by J. D. Webb
THREE
As usual, Trish had to race to get to work on time since it had taken so long to leave the house. All the secretaries and assistants swarmed around her as she entered the law offices.
“There she is. Trish, Trish? We heard about what happened last night. It’s all over the radio.” Heather Samuels’ usually smiling face wrinkled with concern. “You’ve got to tell us what went on, girl.”
The women pressed in closer, nodding in eager agreement.
“Not a lot, really. I went to the ATM and heard a noise. It was a woman who had been injured. I called 911 and that was that. Back off a little. I’m beginning to get claustrophobia here.”
Heather’s eyes opened so wide Trish thought her extra long false eyelashes might stick to her eyebrows. “They just announced on the radio—the woman died last night. So you witnessed a murder.”
“Oh, God, no. How awful. I’m so sorry for her.” Tears welled in Trish’s eyes.
Charity Taylor-Edwards smoothed her shoulder-length blonde locks. “Did you see who whacked her? Were you scared?”
Trish gave her a look of disdain. “No, I didn’t see who whacked her. And I didn’t witness a murder, I only found the victim.” Trish moved toward her desk and the crowd followed.
Robert Sloan, junior partner and office manager, approached in his usual lethargic gait and windmilled his arms at the group. “Let’s get back to work, everyone. We all have lots to do. Are you okay to work, Trish?” Sloan herded Heather away.
Heather, as she often did, puffed out her cheeks and waddled back to her desk. Sloan had not yet caught her mocking him. Behind his back she referred to him as “Moby” or the “Great White Whale.” In a semblance of fairness, Mr. Sloan’s chauvinism often failed to remain below the surface.
“I’m fine, Mr. Sloan. I have to be at the police station at noon for a statement. I don’t think it should take too long.”
“Take what time you need.” Sloan crossed his arms, which because of his girth ended up being crossed wrists. “I would like to get that deposition on the Crane case finished today, though. It’s due tomorrow, early.”
“I’ll stay late if I need to, sir.”
“I knew I could count on you, Trish. I’m glad you had limited involvement in that business. Please try to keep the firm’s name away from the press if you can. See you later.”
The phone rang and Trish waved at Sloan as he walked away.
“Sloan, Walters, Walters, and Spitzer. This is Trish Morgan. How may I help you?”
Heather giggled. “You can fill me in on the details now that Moby is gone.”
Trish looked around. Everyone but Heather busily conducted SWW&S’s affairs. I feel like a secret agent contacted by one of my spies. “Heather, I’ve got a lot of work to do. I told you all about it just a minute ago.”
“I know you. There’s something you’re holding back. You know I’m psychic. Spill it.”
“If you’re so psychic why don’t you tell me what it is?”
“Come on. I’ll keep bugging you till you tell me.”
“We’ll talk at break time, if I can get this deposition done. Hang up and let me get at it.”
“You meet me at ten-fifteen in the supply closet. You tell Heather all about it. No holding back.”
“Goodbye, Heather.” Trish replaced the receiver and leaned back in her chair. The disk in her purse had been bugging her. Since that poor woman died, I’m the only one who knows about it. At least, I hope I’m the only one. The hair on the nape of her neck rose. Suppose she wasn’t the only one. That woman’s death was not because of a robbery. The police had said she still wore her jewelry and her money was still in her purse. And Bob had found her ATM card. Apparently someone went to extreme lengths to get it last night. Otherwise, why had they beaten that woman?
I’m just scaring myself with ridiculous notions. I’ll give it to the police and be done with it.
Trish dove into her work. Thankfully the first part of the morning flew by. She completed at least three fourths of the deposition for Sloan, as well as handling a few other emergencies, as the lawyers called them. Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to stay late. Jim always got upset when she had to work past five. He’d call five or six times to make sure she was okay.
She walked to the supply closet at 10:15 looking over her shoulder for…she didn’t know what or who. Didn’t see the problem here.
