by J. D. Webb
“Don’t knock it. I might be able to save your life. I got an A in the course and they told me I’m a natural.”
Trish stopped and turned around. “This is going to be the end of your stupid case, Heather. Drop it. I don’t need anyone to save me.”
“Uh huh, right. I’ll be here when you need me.”
Trish shook her head and scurried out the door.
FIVE
Trish closed the French doors of SWW&S and froze. What am I doing? There’s a madman on the loose and he has threatened me. What if he’s waiting for me and I unconsciously walked outside alone? She looked up and down Main Street. Nothing seemed amiss. How would she know? Traffic zipped past and only two people walked the sidewalks. She checked her purse to make sure her pepper spray was still accessible and decided to go those two blocks as fast as she could.
The Millvale Police Station occupied the corner of Main and Main. Beyond Main, the streets radiating from the center of town east and west were named for the presidents, and north to south were the states. Not an innovative bunch, the founding fathers, but it was hard to get lost in Millvale. And, of course, everybody knew everybody.
Trish turned up her coat collar and leaned into the early November wind, hurrying along North Main Street to finish her police interview. She smiled and nodded as she scurried past Mrs. Cooper, the nice lady from the bank, and then Mr. Parker from the Hair Raising Beauty Salon, who seemed more feminine than most of Trish’s female friends.
Encountering no unfamiliar faces Trish finally arrived at the station steps. The old Carnegie building seemed even more imposing than normal as she sprinted up the stairs. The police had taken over ten years before when the city library moved into a brand new building with expanded parking on Washington Avenue.
Amanda Pelikan, wearing a parka over her Chicago Bulls sweatshirt, sat at the information desk, dabbing her perpetually red nose. She had an annoying habit of snorting instead of blowing.
Snort. “Hello Trish. How are you?” Snort.
“Fine, Mandy. I’m here to see Bob about last night.”
“Oh, how about that?” Snort. “A murder here in Millvale. I may never use an ATM again.” Snort. Amanda tossed the used tissue into her heaping wastebasket.
“I don’t think we have a serial killer here, Mandy.”
“So, you have your own investigation going, Trish?” Bob chimed in from behind, startling Trish.
“Well no, but I can’t imagine anyone here preying on the people of Millvale just out of the blue. Do you often sneak up behind innocent citizens?”
“Wasn’t sneaking. I was here for our meeting. Come on back.” Without waiting for her reply, he led the way through a clutter of desks and file cabinets toward his cubicle. “Careful. Watch your step. The city fathers use this area for storage so you have to negotiate the maze to get to our area.”
Dresden blue cubicles were a stark contrast to the bland gray color scheme and open architecture of the rest of the station décor. Though it seemed a crime to call it décor.
Bob motioned to a folding chair. “Have a seat, Trish.” He cleared an area of his desk by gathering a stack of papers and dropping them on the floor. “Want a cup of coffee grounds or a soda?”
She sat. “Sounds delicious, but no thanks. I want to get this over with.”
Bob smiled and his dimples seemed to wink at her. “Our coffee’s only good for staying awake on the night shift.” She caught the scent of Old Spice.
Trish crossed her legs and nervously swung her right foot. “So what do you want to know about last night?” Perhaps diving into the interview would speed it up.
“Anything you can remember about arriving there. Did you see anyone around the ATM? Maybe a vehicle speeding away. Any detail that could help us nail this perp.”
“I told you last night, I didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary.” She sighed. “Like I said, I heard a moan and went to see if someone needed help. She did. But there was something else.” Trish searched her purse and pulled out the plastic bag. “I think maybe she shoved this disk in my bag when I wasn’t looking.”
Bob stared at the disk as if it were a newly shrunken head. “Why didn’t you tell me about it last night?”
“I knew nothing about it until this morning when I checked my purse. I tried calling but you were gone.” Trish noticed she was sitting straighter in the chair and her voice had risen by an octave.
