The Clockwork Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  “You want to know how stupid I am? I hate the company I work for and I hate my boss even worse. Even so, I holstered my gun and charged the guy to make a grab for the bag.”

  “Commitment to duty is a harder addiction to break than heroin,” I said quietly.

  Eldritch sighed. “I suppose. Anyway, he never saw me coming. I rammed him from behind, kneed him in the groin and grabbed the bag. There was a struggle and Vandenbosch dropped his gun. Then I stomped on his foot and that finally made him let go of the bag.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I ran for my freaking life with the bag. I still can’t believe he didn’t shoot me in the back, but I guess I got around the corner of the building before he could find his gun and get a shot off.”

  “What happened when you got back to the car?”

  “Vic took off out of there at warp speed and he almost went spastic when I told him about the shooting. Suddenly, he was moaning about how the board wasn’t going to be happy, and I’m thinking: I risked my life and that’s the only thing you can say, you little putz?”

  “Did you know that someone had been murdered in that room?”

  “Not definitely, but I could do the math. I’d seen three people come out of that room and neither of the two guys who went in there were dressed in the black outfit with the ski mask. So, I figured there was at least one person dead in there.”

  I decided it was time to drop a big stone in the verbal pond and watch the ripples. “And when did you discover that Patrick wasn’t in the gym bag?”

  Newton’s eyes narrowed and there was a touch of dread in Eldritch’s voice. “How did you know?”

  I sat back in the chair and interlaced my fingers over my chest. “We recovered the bear from the motel parking lot. The first guy out the door dropped it, but you couldn’t see that because of the parked cars.”

  “So, you already know what was in the gym bag.”

  “Yep. What happened when you opened the bag and found four hundred thousand dollars?”

  Eldritch’s jaw dropped. “Is that how much there was in there?”

  “We have good reasons to believe so. You didn’t count it?”

  “No, I didn’t want to touch it. We were sitting in this shopping center parking lot looking at all that money and I told Vic that we had to go to the police immediately.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Eldritch looked at me as if I’d just gone soft in the head. “I was a witness to a robbery-murder and was in possession of physical evidence of the crime to the tune of, apparently, four hundred freaking thousand dollars. Aside from the fact that it was the right thing to do, if we didn’t come forward we might become prime suspects.”

  “Thank you, I was hoping you’d say that.” I glanced at Newton, who’d assumed an air of indifference. “What did your boss think of your idea?”

  Eldritch’s rasping laugh sounded more like a growl. “Vic told me that we needed to think this through. He said that if we went to the police that it would create major publicity problems for Lycaon—as if I’d lose any sleep over that.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He told me that he figured Vandenbosch had set up a deal to sell the bear to one of Lycaon’s competitors and that the guys I’d seen going into the motel room were the buyers.”

  “As a matter of fact, he was right,” I said.

  “Then Vic told me that whatever company it was that lost the money was never going to report it as stolen. If they did that, they’d also be admitting to receiving stolen property and industrial espionage.”

  “So, what did he propose you do with the money?”

  “Split if fifty-fifty and keep our mouths shut about what happened that night.”

  “In effect, he suggested you guys steal the money. Correct?” asked Gregg.

  “Yeah, but he went into this double-talk spiel about how it wasn’t really theft and that this was like an informal bonus for all the work we’d done.”

  I whistled. “That’s one hell of a bonus. What did you think of that plan?”

  Eldritch glanced at Newton. “I told him that I wasn’t a damn thief and that we had to go to the police.”

  The security director folded his arms and looked as if he was about to say something. Then he glanced at Gregg and seemed to change his mind.

  I said, “But you didn’t go to the police. Why?”

  Eldritch glared at his boss. “Vic said to wise up. He said he could live without the money, but life might be a little difficult for me in jail. I asked him what the hell he meant by that and he told me that if we went to the police, he’d tell you guys that I’d admitted to having shot someone at the motel.”

  “That must have blindsided you.”

