by G. K. Parks
“If I murdered someone, they wouldn’t find the body or have any evidence.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. But for some reason, that doesn’t actually help solidify your innocence when corpses start turning up all over the place.” He shook his head and snorted. “Seriously, how are you holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, and if that isn’t a load of bull, I don’t know what is.” He narrowed his eyes. “I know how you are. We’ve worked together far too often for you to act like this doesn’t bother you.” He tapped the folders. “What are you planning on doing?”
“Not much. Are you assisting Jacobs on the investigation?”
He shook his head. “No. Trust me, I think I’d rather be helping him on this than what I’m working. But I had to pass by here, so I offered to stop in, say hello, and drop off the case files. Sorry, I didn’t call you back sooner.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” He glanced at his watch. “Get to work. If I don’t get back to protecting Eastman soon, Jablonsky’s gonna be pissed.”
“He’s investigating?”
“Not officially. He’s on vacation, so he’s giving the private sector a shot to see if he can hack it.” O’Connell laughed, knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell that was actually the case. “And he’s watching my back,” I admitted. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Martin’s out of the country, and my gig with PDN and the Secret Service blew up in my face. Right now, I’m just hoping Eastman keeps breathing while Jacobs gets things sorted out.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Alex Parker I know.” O’Connell stood. “And for the record, Jacobs is a good cop, but he could use the help.” He waved goodbye and left my office.
Not entirely sure what to make of the commentary concerning Detective Jacobs and the possibility that he needed assistance, I skimmed the files quickly, collected everything I compiled about the hotel, the murders, the employees, and everything from my stint at PDN before locking up and hitting the grocery store.
Almost two hours later, I returned to the motel room. Jablonsky and Eastman were lying on the two double beds, watching sports commentary over last night’s game. To the untrained eye, Mark’s slight movement wouldn’t have been noticed, but I knew his gun was underneath the pillow. And the sound of the door opening was enough for him to aim his weapon.
“I come in peace,” I said, and Eastman flicked off the TV and sat up. He had changed clothes and looked ready to get to work. “I might have overdone it on the ice cream though.” Shoving the cold items into the mini-fridge, I pulled out a chair at the table and laid the files on top. “O’Connell stopped by to deliver these personally.”
“Is he on the case?” Mark asked, getting up and skimming the folders.
“No.” I met his eyes. “But he said Jacobs could use some help.”
“As if you needed the extra prodding,” Mark replied.
“I thought you were working for me.” Paul climbed across the spread and sat on the edge of the bed closest to the table. “What’s all this?”
“It’s where we begin.” I looked up. “Mr. Eastman, I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Okay.” His eyes darted from me to Mark. “Why do I get the feeling this is an inquisition?”
“And you thought the doctors at the hospital were too invasive,” Mark muttered. “Boy, you’re in for a surprise.”
Twenty-three
The list of individuals who had access to Paul Eastman’s refrigerator within the last month wasn’t particularly extensive. A couple of guys from PDN, a few neighbors, some of his pals that I already identified from his social networking page, and a couple of ladies who didn’t have last names had been his only recent visitors. But he insisted that none of them would want to kill him. These were his friends and flings, not conniving murderers with an axe to grind.
“Word of advice, the next time you pick some chick up at a bar, get a last name,” I suggested. “It makes it easier in the event you need an alibi, have to blame someone for contracting an STD, or in case your wallet gets stolen, or your fridge is tampered with.”
“Hey, don’t I get some credit for remembering first names as well as their other features?” Paul asked. “Plus, I always go to the same few bars. It wouldn’t be particularly hard to track them down.”
“Give me their descriptions and the names of the bars,” Mark chimed in, “and I’ll ask around.”
After Mark had enough information to identify the three different women, he left the motel, promising to return with a few names. In the meantime, I was back on guard duty. Spreading out the files and information, I grabbed a pen and notepad and began sorting through the mess that resulted in two homicides, an attempted murder, probably some type of financial crime, and the selling of corporate secrets.
“What are you doing?” Paul asked, looking over my shoulder.
“I’m playing connect the dots.”
He pulled out one of the two pints of ice cream that I stocked and picked up a plastic spoon. He took a seat and noisily unwrapped the container. After his third lip-smacking bite, I dropped my pen and stared at him.
“Want some? The doctors said I need to keep my calcium intake up for the next couple of weeks, but there’s plenty.”
“No.” I went back to writing, but it was obvious he wanted some attention.
“So, that guy, Mark, he was your supervising officer at the OIO, right?” He swallowed another mouthful and put the lid back on the container. “He’s a scary son-of-a-bitch.” I shrugged, not bothering to glance up. “He practically threatened me. I don’t see why he’s involved in this. I hired you.”
Throwing my pen and notepad down, I leaned back, annoyed. “He’s helping because this is a giant mess. Do you not understand that?”
“I understand that he threatened physical harm if it turns out I’m jerking you around. He’s a bit overprotective, isn’t he? No wonder you left the OIO. And it’s no wonder you’re such a hard-ass about everything. You’re used to having to keep people in their place. I’m guessing mainly men, given the way you’ve reacted to me.”