Bob held up his hand. “Take it easy, I wasn’t accusing you of anything. Only curious. I’ll get this to the lab. They’ll give it to the state guys to analyze.”
She leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Sorry. I’m nervous. A man called me this morning wanting the disk back.”
Bob leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “He called you at work? What were his exact words?”
“I’m not sure I can repeat it verbatim. He said he knew I had the disk and wanted it back.”
Bob placed the bag on his desk. “How’d he know where to get a hold of you?”
“You’re the cop. You tell me.”
Bob smiled. It softened his face and accentuated his dimples. “I had that coming, didn’t I? One thing for sure, we need to get you some protection. I’m calling in the state police.” He dialed and talked to the duty officer in Springfield. “They’ll get back to me. In the meantime, did your caller say anything else?”
“He wants his disk back. I’m to steal it from you, since I told him I had already handed it over.”
Bob rubbed his chin. “This may be the break we need.”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“Isn’t there a video camera at the ATM?”
“We just finished looking at the tape.”
“Were you able to identify the alleged assailant? I can’t believe I’m saying something like that instead of typing it in a legal document.”
“No, we couldn’t. It was too dark, and with the light burned out, all we could make out was an arm and a hand grabbing the woman’s arm and pulling her toward the alley. Trish, have you tried to look at what’s on the disk?”
“Not at all. I put it in that baggie and then into my purse. The only time I touched it was when I wrapped it, so the disk wouldn’t get damaged.” That’s not really a lie. Just an omission about Heather copying it.
“Good. You said last night you didn’t know the victim. Now that you know her name is that still true?”
“What was her name again?”
“Elizabeth Thompson.”
Trish shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t recognize it. Who was she?”
“A new CPA in town, hired about two months ago by Elvis Tingle.”
“Our meek little financial analyst? Do you think Elvis did it?”
“I don’t think so. He lost big-time at a poker game last night, so he has an alibi.”
“How do you know that?”
Bob sheepishly glanced at Trish. “I was there losing with him.”
“Oh, great. Our police force involved in a gambling house.”
“Nothing like that. A bunch of us play on Thursday nights. For fun. Nothing involving chunks of cash. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be there. Can’t lose more than twenty bucks a night. He also has another more prominent person who’ll vouch for him being there. Our illustrious mayor. He was the big winner last night.”
“Good Lord. The whole city staff is involved.”
“It’ll be front page news, I’m sure.” He smiled. “On second thought, no, it won’t, because the newspaper owner was there, too.”
“A den of thieves. Well, what else do you need from me?” Not waiting for a reply, Trish stood up to go.
“Did Miss Thompson talk to you? Tell you anything?”
“No, she asked for help and then passed out.”
Bob checked his notes. “That’s all I need right now. I may follow up later if I have any other questions. If you think of something, give me a call.”
“This guy on the phon
e wants me to steal the disk back from you. What should I do?”
“From what I hear the FBI will betaking over the investigation. Anyway, since they’re now involved you could tell your mystery caller the cops no longer have the disk. I guess now we wait till they let us know what we’re supposed to do.”
She started to leave.
“Oh, Trish?” She turned back. “It was nice talking to you again. It’s been a long time. Would you like to have a cup of coffee sometime and talk?”
Trish’s ears heated up. Whenever she was embarrassed, her ears let her, and everyone else, know. She always turned ten shades redder, maddeningly accentuating her freckles. “Do you think my husband would like that?”
Bob shrugged his shoulders. “I was just concerned this was causing you grief. Trying to offer some help. I apologize. I meant no harm.”
Trish looked at his face and regretted her harshness. She could see hurt in his eyes. “Maybe I am a little out of sorts from this.” She smiled. “No apology necessary. I’m sorry I snapped at you. That’s not like me. We’ll forget it happened.” She waved goodbye.
Bob got up and grabbed his trooper cap. “Wait a minute. I’m walking you back to work. As a precaution.”