  “Yes and no. Vic has always been a whore. He’ll do anything for money.”

  “Still, you weren’t expecting him to move from graft to extortion.”

  “No.”

  “It sounds like he had you over a barrel.”

  “Tell me about it. I wanted to kill him right then and there, but that wouldn’t have solved anything . . . except maybe make the world a little bit cleaner.”

  “So, you went along with his plan, but it was against your will.”

  “I didn’t have any choice.”

  “What did he do with the money?”

  “We drove back down here and he put the gym bag into his office safe. He said that he’d give me my share once the excitement died down. I told him I didn’t want any money, but he kept saying it was only fair that I be rewarded for being a good team player.”

  “That sounds very generous, but I think Mr. Newton was probably more interested in protecting himself by making you a coconspirator. Is the money still in his safe?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Has he said anything about it to you since then?”

  “No, but this morning he winked at me, which seriously creeped me out.” Eldritch pretended to shiver. “It’s as if he thinks we’re buddies or something.”

  “No, Mr. Eldritch, he was just sending you a signal that he owned you. Tell me, have you heard anything about Lycaon dropping the charges against Vandenbosch?”

  “That’s news to me.”

  “Any idea why your board of directors would do that?”

  Eldritch shook his head. “The only thing I can figure is that Vic told them his version of the shooting—without mentioning the money—and warned them that if we continued to investigate, the company’s name might come up in connection with the murder.”

  I turned to Newton. “A moment ago, you looked as if you wanted to say something.”

  The security director stuck his chin out. “I do. He’s told you a pack of lies and I’m done protecting this goon. The fact is, he did tell me that he shot someone in that motel room. And as far as the bag of money is concerned, the last time I saw it was on Saturday night when he got out of my car.”

  “You little—” Eldritch began to rise from his chair and I could see the blood in his eyes.

  Gregg pointed at him and said, “Sit down and chill.”

  I waited until Eldritch was seated again and then said, “Now before we go any further, Mr. Newton, do you remember that you invoked your rights?”

  “Yes, but I’m not going to sit here and listen to this two-bit hoodlum impugn my integrity and dump the blame for his crimes onto me. I want to clear my name.”

  “And I’ve got a foolproof way of doing that. Let’s all go to your office and you can open up the safe for us.” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. “If we don’t find a bag of money, then that will conclusively prove you’re telling the truth.”

  Newton suddenly looked queasy. “I . . . well . . .”

  “Oh dear, Vic. It looks like you were so focused on trying to be clever that you just screwed yourself. The money is in the safe, isn’t it?”

  “I want to remain silent again. I want an attorney.”

  Gregg cut in, “And we w
ant that evidence. Look, you aren’t going to be allowed to leave the building with the money. So how about we do a little horse-trading?”

  “I’m listening,” Newton said petulantly.

  “You voluntarily give us the gym bag, with all four hundred thousand dollars in it, and we won’t file on you for grand theft and accessory after the fact.” Gregg made it sound as if the offer was against his better judgment, but we both knew the DA would probably never file those charges on Newton. The evidence was too thin on the accessory charge and in order to allege the grand theft of the four hundred grand, there had to be a genuine victim.

  “And you’ll write the report so that I don’t look so . . .”

  “Crooked? Not only no, but hell, no. I’m not going to lie for you. Now, make your decision, because this offer becomes null and void in ten seconds.”

  Newton sighed. “All right. I’ll go get it.”

  “And Inspector Aafedt will go with you, just to keep you honest.”

  “Keep him honest? What, do I look like a miracle worker?” said Aafedt as he followed Newton from the room.

  Gregg turned to Eldritch. “And you’ll be free to go once I’ve got your contact information.”

  Eldritch gave Gregg his driver’s license and grumbled, “And as usual, nothing ever happens to bastards like Newton. Hell, the board of directors will probably give him a raise.”