“Apparently it’s not working.”
“I want to help.” He returned the ice cream to the freezer and scooted his chair closer to mine. “Tell me what you’re doing so I can help. I work in private security for Christ’s sake. Investigations aren’t some mystical thing that I have no experience with, so stop acting like that’s the case. This motel room and the instructions you’ve given me are right out of PDN’s manual. It’s common knowledge for people like us.”
“Common knowledge. For people. Like us.” Wow, he really didn’t get it.
“Yeah. Obviously.” He cocked an eyebrow, confused by the surprised, halting speech pattern I was using. “And I’m sure if I’m out in public, you’ll tell me to disguise my appearance, blend in with the crowd, and not to draw attention to myself. Am I right?” My mouth moved, but no words came out. “See, this isn’t some top secret spy shit. This is just how the job gets done.”
“How the job gets done?” I was flabbergasted by his attitude and commentary.
“Okay, now you’re mocking me on purpose.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m still trying to figure out if you poisoned yourself, killed Alvin, or made some underhanded deal with Frank Costan that led to him getting beaten and killed. You have some kind of connection with Jason Oster, and I don’t know if he’s involved. He’s definitely involved with someone, which is suspicious enough as it is,” I rambled, overwhelmed by so many facts.
“I thought you believed me,” he said quietly.
“Paul, I don’t know what to believe.” I got up to pace; there had to be some way to determine the truth. When I was away from him, I wanted nothing more than to figure out who wanted him dead in order to keep him alive, but after reading through the police files, it was apparent they had no solid leads, a lack of evidence, and no real motive for why someone would want to poison
him. “Can you prove you didn’t do this to yourself?”
“Why would I?”
“Well, fluoride isn’t the typical way to go in terms of poisoning.” Brushing my hair back, I spun to face him. “Either you’re orchestrating this to cast enough aspersions to make sure you aren’t blamed for the two deaths, which would be absolutely brilliant, or you’re being set up.”
“Apparently if I ever actually want to kill someone, you’ll be my first phone call to plan it out.” After staring him down for the next couple of minutes, he let out a sigh. “Alvin was my friend. I didn’t kill him. And I never met the other guy, Frank Costan. If you’re convinced I’m part of this, then send me back to the police.”
He reached for the stack of files, and I slammed my palm against the top. “You swore that none of the people with access to your apartment could have done this to you. So what am I supposed to think?”
“How do we know someone didn’t break in to my house?”
“Do you have a home security system? A dog? Was there any sign of tampering on the locks, or did you notice if anything was moved inside?”
“No, none of the above.”
“And we’re back to square one.” Removing my hand from the files, I scooped them off the table and onto the extra bed, out of his reach. “Let’s try this another way.” I tossed him a contrite smile. “From here on out, I’ll take you at your word on everything. But if I find out you’ve lied about anything, regardless of how insignificant, then we’re done. I feel like I keep saying this, but you keep lying or failing to disclose some key facts. And if you want me to divulge this information, I will, but if the police or some other entity determines you’re the guilty party, it’s gonna be really difficult for you to prove that you weren’t privy to the details prior to this moment. So are you sure you want to do this?”
“Let’s get started.” He grabbed one of the blank notepads and sat up straighter. He uncapped the motel pen and stared at the stack of files. “Um…where do we begin?”
Snorting, I shook my head. “With square one. Did you know Frank Costan was staying at the hotel?”
“Not exactly. I heard a rumor from one of the security guards.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t remember.” I gave him a look. “Seriously, I don’t. A few of them were talking amongst themselves, and I happened to overhear on my way to meet with Jason. And when I asked Jason about it, he said he didn’t know anything.”
“Did you ask Alvin Hodge?”
“He told me it was just gossip and nothing to concern myself with. We already had a big fish on the line.” Answering my questioning gaze, he elaborated with, “Bernie Muller.” All right, so Frank Costan checked in the Saturday before the conference, like the lobby security cam footage showed, and Paul just corroborated that much. Finally, we were making some headway.
Scooting further onto the bed, I leaned my back against the wall. This was so fucking complicated. “Look, you still haven’t told me anything about the corporate secrets you were selling, who your clients were, or who you screwed over in the process. I wanted to let it go because it didn’t seem relevant, but poison is personal. So it’s time for some details. Why don’t you start with the most recent and move backward? Maybe something’s connected.”
Paul audibly swallowed. “Have you ever heard of the SMI Corporation?”
“Out of Minsk?” My night with the Russian might not have been a complete waste.
“I guess they have an office there. I don’t know. It’s one of these multinational conglomerates.” I nodded for him to continue. “One of their representatives was at the conference, and he secured the plans for their newest energy prototype in the hotel’s safe. Alvin gave me clearance, and I planned to copy the information.” My face must have read disdain because he added, “Yeah, I know. Despicable.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “But it turned out I already saw those plans before.”
“Where?”
“They were the same ones Bernie was hocking at the conference. It was the same design Klaus Manufacturing wanted to use to power the train.” He shrugged. “I guess someone sold the plans beforehand.”
