Crown's Law

by Wolf Wootan

  ***

  That same morning, since Sam knew that Carole was leaving the next day, he decided to call her and say goodbye. Maybe even swing over to her condo for a farewell quickie. He called her condo and found that the phone had been disconnected, not really a surprise. He tried her cell phone, but got voice mail. So he drove over to Newport Beach but found her condo vacant. Why had she left already? Her neighbor in Unit 2 told him she had packed up and left last night.

  Confused, Sam drove back to the Mickey office and pondered the situation, feet on his desk. Why hadn’t she at least called to say goodbye? Maybe she really hadn’t left yet? There had been a fishy aura about her from the beginning, but the great sex had caused him to push it out of his mind. She had never told him what was in the envelope her brother had left at the office for her. He decided to try and catch her at the hospital checking out her mother.

  He sat up, dropped his feet to the floor, and yelled, “Pearl!”

  Pearl wandered in and said, “Yes, boss. You beckoned?”

  “Yeah. Call all the local hospitals and see if they have a Mrs. Winston as a cancer patient. Carole has already moved out of her condo and I want to see if I can catch her before she leaves town,” explained Sam.

  “What’s up?” asked Pearl with a wry smile.

  Sam ignored her rare attempt at double entendre and said, “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But things don’t feel right. Make the calls while I think this through.”

  “OK. It’ll take awhile,” she replied as she turned and went to her desk.

  Thirty minutes later, Pearl returned and freshened their coffees, sat, crossed her legs.

  “Well?” queried Sam.

  “Curious. No Mrs. Winston in any of the hospitals in the county. I even asked for anyone with cancer in the 50 to 70 age range. There were three. One was black, one Hispanic, and one white male. You don’t suppose she would be in an L.A. hospital, do you? Or a hospice?”

  “Damn! Possible, I guess,” shrugged Sam. He sipped his coffee. “Call the morgue and see if Carole picked up her brother’s body. Please.”

  “OK. Be right back.”

  Pearl came back to Sam’s office ten minutes later.

  “His body was picked up from the morgue this morning at 9 A.M. by a hearse from Crowder Brothers Mortuary in Newport Beach. I called them and they said they put the body in an aluminum shipping coffin—as instructed—and delivered it to a private plane at John Wayne Airport,” explained Pearl.

  “Private plane?”

  “Yeah. A Lear.”

  “Something is really rotten here. I think I’ve been had,” grumbled Sam.

  “I told you not to get personally involved with clients,” said Pearl.

  “Put a lid on it, Pearl! Why did that Winston guy have to write on a Mickey card and drop that envelope off here? That’s what got us involved. Crap!” said Sam.

  “And that cop got everyone stirred up down at Sparky’s,” added Pearl.

  “I was so focused on that fact and the corpse, I let something else slip by. Didn’t you get a ‘no access’ hit on her prints?” asked Sam.

  “I know what you were focused on,” laughed Pearl. “Let me go check, but I think you’re right.”

  Five minutes later, Pearl confirmed it. “Yes, only three hits, counting the ‘no access’ hit. Even I should have caught that. There should have been more hits, too. Looks like a poorly-planned legend.”

  Sam thought for a moment, then said, “Well, she owes me some answers! I’ll track her down—she should have known that. In the meantime, I have to solve this murder to get Mickey out of the loop. I need to look into this Dynology link in detail. You can see if you can find out where that Lear went. Check their flight plan.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  ***

  On Friday the 25th, the day before the scheduled test, Becky looked at her watch: 10:15 A.M. She wondered where Sam was today. She had to move quickly if she were to go ahead with her plan. She called Sam’s cell phone.

  After she came clean with Sam and related what she had done, Sam exhaled, “Shit, Becky! I told you no!”

  “Language, Sam! Nana wouldn’t like it if she knew you were corrupting me with swear words,” chided Becky, trying to diffuse his anger long enough to make her last ditch pitch to him. “What could it hurt if I just went and took the test? You know, just get a feel for the place? They’ll have to tell me what kind of job it is.”