Heather pulled her inside, closed the door and flipped on the light. “This morning dragged on so slow, I couldn’t stand it. I’ve been itching to get in here and talk. Okay, tell me. What are you holding back?” Heather’s brown eyes bored into Trish’s.
Trish feared everything in her mind would be revealed as clearly as if printed on a page. “I don’t know how you do it, Heather. You really must be psychic. There is something else and it’s worrying me a lot.”
Heather practically jumped up and down. “I knew it. I knew it!”
Trish held up her hand. “Shhh. I don’t want the whole town to know about this.”
Heather stopped, closed her mouth and gave a zip-it-up sign.
“When I got to the woman she was barely alive. There was so much blood.” Trish couldn’t stop the shiver that went through her. “Somehow she stuffed something into my purse when I wasn’t looking. I found it this morning.”
“Wow! Bingo! What? Tell me what it was.”
Trish stared at her and pursed her lips. Heather hunched her shoulders and gave one more zip-it-up signal. “It’s a computer disk. No identifying label and it’s a read only.”
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know and I won’t know either. I’m giving it to the police.”
“You aren’t even going to take a little tiny peek?” Heather looked incredulous and held her forefinger and thumb close together.
“No. I don’t want to know what’s on it. It may have gotten a woman killed. I don’t want that to happen to me. I’m going to get rid of it.”
“Oh, come on now. It’s important. It might be a national secret or something.”
“Right.” Trish snorted in derision. “Someone in Millvale has a top secret disk. Come on, Heather.”
“Stranger things have happened. There’s something else you need to think about. Whoever did this, if they’re looking for the disk, might think you have it and you’ve seen what’s on it.”
It hit Trish between the eyes. Of course. It was in her possession. Who wouldn’t want to look at what was on the disk? All morning Trish had thought long and hard about it herself. “Oh, God. You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Hey, you’ve been stressed to the breaking point, seeing a murder and all. Anyone would be discombobulated. Even me. Now here’s what we’re going to do.”
“Wait a minute. What’s this ‘we’ business? I told you I’m getting rid of the disk.”
Heather held out her hand. “Let me see it.”
“No. I’m not letting it out of my sight. Not for a second. Besides, it’s evidence. I feel like I should guard it or something.”
“From me? Let me take a look at it and see what’s there. Remember, I’m almost a PI.”
“Yeah, from a correspondence school. And why you?” Trish couldn’t hide the disdain in her voice.
“Come on, I have to see what’s on it. Did you ever think I might be in danger from it, too?”
“You?”
“Who’s your best friend? Just by knowing you, I could be in trouble.” Heather stood with her hands on her hips and determination written all over her face.
“I think you’re stretching the connection a bit. When I give it to the police your fingerprints would be on it.”
“No, they wouldn’t. You handle a DVD by the edge; they can’t get a print that way. Part of my PI training, you know. Where’s the disk?”
No use arguing with Heather. When she put her mind to something, nothing would stop her. Besides I’m tired of dealing with the whole situation. “Lo
wer right hand drawer of my desk. It’s in my purse in a freezer bag.”
“You wait here. Give me a one-minute head start out of here. After I make a copy, I’ll have it back in less than five minutes.”
“I don’t like this at all. Not one bit.”
“Boy, I do. This is fun. My PI training’s kicking in. Say, do you have a gun?”
“A gun?” Trish strangled a screech. “I most certainly do not. I’m as anti-gun as you can get.”
“You may change your mind if this guy comes after you. You be careful. And go get a gun. Hey, I’ll loan you one of mine.”
“No. No guns.”
“Let’s see. You need one that’s light weight.” Heather tapped Trish’s shoulder. “My Glock twenty-two. It’s a forty caliber. I’ll get it on my lunch hour.”
“I said no guns. Period!” Trish yelled.