“I’ll be fine. No need.” She wanted to accept but the offer of coffee made her a bit uncomfortable. However, remembering how rattled she was on her way to the station, she would feel better having an escort.
“I’m going and that’s that. I told you I’d get you some protection. I don’t like that phone call this morning. And I’m following you home tonight. It would be good for you to leave early. Vary your usual routine. Call and let me know when you’re going home. I’ll meet you in front of SWW&S. We’ll come back to my office and I’ll fill you in on what arrangements have been made.”
“Suit yourself.” Trish still felt flushed. Niggling in her mind was that her first inclination had been to say yes to his invitation to meet for coffee. They hurried through the station and Trish gave Mandy a pat on the shoulder on the way out. Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in high school again?
Trish practically ran back to SWW&S. Bob, taking long strides, seemed to be walking normally. He left after checking the lobby and told her a police car would be outside her home until they caught this guy. Boy, that’ll go over big with Jim.
Trish thankfully noted Heather’s empty desk when she returned. No more talk about this affair. It was over now. She wanted the workday to be over so she could go home to a nice quiet meal and a leisurely soak in a hot bath. Depending upon Jim’s mood.
Heather suddenly appeared beside her, grabbing her arm. “We have to go. Come on.” Once again they disappeared into the supply closet.
Heather leaned against the door. “Well?”
“I finished my interview and gave Bob the disk. It’s over.”
“No, it isn’t. The killer still wants that disk.”
“The police are going to get me some protection.”
“Oh, that’s going to work. Do the cops have any suspects?”
“No. Well, I don’t know that they do. Bob wasn’t really that free with any information.”
“Do you think you can get that disk back?”
“No. Whatever you think of me, Heather, I’m not a thief. Especially stealing from the police. Are you nuts? Besides, didn’t you hear me? The cops are handling this. Not us.”
Heather leaned on the small shelf containing SWW&S ink pens. Each one to be accounted for and only given to paying customers. “Looks like the only choice you’ve got is to keep in sight of the police. I still think a gun would be a good idea.”
She wasn’t giving up. She was like a bulldog with a bone. Just humor her. “Okay, you carry one. Now, let’s get back to work.”
“On one condition. That I’m in on making this happen.”
“You’re in whether I want you in or not. Get going.”
“You first. I don’t want to be seen coming out of the closet with a woman.” Heather giggled all the way back to her desk.
SIX
Phinias Robert Sloan, junior partner, would be mortified if he had realized the entire staff at SWW&S knew his first name. His mother had wanted to honor her great grandfather by naming her son after him. But P. R. hated it—he even had all his certificates and diplomas redone to eliminate references to his first name. Office records of employment were also altered. But years ago one of the associates had actually gone to the trouble of contacting the Montpelier, Vermont courthouse and had a copy of P. R. Sloan’s birth certificate faxed to the office. Everyone in the office knew about it.
Trish felt uncomfortable approaching Mr. Sloan’s office. He’d fondly say his door was always open, but in reality it never was. One was expected to knock civilly and wait for his robust, “Enter!”
She rapped on the shiny mahogany door. It smelled of lemons.
“Enter!” Trish hesitated, then opened the door and peered in. The big man motioned irritably for her to come in all the way. Not usually a good sign. Sloan detested non-billable office interruptions. She crept in.
Mr. Sloan sat as ramrod straight in his burgundy leather chair as his 300-plus pounds would allow, and motioned for her to shut the door and sit down. Trish often wondered if the reason Sloan wanted to know who was at his door had to do with the comb over that refused to completely fill the bald patch on the top of his head. If someone came in unannounced and he had his head down, that spot shone like a beacon.
“Trish, I’m very pleased with your work on the deposition and also the collecting of the brief in the Dellums trial. Nice job. Now, was there something you wanted?”
“Yes, sir. The police asked that I return to the station as soon as possible. I wondered if I might leave early.”