“Or Alvin lied to you about the information being in the hotel safe. Did you ask Bernie about it? Maybe Klaus made a deal with SMI.” Scribbling a note to check the financial section for possible mergers or hinting at a partnership, I blew out a breath and waited.
“No. Bernie just thought I was a middleman, not a corporate spy, so I didn’t want to risk losing his trust.”
“Corporate spy? Do you honestly think that highly of yourself?”
“Do you think you can be any more judgmental?” he asked. “It is what it is. Companies employ people to infiltrate their competitors all the time. It’s a common practice. Just because I do this as a freelance gig on the side doesn’t mean I’m any less reputable.”
“You’re a thief, potentially stealing millions of dollars, depending on the schematics or product. Remind me not to leave anything of value anywhere near you.” Briefly, my mind flashed back to his insistence to meet Martin. He was probably hoping to score schematics on the new R&D line or information on the merger with Hover Designs. “Tell me something. Have you ever used or leaked information about your thievery in order to turn a profit in the stock market? Maybe you were paid to sabotage a company’s intended earnings in order to ensure the stocks would plummet. If someone pulled out at the right time and invested in the competitor, they could make a killing in the market.”
Paul rubbed his five o’clock shadow and shook his head, trying to process what I just said. After an entire minute passed, he dropped the paper on the table and leaned back. “I never thought to do that.”
He probably never thought to do a lot of things, but I didn’t offer to share. He wasn’t a genius. It sounded like he was a puppet who let other people pull the strings. People like Alvin Hodge or Frank Costan or Rodney Wheeler.
“How did you get involved in this corporate spying in the first place? Was it your idea or someone else’s?”
The light bulb clicked on, and he looked green. “Alvin suggested it after he paid some favors to me on PDN’s behalf. It didn’t sound like a bad idea at the time. It was exciting, and it never seemed that dangerous.”
“Yeah, until he was found hanging in the hotel.” Jerking my chin at the forgotten notepad, I forced him to focus. “Write down the names of every individual and company the two of you screwed over and the companies that profited by your illegal activities. We’ll get to the bottom of this and then work our way back up.”
“Okay. Do you think this is why Alvin was killed?”
“It’s too soon to speculate, but it’s a possibility.”
Realistically, I felt certain he was killed because someone discovered he was informing to the FBI. My prime suspect was still Rodney Wheeler, but since I didn’t trust Paul completely, I wanted to see how far off course he’d let this investigation go. Plus, in the event my assumptions were incorrect, it’d be nice to know who else had a score to settle.
He quieted and wrote everyone he could think of on the sheet of paper. Since he had only been in the secret selling biz for a year, there were only three instances prior to the conference. I’d check into them, but my money was on Frank Costan and the connection to the conference.
“Someone on this list could be responsible for my friend’s death and almost killing me.” Paul was scared. Reality finally hit him, and it was about damn time.
“That would be my guess,” I replied unhelpfully, taking the paper from him and opening my laptop.
Scanning for alleged links between these companies and Frank Costan, the news sources didn’t provide much. Mark would have to run it by the FBI and maybe the SEC and see what they could find. The theory and motive were coalescing into something realistic, complex, and not exactly what I imagined when I began looking into this case. After finding nothing of any use, I paced the room. My original assumptions still seemed th
e most likely.
“Let me get this straight, you think Alvin was using me to sell secrets so we’d both get a cut of the money from the corporations, and then he was buying and selling market shares in order to make even more cash?” He tapped his leg nervously. “Then if he was making millions or whatever, why was he still working as the night clerk at the hotel? Shouldn’t he be on some private island?”
“Maybe the scores weren’t big enough.” Or more than likely, someone else was pulling the strings, but I didn’t want to put words in Paul’s mouth. “What do you actually know about Alvin? One minute you’re telling me he’s your friend or you were friendly, but aside from scamming people and keeping PDN’s nose out of the drugs and the prostitutes, what did the two of you actually do outside of work?”
“Nothing.”
“Did he ever go to your house?” I asked, hoping to find a connection. Maybe the party responsible for tampering with the water filter gained access or knowledge from Hodge prior to his death.
“No. We didn’t hang out because it would look suspicious.” Paul cleared his throat. “Alvin was killed for scamming someone, and since I helped him do it, the same person tried to poison me. That’s what you’re thinking. It makes the most sense.”
“Yes, it does. Who else at the hotel knew what was going on?”
“No one.”
“What about Jason Oster? You told me to talk to him about Frank Costan. He must have known what Alvin was doing. Maybe you bragged to him about it.” Jason said Paul was a bigmouth, so it wouldn’t have taken much for him to report such action to one of the hotel owners. If Jason opened his mouth to Wheeler about Alvin’s squealing and Paul’s involvement, it would explain the two homicides and how neither of them showed up on the security footage. Plus, Oster is screwing Hodge’s ex-wife. There were plenty of reasons not to mix business with pleasure, but since Oster did, they would both lend themselves to motive for killing or assisting in Hodge’s murder. I made a mental note to discuss this in further detail with Mark and Det. Jacobs before focusing back on Eastman. “Plus, Jason came to your house to collect some surveillance gear to set up in the hotel to ensure nothing illegal was happening with PDN’s clients.” Something was starting to stink.
