by R. L. Akers
"Of course not," she assured him. Now that Gray had his head screwed on more tightly, he could see there was a great deal of curiosity in her earnest gaze, and more than a little concern. "Is everything okay?"
Gray cocked his head at her. "You mean, you haven't heard? I was under the impression everybody had heard by now."
"Oh. Well... If you're talking about office gossip, I don't really... socialize... with many of the people here."
He smiled reassuringly. "That's okay. We... We're investigating a possible homicide," he said. Her eyes shot wide, so he hurried to say, "We're not entirely sure what happened yet, though. We're not even sure if anyone was killed."
"I don't understand," she said with trepidation.
She still had him a little off-kilter, and he struggled for words. "We responded to a 911 call last night. The cleaning crew had found evidence of a struggle in one of the offices here. Lots of... blood. But," he hastened to say, "no body, so we don't know who was hurt or if they were killed."
"Oh no! Whose office? Who was it?"
"Charles Blake's office," Gray said, watching her face and striving for objectivity.
Her eyes began filling with tears. "You think it's Mr. Blake's blood? That he's..." She trailed off.
"Actually, no. At this point, we're thinking the victim — if there was one — might have been Ed Weiss."
Her eyes widened further at this. One hand flew to cover her mouth, and whatever dam was holding back her tears broke, sending streams flowing down both cheeks.
It seemed that everyone in this office liked Edgar Weiss more than Charles Blake.
Just sitting there, watching this young woman weep, felt like voyeurism. It was all Gray could do not to reach out and touch her in some way, make physical contact, comfort this woman who reminded him so powerfully of Rose. But no. "I... I'm sorry. Please, just remember what I said earlier: we don't know for sure it was him, or even if anyone was hurt or killed."
She sniffled, swiped at both eyes, nodded firmly. "Right. I'll... try to remember that."
"Did — Do you know him well?" Dammit, even Gray was starting to think of Ed Weiss in the past tense, and that was dangerous. "Mr. Weiss, I mean. Are you two close?"
She gave a tearful snort. "Hardly. I'm just a secretary. But he's someone I see every day, you know?" She waved a hand in a fluttering motion, as if she needed air — a stereotypically feminine gesture that Rose would never have used — and Gray could sense the young woman's emotion swelling again. "It's just... you see someone every day, and everything's normal, and then you find out he's gone forever..." She stopped herself firmly. "But that might not even be true." She sniffled. "I'm sorry, Detective."
"Please, it's okay." In truth, it was more than okay. It was refreshing to see someone in this office having a normal emotional response. "If I may ask, when was the last time you saw Mr. Weiss?"
The young woman did her best to compose herself, looking thoughtful. "Yesterday... I think. I was headed downstairs, and I caught just a glimpse of him as my elevator doors closed, and his doors opened on the other side of the lobby." She gestured vaguely in the direction of the elevators, and Gray knew she meant the small lobby on this floor, outside ATC's glass-walled entrance, not the main building lobby on the first floor.
Abruptly, Gray realized he'd been listening and not taking notes. He began tapping furiously at his smartphone. "And you're sure this was yesterday?" He set the phone aside a moment, flipped open the file folder Bloyd had provided him. "That would've been around 2:30, as you were leaving?" If that was true, this was clear evidence Weiss was outside his office after arriving at 8:42, meaning the security logs were definitely doctored.
Unfortunately, the woman wasn't at all sure this had happened yesterday. She hesitated a very long moment, finally saying, "Maybe?" She gave him an apologetic shrug. "I don't know. I see Mr. Weiss all the time in this building, so I don't usually think much of it."
