Fate of the Fallen

by Ellery Adams

“I can attest to that,” Trish said. “When I was diagnosed with cancer, one of the first things my doctor told me was to talk to someone—a professional someone.”

  Kenneth spun the card around in his hand. “That’s true. Sinclair didn’t trust a lot of people, so he might have wanted to talk to someone legally obligated to honor his privacy. I was his closest friend, and he still had a hard time confiding in me when the stakes were high. Don’t get me wrong. He loved people, but he didn’t trust them. Trust just wasn’t in his nature. That’s why he carried a gun.”

  Jake made his way further into the office and leaned against the desk. “So, Kenneth, you’re not convinced Sinclair committed suicide.”

  “I’m not.”

  “What if the police determine he did?”

  “That would only prove the police didn’t know him!” Kenneth snapped. “Sure, Sinclair was a private person. I mean, he only trusted me as much as he did because he’d known me for years. We started this company together, for crying out loud. Some people might think that because he was private, he had some kind of dark side, but that wasn’t true. Sinclair had too much going for him to kill himself—the company, his work at the animal shelter . . .” He pointed to the white board behind Sinclair’s desk. “See that? He was determined to make sure he had the healthiest workplace in Richmond. He offered to buy a Fitbit for anyone interested in the fitness challenge.”

  “It’s true,” Christine said, holding up her wrist to show them the black band she wore. “I only got this because Sinclair paid for it.”

  “In fact, I need to update our goal chart with this week’s numbers.” Kenneth sat down at Sinclair’s computer. “I know things will change now that Sinclair’s gone, but this doesn’t have to. We’ll carry on his dream of having the healthiest workplace. If you don’t mind, while I’m thinking about it, I’ll update the info from the Fitbit users.”

  “You can do that?” Trish asked.

  “Sinclair thought it would be best to have one person collecting the data directly from everybody’s accounts. That way nobody can cheat and say they did exercise they didn’t actually do. I just log in to their accounts, copy down the latest numbers and put them on the board.”

  Jake leaned over to Trish. “I hate to be the old fuddy-duddy of the group, but what’s a Fitbit, again? I know Nathan told us, but I was busy eating cookies at the time.”

  “Think of it as a really, really fancy pedometer,” Trish explained.

  “Sort of,” Kenneth said with a laugh. “A lot more than that, but it does track steps.”

  “Got it . . . again,” Jake said. “So, Kenneth, you must have a theory about what happened.”

  Kenneth stiffened. “I might.”

  “Care to share it with us?”

  He hesitated, again shifting his gaze among the four of them. No one said a word as they waited for him to decide one way or another. He stood and began to pace. He didn’t seem to be quite sure where to start. Finally, he spoke. “A few weeks ago, I found Sinclair sitting at his desk, looking at the company ledger. He was obviously troubled. I asked what was wrong, and he said he thought he’d found a problem with the business. He said he wanted to check into it. Never gave me an update and never told me anything more.”

  “Then why do you think it’s related to his death?” Cooper asked.

  “I can’t explain it, really. There was something about his manner at the time . . . I remember one time in college when he was writing an important computer program, he ran into a major glitch. It was on his mind day and night. He always had this look in his eye, like he just couldn’t let go of the problem, no matter what else was going on. Since that day I found him studying the ledger, he’d had the same look. Whatever he’d found was big, important. It was really weighing on him. He was . . . haggard.”

  “So what was the problem?”

  Kenneth shrugged. “If I knew that, I might be able to figure out who killed him.”

  “Do you have a guess?”

  “Sure, but it really is conjecture only. No more, no less. You see, I wonder if one of the employees was—or is—doing something illegal through the company. I’m not sure what the crime might be, though. I think Sinclair discovered the wrongdoing, and, being the stand-up guy he was, he decided to talk to the person rather than just turn them in to the cops. Maybe the person swore they’d go straight. Maybe they promised to stop with the illegal stuff. And Sinclair would have believed them. Then, I think that whoever it was killed him to keep him quiet.”

