Likely Suspects

by G. K. Parks

  “Does Todd strike you as a mastermind who could rig a bomb, sabotage your plant, attempt to kidnap you, and send you all those threatening messages?” As I said this, the familiar cold chill traveled down my spine, making the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

  Martin sighed and considered my question. “I don’t know him very well.” That wasn’t an answer. “You don’t think he’s behind this, do you?” It was more a statement than a question.

  “Maybe the kid will surprise me, but he doesn’t seem like criminal genius material. If he wants to make a deal, maybe he’ll roll on whoever is behind this.” It was all we could hope for at this point.

  We sat silently for a few minutes as I contemplated the other potential suspects worthy of consideration. The missing funds from the MT accounts pointed away from Todd and lent themselves to a much higher-level employee being involved. It was an established fact that most business types were sociopaths, so there wouldn’t be a shortage of possibilities any time soon.

  “I’m going to get some sleep,” Martin announced. He rubbed his thumb across my cheek as he went by. I shut my eyes and sighed. “No more pacing,” he whispered.

  “No promises.” I sat alone in the living room for a few minutes. A thought itched at the corners of my psyche. I was missing something, but what was it?

  * * *

  I heard ringing. At first, I thought it was part of my dream, but it kept getting louder. I rolled over and fell face first onto the floor.

  “That was graceful.” Martin’s voice broke through my sleep.

  “Screw you,” I muttered, sitting up and rubbing my nose. At least it wasn’t bleeding.

  He grabbed the phone and took it into another room as I looked around bleary-eyed, trying to figure out why he was in my bedroom. He’s not in your bedroom, dumbass; you fell asleep on the couch again. I got off the floor and stretched. My back was killing me. I really needed to stop acting like a narcoleptic. I was just getting ready to go upstairs when he returned.

  “How’s sleeping beauty this morning?” He seemed cheerful. Damn morning person.

  “I apparently have an unnatural attachment to your couch. How long have you been up? Why didn’t you wake me?” I ran my fingers through my knotted hair.

  “I’ve been up for a few hours, but I was afraid to wake you. You might try to shoot me again.” He gestured at the gun sitting on the end table, reminding me of the first morning I spent in his house.

  “Makes sense.” I stumbled toward the stairs. “Who was on the phone?”

  “O’Connell. He wants us to stop by around noon.” I continued upstairs. “I’ll make you some coffee,” he offered. I grunted my thanks and shut the bedroom door.

  I took a nice long shower, letting the water beat down against my sore back. Finally, I emerged and dressed in semi-professional attire. I was now officially out of work clothes, not that I was going to the office. But in the event I needed to look a little more formal than jeans and t-shirts, I’d have to go back to my apartment. I dried my hair and put on makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Looking almost human, I emerged and headed downstairs. Martin was sitting in the kitchen with two cups of coffee on the table.

  “Thanks.” I took a sip.

  “Ms. Hartley called while you were in the shower,” he said as I slowly sat in the chair. “She has some news on the missing finances and would prefer to discuss it in person. I told her we’d be in to see her after we finish at the precinct.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing my appearance and posture. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  He shrugged. “You’re just quiet this morning.”

  “It happens, but we should probably get going. Where’s Marcal?” I had grown accustomed to Martin’s driver taking us everywhere.

  “He has the day off. Don’t worry. I know how to drive.”

  I internally debated whether to protest but decided it wasn’t worth an argument and kept quiet. Maybe there really was something wrong with me today.

  We made good time. Traffic seemed light; although, maybe it had more to do with Martin believing we were on the autobahn instead of the freeway. I kept an eye out for possible tails, but given his penchant for driving and the engine in his sports car, it didn’t seem physically possible to be followed.

  Once there, O’Connell escorted Martin upstairs to take his statement some place private. I was still sitting in front of the main desk when Thompson came to find me.

  “Ms. Parker?” He seemed a little uncertain, and I tried not to judge his lack of facial recognition given his chosen profession. “Right this way, ma’am.” The ma’am I couldn’t overlook though.

  “Please, it’s Alex.” I tried to be polite, honey and flies and all.

  Thompson led the way to the interrogation room. He asked some fundamental questions concerning my connection with Mr. Martin and Mr. Denton, how well I knew Todd Jackson, if I had seen him following me at any other times, and if I noticed him at the coffee shop. All of these were baseline, matter-of-fact questions, and I answered easily. He excused himself and left the room.

  Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I wondered if anyone was watching from the other side of the glass. I wasn’t a suspect, and I wasn’t being interrogated. They were just collecting information on their stalking case or whatever it was they now had against Todd.

  “Ms. Parker, if you would be so kind as to write and sign a statement of events, it would be helpful in compiling our case,” O’Connell said, entering the room with another person I assumed was an ADA.

  “Not a problem.”

  He handed me a sheet of paper, and I wrote everything Thompson had just gone over, signing and dating the bottom.

  “Thanks, that’s all we need for now.” O’Connell and the ADA headed for the door. “You can get out of here,” he told me, but I waited for the ADA to leave before I stood up.

