Taking Stock

by C J West

  He had to end it now. Another day sleuthing around the office and she might have the proof she needed. Tonight he graduated to attempted murder and he couldn’t give her time to prove he fired the shots. He weighed the gun in his hand. Discovered on him it could set her free. Discovered in her apartment, it could send her to prison.

  Would a jury believe she tried to kill him?

  The security system showed she was the one in the computer room. To anyone who believed she’d taken the money, attempted murder made sense. He thought about sneaking in and leaving the gun, but if she could prove she hadn’t been home, he’d be helping her prove she’d been framed.

  He cruised over to Gregg’s apartment in the North End and parked facing an alley where three sets of fire escapes twisted their way up the side of the building. The lights were out, but at two o’clock, almost all of them were. He waited a half hour for her to show up, debating with himself whether she was already inside or not. This was the first place she’d come.

  At three o’clock he slipped across the street. He climbed on top of the dumpster, careful not to kick the metal sides. From there he pulled down the ladder and made his way up to the third floor on the rickety metal supports. Black paint chips stuck to his hands and the metal platform swayed, threatening to detach from the bricks.

  He peered through the window on three. Nothing moved. The wooden windows were loose in their tracks so slipping the knife between them and prying the lock open was a snap. The counterweights were connected with ropes and pulleys in the window casing. They squeaked as the window rose, not enough to wake someone up, but enough so that anyone already awake would know someone was sneaking into the kitchen.

  Brad’s shoes touched down on linoleum.

  The gun led the way in. The door to the hallway had a chain and deadbolt, both engaged. He’d take that way out if he had to shoot. Otherwise, he’d slip out the fire escape the way he came in.

  The first room he checked was Gregg’s. The sheets were pulled down, the quilt half off the bed. No mistaking he was sleeping alone. The second bedroom was piled with a bachelor’s odds and ends: weights, books, a bicycle and a cheap desk with a computer that looked like it was never used. The couch in the tiny living room was empty. She’d vanished.

  Brad slipped back through the kitchen, out onto the fire escape and climbed down as fast as he could steady his hands and feet on the rungs. He wasn’t worried about noise anymore. He wanted to get home and figure out where to dump the gun. He jumped off the dumpster and trotted across the street to his car.

  3:30 a.m. He’d come up empty.

  Gregg slowly opened his eyes to rattling metal in the kitchen. He pressed his fingertips to the box under the nightstand. Fingerprints recognized, the end popped open and he withdrew the .357 he’d taken home from the farm. He eased the cylinder open, checked the contents and pushed it closed. The cylinder clicking shut would alarm any intruder. A pro would flee or hunker down.

  He raised the bead to the center of the doorway and reached his feet to the floor. Hugging the wall he padded to the door casing. His back to the wall, he braced himself on the door jam and leaned his head outward, the .357 pointing to the table, the fridge, the window.

  The window was wide open. Someone was inside.

  He stalked into the guest room, the living room and back to the kitchen. Something banged in the alley. It sounded like a man jumping on the hood of a car. He leaned out the window and saw an outline rush out of the alley. A car started and drove past the far side of the building out of sight. The TV and stereo were in place. Gregg closed the window and wondered why someone would break-in and leave without taking anything.

  Brad inched the door open and stepped inside, half expecting a swarm of blue shirts to envelop him, knock him to the ground and cuff him. He closed the door as quietly as he could and listened for intruders. His head was numb from twenty-two hours without sleep and the swirl of activity that began when he saw Erica hunched low in his darkened office. Finally home, he felt even more vulnerable despite the gun tucked in his pants, truly because of it.

  The phone rang as if it had seen him walk in and wanted to talk. He ignored it, walking through the kitchen and into the bedroom. The LCD panel on the Digital Logger showed the number of the only person likely to know he’d just arrived home at 3:47 a.m. He clicked the record button and lifted the receiver.

  “Nice work Bradley.”

  “I could’ve used your help.”

  “You don’t know half of what I do for you.”

  “Like what you did to Vinny?”

  “You screwed this one big. The cops are all over. Anyone see you?”

  The man on Pearl Street came to mind. “No one but her,” he lied. “She’s a problem. If she shows up tomorrow, she’s going to tell the whole world.”

  “She’s a smart girl. She got there just a bit too late.”

  It sounded like Herman was agreeing to help.

  “Be in my office first thing,” Herman said. “We’ll wrap it up.”

  “See you at ten.”

  “Idiot! Do you want everyone to know you were out all night? Get your ass in my office by eight. Have four cups of coffee if you have to. I want you looking traumatized, glad to be alive.”

  A few more weeks and he’d never listen to Herman again. He didn’t bother to respond. Obedience was required. 3:58 a.m. Three hours to sleep if he was lucky.

  “Don’t forget that useless thing you’ve been carrying around in your pants. It might be helpful.”

  The line clicked dead.

