by Cassie Page
“Get this, genius. They found another petrified digit in Fisher’s garage. Plus some shards or something. So you killed him for nothing. How can one person be so stupid?”
He smashed his fist into his bed. “Don’t call me names!”
“Don’t raise your voice to me. Act smart for a change instead of acting stupid all the time.”
“I’m telling you . . .”
“Oh, tough guy. Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just saying you shouldn’t be so mean to me.”
“Oh, you make me sick. Here’s what you have to do next.”
She gave him his instructions and when he hung up the call he kicked the night table across the room and put a hole in the wall.
Chapter Eight: This Land Is Our Land
8:1
Olivia’s cell phone vibrated, interrupting her Internet search. She looked at the caller and answered. “Hi, Scott. What can I do for you?”
She was trying to find everything she could about petrified bones before she met with the design team again.
Scott bellowed, “Get this circus off my site!”
Olivia pulled the phone away from her ear, then said, “What are you talking about?”
“The protest, that’s what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t understand. What protest? I don’t know about any protest.”
“It’s a Native American group that apparently formed this morning when the media tipped our hand about finding artifacts. They have signs, bullhorns, slogans, chanting, the works.”
Oh, no, she thought. Just what I was afraid of. “How many protesters are you talking about, Scott?”
“I’d say a hundred, easily.”
“A HUNDRED? On the property?”
“No, they can’t come on the site. It’s private property. That would be trespassing, but they are right outside the fence.”
“Scott, that’s not even safe. With traffic during the day, there isn’t enough room for a hundred people to congregate. Someone could get hurt, hit by a car or something. Do they have a permit?”
“They say they do. They want a meeting. What they really want is to shut down the museum. I don’t know how they got organized so fast. The news about the artifacts and the finger just hit the news. I only heard about it an hour ago from Detective Richards myself. But how did those things get on the site? We did studies and were assured our site was not encroaching on any tribal lands.”
“I don’t have the answer to that question, Scott. I can’t say for sure, but off the top of my head I’d say that new finds would nullify our permits. The first thing we have to do is make sure the protesters are safe. I’ll call Detective Richards. DVPD should be aware of this.”
“Oh they are. I put in a call and gave them a piece of my mind.”
“This isn’t their fault, Scott.”
“They issued the permit.”
“Two words, Scott. First Amendment.”
“Yeah, well I’m putting a guy out there with a measuring tape. Our property actually goes beyond the fence and they have no way of knowing what the line is. If any of them steps one inch onto our property, I’m having them arrested. We have rights, too. Do you know what this is costing me? And now I have to send someone out there to babysit those people? Give me a break.”
“Scott, take a minute. You’ve been here before. We both have. You know that antagonizing an activist group that has a problem with a project will only cause more grief for us. If they have a legitimate claim, we have to honor it. If Jed Fisher had indeed uncovered a previously unknown burial ground, the law says we have to cooperate with any new investigations.”
Olivia could imagine Scott pacing. With the site shut down she guessed he had too much time on his hands. He’d said once that inactivity made him crazy. She was beginning to see what he meant. No one liked to see protesters at a construction site, but it wasn’t uncommon and Olivia was sure this wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with it. He should be used to it. From the sound of his voice, she was afraid Jed’s death was sending him over the edge.
“This is trumped up, Olivia. The project owns the land free and clear.”
“Scott, listen to me. It’s not that simple and you know it. Suppose somebody wanted to put a shopping mall on the site of the memorial to the Twin Towers? You can imagine the uproar that would cause. It’s the same thing with tribal lands. Let’s just try to be clear-headed and sort this out. My advice? The best offence is a good defense.”
Scott said, “It’s the other way around. The best defense is a good offence.”
“Whatever. Same difference. Catch them off guard. You should set up a coffee kiosk. Hire a medic team to make sure anyone who gets sick or injured gets immediate attention. And most important? Tell your guys to keep it down. They need to greet them, smile and wave when they enter and leave the site. You want to control the PR on this.”
“That’s going to be pretty hard. My guys are looking at layoffs if this thing doesn’t get settled. I have enough work maintaining the site to keep them busy until maybe the end of the week. After that they go on unemployment.”
“I understand. But that’s more reason to keep this amicable and encourage a speedy solution. Can you get the phone numbers for the leaders of the protest? I’ll establish some rapport with them.”
Scott said he would call her back with the number. Olivia had twin emotions. Dread of another conflict that would impede the forward progress of the museum. Confidence that she could negotiate a peaceful resolution with the protesters.
8:2
Late Tuesday
“Assigning blame isn’t going to solve our problem, PEOPLE!”
The room quieted, more out of shock at hearing Olivia raise her voice than a need to get the meeting moving along. Shouting was so out of character for her.
The design team was once again grumbling in Charles’ plush living room. So far, this was the only room he had fully furnished, other than his bedroom, which housed his enormous TV.