  “Inspector Mauel had to cut that deal. He didn’t have any other option,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “But you have some. If I were you, I wouldn’t quit. Wait for Vic to fire you and then sue him and Lycaon for wrongful termination and retaliation against a whistle-blower.”

  “I’m not a whistle-blower.”

  “Of course you are. You tried to prevent a member of the Lycaon management team from stealing four hundred grand and what happened when you tried to stop him?”

  A light dawned in Eldritch’s eyes. “I was falsely accused of murder and fired.”

  “Exactly, and Vic was representing Lycaon when he did those things. A company, I might add, which has very deep pockets. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a slash-and-burn attorney to represent you.”

  “And I hope you sting them for a couple million,” said Gregg, returning the license to Eldritch. “I’ll send you a letter when you can come and pick your gun up.”

  I followed Eldritch out the door and went into the hallway to get some fresh air. Meanwhile, Gregg’s cell phone rang and he answered it. The conversation was brief and by the end I could tell Gregg was excited.

  Disconnecting from the call, he joined me in the hallway and said, “That was the cyber forensics lab and they said to get back up there immediately.”

  “What else did they say?

  “Only that Patrick has a very interesting story to tell . . . and it ain’t ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears.’ ”

  Twenty-two

  Unfortunately, we couldn’t leave for San Francisco immediately. We had to count the currency in the gym bag and issue Newton a receipt. That’s when we uncovered yet another shabby scam in an investigation already chock full of deceit. Many of the bundles of hundreds near the bottom of the bag were actually camouflaged stacks of one-dollar bills, with a couple of Ben Franklins at either end. Newton swore he hadn’t touched the money since it had gone into the safe on Saturday night and was so panic-stricken at the discovery that we were inclined to believe him. We also thought it extremely unlikely that Bronsey was responsible for the chicanery, if for no other reason than he was terrified of Lizard Eyes.

  It was pretty clear what had happened. The buyers had assumed that Vandenbosch wouldn’t stand around and count out the entire four hundred thousand dollars before handing over the bear, so they’d taken a calculated risk and shorted him. By our count, there was “only” two hundred and ten thousand dollars in the gym bag, which is still more money than most felons make in a lifetime of crime. It was nearly noon by the time we started our drive back up the freeway to San Francisco.

  Upon our arrival at the Hall of Justice, Aafedt went to the homicide bureau to secure the bag of money in an evidence locker. Meanwhile, Gregg and I took the elevator up to the crime lab. The cyber forensic investigation unit was located in a stuffy and windowless office that smelled faintly of French fries. There were six computer workstations in the room, five of which were vacant.

  All the computer experts were around the cubicle where Patrick lay facedown on the desk. The bear’s back was open and several data cables connected the robot to the diagnostic computer. However, the techs weren’t looking at Patrick. Instead, they were staring at an oversized monitor, as if hypnotized. On the screen were images of what looked to me like multicolored pie charts and a list of data files scrolling upward so fast that it was impossible for me to make out an individual entry.

  Gregg tried to introduce me to the cyber lab’s supervisor, Julie Nguyen, who was seated at her desk and peering at the screen with the same rapt fascination as her subordinates. Never taking her eyes from the screen, Nguyen acknowledged my presence with an absentminded “nice to meet you,” and then said, “Inspector Mauel, this robot is incredible. Whoever designed Patrick’s software is a genius.”

  “And a coconspirator in an ambush murder, so don’t start building him an altar. What do you have for us?”

  “This robot’s functions are controlled by a microcomputer with a seven-hundred-and-fifty-gig hard drive, ten gigs of RAM, and it has voice and face recognition software, and—”

  Gregg cut her off. “Which all might be interesting if I understood half of what that meant. You said you had major news about the murder.”

  Nguyen finally managed to pull her eyes away from the screen. “I do. This robot has a miniature television camera and microphone installed behind the right eye and it digitally records everything it sees and hears while operational.”

  “And Bronsey turned Patrick on before he connected it to the phone line to test it,” I said.