Sloan frowned. “More questions from them?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I hope you’re not in any difficulty. Ha, ha.” Obviously a forced laugh; his smile held no mirth.
She held her anger at his laughing off her trouble but still couldn’t bring herself to reveal her true predicament. “Routine, is what they said. I have all my work caught up.”
“No problem. You may leave at four forty-five.”
Wow, a whole 15 minutes early. Gee, Phinias, I hope the firm can afford it. “Thanks, Mr. Sloan. I appreciate it. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Trish.”
You pompous twit. She glanced at her watch. Still 30 minutes to kill before I can leave.
Why had she used the word kill? She returned to her desk and sank into her chair. Trish sighed, picked up some papers at random and studied them, not really focusing on the content. How could she concentrate on work when a killer was targeting her? I’m surprised I’m not curled into a fetal position, lying on the floor sobbing my eyes out. She absently selected the latest activity log from her inbox and checked to see what everyone in the office was doing.
Trish’s work area, closest to the partner offices, denoted her position as assistant office manager. Ten years of service and an excellent work record had been rewarded with the top job in what everyone referred to as the “bullpen.” Only partners had offices. At one time Trish had aspired to be a partner, but office politics, and more than petty gender discrimination deflated that dream.
She’d finally finished her degree in September and was waiting to hear if she’d passed the bar exam. After that her choices looked rather slim, but she would accomplish her goal of becoming a lawyer. Something her late mom would have been proud of. Success had come easily to older sister Becky, a math whiz at 15 and now a project manager at NASA.
All associates were busily attacking the mountains of paperwork except Heather, who sat with compact in hand, looking back at Trish in the mirror. She pointed to the front door and turned her palm up. Trish shook her head and pointed to her watch, then held up four fingers twice and five fingers once, indicating when she could leave. Heather shrugged and resumed working.
At precisely 4:30, the mu
rderer called back. Her stomach lurched at the sound of his voice.
“What’s your cell phone number?” he snapped.
“Why do you want that?” The receiver shook as she tried to remain calm.
“I’m going to call you tomorrow to tell you what to do with the disk you’re bringing me. Be at the Citizen’s Office Building at ten sharp on the second floor beside the elevator. Alone and with the disk.”
“I haven’t got the disk.” Trish gritted her teeth and her heart pounded. “I told you, it’s at the police station.”
“Then you’d better get to work to get it back. Now what’s the number?”
“I’m not giving you my cell number.”
“So you would rather meet face to face, up close and personal?”
Definitely something she didn’t want to do. With a resolve to discontinue that phone contract as soon as possible she gave him her number. Her phone went dead and she slowly hung up. Trish struggled not to cry. How could she rendezvous with a murderer? She could hand him the disk Heather copied and try to run away. That’s stupid. If he knows where I work, he probably knows where I live. What brand of disk did she get that night? Sony. The copied disk was a Staples brand. He’d know the difference.
What am I going to do? What good is a hick town police department going to do me? Suddenly, Heather’s idea of having a gun didn’t seem so far-fetched.
SEVEN
At 4:40 Heather passed Trish’s desk and laid a Sony DVD covertly on a stack of papers. The words ‘extra copy’ penned across a yellow sticky note attached to the disk told Trish all she needed to know. She looked up at Heather and mouthed, “thank you.” Heather’s only acknowledgement was a wave of a hand that held a clip full of bullets. Trish nearly passed out. She watched Heather stroll to her desk, sit down and slip the ammo into her purse as calmly as if she had replaced a pack of her nasty cigarettes.
Taking a deep breath, Trish picked up the phone, called Bob and told him she was on her way. He assured her he’d meet her in the lobby. She locked her desk at 4:44 and glanced at Sloan’s office window. She could feel him watching and noting the fact that she was leaving one minute early. Resisting the urge to daintily wave at the opaque glass, she turned and marched off to meet her escort.