  “Who’d he roll on?” I asked conspiratorially. O’Connell pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Come on, Detective. You and I both know someone’s gunning for Martin, maybe me too. Isn’t it part of your duty as a public servant to let me know who I need to watch out for?”

  “It’s still too soon to say, but rest assured, when we get some hard evidence, you won’t have reason to watch your back anymore.” He knew more than he was letting on, and I tried to stare him down. But he wouldn’t budge. Giving up, I went past him and down the hallway. “Parker,” he called after me, “you and Martin need to avoid the MT building for a while, okay?”

  “Not a problem.” I waved, continuing my retreat from the interrogation room. Well, on the bright side, I was right on two accounts. First, whoever was behind the conspiracy against Martin was an MT employee. Second, Todd Jackson wasn’t the mastermind calling the shots.

  Twenty-six

  Martin was waiting near the entrance to the precinct. He was having a conversation with someone dressed in a nice business suit. His lawyer, I guessed. When he saw me coming, he shook the man’s hand.

  “Finished?” he asked. I nodded, and we went outside. I gave him directions to the OIO building, despite the fact he didn’t actually need them.

  “So,” I was curious if he had gotten any more information on the Todd situation, “how did things go? Who was that guy you were talking to?”

  “My attorney.” He shifted gears and switched lanes. “I asked him to meet me there. It’s always good to have counsel present.”

  “Did you find out anything? Who Todd was working for? Anything?” The more time I spent working for Martin, the less patient I was becoming.

  “Stay away from work and the employees. If they find anything else, they’ll let us know.” He mimicked what he’d been told, but there was more to the story. I watched his expression, but he kept his eyes on the road and wouldn’t turn to look at me.

  “You should probably slow down, unless you want to get arrested for reckless endangerment.”

  “I doubt they’d arrest me for that,”
he replied, but he decreased his speed, anyway. I waited him out. Finally, he glanced at me. “I’m not telling you this, but I’m going to see if I have any friends in the DA’s office. Elections are coming up soon, so I might be able to get some information through unofficial channels.”

  Considering how aboveboard he was on most things, I was amazed he was talking about greasing palms with election funds in order to get answers. It wasn’t a bad plan. It wasn’t hurting anyone, I justified, but it seemed slightly uncharacteristic.

  “Maybe you should wait and see if Mark has anything for us, first.”

  He shrugged, and I dropped the subject. Sometimes, it was best to have plausible deniability, just in case.

  We pulled into the parking garage under the OIO building and took the elevator up. I called Kate to see if she could meet us. She said she’d be going on lunch in fifteen minutes and could talk then. I relayed the message, and Martin agreed to wait. With a few minutes to kill, we stopped to see Mark. Hopefully, Mark could talk some sense into Martin before he did something irrevocably stupid.

  “Marty. Alex,” Mark greeted. He appeared to be busy, but he pushed his work aside for a minute, confused by our presence. “Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

  “Hartley’s working on something for us,” I told him. He was relieved we weren’t in the middle of a crisis. “We just got back from giving statements to our favorite detective.” Sarcasm dripped from my words.

  “Uh-oh.” Mark could tell I was displeased. “Let me guess, O’Connell doesn’t want to play ball. He’s keeping everything close to the vest.”

  “I’m working other avenues to see what I can find out,” Martin offered. So much for keeping a secret.

  Mark wasn’t happy about this either. “Look, I’ll see what I can dig up. In the meantime, the two of you better keep your noses clean, okay? Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Eh,” I shrugged, “I’ll try.”

  Martin didn’t comment, and Mark sighed, frustrated by being sent to do the dirty work again.

  “Fine, go to your meeting. When you’re finished, come back here. I’m calling O’Connell now to see what I can dig up. Worst case, his lieutenant owes me one, so I might call in a favor if need be.” Mark understood how frustrating this was. He probably understood more than most since he had been working this case for Martin since the beginning.

  “Thanks,” Martin sounded relieved. Maybe he didn’t want to use unofficial channels either.

  When we reached Kate’s office, I knocked on the open door. “Come in,” she responded, not bothering to look up.

  “Really, after all this time and all I get is a come in,” I teased.

  She looked up and grinned. “Parker, it’s good to see you.” She smiled at Martin who stood behind me, acting somewhat timid, at least timid for Martin. “Please have a seat.” She gestured to the two chairs in front of her desk.

  “This is James Martin,” I introduced him. “Kate Hartley.”

  “Pleasure,” he said, shaking her hand.

  “I’m sorry it’s not under different circumstances,” she replied, pulling out a file folder and turning it around to face us. “I did some digging into the account numbers you gave me. It seems the missing funds were bounced around to a lot of different locations. They started out in the Caymans and then transferred out to another bank in the Bahamas. From there, they bounced to Argentina and then Zurich, and with each transfer, they fragmented.”

  I tried to keep up, but I needed a globe in front of me. Luckily, Martin understood the implications.

  “How much was left after all that bouncing around?” he asked.

  Kate glanced down at the folder. “Roughly a fourth. I don’t know where the rest ended up. Each transfer was made so quickly and to countries with closed banking policies that I wouldn’t be surprised if they fragmented further from the transferred accounts. I was only able to trace this part because it was the largest sum.”