  Christine wore a skeptical expression. “You got all that from a vague statement Sinclair made a few weeks ago?”

  “Think what you like. I know what I know.”

  “For someone who didn’t trust people, you seem to think he showed a lot of trust in whoever he caught breaking the law. He trusted they’d change.”

  “That’s different. Sinclair believed people can change. He believed they want to be good. He didn’t trust they always are.”

  “Okay then, answer this,” Trish said. “How do we know it was someone in this office? We’ve been working on the assumption that if Sinclair was murdered, it was done by one of the people just outside that door. How do we know it wasn’t someone else? Aren’t the police talking to everyone who was at the festival?”

  “The police were here Monday,” Kenneth replied. “They said they were interviewing everyone from the park, but who else would know him well enough to have motive? He didn’t talk to many people outside of work, so except for us and clients, who would have had a reason? And what reason would a client have for killing him and making it look like a suicide?” He shook his head. “My money’s on someone in this office. I know it. I can feel it.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Kenneth. Really, I’m not,” Christine assured him. “I’m just not ready to believe someone out there is a murderer.”

  “I don’t like it, either, but I know it has to be true. Sinclair cared too much about people to cause them that kind of grief. He cared too much about his own health to put a bullet in his brain. And he cared too much about this company to leave it behind.”

  Cooper thought for a moment. “You said when you spoke to Sinclair he was looking at the company ledger. Was that a hard-copy ledger or a software ledger?”

  “It was his hard copy. He liked numbers, so he kept his own books, along with the electronic version.”

  Christine smiled. “I never knew that about him.”

  “Nobody did. He figured people would think it strange if the CEO of a software company opted to do the numbers by hand, instead of entrusting it all to the software.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to assume the problem he discovered was money-related, then?” Cooper asked.

  “I don’t know. When he was stressed, he liked to mess with numbers and do puzzles. It calmed him down. I suppose he might’ve been looking at the ledger as a way to relax, because he’d found a problem somewhere else.”

  “Or looking at the ledger might have made him anxious,” Cooper countered. “Do you know enough about the company’s finances to recognize the problem if you saw it?”

  Kenneth perked up, went to the built-in shelves, and removed a black leather-bound ledger from a row of books. “I’ll look at it tonight and see what I can find. Keep in mind, it might have just been a catharsis for him. There may not be anything useful here.”

  “I know,” Cooper replied. “And I’ve got one more request for you. I think I speak for all of us when I ask it. Can you keep our little meeting a secret? We’d rather not have everyone knowing why we were here.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.” Kenneth looked down at the ledger in his hands. “No need to tell them.”

  “They’ll wonder why we were all in Sinclair’s office,” Christine said. “Especially Mandy.”

  Kenneth rolled his eyes. “Of course she will.” He thought for a moment. “If anyone asks, just tell them that you sent the copier repairman—er, woman—in here, and I wasn’t happy that someo
ne was in Sinclair’s office. When I found out there was so much going on without my approval, I demanded to see everyone who wasn’t a Sphinx employee, so I called all of them in here. You can tell anyone who’s curious that I’ve gone a little power crazy now that I’m in charge, if it helps.”

  “Don’t forget we’ve got clients coming,” Christine added. “We needed to get the place presentable.”

  “Very good. We had a run on visitors today, trying to get the place ready for tomorrow. You, as office manager, took the initiative to get the work done. Then I demanded to see everyone. You think that’ll satisfy Mandy’s curiosity?”

  Christine laughed. “Is it possible to satisfy her curiosity?”

  Cooper followed Christine from Sinclair’s office, quietly mulling over the conversation and trying to look as casual as possible. The other employees had to believe there was nothing strange about the meeting with Kenneth. They had to believe it was just the new protocol.

