure you, no one at the NYPD said anything about a hellhound." Not to anyone in this office, at least.
The executive scowled. "Hellhound or not, I don't appreciate the fact that you're roaming the halls of my company, disrupting the morale of my employees with wild tales."
Gray resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Mr. DeLancy. I have gone out of my way to avoid disrupting your workplace. However, it's quite possible someone was murdered here yesterday; I hardly think that's something your employees should treat as an everyday occurrence, do you?"
Judging by the expression on DeLancy's face, it was possible the man really didn't care if a human life was brought to a tragic end here yesterday — unless it caused tragic complications to his life today. "This is not something I should be learning about as I walk in the front door on a Monday morning!" the company president thundered. "Someone should have notified me."
"Someone did notify you," Gray shot back, his patience definitely fraying now. "Building security attempted to reach every company officer on your contact list—last night—and I know that my partner also called and left messages."
The pugnacious man seemed surprised at this. He produced his phone from a pocket and thumbed down the screen. "I... I confess I don't always answer calls from unknown numbers. I tend to get a lot of them..." He trailed off as a pair of employees entered the break room, coffee mugs in hand, gossiping fervently. They froze at the sight of Arnold DeLancy.
Gray spoke up. "Perhaps we can continue this conversation somewhere more private? Your office, maybe?"
DeLancy leveled a glare at his employees and grunted. "This way, Detective."
The company president led Gray in a circuitous path back through the large cubicle area, which was now — at 8 a.m.—mostly populated by office staff. They soon arrived at a corner office identical to Charles Blake's, complete with the same hardwood double doors facing a secretary's desk; that desk was currently empty, a fact which DeLancy seemed to note with a dark look.
As Gray passed through the double doors in the other man's wake, he discovered that the interior of the office was very familiar as well. Expensive hardwood furniture, embossed argyle wallpaper, built-in shelving, thick white carpet that had to be impossible to keep clean. Arnold DeLancy's corner office was identical to Charles Blake's.
Except for the fact that Blake's was covered in blood, of course.
If Gray's bearings were correct, this office was on the northeast corner of the building, facing the sun. Fortunately for him, vertical blinds had been drawn across two full walls of the room, blocking direct sunlight from entering via the floor-to-ceiling windows. Swinging the doors shut behind Gray, DeLancy waved impatiently toward his desk. Like Blake's office, this room featured two leather couches on which they could have sat, but it didn't surprise Gray that DeLancy opted for the massive desk; it much more clearly asserted the other man's dominance in the conversation.
Stifling a grin at the transparent — and probably unconscious — power play, Gray thumbed open the video recorder on his phone. "Mr. DeLancy, would you mind spelling your name for me?"
<
br /> After capturing that on virtual tape, Gray guided the executive through all the standard questions, which included establishing the man's alibi for the previous day. There probably weren't very many people capable of doctoring those security logs, but if anyone was, this man was probably one of them. However, his alibi — an entire day spent at the Bronx Zoo with his grandkids — could be confirmed with relative ease; Gray happened to know there was security camera coverage of the zoo's front gate and ticket booths.
DeLancy finally grew impatient. Standing abruptly and leaning over his desk, he said, "I've answered your questions, Detective. Now would you please answer mine? What happened here yesterday?" He waved a hand in frustration. "Or at least as much as you know."
Gray still had more questions, of course, but he relented. In calm tones, he related all the details he was currently willing to share: how the crime scene had been discovered; the quantity of blood; the fact that security logs showed some access in and out, but that Gray doubted the veracity of the data. He left out the fact that items had possibly been stolen from Blake's shelves, as well as any supposition about the identity of the victim; he definitely didn't mention the claw-like damage to the carpet or the possibility that a body had been dismembered to facilitate relocation.
"So you don't even know who was killed?" DeLancy asked, incredulous.
"Mr. DeLancy, we're not even sure someone was killed."
"But all that blood. Surely no one can bleed that much and still live."
Gray eyed the other man thoughtfully. "That's true. Assuming it's even human blood."
The executive made a rude noise. "Don't they have tests for that kind of thing? Hell, can't you run a DNA test and find out exactly whose blood it is?" He leveled a glare at the detective. "I'm not an idiot, you know. I watch TV."