Likely Suspects

by G. K. Parks

  I unlocked my office door and placed the box on the table. Shutting the door, I took out the handgun and ammo and stowed them in the top desk drawer, in case I ever needed them. I was just setting up the coffeepot when there was a tap on my door.

  “Here’s the list you wanted.” Martin poked his head in, holding a small phonebook sized sheaf of papers.

  I gawked at its magnitude. “You’ve got to be kidding. This can’t be what I asked for.”

  He entered and closed the door. “That’s everyone who has ever been fired, dating back to the beginning. You didn’t specify a timeframe, so I figured I’d give you everything.” I flipped through the pages. “They’re listed chronologically. Hope that helps.” He opened the door. “Gotta go, see you later.”

  “Holy crap.” I put the list on my desk with a resounding thud. Mark had obviously been incorrect when it came to assessing Martin’s recordkeeping skills. At least it was chronological.

  I turned the coffeepot on and sat behind my desk. The ex-employee list dated back a decade. The last two years would be an arbitrarily good starting point, moving from the most recent backward. I knew what Mark and I would be doing tonight. I called and left a voicemail telling him I had the list and would be stopping by after work. As I flipped through the pages from the last two years, I didn’t find many names. A few dozen tops. This might be more manageable than I imagined.

  Deciding it was best to get better acquainted with the building and the other employees, particularly the ones with criminal records, I double-checked that my consultant badge was clipped on and headed to the elevator. It was time to take a tour.

  I spent the entire day snooping around the building. I talked to people from every department. The questions I asked seemed innocent enough, but they served to make me more of an everyday fixture. I wanted the MT employees to be comfortable and accepting of my presence. Infiltrate and gain trust, that was my plan.

  Around lunchtime, I located the employee lounge and sat there for four hours. I used a half-eaten candy bar and coffee as cover. It apparently worked since I was greeted by everyone who came in during break. The gossip had already spread about the existence of a new girl working for Mr. Martin, and I was positive Griffin had told everyone about my after-hours exchange with Martin in his office yesterday.

  I tried to play the part and questioned my co-workers about their jobs and experiences at the company since I was new and didn’t know what to expect. No one had any grudges or serious grievances, or none they were willing to share, but they all seemed particularly interested in me.

  “What do you do here?”

  “How long have you known Mr. Martin?”

  “What department do you work for?”

  I kept my answers vague and tried to paint myself as a glorified personal assistant. By the time I left the employee lounge, it was almost four o’clock. It felt like I talked to everyone, or at least the majority of lower-level employees. Unfortunately, none of the board members had shown up in the employee lounge. They must be just as busy as Martin, or they enjoyed staying in their plush offices instead of fraternizing with the help.

  Unlocking my office door, I decided to wait for Martin, so we could meet again today. While I was waiting, Mark called back.

  “Glad you got the list,” he said when I answered.

  “Hello to you, too," I teased. “Yeah, it’s a fucking phonebook though. I guess we should start with the last two years and see if it leads anywhere.”

  “Just drop it by, and I’ll look into it.”

  “Okay.” Before the conversation could continue, Griffin knocked on my door. “I’ve got company. I’ll see you later.” I hung up the phone and smiled at her. “How can I help you?”

  I left my door slightly ajar, but when she entered, she shut it behind her. Somehow, I resisted the urge to hide the paperclips.

  “I wanted to see how well you’re settling in.” She looked around nervously.

  “Everything’s good. People here seem friendly.” I tried to make her feel at ease, but it wasn’t working.

  “I just wanted to tell you to be careful.” She paused, unsure if she should continue.

  “How so?” I pushed. Maybe she knew something I didn’t.

  “It’s just, you seem like a nice young lady, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” She briefly contemplated if it was her place to say anything more. “Mr. Martin is a great boss, and he does right by his employees, but I’ve seen a lot of pretty, young things come and go around here. You don’t need to get caught up in that.”

  “I’m just consulting. There is nothing going on.”

  “I saw you two yesterday,” she insisted. “Do what you like, but,” she faltered, “I like my job so don’t expect to one day replace me.” Before I could respond or ask her to elaborate, she retreated from my office.

  Once again, I was alone in an empty room. Maybe Martin wasn’t the only crazy one around here. They really should test for lead paint, radon, or something equally toxic. My musing was cut short when there was yet another knock on my door. At this point, someone should hang a Grand Central Station sign outside my office. Or worse, it could be Griffin coming back with a highlighter to finish me off. Instead, it was Martin.

  “Grab your stuff and meet me in my office.” He left the door open and walked across the hall to his suite.

  I collected my purse and laptop and made sure the top drawer was locked before locking my office too. Martin buzzed me in. He was behind his desk with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie knot hanging loosely, and feet on the tabletop.

  “Comfortable?” I asked, putting my belongings down and taking a seat in his client chair.

  He considered my question for a moment. “Getting there.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “I just had the strangest conversation with Mrs. Griffin.” I filled him in on what transpired.