"Miss Cogan," Gray pressed, "it would very much help if you could remember. If it turns out Mr. Weiss really was killed yesterday, and it really was yesterday that you saw him, you could be the last person to see him before the killer. Knowing that, knowing exactly what time it was, helps us establish our timeline, which gets us that much closer to figuring out who killed him." Gray caught himself. The young woman was again growing emotional at this reminder that a man she knew might be dead. "Please," he said more gently, "think about that moment in the elevator, when you saw Mr. Weiss. Picture it in your mind. Why were you going downstairs? Were you running an errand for your boss? Or were you leaving to go home, because you'd come in for just a few minutes, to send an email you forgot on Friday? What were you wearing? What were you holding? Remembering the details of that moment will help you place exactly when it happened."
It was no use. The woman's eyes were flooding with tears. "I just don't understand why anyone would want to hurt Mr. Weiss," she said, her voice growing thick. "He was the nicest—" Her expression changed abruptly, sorrow replaced with pure, unadulterated fear.
"Miss Cogan? What's wrong?"
She glanced around quickly, much as DeLancy had done earlier, checking to see who was in earshot. There was no one.
"Miss Cogan — Katy," he said softly, striving to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Did you think of a reason someone might want to hurt Ed Weiss? Why they may want to kill him?"
She was practically trembling now, but she managed a nod. "Please, I can't tell you here," she whispered, barely audible even to him.
"I'm a police officer, Katy. I can protect you."
"I... I take lunch. At 11:30." She sucked in a deep breath, trying to master her emotions. "Can you meet me then?" Her terrified eyes did another quick circuit of DeLancy's antechamber before returning to meet his.
Gazing into those eyes, so like Rose's, Gray found himself nodding. "Yes, fine. Where?"
"Uh... there's an Italian place. Can't remember the name. Go out the front entrance, turn right. It's about three blocks away. Okay?"
"Okay, I'll see you there." Frowning, Gray stood and turned slowly, looking around for himself. No one was visible down the hall in either direction. He poked his head through DeLancy's open office door, but the man was on the far side of the office, facing a window, speaking into his cell phone with great animation; the blinds had been pulled back partway so the man could enjoy his view. Gray picked out a word here or there, but he had enough difficulty understanding the executive's conversation that he doubted DeLancy, in turn, could have been eavesdropping on Gray's interview with Katy Cogan.
The detective turned for one last glimpse of the young woman, but her head was down, eyes glued to her computer screen, fingers clacking away at the keyboard. In his impatience, he nearly sat back down and demanded an answer here and now. If she had incriminating information to offer him, she could be in danger herself — and judging by what he'd seen of her so far, not to mention the now-rigid set of her shoulders, she wasn't very good at hiding her emotions.
That could get her into a lot of trouble if she came face to face with the man she thought murdered Ed Weiss.
But there was nothing he could do about that right now. With a private scowl, Gray turned and strode down the hall, in search of his next interview.
Gray spent the rest of the morning canvassing employees at the offices of Advanced Technology Consultants. Unfortunately, however, the word was very definitely out by now. With the exception of Katy Cogan, it was pretty clear that every ATC employee had an intravenous connection to the office grapevine. Though no two stories agreed, the general consensus seemed to be that someone—most likely Charles Blake — had been dragged down to hell. Gray had to believe these people were more sensible than to believe in hellhounds, but that was nevertheless the first question most of them asked him when he finally made it to their desk: "Is it true?" they would demand, eyes dancing — sometimes in fear, sometimes in excitement, often in horror. "The hellhound stole someone's soul?"
&n
bsp; He had more than stern words for Judy Fairburn when he finally made it back to her desk. Though she'd done her best to hide the fact, it was clear that someone had pulled Blake's office doors open far enough to peek inside; the yellow crime scene tape, which had previously stretched taut, was now hanging loose. Someone had looked within, had smelled the 'brimstone,' had seen the claw-like slash marks in the carpet, had taken in the sheer quantity of blood shed in that office — and had quickly told everyone in the company all about it. Gray strongly suspected that someone was Judy Fairburn herself, and that she'd done her spying at the earliest possible moment, as soon as she'd deposited Gray at the security office. Gray threatened her with obstruction of justice, but the damage was done.