“Okay, okay. Merely trying to help. It’ll be around if you need it.” Heather slipped out of the closet and surreptitiously looked around. She winked and pointed her forefinger with a thumb up at Trish in a mock shooting position.
One minute later the door opened as Trish reached to grasp the knob. She practically jumped onto the third shelf of copy paper. Mr. Sloan walked in and nodded.
“Hope I didn’t startle you. I thought I heard someone scream. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. This whole thing last night has me on edge.” She feigned looking at some boxes of toner as Mr. Sloan awkwardly reached around her, grabbed a bunch of sticky notepads and left. She leaned on the shelving and tried to take a deep breath. Oh, Lord, if only I could rewind my life back to a couple of days ago.
Back at Trish’s desk, Heather closed the desk drawer as she walked up.
“Needed some paper clips, Trish. Hope you don’t mind.” She said it a little too loudly from Trish’s standpoint. She imagined everyone in the office would know something was up. She realized right then and there she wouldn’t have the guts to be a PI. Heather flashed another thumbs up and sauntered off to her desk.
Trish sneaked a look in her purse at the disk encased in a plastic baggie.
I’ll sure be glad to get rid of that stupid disk.
FOUR
Trish spent the rest of the morning finishing Sloan’s deposition, then piddled at appearing busy. She couldn’t help analyzing her situation. Should she call the police about the disk? Sure, Millvale’s finest. Their idea of a tough night’s work consisted of taking the mayor’s son home after his latest fight. Bob seemed competent, but this was major.
She finally called and Mandy Pelikan, the receptionist, informed her no one was available and Bob wouldn’t be back until noon. Okay, she’d meet him at noon and that would be that. The morning dragged on.
* * * *
Trish had been glancing at the small digital clock on her desk off and on for the last twenty minutes. The green numerals had changed to 11:46. As she reached for her purse to head for the police station, her phone rang and she somehow kept from leaping on her desk.
“Spitzer, Walters, Walters, and Sloan. How may I help you?” Trish sat and again placed her purse on the desk.
“You can give me back my disk.” The deep male voice seemed to crawl through her ear and into her brain.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, I want it back.”
“Who is this?”
“Someone who doesn’t want you to end up like Elizabeth.”
Her heart thudded in her chest threatening to escape. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Anger filled his voice. “The disk.”
“I don’t have any disk.”
“Don’t be stupid. I know you have it and I want it.”
“But I don’t have it anymore. I gave it to the police.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say and hopefully this would get this maniac off her back.
“You idiot! You have to get it back.”
Trish felt a drop of perspiration trickle down her back. “I can’t do that. How am I going to steal the disk back from the police?”
“You’re a smart girl. Just do it. You have twenty-four hours. Otherwise tomorrow you’re on a slab next to Elizabeth with a tag on your toe.” The click on the phone seemed louder than usual. Trish sat there holding the phone and staring at the office water fountain. She dropped the receiver.
Heather walked up to her desk. “Trish, you look awfully pale. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing.” Trish snagged a Kleenex from the box on her desk and dabbed her forehead.
“Okay, into the supply closet. Let’s go.” Heather pulled Trish out of her chair and pushed her all the way to the closet. Once inside she switched on the light and closed the door. “What happened?”
“I was getting ready to go to the police when my phone rang. This guy said I had to give him back the disk or he’d kill me.” Trish felt the blood draining from her head. Her knees began to buckle. She leaned back against the door and shook her head.
Heather grabbed Trish’s arms and gently shook her. “Steady, girl. Listen here. We’ve got to think this through. I’ll bring you a gun at lunch.”
“You will not. I’m not using a gun. End of that.”
“I can teach you how to use it. Didn’t take me long to learn at all.”
“My uncle was killed by a careless friend handling a handgun. I swore I’d never pick one up and I won’t change my mind now.”
“Okay. Let me think.” Heather leaned on the shelf filled with bottles of copy machine toner. “I got it. When I took the disk, I made a copy. I’ll make another one and we can give it to this guy.”