  Sam listened to her, then said, “I don’t know, Beck. Even that could be dangerous. Besides, they’ll probably be looking for someone older. Can you pass for 21 or 22?”

  “Sure I can. You know, my hair in a bun, wear my funky glasses instead of my contacts, nice suit, clunky shoes. It’s advertised as an entry-level job. Besides, I wouldn’t really take the job in any case. I’m just trying to get inside and look around. What could it hurt?” she pled.

  Silence. Sam was thinking of how badly he needed information about Dynology; how he wanted to solve the murder. The homicide cop in him wouldn’t keep quiet. “OK, I’ll call Pearl and have her gin up a dummy driver’s license for you. I’m in Hollywood now talking to a client about security, but I can be at the Santa Ana office by four o’clock. Meet me there so we can discuss this some more. OK?”

  “Shit, yes!” exclaimed Becky. “Thanks, Sam!”

  “Becky!”

  “Sorry!”

  ***

  Sam arrived at the Mickey office at 4:05 P.M. and joined Becky and Pearl in the computer and technology office. Pearl was checking a California Driver’s License she had made for Becky showing her age as 22. The picture she had added showed Becky with her hair in a bun, and she was wearing black-rimmed glasses.

  “Hey, Sam!” exclaimed Becky. “Take a look! What do you think of this? Pearl did a great job, don’t you think?”

  Sam checked it out. It was perfect, but Pearl always did great work. He told Pearl it was great.

  “When this test is over, we can burn this. I don’t want you getting any ideas!” said Sam as he handed it to Becky.

  “What? You don’t trust me?” laughed Becky. “You think I’ll start buyin’ booze and cigarettes—and going nightclubbin’?”

  “Oh, I trust you all right. This is a forgery though, and I don’t want the evidence hangin’ around,” replied Sam.

  “Makes sense,” agreed Becky. “Now, why don’t you show me the bugs—tell me what to do.”

  “Whoa, missy! I thought you were just going to take the test and check things out. Planting bugs can be a dangerous thing.”

  Pearl spoke up. “Yes, Becky. This conference room—or wherever the test will be—has probably got audio and video surveillance. If they spot you planting a bug, there’ll be dire consequences for you. If they’re legit, they’ll just have you arrested. If they’re not . . .”

  Becky became quiet, pondering what Pearl had said. Then she asked Sam, “Have you ever planted bugs while being watched?”

  “Of course, but I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s always dicey. Pearl, open the tech room and get 2 or 3 X-16 bugs. I want to show Becky how difficult it is to plant one.”

  The three of them walked to the door on the north end of Pearl’s reception area and Pearl selected a key on her key ring and unlocked the door. She went to a heavy metal cabinet and unlocked it, then retrieved the bugs from one of the drawers. The bugs were the size of a U.S. quarter and were dull silver in color. One side of each bug was covered with a clear plastic membrane with a small tab on it. Sam handed one to Becky.

  Sam said, “See, Beck, that plastic covers the sticky side. You peel it off, using the little tab, and then you can stick it on nearly any surface, preferably a dry one. The trick is to do it with one hand without letting the bug be seen. Let me show you. It’s kind of like being a magician.”

  Sam took one of the bugs and palmed it into his right hand. He worked the coin-like object to a spot between two fingers, then used his thumb to catch the tab and started peeling off
the plastic. He went to a chair, and as he sat down, his right hand disappeared under the table for a split-second. When his hand reappeared, the bug was gone and the clear plastic cover was stuck to his palm, but was invisible to the eye.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Becky. “Where’d it go?”

  “Stuck under the table.”

  He reached under the table and pried it loose, showed it to Becky.

  “Now you practice with yours. Remember, the scenario is to assume that you’re being watched at all times, even if you’re not. Also, once you’re in that room, if you feel any apprehension, just don’t do it. Understand? In fact, the more I think of this, the more inclined I am to call it off all together!”

  He was letting his desire to solve the murder cloud his judgment.