  Cooper watched Christine’s coworkers as she and the others emerged into the main office space. Mandy—with her penchant for gossip—was eyeing all of them curiously. Cooper didn’t envy Christine the job of explaining their mysterious meeting to Mandy. Nala glanced up once from the computer with a quizzical furrow in her brow, but besides that, she showed no interest.

  Dave didn’t even bother looking up. Cooper doubted he’d even realized anything was happening.

  Then, Cooper’s gaze turned to the front door, where she saw Inspector McNamara waiting by the empty receptionist’s desk. He wore a dour expression and stood stiffly. When his eyes met Cooper’s he frowned, but otherwise he made no move to greet her or to chastise her for being around murder suspects. Out of the corner of her eye, Cooper watched him as she returned to the copy machines. She wanted to run a printing test on each before she left—not that they required testing, but it gave her an excuse to stick around for a few more minutes. She wanted to hear what McNamara had to say.

  When Christine was seated at her desk, McNamara finally began to move. He approached Christine slowly, and when he reached her desk, he stood quietly, waiting until she looked up and saw him there.

  “Inspector, good afternoon!” Christine said, smiling. “What brings you to Sphinx? Does the station need some kind of custom program?”

  Cooper stepped closer, wondering the same thing, and also wondering how she could approach without it being suspicious. McNamara shot her a cold sidelong look that stopped her dead in her tracks.

  “I’m here on official business,” McNamara said, turning that icy stare back on Christine.

  Little beads of sweat appeared on Christine’s forehead, and Cooper didn’t blame her for her nerves. She’d been on the receiving end of McNamara’s stare before, and it was entirely unpleasant.

  McNamara continued. “Ms. Dexter, it has come to our attention that you knew the victim before you came to work here. Is that true?”

  Christine hesitated. “Well . . . um . . . yes. That’s true. I knew him.”

  “Is there any reason you left that out of your official statement concerning his death?”

  Christine’s cheeks burned red. “I didn’t see how it was any of your business.”

  “Ms. Dexter, when it comes to a homicide investigation, everything is my business.”

  “But that had nothing to do with Sinclair’s death. And when exactly did this turn into an actual homicide investigation?”

  “It was always a homicide investigation. You knew the victim. You worked for him. You have no alibi for his time of death. And you happened to discover his body, when it was off the main trail and half hidden by plants.”

  Christine slowly stood. “Just what are you implying, Inspector?”

  “I’m not implying anything, Ms. Dexter. I’m just offering an explanation for what I’m about to do.” He produced a set of handcuffs. “Christine Dexter, you’re under arrest for the murder of Sinclair Gordon.”

  8

  Cooper struggled to concentrate on her driving as she tailed the inspector’s car to the highway while hitting her speed-dial. She had no idea what she’d tell her fiancé, but she had to tell him something.

  Nathan answered after the third ring. “Didn’t expect to hear from you today, hon. How’s work?”

  “I’m not at work. I went to the Sphinx office to observe . . .”

  “Right, right. I forgot about that. How’d it go?”

  His voice was so chipper it almost made Cooper feel guilty. That happiness would be long gone as soon as she told him. She bit her lip hesitantly, and then blurted it out. “Christine was just arrested.”

  There was a pause, long and hollow. Cooper could almost hear Nathan’s smile turning into a frown of shock and dismay.

  “Nathan, are you still there?”

  “Did you say my sister was arrested?”

  Cooper nodded emphatically, as if doing so would somehow make it clearer. “I was at her office, and McNamara showed up. Nathan, he took her out in handcuffs.”

  “I . . . I just . . . I don’t understand,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “Arrested her for what? She didn’t do anything!”

  “He said that Christine knew Sinclair before working for him, but she hadn’t told the police that in her official statement. Then he listed all the reasons why she was a suspect. He put the cuffs on her and then he read her her rights. That’s all I know.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In McNamara’s car. They’re on their way to the station. I’m following. If you leave now, you should get there about the time we do.”

  Nathan hung up without another word.