  He placed his fingertips together and tapped his pointer fingers against his chin as he listened. “She’s probably afraid you’re going to be my new personal assistant. She’s been here for years, getting close to retirement age. She probably just thinks you’re the newer model.”

  “Perhaps because you have a reputation for liking newer models.”

  “It happens, but I’m not as bad as she made it out to be.”

  Ignoring that comment, I decided it was best to get back to business. I informed him about the lack of metal detectors, the ease of bringing a gun into the building, and also how I was familiarizing myself with the employees. Apparently, I was doing a satisfactory job in his opinion, even though I had no real plan and was running in circles, but at least one of us was pleased with my work. We walked out together as we did the night before.

  “Good night, Miss Parker.” He climbed into his chauffeured town car.

  “Good night, Mr. Martin.”

  I drove straight to Mark’s office and gave him the updated list. There was something going on at the OIO because he accepted it and showed me to the door.

  “I will get back to you after I run backgrounds,” he promised.

  I went home and made dinner and notes about Griffin. I double-checked to make sure she didn’t have a criminal record and wasn’t connected in any way with anyone on the list who did. Was she actually just looking out for her job and my morality, or could she be part of the threat against Martin? I put the news on and fell asleep halfway through. Getting up early didn’t agree with me.

  * * *

  Over the course of the next week, I spent every day trying to get a feel for the employees. I was beginning to be accepted, and I heard gossip about which of the board members were schtupping which secretaries, who was gay and in the closet, and who was hired because she dated someone in human resources. I liked the inclusion, but none of it led anywhere. Griffin was cordial if we bumped into one another in the hallway or the elevator, but she never said another word about the conversation we had.

  Martin and I had a rit
ual of meeting for lunch and grabbing a quick bite from one of the street vendors near the building. We would meet sometime between eleven and noon. We’d grab a bite and talk as we walked to and from the food carts, not about work but just small talk about life in general. He had a little more substance than I originally suspected. These brief rendezvous would last for only ten or fifteen minutes but were enough to further perpetuate the ruse of a budding relationship, especially in front of many curious onlookers. The two of us would meet again at the end of the workday, discuss any important discoveries, and leave together. It probably added to the illusion we were a couple or at least having a clandestine affair. Although, no one ever directly asked about it; maybe decorum wasn’t dead.

  It was now Thursday, and I had been in Martin’s employ for eight days. No more threats had come in, but besides marking some names off the list of potential suspects, no real progress had been made either. Maybe we were looking in the wrong direction, and it wasn’t an employee or ex-employee but someone unrelated to his work life. Kidnappings were usually personal, and that could be key to figuring out who was behind this.

  Martin knocked on my door. “Ready for lunch?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “I have a meeting at 12:15, so maybe we can just grab whatever’s out front.”

  “Sure.” I picked up my purse and locked my office door. I wasn’t picky, especially since I spent so much time in the employee lounge. I could get a sandwich or snack out of the vending machines if I wasn’t satisfied with our dining option.

  “Enjoy your lunch,” Jeffrey said as we passed the security office.

  We were just exiting the front door when I thought I saw a light glinting off of something from the building across the street. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things or not, but my training kicked in. My brain screamed sniper, and I grabbed Martin’s arm and pulled him back through the doorway. I pushed him against the wall and threw myself against him.

  “What the—,” he exclaimed but didn’t get to finish his statement because, at that moment, the hot dog stand parked in front of the building erupted in a sea of flames. I turned my head away as shrapnel from the cart blew everywhere, breaking one of the glass doors to the MT building. Something stung my arm, and I turned to see what had happened.

  Outside was pure mayhem. My ears were ringing, but screaming could be heard over the din. I cautiously poked my head around the corner, trying to make out a sniper or more reflective glare, but I didn’t see anything. Although, it was hard to see through the smoke and raining debris. I hoped no one was hurt, but I was almost positive the hot dog vendor must be dead, likely incinerated by the explosion. What had caused it? My mind was going in a hundred different directions. Focus, I commanded my brain to obey.

  “Call 911,” Martin yelled to the security guards.

  I wanted to go outside to help, but I heard sirens on the way. My first priority was to protect Martin. “We need to get you secured.” He seemed to want to argue but saw the look on my face and agreed. “Secure the building,” I told Jeffrey, “try not to let anyone in or out. But if you have to let people in, keep them in the lobby. And keep an eye on them. Don’t let anyone leave. The cops will want to question everybody.”

  Martin and I headed for the elevators. Climbing seventeen flights of stairs is never fun, and although protocol and training would dictate to use the stairs in an emergency, I needed to get him away from the danger ASAP. However, I didn’t want to risk the elevator stopping on a different floor either. He bypassed the elevator call-stop function, and I pulled out my phone to call Mark. The circuits were temporarily jammed, and I cursed myself for leaving my gun in my desk drawer.

  I turned to Martin. “Are you okay? I didn’t think to ask. You weren’t hit, were you?”

  He snorted despite the seriousness of the situation. “No. I’m intact.”