  “Wait, Sam!” Becky chimed in. “Let me practice for a bit! I think I can do this. Give me a chance!”

  Shit! I must be out of my mind! I shouldn’t let her do this! thought Sam, but I’m at a dead end on finding Winston’s killer. I need to do something!

  ***

  An hour later, Becky was beaming as she demonstrated her skill to Sam and Pearl. She could retrieve a bug from her pocket with her left hand, pass it unseen to her right hand, and plant the bug flawlessly. Sam had Pearl videotape the demonstration so they could review the tape and make sure that things not caught by the naked eye were also not caught on tape. After reviewing several plants by Becky, Sam had to admit that she did well.

  “OK, Beck, we’ll give it a try. You can plant one bug in the room where they give the test—hopefully the conference room. But only—and, I repeat, only—if it’s very, very safe. If it doesn’t feel good, forget it! If it looks clear, put it under the table like you’ve been practicing. The bug is voice-activated, so I’ll be able to listen in even before you plant it. I’ll be in the surveillance van outside their building somewhere. If you get in any trouble, just let me know somehow, and I’ll figure out a way to get you out of it. Just play dumb. Take your cell phone so I can call you if I have to. Now let’s go home and have some dinner and get some rest. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

  Sam hesitated, looked at Pearl, then added, “Want to come to the beach for some dinner, Pearl?”

  Pearl grinned and answered, “No thanks, Sam. I have a date tonight. A very nice man, I might add.”

  “I didn’t think priests dated,” Sam said, deadpan.

  She punched him on the shoulder.

  ***

  Saturday morning, the test was scheduled for 10 A.M., and the applicants were expected to be there by 9:30 to get signed in and issued visitor badges. The building was in the business/industrial area of Irvine, and was four stories of concrete, steel and black glass. Sam had parked his van across the street so he had a good view of the front entrance and the visitors’ parking lot. He had put magnetic signs on the sides of the van that read “INTERNET CABLE COMPANY,” and wore a set of blue coveralls with the same name on his back. He was strapping a black box onto a lamppost when he saw Becky’s white VW bug whip into the parking lot.

  The black box was able to receive signals from the three bugs Becky had with her and transmit the signals to the dish on Sam’s van, as well as sending them to a satellite, which bounced them ultimately to the high-tech system in the Mickey Malone office’s tech room. Sam was wearing an earplug receiver so he could hear whatever Becky said.

  Becky stepped out of her VW and smoothed her skirt. She was wearing a pale blue suit with a scoop neck ecru blouse. Her shoes had large, square heels. Sam thought they were ugly as hell. The overall effect though—with the hair pulled into a bun and the tortoise-shelled glasses—was that Becky looked much older.

  The three bugs Sam had given Becky all transmitted on different frequencies, and Sam’s earplug was tuned to listen to only one of them—the one she had placed in her bra. She had the other two in her suit pockets, one in each pocket.

  As Becky smoothed her skirt, she mumbled, “Testing. Hear me OK?”

  She glanced at Sam and he nodded.

  “OK, here goes nothing. Don’t worry, I can do this!”

  She walked up the three wide, marble steps and entered the building.

  Sam thought, My God, what have I done? Letting my little girl go in there is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done! Shit! I should call her right now and tell her to get the hell out of there!”

  He went to the van and retrieved his cell phone from the driver’s seat. Then he heard Becky in his earpiece.

  “Hi, I’m Rebecca Rogers. I’m here for the applicant’s test. Here’s the authorization you sent me.”

  “Ah, yes, Miss Rogers. We have your visitor’s badge right here. Sign in here please, and then you can join the others over there. We’ll escort you to the testing room as a group in a few moments.”

  “And where would the testing room be?” asked Becky, wanting to transmit as much information to Sam as possible.

  “In the executive conference room on the 4th floor,” replied the woman’s voice. “It’s large and quite comfortable.”