  Brad lifted the gun from his belt and wiped it down with a handkerchief. It was a throw-away Herman had given him. Getting rid of it would be a relief. He thought about cleaning it, but didn’t know what kind of oil to use. Even if he did, he couldn’t get it this late. He rubbed the prints off the remaining bullets and reinserted them into the clip. He wiped the outer surfaces over and over. He wasn’t sure whether the dry cloth would remove his fingerprints so he rubbed harder and longer than seemed necessary. The rubbing eased his nerves. Finally he dropped the cloth and the gun into a Ziploc.

  The gun might be the deciding factor that would flip the police, the judge, or the jury if, God forbid, this thing got that far. He rubbed the handkerchief over the gun a little more through the bag then tucked it in his top drawer and collapsed on the bed.

  Chapter Fifty

  Keenly focused from three cups of coffee, Brad sat upright in the tall leather chair watching the faces around the table. Herman had called this meeting hastily and gotten the team assembled before 8:00 a.m. He didn’t look pleased that they’d been waiting ten minutes for Marty. Across the table Sarah looked bright and attentive. She couldn’t know what was happening, but she was eager to get started. Being here in the boardroom for her first meeting with Marty thrilled her into silent awe. She sat with her hands folded trying to think of something intelligent to say.

  Cathy Plummer, the new vice president of human resources, looked disinterested for someone who’d only been with the firm six months. She wasn’t yawning, but she might as well have been. Late thirties, bland, and chunky, she held no interest for Brad. She stared vacantly over Herman’s head giving the impression there wasn’t much going on behind the pudgy cheeks. Not surprising she was still single and nearly forty.

  Tension hung over the rest of the table. Each person felt special by virtue of their position. Herman and Brad needed the rest of them to buy the story. Cathy as head of human resources shot smug looks at Brad when she thought he wasn’t looking. She could feel as superior as she wanted. She’d never know more about this case than he did, no matter how far the investigation went. For now, no one wanted to reveal what they knew. They tried not to look at each other, keeping their secrets to themselves, preparing to look unfazed when Marty officially released the news.

  Herman looked angry. His only question: where would the blame fall? The answer was up to Marty and this disturbed him as much as Brad’s failure in
the parking garage. Herman thrived on the power to bend others to his will. He hated being subordinate to a simple man like Marty, who could only come to power one way. Herman had made it to senior vice president on his own. Unfortunately for him, he’d never rise further because he wasn’t a Finch or a board crony. No matter, he didn’t need the money.

  Finally, Marty pushed through the door and took his seat at the head of the table. All eyes trained on him. He measured the faces around the table until he was sure he had command of his audience. No one spoke. Sarah was so entranced she wouldn’t have moved if a snake slithered into her lap.

  Marty began, “I found this news deeply troubling on several levels as I assume you all did. I find it very difficult to believe that someone would steal from our customers. This is a family company, always has been, always will be. This is the most fundamental breach of our duty. I take this very seriously. If what Herman says is true, there is no option but termination and prosecution.

  “That said, I have to ask myself how something like this could go on for any length of time. Putting aside that I’ve been paying Herman, Stan, and Brad to prevent problems like this, I am even more disturbed by our choice of a suspect. Erica Fletcher is a model employee. If you’re going to accuse her, you better show me solid evidence or your boxes will be on the move in the next re-org.”

  Herman moved to speak.

  Marty silenced him with a raised finger.

  “This will not be a witch hunt and it will not be public. You will work together discreetly until you’ve proven to me that further action is warranted. Herman and I will bring this forward. No one else is to discuss this with anyone outside this room.

  “Is that clear?”

  The audience around the table nodded solemnly.

  Marty waited for each one, as if making a mental tally before allowing Herman to speak his mind.

  “I agree that privacy and fairness are important,” Herman began, “but I can’t agree to let her come and go on company property while we’re investigating. Brad caught her destroying evidence last night and if we let her back in, we’re inviting her to continue.”

  Marty looked down at Herman incredulously. “You really believe this? This is Erica Fletcher for God’s sake.”

  Herman’s face was half hidden in his hands, one in a fist, the other hand on top, propping up his chin. He gave a slight nod, barely moving, content to let the question drop.

  Cathy broke in. “We could quietly suspend her with pay while we investigate. If we don’t find anything, she comes back like nothing ever happened. No one needs to know.”

  “How appropriate,” Marty said, “since, most likely, nothing did.”

  Sarah’s strong voice surprised Brad, “Something definitely happened, Sir. I’ve seen trades that have been tampered with. I’ve suspected for a while that someone on the IT team has been changing trades to siphon off customer funds.”

  “Have we met?”

  “No, Sir. I’ve only been with the firm a few weeks.”

  “And in that time, three lousy weeks, you’ve discovered someone stealing from us and you’ve known it for some time?” Marty glared down the table.

  “I believe so,” Sarah said.

  Shocked, Marty snapped a look at Herman. “How is this possible? I’ve been paying you and Stan for years to catch this sort of thing. And what? She finds it on her first day?”

  “It’s a complex scheme, masterfully done. She didn’t leave anything behind. The trading reports were always in balance and the trades we audited were always clean. To be fair to Stan, I think there was an element of luck here.” Herman had more to say, but didn’t.

  “She outsmarted all three of you,” Marty paused. “That I can believe.” Marty snickered at Brad. “What about you? You’ve always resented her screwing up your man-team. Are you leading this lynch mob or just along for the ride?”