When the long refectory table Olivia had ordered for him was delivered, they could meet in the dining room and put their laptops, tablets and notes on the table instead of balancing them on their laps as they sank into the soft down sofa or sat rigid on stiff, armless chairs. In the past, pre-groundbreaking, pre-Jed Fisher, they had often met in Scott’s makeshift office or a conference room at the bank that Sonia generously arranged. But Scott couldn’t attend this meeting. He asked Olivia to fill him in.
Sonia took over. “Look, gang.”
Olivia loved her informal style around these big time designers and moneymen. She didn’t back down in front of anyone. After all, she held the purse strings. Some of them, at least.
“Olivia’s right. You may think you have a public relations nightmare on your hands. But if there is malfeasance here, the bank can withdraw future funding, call current loans due and you will never raise another penny. Your guy, here,” she pointed to Charles, “will have to put up all the money or there will be no museum. My advice is you cooperate with the Indian Affairs guy and move on from there.”
Russ Bowers took the floor. Since Matt had revealed that shoe prints at the murder site might belong to Russ, Olivia had not been able to look at him.
“Why don’t we have lawyers here?” he asked. “Surely there are some restraining orders they can get to keep those people off the property.”
It was Olivia’s turn. “That guy is a representative of a legally constituted organization designed to protect the interests of Native Americans. Are you forgetting that we have federal grants in play for the education program and proposed transportation studies? You think you have trouble now? There are laws that govern the handling of these remains. Try to obfuscate the feds or The Bureau of Indian Affairs and this museum will never get off the ground. And if you do succeed in building it, the PR damage from disrespecting tribal sites will take decades to repair.”
Charles put his coffee cup down. “Look you guys. Oli
via’s right. We have enough trouble on our hands without the government on our tails.”
All heads nodded in agreement.
“And besides. It’s the right thing to do. I don’t want any bad vibes on this place. Ellie wouldn’t stand for it, for one thing. So we postpone things a while. What’s the worst that could happen?”
When he said woist the group cringed, whether from his diction or his naiveté wasn’t clear. Maybe Charles no longer had to worry about money. But everyone else in the room did. Alistair almost jumped out of his seat.
“The worst that could happen is that we all lose our shirts, that’s what could happen.”
Olivia was getting tired of Alistair butting in, the condescending tone in his voice, the way he acted superior to the real talent and power in the room, such as his host, Charles.
It was time to take him down.
“Mr. Marsh.” She didn’t want to start a knock down, drag out in front of the design team, so she took pains to sound overly polite. She took a deep breath to calm herself before she continued.
“We understand and appreciate your concern for Pierre Ballard’s interests. However, I think even Pierre would agree that his concerns are secondary to the concerns of the architect’s,” she gave a nod to Russ Bowers who had caught his reflection in a floor length mirror across the room and was adjusting his tie, “the bank’s,” Sonia mouthed, you got that right, “the contractor, Mr. Pierce, who could not attend this meeting, and certainly our host’s, Mr. Bacon.”
She eyed the young man coldly. “You, of course, have no vested interest in the project and bear no risk. I’m not sure why you include yourself among those who might actually lose their shirts.”
Alistair just glowered at her. His look gave Olivia a chill, but she continued.
“If they, the design team that is, feel as I do that we must cooperate with the agencies in charge of land use issues, then that is what we must do. Mr. Ballard has no money invested and while his contribution is invaluable to the finished project, he deals privately with Mr. Bacon who is the buyer of the art, not the museum. As you well know, Mr. Bacon plans to put the art on permanent loan to the museum. You are free to report back to Mr. Ballard on our activities in his absence, which is why we have accorded you the courtesy of inviting you to our meetings. But his input, or yours, is not really relevant.”
She faced Alistair with a steely smile. She hoped he got the point. She could tell from the faces of the other attendees that they certainly had.
Sonia continued with the meeting as though Alistair were not even present.
“So, let’s figure out what we need to do next and move on,” she said in an authoritative voice that was intended to close the meeting.
Alistair misjudged the banker and interrupted her.
“Excuse me, but you seem to forget that I am now in charge of purchasing art for the museum.”
Olivia blinked. Was the banker chewing gum? Sure enough, Sonia snapped her gum, then turned her full heft toward Alistair and blew a small, pink bubble right in his face. Olivia would have laughed out loud if the occasion were not so serious and fraught with danger.
Sonia paused to let the put down sink in before she took a deep breath and glared at Alistair. “Perhaps, young man, you don’t grasp the gravity of our situation here. If we don’t handle it with tact and foresight, there will be no museum for you to hang your pictures in. Or for the rest of us to have one more jewel in the crown of western civilization’s homage to the internal combustion engine.”
Olivia saw some grins. She had emailed them all the recent article from The New York Times about the resurgence of interest in automobile museums worldwide.
Sonia continued. “I can assure you that this committee does not look kindly on anyone using our project for personal aggrandizement. Not pointing fingers or naming names, just saying. However, the next time we meet, feel free to take a pass. You might like to use the time you have left before you return to New York to look at some nice pictures. I hear San Francisco has some great galleries and museums. Since you are so interested in art and all.”