  Hmm, thought Sam. Good girl, Beck! The executive conference room would be a great place for a bug! Lot’s of secrets are probably discussed in there. I guess I can wait a few minutes and see how things go.

  Sam heard Becky introduce herself to the other testees, and she kept a steady patter going, describing the lobby, the number of security guards, where doors were located, and the fact that there were two elevators. Sam thought that the other applicants must have considered Becky as having a screw loose when she talked incessantly about the shape of the room and its architecture. Of course, it was all being recorded back at the tech room.

  “You nervous or something?” asked one of the male applicants. “You’re babbling on about doors, halls, and security guards.”

  “I guess I am a little nervous,” Sam heard Becky say.

  ***

  A woman security guard escorted the six applicants into the executive conference room. There were three females and three males in the testing group, all in their early twenties (if you counted Becky as a 22-year-old).

  “Hey, what a neat conference room,” babbled Becky, and she went on to describe it, along with its furniture and wall decor.

  The test booklets were passed out at exactly 10 A.M., and the female security guard said, “You may begin. You have two hours to complete the examination.”

  The woman then sat down and started reading a romance novel.

  Becky scanned the test rapidly. There were only ten problems on the test. The first eight she solved in her head as she perused the 10-page booklet. Number 9 would take about 5 minutes to solve. Number 10 confused her. She looked at the large, round clock on the wall in front of her. She had 2 hours to kill. She didn’t want to complete the test too quickly and raise any suspicions, so she had to pace herself. She picked up one of the Number 2 pencils they had provided and began writing the solution of Problem 1. She wasn’t allowed to speak, so she couldn’t transmit any more information to Sam.

  After she finished the first problem, she skipped to Number 10 again and pondered over it. It was a set of very complex polynomials, but there wasn’t enough information available to solve the 3 simultaneous equations. She wondered if it was a trick question. The obvious answer—at least to a genius like Becky—was “insufficient data to arrive at a solution.” Plus, it didn’t fit with the tone of the other questions. She scanned the equations again, making sure they were firmly planted in her eidetic memory. She would deal with the enigma later.

  She filled in answers to three more problems, then checked the clock again. She had used up only 20 minutes. The female guard was still reading her book, glancing up only occasionally. Becky was tempted to look around for cameras, but Sam had warned her not to. Maybe she should try and plant the bug now—under the conference table. Her heart started pounding, and her palms got sweaty. This was harder than she thought. She wiped her hands on her skirt, then reached into her right jacket pocket and palmed a b
ug.

  ***

  In the security control booth on the 3rd floor, two men sat viewing a bank of 24 monitors imbedded in one wall. One man was a security guard named Bobby D’Orr, and the other was Phillip Chance, manager of the company’s testing group. Chance was the one who had two openings to fill, and he was hoping to find two candidates from the six he was watching on Screen 22.

  Chance turned to Bobby D’Orr and said, “Hey, Bobby, put Screen 22 on the big screen so I can get a better look at the broads.”

  “OK. There you are. Do you want me to zoom in on that redhead? I think you can see down her blouse!” laughed Bobby.

  “No. She’s got a face that would stop a clock. Zoom in on the other two—one at a time,” replied Chase.

  Bobby zoomed in on a tall, black-haired girl.

  Chance groaned, “Shit! Itty-bitty titties! Who screens these people? Don’t they know what I want? Try the blonde.”

  Becky filled the large screen and the two men liked what they saw.

  “That’s more like it!” growled Chance. “Great tits! Pretty, too. If she comes close to passing the damned test, she’s hired. If she’s smart, she can screw her way into a top job in no time!”

  Bobby laughed. “You’ve got to stop doing this, Phil! That last woman you screwed cried rape!”

  “She didn’t know a good thing when she had it! Stupid bitch! What’d you do with her?”

  “Smuggled her out to a brothel in Hong Kong. She’s gettin’ plenty of sex there!” shrugged Bobby. “But that shit’s dangerous, Phil. You can’t force ’em. If too many of our female employees disappear, we’re gonna invite a lot of trouble. The boss won’t like that.”