“When he gets it he’ll have no reason to keep me alive. In the movies they always end up dead. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Try to think of something feasible.”
“All right. How about this? We agree to give this guy the disk. We arrange a meeting with him. When he gets there and you hand him the disk, I shoot him.”
Her voice escalated. “You what!” This was unreal. Were we really having a conversation about guns and secret disks and murder?
“I, unlike you, have a gun. And I know how to use it. It’s a beautiful three fifty-seven Magnum. It’ll blast that guy to smithereens. Where I grew up we took care of our own problems.” Heather stood there with hands on hips and a matter-of-fact expression on her face. The statement had been uttered with no emotion or semblance of fear.
“This is not Chicago. This is Millvale for God’s sake. I don’t want us to become the next Thelma and Louise. A meeting sounds like a bad idea. But how about if I tell him I’ll leave it for him somewhere? Somewhere in a crowd of people.”
“That’s good. I think I saw that in a Dirty Harry movie once. Boy, this is fun, isn’t it?”
“Heather, my idea of fun is a bowl of popcorn in front of a TV movie.”
“Me too, with Brad Pitt draped all over me. Wooweee.”
Trish looked at her watch. “Look, I’ve got to get to the police station. You need to get back to work, okay?”
“Oh, all right, Pilgrim.” Heather left, attempting to mimic the walk of John Wayne, one of her favorite movie stars.
Later Trish wouldn’t remember leaving the closet or returning to her area. One minute she stood under the lone 60-watt bulb, which inadequately illuminated the small supply room, and the next she sat in her secretary’s chair, staring at the fake fish in the aquarium on her computer screen. She couldn’t believe she had been threatened. Trish Morgan, who never hurt a fly and avoided any possible confrontations, targeted by a murderer. What a nightmare!
How did my life become so screwed up? Suddenly I’m in the middle of one of those cop shows on TV. Heather wants to outfit me for a S.W.A.T. team and have a showdown with a madman. I’ve got to get this disk to the police and be done with it.
As Trish readied herself to leave, Charity Taylor-Edwards hurried over to Trish’s desk. Actually, more like sashayed. Charity, an ex-model, walked as though on a runway in New Y
ork. The guys loved it, but it drove Trish nuts. Charity placed both arms in Trish’s in-box and leaned over. With her low-cut blouse she displayed more cleavage than Trish cared to see.
“Trish? Is something wrong? You and Heather have been conspiring together all day. Does it have anything to do with last night?”
“We’re planning something. It’s no big deal.”
Charity rose up to her full five feet seven inches and pulled her blonde hair behind her ear. “Sure, you are. I think it’s got to do with your experience at the bank. Come on. You can tell me. I can keep a secret.” In truth, Trish knew if the Chinese wanted to know something top secret, they should buy Charity a rum and Coke and get her talking about herself. Done deal.
“Just chatting, Charity. That’s all.”
Charity switched tactics. “Where were you at breakfast this morning? We had a great discussion about Luke. Isn’t he a hunk? He’s already asked me out.”
“Good for you. I hope you two will be very happy. I missed breakfast because that darned ATM ate my card again. Listen I have to go to the police station and give them my statement. If I don’t leave now I’m going to be late.” She gave Charity a forced smile. “They might send out a S.W.A.T. team to get me. Excuse me, will you? We’ll talk later.”
“Oh, sure. I’m on my way to the courthouse anyway. See ya.” Charity twiddled her fingers at Trish and flounced away.
Trish sighed and stuffed some sensitive papers in her middle desk drawer, locked the desk and picked up her purse. The police station was only two minutes away, so she probably wouldn’t be late after all.
Heather waved a bright pink ink pen as she passed her desk. “Give ’em hell, girl.”
Trish looked back and snapped, “I’m only going to answer questions, not get booked. That PI course has you going nuts.”