Alistair looked apoplectic and Olivia had to cover her mouth with her hands to hide her grin. Way to go, Sonia, she thought.
Sonia concluded by speaking to the rest of the group.
“I say we agree to step back and let the environmental boys and girls do their thing, let the police do their thing, and then we come back in and pick up the pieces. Cause right now, we don’t know how many pieces to this puzzle exist or how they will fit together when it’s time to get back to work. Vacation time for the rest of you folks. It’s been real, but I have a staff meeting to run and trust me, my kiddies in the loan department will shoot up the bank without me.”
She made her point by sliding her laptop into her tote.
But Alistair wasn’t done. “Oh come on. You’re avoiding the real issue. Is there anyone in this room who doesn’t think Scott Pierce killed that guy to keep the project going?”
An audible gasp went around the room, then there was quiet. Sonia reached over to the coffee table and grabbed one last puff pastry hors d’oeuvre that Charles’ cook had provided. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and Olivia wondered first, if she had swallowed her gum, and next, what bomb she was going to lay on Alistair.
Sonia swallowed, and somehow her gum managed to survive the pastry. She gave Alistair a withering glare, and then popped another bubble.
“First of all, young man,” Olivia could see Alistair seething at this, but the banker was just getting started.
“Unless you have any expertise in crime fighting that we don’t know about, when it comes to figuring how, why, when and by whose hands Mr. Fisher died,” now she leaned forward and stared into Alistair’s face, an angry mother to a naughty boy, “we leave it. To. The. Police.”
She waited a beat for her words to sink in.
“Is. That. Clear?”
Alistair just stared at her, his cheeks aflame.
“I asked you a question, young man. I expect an answer. Or don’t you know how to respond to your superiors?”
Alistair murmured, “I heard you.”
“Good. And the second thing is, before the groundbreaking ceremony I believe you met Mr. Pierce all of what,” she looked around the room for confirmation, “zero times? You have sat in on one meeting with him since, you haven’t socialized with him so you don’t know him personally, and you haven’t negotiated contracts with him or been in a position to examine his work.”
The room was dead silent. “No one in this room is qualified to speak on his guilt or innocence about anything but this building project. And nobody has any complaints about Mr. Pierce. And this, Mr. Marsh, from people who know him well. That you dare to suggest that he committed this crime has destroyed your past, present and future credibility with us. Am. I. Clear?”
Alistair nodded and Sonia continued gathering up her things.
When she stood and turned to head for the door, Olivia noticed that the seam in her trousers was starting to fray. Olivia chuckled to herself. If she could bottle Sonia Gutierrez, her ease with herself, her firm but good nature and her competence in everything she oversaw, she would make a fortune.
As though the group suddenly noticed the food, they began helping themselves to the goodies on the coffee table. Maria, the maid/cook/housekeeper was apparently watching from the wings, because she suddenly appeared with fresh coffee. Each of the men accepted a cup.
Olivia tapped the table to get the attention back to the meeting.
“If we’re done, gentlemen, I’ll let you know when another meeting is appropriate. I’m sure Charles would welcome your company if you’d care to stay and socialize, but I also have another meeting in,” she looked at her watch and made a show of being scandalized by the time, “oh my gosh. Look how late it is. I must run.”
8:3
Olivia knew, as she started up her truck, that the other participants wanted to be on their way as well, but
she didn’t feel the least bit guilty at forcing them to press the flesh with Charles. First of all, they owed it to him. His dream, once it got off the ground, would garner not only prestige and more business for them, but a great deal of money in fees as well. She also wanted to dart out of the mansion before Alistair could catch up with her.
As she backed out of her parking spot, careful not to ram the Stutz Bearcat next to her that Charles was currently driving, her phone rang. She put the truck in neutral, saw it was the banker and said, “Hi, Sonia.”
“Olivia, are you out of there? Can you talk?”
The secretive nature of the call alarmed Olivia. What now, she wondered. She said cautiously, “Yeah, I’m alone. What’s up?”
Then Sonia started laughing. “Good. Just between you and me, I think Scott did it too, but I wasn’t going to let that pipsqueak Alistair run our meeting.”
Olivia bent over the steering wheel laughing. “Sonia, you are the best. I needed that. But seriously, do you really think Scott is capable of murder?”
Without a pause, Sonia said, “With as much as he has on the line, he’s capable of anything. Not just because I think Scott is a psychopath or anything. But he has to answer to the big boys who are funding his company. That international construction company backing him? They have ties to Middle East oil, diamonds in Brazil, and I happen to know they are making a fortune taking heavy metals out of Congo. Scott’s operation is peanuts. If he doesn’t meet his deadlines they’ll think nothing of grinding him up in a blender while they make their morning smoothies. Scott cut himself some pretty tight deadlines. With this holdup, he won’t make them and for one reason or another you might have to find yourself a new contractor.”
Olivia let out a long, worried sigh. “That’s not going to help anybody. Do you know how long it would take to get a new firm on board?”
Sonia chuckled. “Welcome to the world of high finance. Bye girlfriend. It’s us against the world,” she said and hung up.