by G. K. Parks
“Which you are,” he pointed out. Thank you, Captain Obvious.
I wrapped my arm around his neck. “And I want to strangle you. What do you do?”
He attempted to shake my hold, but I tightened just slightly, unrelenting. He stopped, considered his next move, and to my surprise, tilted his body and flipped me over his shoulder. He knelt down to cushion my descent.
“Impressive.”
He wasn’t as clueless as I suspected. He gave me a smug, self-satisfied look. “Should we go find a can of paint now?” he asked, standing up, but I wasn’t that easy to dissuade.
“Okay, let’s say, I have a knife, and I lunge at you.” I found a piece of window chalk to use as a prop. “Now what do you do?” I stabbed at him with the chalk. He stepped back, and I pursued.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he insisted, continuing to step away.
“I’m trying to stab you to death, gut you like a fish and filet you, so do something.”
He reached for my wrist, and I blocked his hand with my non-knife hand and stabbed him with the chalk in the chest repeatedly.
“You stabbed me.” He clutched his chest.
“Be serious,” I tried to overlook the theatrics, “if I’m coming at you with a knife, more than likely, you’re going to get cut by a few swings here and there. You need to protect all vital parts of your body.”
We continued to go over defenses, ranging from knives to guns to means of escape and the best ways to incapacitate an attacker. My training at the OIO wasn’t a complete waste after all. Martin was a quick learner; although, I suspected Mark must have given him a crash course, probably after the kidnapping attempt.
After a final takedown, Martin had me pinned on the floor. His once charcoal gray shirt was now mostly chalk white with a few streaks of charcoal that had somehow managed to remain unscathed. I was equally streaked with the chalk, and I slapped my palm against the ground.
“I give up,” I exclaimed, laying my head back against the floor. He was too triumphant for my taste, so I waited for him to lean back before flipping him over and pinning him to the ground, using my body to keep him from moving. “Never underestimate your opponent,” I whispered in his ear.
“But you gave up,” he protested.
I leaned back, so I could look into his eyes. “Things are never that simple,” I clarified. He attempted to roll me off, but I had strategically pinned his limbs. It would take more effort if he wanted to shake me loose. Luckily for him, I heard my phone ringing. “Lesson’s over for today.” I got up and ran up the steps.
“Parker,” I answered, slightly out of breath.
“Denton admitted to being at the Cat’s Cradle with Griffin,” O’Connell informed me. “He says he left Saturday, just like Ilene told us. We have no hard evidence or valid reason to hold him, so we had to let him go about an hour ago.”
“What about the money?” Martin came up the stairs. He had taken off his t-shirt and was assessing the chalk stains. “Sorry,” I mouthed. He waved off my apology and continued to listen to my half of the conversation.
“I’m still working on getting a court order for the records. I’ll let you know what happens. I did my best not to tip him off in case he is involved.” O’Connell blew out a breath.
“But by bringing him in for questioning, he might be suspicious.” I didn’t like where this was heading.
“Keep your head down for a while, just to be on the safe side,” O’Connell suggested.
“You got it.” I hung up the phone. “Nothing conclusive, yet,” I told Martin. “O’Connell brought Denton in as a potential witness in Griffin’s murder, but he had to release him. We’re still waiting for enough evidence to make him an actual suspect.”
“Take off your shirt,” he said seriously, but his eyes twinkled. I looked at him like he was insane. “You’re full of chalk.”
I looked down, noticing I was, in fact, full of chalk. “Fine.” I went up the stairs to my room, and he followed close behind. Pulling my shirt over my head, I tossed it in his general direction. “Here,” I said, walking into my room and shutting the door, so I could dress in private.
“Tease,” he muttered, walking past my closed door toward the laundry room.
I chuckled and thought about those boundaries that were pretty much nonexistent and quickly dismissed the thought. After yesterday, there was nothing wrong with some harmless flirtation as long as it never went beyond that point.
Thirty-two
After dinner, I tried to call Mark, but my call went straight to his out-of-office automated response. Deciding to leave a message, I asked when he had a positive identification on the make or model of the watch to pass it along to Det. O’Connell. I was sitting at the kitchen table, making a flow chart of the information I had. No matter how I listed it or categorized it, everything led back to Blake Denton. Was he really the mastermind behind the conspiracy? There were still too many unknown elements. I was positive Martin was targeted, but for what purpose, I was still unsure. The phone calls I received from the MT building, the photos taken of me with Denton, and the break-in at my office and apartment had all been designed to send me a message. We know who you are; stay out of this. Anyone with access to Griffin had access to my résumé and my hiring, which didn’t help narrow down the suspect list. The stolen MT funds were another story altogether. Were the funds taken because Martin was away from the office, making them more easily accessible, or would they have been stolen anyway?
I leaned back in the chair and stared at the pile of papers, closing my eyes and trying to listen to my instincts. Denton’s dirty was the only thought resonating throughout my body. My mind just needed to rationalize it.