By 10:30, every ATC employee had been accounted for except Ed Weiss and Charles Blake, neither one of whom had appeared for work or was answering his cell phone. The office rumor mill adjusted its operations accordingly. While the rumormongers were undoubtedly loath to abandon the juicy hellhound angle, the prospect that Blake had murdered Weiss — or vice versa — was equally delectable, and a hell of a lot more plausible. Despite all the hype, Gray did detect genuine concern from many of the employees he interviewed, at least where Ed Weiss was concerned. It seemed he was well liked indeed.
At 11:15, Gray left the ATC offices, resisting the urge to check on Katy Cogan before departing. Rather than use the sidewalk, he found a back alley to take him most of the way to the Italian place she'd specified. He was wearing his light-filtering sunglasses to make the outdoor walk bearable, but he'd long since learned that sticking to the indirectly-lit back alleys meant less strain on his poor, day-blind eyes.
Within a few minutes of 11:30, Gray was seated in a back corner booth, hands folded across a checkered plastic tablecloth, facing the front door so Miss Cogan could see him when she arrived. Realizing belatedly that he had a while to wait — she'd said her lunch break started at 11:30—he fished out his phone and dialed his partner for an update.
"Any news?" he asked when Mack answered.
"Yeah, actually," Mack replied. "Weiss is really starting to look good as the victim, and Blake the killer. All circumstantial so far, of course."
Gray perked up. This was, after all, the same conclusion he'd been coming to all morning. And while his own evidence was circumstantial so far too, that was usually how things went at the beginning of an investigation. "Tell me."
"Had a long talk with Candy Weiss — you know, Edgar's wife... she's worried sick by the way. Called 911 late last night when he never came home. They filed a missing persons report, but I spoke with the officer, and since there was no reason to suspect foul play... well, you know how it goes. Anyway," he said, getting back to the interesting part, "she tells me there was some very bad history between her husband and Charles Blake."
"I've heard that too," Gray agreed. "Repeatedly, in fact."
"I'm guessing you also heard about Weiss's promotion? That Blake's office isn't actually his anymore?"
"Yep, heard that as well," Gray confirmed. The waitress approached to take his drink order, and he mouthed 'water' at her. She left him with the menu.
"Well, here's something you haven't heard," Mack said, and Gray detected the wolfish smile in the other man's voice. "The last time Mrs. Weiss spoke with Mr. Weiss was around noon. He was calling from his new office, just checking in on her. They talked for ten minutes or so, but he had to hang up because he had a visitor."
Gray went still. "A visitor?" Even if Katy Cogan was wrong about seeing Weiss at 2:30 outside his office, this was evidence that those security logs were doctored, because they showed no record of the office door opening to admit this visitor. "Who?" he demanded.
"Mr. Charles Blake — former boss, new underling."
"No kidding. Weiss said this? That Blake was in the office with him?"
"Yeah, Weiss apparently told her that 'Charlie' had 'just barged in.' What's more, she could hear the door slam, and she could hear Blake shouting over the line. She says she definitely recognized his voice."
"Did she tell this to the uniforms last night?"
"Of course, but you know that wouldn't have meant much to them."
"I guess." Gray reflected on this new information. It definitely wasn't looking good for either Weiss or Blake at this point. Weiss was probably dead in a ditch somewhere, and it seemed likely Blake had put him there. Maybe in pieces. "So I take it Sunday morning was the last time Mrs. Weiss saw her husband?"
"Friday morning, actually. He bought her a weekend at the spa for her birthday, so she was at some resort upstate; drove there midday Friday. He called her with the news about the promotion Friday night. She wanted to come home to celebrate, but he planned to work all weekend." Mack paused. "You can imagine how much worse that makes her feel about it now."
"Yeah..." Gray said thoughtfully. "I take it she only got home last night herself?"
"That's right."
"I don't suppose you called the resort to confirm that?"