  • • •

  When Cooper pulled into the station parking lot behind McNamara, Nathan’s car was already parked, but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have broken every speed limit between his house and the station to arrive so quickly. Cooper quietly followed the inspector and Christine inside, to find Nathan waiting in the lobby. He took one look at his sister—the handcuffs around her wrists and the redness in her teary eyes—and he stepped in front of McNamara. He stood so close their noses nearly touched.

  Tension permeated the air. A hush fell over the lobby. Cooper watched, aware only of how close Nathan was to being arrested himself.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, Inspector?”

  McNamara slowly looked Nathan over from head to foot, sizing up the threat standing before him. He threw his shoulders back and replied, “I’m doing my job, Mr. Dexter.” He laid a strong hand on Nathan’s arm and gently nudged him to the side. “I’ll trust you not to interfere with police business. That’s a punishable offense, you know.”

  Nathan ignored the threat and looked at Christine. “Are you okay?”

  Christine shook her head as tears began to roll down her already tear-reddened cheeks. “He thinks I killed him, Nathan! He thinks I killed Sinclair!”

  His attention on the inspector once again, Nathan resumed his place directly in McNamara’s path. Cooper couldn’t remember having ever seen Nathan so confrontational, so aggressive. While she didn’t want him to be arrested, a part of her appreciated just how masculine he could be when someone he loved was in danger.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Nathan said. “Inspector, she wouldn’t do something like that. You don’t know Christine. She’d never hurt anyone!”

  “Move aside, Mr. Dexter,” came the inspector’s cool reply.

  “But you can’t do this! You have no evidence.”

  McNamara took a deep breath and met Nathan’s intense gaze. “With all due respect, Mr. Dexter, you have no idea what evidence I have.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t suppose you know that your sister dated the victim.”

  Cooper let out a little gasp. Christine had dated Sinclair? At the Sphinx office, McNamara only said Christine had known Sinclair, not that they’d actually had a relationship. “Is that true?” she asked.

  Christine hesitated. “We di
dn’t date . . . we just went out a few times.”

  Nathan buried his face in his palms. “Sis, that’s what the rest of the world calls dating.”

  “That’s right,” McNamara agreed. “What’s more, Ms. Dexter here conveniently excluded that fact from the personal information she provided.”

  “It wasn’t relevant information!” Christine insisted. “We didn’t have a serious relationship. We went out to dinner a few times, realized we weren’t right for each other, and that was it. It never went anywhere, Nathan. I swear.”

  Nathan still stood in McNamara’s way, and Cooper could see in his eyes that he was considering his next move. As much as she appreciated his bravado, she didn’t want to see him thrown in the holding cell alongside Christine. McNamara was quiet, waiting for Nathan to make up his mind.

  Finally, Cooper stepped forward and linked her arm through Nathan’s. The action had its desired effect, distracting Nathan and allowing Cooper to pull him aside. She was sure she detected a slight nod of gratitude from the inspector.

  “I have to get her processed,” McNamara said, quickly walking Christine past them. “She’ll be able to call you after it’s all finished.”

  As he and Christine disappeared into the bowels of the station, Cooper and Nathan stood in the lobby, watching, still in disbelief. Nathan sat, and Cooper followed suit. A minute passed. Then another. And another. Cooper gently rubbed Nathan’s back, her mind swirling with thoughts and questions . . . and doubts. McNamara had told her that every family says their loved one couldn’t be a killer. No one likes to face facts. Here was Christine—her lovable, wonderful soon-to-be sister-in-law—and she was the focus of a homicide investigation. She’d known the victim. She’d dated the victim. She’d found the victim’s body.

  Was it possible Cooper was mistaken about Nathan’s sister?

  Even as the thought entered her mind, guilt consumed her. How could she entertain such an idea? Even for a second? How could she allow McNamara’s cynicism to poison her? Christine was a good person, a kind person. She would never hurt anyone . . . Would she?