“Maybe you should go to one of those sleep centers,” Martin joked, retrieving a pear from the refrigerator. “I think you must be narcoleptic to fall asleep sitting up at a kitchen table.”
“I don’t have narcolepsy.” I was frustrated, and he got caught by my bitchiness.
“Okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender and leaning against the counter. “Touchy subject. Sorry.”
I sighed. “It’s me.” I rubbed my face. “How brilliant would you say Blake Denton is? Because that bullshit move he pulled at the charity thing really fucked up my instincts about him.”
“Well, on a scale of one to ten, where I’m,” he tilted his head from side to side, “about an 851. I’d say he’s maybe a seven.”
I chuckled. “I’m glad you have a realistic self-image,” I teased, picking at the corners of the paper. “Do you think he could be behind this?”
Martin frowned and thought for a few moments. “He has the capabilities and all the access he would need. I just don’t know why he would do it. Then again, I didn’t see him screwing Suzanne either.”
I raised my eyebrows. Jealousy? Regret? Genuine surprise? What was his motivation for that particular assessment? I bit my bottom lip and stared, trying to get a read on him.
“How old is Denton?” I asked for lack of anything better to do.
“Five or ten years older than me, I’d say. Probably in his early to mid-forties.” He threw out the pear rind and washed his hands.
Two theories were brewing in my mind simultaneously, except neither of them seemed solid. The first involved Griffin, so distraught over Martin she planned this entire thing. The problem was it had been half a decade, and while hell hath no fury, five years seemed a tad extreme. The second problem was she was dead. Dead didn’t make a great endgame for a conspiracy, so I decided to nix this idea. My second theory involved a jealous man. Martin got everywhere faster than Denton. Martin was the CEO. He was brilliant. He ran the company. He bedded who knew how many personal assistants, the likes of which I didn’t want to know about, and he was younger, in better shape, and definitely more personable.
“Does Denton strike you as jealous?” I asked once he turned the water off.
Martin didn’t even blink before responding. “Definitely.”
“Do you think he’s capable of killing someone?”
“I don’t know.” He had no basis for knowing this. Unfortunately, neither did I.
I thought about Griffin’s body. From the report, it sounded like a professional hit, but there was no way to be sure. O’Connell needed to get access to Denton’s financial records, and then maybe some of these dots could be legitimately connected. I had a feeling if Denton was responsible, he hired someone to do the wet work.
“If Denton is behind this, there has got to be some way to prove it,” I mumbled to myself.
I put my elbow on the table and rested my head in my hand, thinking, but no good ideas came to me. Everything I thought of involved tipping Denton off, and we couldn’t risk it. I tapped my nails against the table while Martin held my gaze.
“What if I go back to work?” He was serious. “If I’m back, I can confront him on the funds, and maybe something helpful will surface.”
“No,” I was adamant, “you are not bait.”
“Are you sure? I’m living in a fucking fish bowl.”
“We don’t have any hard evidence yet, and if you go back, I don’t know what he’d do.” I swallowed. “Griffin was murdered. My guess is he paid someone to take care of that loose end. He could pay someone to take care of you, too, and I can’t be everywhere at once. And I really don’t like those odds.” He crossed his arms, trying to come up with a better solution. “O’Connell is working on getting a court order for Denton’s financial records. Maybe when he does, we can track the spending.” The only problem, which I didn’t mention to Martin, was O’Connell didn’t have enough evidence to get access to the records.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if the plant saboteur’s watch and Blake’s watch matched?”
“Yeah, except Mark isn’t around at the moment.” Would the partial prints on the box match Blake Denton? “Hang on.” I called O’Connell. He was off duty, but I left a message for him to call me back.
“What is it?” Martin asked, taking a seat.
“There was a third set of prints in the box or on the box. Whatever. The semantics aren’t important. They didn’t match anyone in the databases.”
“Maybe they were Blake’s.”
“Maybe.” If we can tie him to the break-in at my apartment, it should be enough for O’Connell to get a warrant. Then we could take things from there. Could all the pieces really be coming together this easily? “We’ll have to wait it out. Just give me a couple of days before you decide to do something insane.”
“I’m impressed, Alex. You left the house this morning and said you were going to get my life back. I didn’t really think you’d put things together this quickly. Had I known, I would have said something sooner.”
“It’s a working theory. For all I know, it was Mrs. White with the rubber hose in the garden.”
“I don’t think that’s how the game is played.” He smirked.
* * *
The next morning, O’Connell called back. Amazingly enough, I was already awake, wracking my brain for a more plausible alternative theory.
“What have you got, Parker?” He got straight to the point, and I filled him in on my theory and reasoning. He didn’t think it was completely sound, but it was more than he had before. “So you think Denton’s fingerprints might be a match to the unknowns?”
“I do.” I was optimistic.