  “Please tell me that we have a video recording of the murder.” Gregg’s voice was eager.

  “I won’t go so far as to say that,” said Nguyen. “We’ve recovered video and audio data from what we believe is the Paladin Motel at the time of the murder. However, its evidentiary value is . . . equivocal.”

  “Just what exactly does that mean?”

  “It would probably be easier for me to show you than try to explain.” Nguyen double-clicked her mouse.

  The diagnostic graphics display vanished from the screen and at least two of the computer wonks let out tiny groans. Aafedt came into the office and joined us at the workstation as Nguyen used her keyboard to type a computer command. Suddenly the monitor showed a crisp black-and-white static image of Merv Bronsey’s face. The PI was looking mighty shocked. There was a blurred and shadowy figure behind Bronsey, whom I assumed was Joey Uhlander. A small information window in the lower right-hand corner of the screen showed Saturday’s date and a time of 20:03:32.

  “I’ve cued the recording from the moment the robot was activated on the night of the murder,” said Nguyen.

  “Not that I want to see them right this minute, but are there earlier recordings?” Gregg asked.

  “There were at some point, but the files were intentionally deleted.”

  “Any chance you can recover them?”

  “Absolutely, but it will take time and we knew you wanted us to focus on this first.”

  “Good work. Now, why don’t you go ahead and hit play.”

  Nguyen clicked on a rightward facing arrow icon above the digital clock display in the information window. On the monitor screen, Bronsey’s face abruptly unfroze and I heard the robot say, “Hi, my name is Patrick Polar Bear and I’m your friend. What’s your name?”

  Bronsey intoned, “Jesus H. Christ.”

  “Hi, Jesus H. Christ. Do you want to sing a song?” Patrick asked.

  “No, my name is . . . uh, Larry,” said Bronsey, wisely deciding to use an a
lias.

  The bear said, “I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t hear you right the first time. Hi, Larry. Did you know your name rhymes with berry?”

  “Yeah, I guess it does.”

  “Do you like strawberries?”

  The sound quality of the recording was every bit as good as the picture. A young man’s voice was now audible and Bronsey’s gaze shifted to someone behind the bear. The voice sounded like Patrick’s, yet it was cold and imperious and I assumed it belonged to Kyle. He said, “The clock is ticking, you fat oaf. Tell Patrick you want to play hide-and-seek and then stand him on the floor.”

  Bronsey’s expression became hard with anger, but he obeyed. He told the robot that they were going to play a game and Patrick reacted with a realistic sounding whoop of joy. Then the PI’s face slid quickly upwards and vanished. There was a dizzying shift of imagery on the screen and then the view stabilized. I realized we were looking at the room from a height of about two feet. The battered old dresser was straight ahead and part of the bed frame was visible to the right.

  Kyle spoke again. “Tell Patrick to find me.”

  Bronsey asked, “How?”

  “You are more stupid than my teddy bear, do you know that? It already knows we’re playing hide-and-seek, so tell it to find me.”

  “Patrick, go find Kyle,” Bronsey said.

  “Okay, Larry. This is a great game and I really like playing with you.” It was a weird counterpoint hearing the bear speaking in such a kindly tone, while the man that had given Patrick his voice was behaving like a vicious jerk.

  Nguyen clicked on an icon to pause the recording. “Now, this is incredible, because it demonstrates that Patrick is, for want of a better term, cognizant. The robot has a memory and knows who Kyle is.”

  “As Mr. Spock would say, Fascinating. Now, please restart the video,” Gregg was obviously trying to keep the frustration from his voice.

  Looking slightly insulted, Nguyen clicked on the play icon. The image on the monitor began to jiggle back and forth slightly as the bear walked in the direction of the dresser. Once the robot was past the end of the bed, it made a right turn and started walking toward what I presumed were Kyle’s legs. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked as if Vandenbosch was wearing Nike tennis shoes and jeans.