  “Sarah asked me for help last Friday. I didn’t know anything about this before then, but after last night, I guess you’d say I’m ready to throw the rope over the branch.”

  “You’ve been braiding that rope for years. What makes last night so special?”

  “She tried to kill me,” Brad said as evenly as he could.

  Marty stared, dumbfounded or disbelieving, Brad couldn’t be sure. Didn’t Herman tell him about the shooting? How could he leave that out?

  “I caught her in my office sifting through the security tapes. I kept out of sight and waited until she left, then I took a look at the tapes myself. Every one of them is blank.”

  “You think she erased them?”

  “I certainly didn’t. Those tapes sit in my office and I change them personally.” Brad explained how the tapes were used in sets to capture the activity in the computer room then explained how she’d been systematically removing tapes from the rotation, erasing them, and leaving them in his office with the spares. “She’s doing something in the computer room that she doesn’t want us to see,” Brad finished.

  The room fell silent. Each of them sensed Marty was about to be overcome by the evidence. Nothing more was needed to change his mind but a few moments to sift through the facts.

  “Did you ask her to explain herself?”

  “She wasn’t in the mood to talk.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means she saw me go into my office. She knew she’d been caught and her only chance was to stop me from telling anyone. She waited outside until I left the building.”

  “You’re not going to tell me you’re afraid of her.”

  Marty wasn’t going to believe she was a killer, but Brad had no choice but go ahead with the story. He hoped everyone else was primed for it.

  “She pulled a gun.” Brad made the rectangular shape of the barrel with two fingers. “It looked like a .45 or a gun a cop would carry. I was half a block from the office and she cut me off. She pointed the gun at me and I ran the other way. The streets were deserted, not a single person to help and she was catching up fast, so I ran down the ramp into the parking garage hoping to lose her or get close enough to overpower her.”

  Marty was entranced. He had doubts but didn’t interrupt.

  Cathy seemed to have awoken from her stupor. This was news to her.

  “She found me on the fourth or fifth level down and started shooting. I was lucky to catch the elevator up before she hit me. After that, I had a good enough head start to run a few blocks and hide until she left.”

  “What did the police say?”

  Brad hoped Marty wouldn’t ask, but knew he’d have to face the question eventually. “I didn’t call them. I called Herman. I felt stupid for running from her and I still didn’t know what was on the tapes. I wanted to see them before we involved the police.”

  “Good call,” Marty said, seeming a bit surprised, but appreciative of Brad’s concern for the firm’s reputation.

  Now convinced, Marty began handing out assignments. He tasked Brad with finding an independent consultant to review any malicious code Erica might have written. He tasked Cathy with keeping Erica out of the building. Herman and Sarah were told to focus solely on what Erica had been doing in the computer room.

  The meeting broke and everyone went back to their offices, bound by Marty’s order of silence.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Stan tossed and turned incessantly through the night. At 2:07 a.m. he realized he needed to tell Sarah about his discovery and join forces on the investigation. The longer she worked with Brad, the more brainwashed she’d become. Unfortunately, Sarah was all about the glory. If he suggested they team up, she’d think he was weaseling in on the credit and she’d refuse without a second thought. All he had for incentive was what he’d learned that night: a few dates Erica scrawled, the blank security tapes and a security system that pointed to Erica as the culprit. Everything he knew would push Sarah further off track. He needed to get her turned around fast. Her jealousy and the lack of evidence were going to make that difficult.


  Brad had done an excellent job setting Erica up, but Stan knew he was guilty and that was more than he ever expected of this job. The evidence was somewhere in the office and together they could find it. He wasn’t sure how they’d convince Marty that his brother-in-law was a crook, but he’d worry about that later. First, he had to convince Sarah to help.

  All morning, bits of dialog ran through his head. Nothing in his imagined conversations convinced her of Erica’s innocence, so he lay awake searching for something stronger.

  At 7:56 a.m. he found Sarah’s bag on her office chair, her laptop running, but no Sarah. She wasn’t in the cafeteria, the computer room or Gregg’s office. On a whim he jaunted up to twenty-three and found her in the boardroom with an interesting cast of characters: Brad, Herman, Cathy and Marty. Cathy’s presence meant this was serious trouble for someone. Herman and Sarah together meant the trouble was related to an IA project. Brad’s sorry carcass meant the person in trouble was from IT and by the expression on his face, it wasn’t him. Stan thought about barging in, but had nothing to offer but his conviction. He swung by Erica’s office instead, came up empty and parked on Sarah’s desk by 8:25 a.m.

  Fifteen minutes later Sarah rushed around the corner with a wide grin. When she saw him perched on her desk she stopped dead, her pride wiped away by an expression of shock. She cautiously circled to her seat as if she were intruding in her own office.

  “What got you out of bed so early?” she asked.

  “Early meeting?” Stan countered.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Interesting group up there. You should have invited me.”

  She smirked as if Stan was useless in that context. He shook off the insult knowing this was the man he’d shown her, the old Stan. The guy who’d washed out and given up. That was going to change. He wouldn’t fail Erica.