  “Do you think the reason for the fragmenting and the decrease in funds was to make it more difficult to trace?” I asked, and she touched her nose and pointed at me. Surprisingly, I understood more than I thought.

  “Who’s primary on the accounts?” he asked.

  “Dummy corporations, shell companies, each and every one is under a different name and heading. I bounced the names to the boys upstairs, figuring they might have better luck tracking it down.” She frowned. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

  “It’s okay. You did what you could,” he said, but the wheels were already turning in his head.

  “Who knows how to set something like this up?” I asked Martin. He was pondering something, and I wasn’t sure if he even heard my question.

  “I’d say there are only a handful of people, namely the members of the Board and maybe one or two people in accounting.” He had some suspicions he wasn’t sharing. The same small group of individuals who could have been responsible for the first accounting discrepancy was the same group with the wherewithal to fragment and bounce funds around the globe. “Did any of the money trace back to personal accounts?”

  She thought about it for a moment. “No, but there was something odd that popped up. It might be a glitch or some crooked banker taking a payoff, but after the first move to the Cayman account, there was a cash withdrawal of twenty-five grand.”

  “Probably paying off the bank to look the other way,” I surmised.

  Martin leaned forward and rested his chin in his hand, thinking. “Can I get a copy of this?” he asked, staring at the file in front of her.

  She shrugged and gave him the folder. “I don’t need this. It’s not an OIO case.”

  “Thanks,” he told her sincerely. He seemed lost in his own world as he leaned back in the chair, holding the folder protectively against his chest. “We won’t take up any more of your time, Ms. Hartley, but thank you again.”

  “No problem,” she said. He got up and headed toward the door. I was about to follow, but Kate stopped me. “Parker, do you have a minute?”

  I looked back at Martin, who was in the doorway. “Can you get to Mark’s office on your own?” In a building full of federal agents, I wasn’t too concerned someone would try to kill him.

  “Yeah, I’ll meet you up there.” He disappeared down the hallway and out of sight.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “You’re working for the James Martin,” she whispered, but it came out a high-pitched squeal.

  “Yeah, so?” Why was she impressed?

  “He’s a genius.” She sounded like a teenager with a crush. “His company is always on the Forbes 500. He’s come up with all kinds of eco-friendly technology. He’s rebuilt towns in the third world.” I was pretty sure she was exaggerating.

  “And he can be a total jackass.”

  “So the picture on Page Six, that was you.” She pulled out the paper.

  “Dear god.” I hoped the flashing lights from Sunday night had been something I hallucinated.

  “How is he?” She had always been a good friend. We had gone through Quantico together, but sometimes, she had the mentality of a thirteen-year-old girl.

  “I don’t know. He’s rather pissed someone is stealing his money.” I wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire.

  “You mean you aren’t a couple?” She was absolutely astounded by this.

  “Of course not.” The implication perplexed me, but she gave me a questioning look.

  “But he’s your type.”

  “My type? I wasn’t aware I had a type.” I should have gone to Mark’s office with Martin.

  She stared knowingly at me. “Sexy with jackass tendencies, that’s your type.”

  “That is not my type.”

  “Fine, but you owe me, so when you’re done working,” she made air quotes around the word working, “we are going out for drinks. And you are giving me the total dish.”

  “Okay, but there’s nothing to tell,” I maintained. Thanking her onc
e again for the help, I went upstairs to find Martin and Mark.

  The two men were sitting in the office, drinking coffee. I knocked on the door and walked inside, not waiting for an invitation. A quick glance was exchanged before Mark spoke.

  “Mr. Jackson was paid to deliver a package to your office,” Mark began. Before I could comment, he continued. “He claims he doesn’t know what was in the box, but he was assured it wasn’t dangerous and figured there was no harm. The thing is,” he paused briefly, “he never got to deliver the box, so he was asked to take some pictures and send an anonymous e-mail. He turned over the burner phone to O’Connell.”

  “Who paid him?” I asked, resting my hips against the desk.

  “You’re going to love this.” Mark paused for dramatic effect and plastered a fake grin on his face, like a clown. “Mr. Jackson doesn’t know. He received an e-mail message originating from the office with the details of what he should do.” The plot thickens.

  “How much did he get paid?”

  “Twenty-five grand,” Martin chimed in. Coincidence, I think not.

  “Before you ask, the cops are already working that angle. Evidently, Mr. Jackson didn’t think taking a few photos or delivering a box would be considered a crime. He insists the anonymous e-mail said Griffin was leaving the box in her office to be delivered, so he assumed the whole thing was completely harmless.”

  The guy probably needed the money, I thought but kept it to myself. “What did he do with the box?” I asked.

  “He tossed it, and when he went back later to retrieve it, guess what.” Mark adopted the same fake clown smile. “It was gone.” His eyes grew wide in mock astonishment.

  “Dammit.” I slammed my hand on the desk.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Mark muttered.

  “So what was the point of bringing Todd in?” Martin asked cynically.

  Mark shrugged. “Think of it as a piece of cloth with some loose strings. If you pull on the right string, the entire thing unravels.”

  “Todd just wasn’t the right string,” I deduced.