  “Good.” I took a breath. We were getting close to the seventeenth floor. So I pushed him to one side of the elevator, and I stood on the other. When it opened, I cautiously peered out. It was like nothing had happened. “Stay behind me.” I went into my office and retrieved my side arm before continuing to his office. Again, I went in first, checking to make sure no one was there. “Privacy windows,” I instructed as I searched for armed men in the buildings across the street. “Bullet-resistant glass?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” I did a quick sweep of the washroom. Then I picked up my phone to call Mark again. This time the call went through.

  “I heard. Are you both okay?” Mark responded before I even spoke. The wonders of caller ID. “I’m on my way. Stay put, and don’t let anyone in but me or the police.”

  “We’re okay. Waiting for you.” I hung up.

  “You’re bleeding,” Martin pointed out as he tenderly touched my arm.

  “It’s nothing. Although, those bastards owe me a new jacket.” I felt trapped, and I didn’t like it one bit.

  “Come here, and let me see that.” He was trying to be helpful. I never pegged him for calm in a crisis situation.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.” He sounded frustrated. “I can’t do anything right now, so let me do this.” I knew that feeling all too well. I sighed, and he gently took my jacket off. “Apparently, they owe you a shirt, too.”

  “Lucky me.”

  He went to the washroom and came back with a wet towel, wiping away the blood from my gash. “You might have a piece of glass in there.”

  “Leave it. It’s not that bad.”

  He took the towel and tied it around my arm. “There.” He felt better having done something, even though it wasn’t much of anything.

  “Thanks.” I scanned the room, still hyper-vigilant. I could have kicked myself for not taking more precautions earlier.

  “No, thank you.” His voice sounded exceptionally sincere. I looked at him. His bright green eyes stared at me. “If it weren’t for you,” he hesitated, “you really notice a lot. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t.” It was the truth. “I saw a flash, like from a scope, across the way. I thought a sniper was going to shoot you. I never expected the cart to explode.”

  I fell silent. Those poor people outside. I shut my eyes for a minute, trying to recall how many were out there. Had there been a line? I couldn’t remember.

  There was a knock on the door, and I leveled my gun at the sound. “Who is it?” I asked, jerking my head toward the washroom, and Martin took cover inside.

  “The big bad wolf,” Mark said, followed by the much more serious response of, “police, open up.”

  I went to Martin’s desk and hit the unlock button. My gun remained in my hand. I wasn’t positive everyone entering was on our side, and I wanted the opportunity to return fire if need be.

  “Ma’am, drop the weapon,” were the first words I heard as the door opened.

  Eight

  I laid my gun on the desk and raised my hands in surrender. The group assembled consisted of Jeffrey, Mark, two uniformed officers, and someone else, likely a detective. One of the uniformed cops took my gun off the table and checked to see if it had been fired recently.

  Mark just shook his head. “She’s one of us.”

  Martin emerged from the washroom slowly. “Thanks, fellas, for coming down. I hate to put you out.” He was being ever cordial. What was his default setting? Businessman?

  The cop unloaded my weapon and handed it back to me. I placed it on the desk, seeing no reason to be armed with an unloaded weapon in a room full of policemen.

  “What’s going on out there?” I asked, unable to wait any longer. I wanted to know what happened.

  The uniformed cops kept quiet, letting the detective speak.

  “Detective Nick O’Connell.” He held out his hand, and we shook. “It’s a mess down there. We’ve got crime scene, arson, bomb squad, fire, paramedics. It’s a fucking circus, not sure about the number of casualties yet.” Grim news, just what I expected. He shook hands with Martin, too. “Pl
ease, make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be here a while.” More good news. O’Connell noticed my oddly toweled arm. “Would you like a paramedic to take a look?”

  “Nah, I’m good. It’s just a scratch.”

  O’Connell looked unsure, as did Mark. I swear men probably think they need stitches when they get a paper cut.

  “You might as well send someone up, just in case,” Martin told them, and Jeffrey began to leave the office.

  “Jeffrey,” my tone was serious, “make sure everyone else is taken care of first before you bring anyone up here. You got that?” I gave him a sharp look, and he nodded.

  “So,” O’Connell said, trying to rein us in, “I need you to tell me what happened.” The two uniforms had their notebooks at the ready, prepared to write down anything we had to say. “May we interview you separately?”

  “That’s fine.” I moved toward the door. “My office is right over there.” I exchanged a quick glance with Mark. “Stay with Mr. Martin. He’s had a rough afternoon.”

  Across the hallway, I gave my account of the events from the time we exited the elevator in the lobby until the police came knocking on the door. I left out the previous threats to Martin since I wasn’t sure if it was my place to say anything, but the police officer realized there was more to the story.

  “Why would you think there was a sniper?” he asked.

  I informed him of my background, which I was sure Mark had already done, and told him I was hired to investigate threats and protect Martin. So much for keeping my mouth shut. He took some notes but didn’t ask for any details.

  “I guess that’s pretty much it. Seems like you might have been some kind of hero today.”

  “I’m just doing my job.” I shrugged it off.

  When Martin finished answering questions, we went back into his office, and Det. O’Connell questioned the two of us together to cross-check our stories.