"Man, Gray, you are so distrusting!" Mack went silent for a beat. "It's one of the things I love about you... most of the time," he added, with a clear smile in his voice. "Anyway, yeah, I called the place. They confirm she checked in Friday evening and didn't check out until two on Sunday — which means she couldn't have been back here before seven." He hurried on: "And before you ask, yes, this place definitely checks photo IDs, so no, I don't think she's responsible for... well, whatever happened to her husband."
Gray nodded, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Just making sure. Since she's the only one able to place Blake at the crime scene so far."
"I'm with you, man. You're right to make sure. So what about you? Learn anything on your end?"
"More of the same," Gray admitted. "Reading between the lines, it definitely sounds like Blake is capable of violence when he loses his temper, and we know that Weiss gave him a huge reason to lose his temper. But yeah, that's all circumstantial." He paused, thoughtful. "There's one possible problem with Blake as the killer, though. You said he barged in on Weiss around noon?"
"That's right, according to the wife."
Gray grimaced. "Well, I'm meeting with someone shortly who thinks she saw Weiss coming off an elevator about two hours after that."
There was a pause, and Mack made a frustrated sound. "And the most likely time for Blake to have killed Weiss would have been at noon, in the heat of that initial confrontation." He sighed. "Well, I guess we'll see. We're getting ahead of ourselves anyway. We still don't even know—"
"—if there's been a murder. Right." Gray agreed. "Well, the woman I'm meeting isn't sure it was even yesterday she saw Weiss anyway. She—" Gray broke off as the specter of his dead wife materialized out of the glare from the restaurant's front windows. "Ah," he said, swallowing hard. "She's here."
"I'll let you go, then. I'm going to pursue getting a warrant on Blake's house. I think at this point we've satisfied probable cause."
"Great, Mack, thanks. Keep me posted."
"You too."
Katy Cogan had already slipped into the booth and was huddled down, making herself as invisible as possible to the other diners. She had the hood of her rain jacket up, and half of her face was hidden behind huge designer sunglasses.
"Miss Cogan," Gray said softly. "You're only making yourself more noticeable."
Grudgingly, the young woman lowered her hood, but she left the glasses where they were. Just as well, Gray reflected; he was much more likely to remain objective if he wasn't gazing deep into her eyes.
The waitress returned with his water, and he — having not looked at the menu — played it safe by ordering fettuccine alfredo. Cogan didn't order anything. Instead, she waved the waitress away, which earned her a scowl.
"So," Gray said, now that they were finally alone. "What do you have to tell me that you couldn't say back at the office?"
"It's... It has to do with the company. Their... business activities."
"ATC? I unders
tand that you provide online file backup services."
She flashed a tremulous smile. "Right. Backups."
"Are you saying that's not the business ATC is in?"
"Oh, it is, but..." She took a deep breath. "It's more like a file sharing service, but specifically for pirated stuff. Software, videos, music, you name it."
"Why don't you just walk me through the whole thing."
As Katy Cogan explained it, the service ATC provided definitely involved more user-to-user sharing of media files than one would expect from a provider of legitimate file backup services. In fact, ATC's software was intentionally optimized to cross-reference each user's files with those belonging to other users, in order to make recommendations and facilitate easy download from one another's accounts — in flagrant violation of copyright laws.
As she spoke in excited whispers, Gray felt his hopes fall. This wasn't the type of crime he concerned himself with, and he had a hard time seeing how it pertained to the disappearance and possible murder of Ed Weiss. But it had clearly been weighing on Katy Cogan's conscience, and Gray needed to eat anyway, so he let her proceed uninterrupted.
His food arrived quickly, and he was several bites into his fettuccine when she delivered the first big surprise of her monologue. Coughing up some pasta that had gone down the wrong way, Gray managed to ask, "How much did you say?"
"Twenty million in monthly subscriptions," she repeated, clearly relieved that she was finally getting a reaction out of him.
"Twenty million dollars of revenue every month?" Gray clarified, wiping his mouth.
She nodded.
"How is that possible?"
"We're up to almost two million users, each paying ten bucks a month. If it were file backups only, that's actually a pretty good deal, compared to some other services out there."