“The only problem is I don’t have enough to get them. I’m not sure I can call him back for a follow-up either. He seems the litigious, harassment type.”
I thought about it. “I can get them. It’d be easy enough for me to go into the office. If you want, you can come with me to ensure chain of custody.” I knew when I told Martin the plan he wouldn’t be pleased, especially since I forbade him from going back to the MT building.
“It might just work. When do you want to do this?”
“The sooner, the better. Let’s say around noon.”
I updated Martin on the situation. As I suspected, he was less than pleased but agreed to stay away from the office and let me do my job. Now I just needed to figure out a plausible excuse for meeting with Denton.
“Why don’t you take this?” Martin rummaged through his office and found a stainless steel clipboard. “Have him sign something.” He clicked a few keys on the computer until some employee forms popped up. “Tell him I forgot to renew the contract for the vending machine operators, and since he’s acting CEO, he should sign it.”
I gave him a skeptical look. “You think he’ll buy that?” It sounded like a load of bull.
“Of course, it’s a legitimate thing.”
“So, I get him to hold the clipboard, we get his prints, and that’s that. Easy as pie.” This was starting to sound like a ridiculous plan.
“It was your idea,” he pointed out. Plus, I was resigned to at least try it.
“Okay, I’ll be back soon.” I didn’t bother to give him my usual stay put speech since I was sure he had it memorized by now.
“Good luck,” he called.
* * *
On my way to the MT building, I called Denton. His assistant transferred the call, and by the third ring, he answered the phone.
“Alexis, it’s so lovely to hear from you today. Is everything okay?”
“James just happened to find some paperwork in his home office, and he thinks you probably need it. It’s some kind of contract for the vendors or vending machines. I’m not really sure. You know James’s philosophy on work,” I tried to sound annoyed by the whole ordeal.
“If you give me the address, I’ll send a courier,” he offered. The suspicious part of my brain wondered if this was his way of getting easy access to Martin’s home.
“I’m actually on my way now. The detective who is investigating the break-in at my office wanted another chance to look around, so I figured two birds, one stone.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I didn’t know if it was coming across that way. The news had made no mention of Griffin, so hopefully, O’Connell’s appearance at the MT building wouldn’t spook the guilty party.
“Oh, I remember hearing about that vaguely. Any suspects?” He seemed interested.
“Not that I’m aware. It didn’t seem like a big deal to me, but we know how cops are.” I downplayed the situation as much as possible.
“Okay, come find me when you get here. I should be in my office most of the day.”
Game, set, match, I thought.
By the time I arrived, O’Connell was loitering out front. I pulled out my MT ID card, and we entered the building. He flashed his badge at the security guards working the desk, and we went to the back of the lobby and took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. During our ascent, I filled O’Connell in on the cover story.
“Mr. Denton,” I called, knocking on his slightly open door.
“Alexis, do come in.” He waved me into the room. His office was much smaller than Martin’s but absolutely exquisite in décor. I walked over, carrying the clipboard and a pen. I had wiped my prints off the clipboard and carefully touched only the sides. I wanted to wear gloves, but considering the warm weather, it would seem too suspicious, especially if he was already on to me.
“Here’s that form.”
“Great, thanks.” He took the clipboard, read the form Martin had printed out, signed his name, and started to hand the clipboard back but stopped. I looked at him confused. Just give me the damn clipboard, I wanted to scream. “I can mail it for you,” he offered.
“Oh, you don’t have to go through any more trouble.” I was trying to be gra
cious and not rip it out of his hands and run for the exit.
“It’s no trouble, really.” He placed it on top of his desk.
“Great, thank you so much.” I headed for the door. “Oh, actually,” I spun on my heel, “can I get the clipboard back? James is driving me absolutely crazy. We’ve already searched the entire house for the damn television remote. If he blames me for misplacing one more thing, I’m going to kill him.” I feigned annoyance at Martin, and Denton laughed, handing back the clipboard after unclipping the form.
“Here, it sounds like you might need to give him a good slap. Maybe the clipboard will come in handy.”
I did my best to appear contrite. “I really am sorry about that.” I tried to sound sincere and embarrassed.
“I deserved it. It’s fine. Have a good day.” He stood, briefly embracing me while I tried not to gag.
“Thanks, you too.”
I headed straight for the elevator with O’Connell at my heels. Once the doors shut, he took out an evidence bag, and I dropped the clipboard inside. He tucked it into his jacket, out of sight.
“Do you think this will pan out?” O’Connell asked as we rode down to the lobby.
“It needs to.”
Thirty-three
It had been two days since I had gotten Denton’s prints for O’Connell. The lab was backed up, and I wasn’t sure when or if the identification was going to be made. Mark was still out of the office. He was working something undercover or was out of town for some other work related reason. Either way, I was irritated by the waiting. Martin was another story altogether. He was itching to get back to work and had decided, since I was the one preventing his return, he was going to hold me responsible for his constant entertainment and amusement.
