Cold Call (Iris Thorne Mysteries Book 1)

by Dianne Emley

  She slammed down the lid of the cake box and stomped out the door, down the hall and into the last office on the left. She flopped in one of the two chairs facing the desk. “You know what just happened?”

  “Good morning, Jaynie. How are you? I’m fine, Iris. And you?”

  “Sorry. Good morning.”

  Jaynie looked up at her. “Drye?”

  “He just put his hand on my ass.”

  “Document, Iris. It’s all you can do.”

  “Raab thinks I’m being too sensitive. The Boys’ Club is just high spirited… playing around to relieve stress… they’re not picking on me personally… bullshit.” She squirmed in the chair, yanking on the teddy. “I don’t know why he dislikes me so much. I never did anything to him.”

  “You’re sport for him. Plus you’ve outsold him four times in the past six months. But you’re still behind Joe Campbell.”

  “G.Q. Joe with his Worldco account and those other offshore corporations, pumping money through here like crazy. Always sounded shady to me. Where’s Alley today?”

  “Late, I guess. Or sick. Odd he hasn’t called. I’ll call his house.”

  “So what did Teddy buy you this time?”

  Jaynie’s eyes rolled skyward as she took a small box from her desk drawer.

  “Ohhh-la-la. Très expensive.” Iris turned the box so the light reflected from the stones in the earrings.

  “He just doesn’t get it, Iris. What am I going to do?”

  “Give him back the earrings, to start.”

  “I tried. You give them back to him.”

  “Me?”

  “Please?”

  “Awwwww…”

  “Please?”

  “All right. Okay. How did I get in the middle of this?”

  “Thanks, I.”

  “Gotta go.”

  Iris walked back to her desk. The room hummed with voices.

  “A mil of the two-five?”

  “Cost of carry? Bullshit!”

  “Sixteen bid, is that the best you can do? Try again, asshole!”

  “A hundred thou of one and two hundred of the other and I need it like yesterday.”

  Iris put the earrings on Teddy’s desk.

  “I have to get back to you, Larry.” He hung up and then rolled spaniel eyes at her.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I told you.”

  Teddy spun the box on his desk and sulked.

  Iris threw up her hands and flipped through the cards in her Rolodex. She picked up the phone and punched in a number. Smile and dial. Her hot lead answered the phone himself. She had finally gotten through to Delarosa after two weeks. He had picked up the phone himself and said hello and she said to herself, This is a good day indeed, then she hung up on him. Delarosa had answered the phone himself and she’d hung up on him. She wouldn’t have except someone had screamed that Alley was dead.

  Jaynie walked out of her office with her hands covering her mouth. People stopped talking and hung up telephones. Everyone took dream steps to where Jaynie was standing.

  “Murdered,” Jaynie said, tears cutting rivers through her makeup.

  Iris put her arm around Jaynie’s shoulders and felt the refrigerated cake settle uneasily in her stomach.

  Stan Raab walked quickly down the hallway. “What’s going on? What happened?”

  Jaynie hiccupped the story which caused tears and gasps and recollections of what had become people’s last words with or sight of Alley.

  Iris walked back to her desk and sat down. Teddy was talking but she didn’t hear him.

  Drye walked past her desk and said “Looks like lights out at the taco stand.”

  Iris yelled, “Shaddup! Just shaddup!”

  “Ooohh, Ms. Thorne,” Drye said. “Such emotion.”

  Iris got up and walked out of the suite. She punched the down arrow and rode the elevator to the eleventh floor, one floor below McKinney Alitzer. In the women’s restroom, she went to the farthest stall, sat down and studied the back of the door. She sat there a long time. Finally, it became real, and she started to cry. She pulled off a long tail of toilet paper and sobbed, sobbing “Okay,” when a stranger asked her how she was, sobbing, “Why” when she heard the door suction close and she was alone. When the sobs turned to hiccups, she wondered how long it would take for her face to be normal; it was still business as usual upstairs. She felt a bulge in her pocket and remembered the panty hose.

  She took out the package and the envelope came out with it. Alley had given it to her, it must have been two, three weeks ago, and she’d put her hands on her hips and asked, “Now what are you up to you silly thing?”

  “Take it, please,” Alley signed, smiling brilliantly. “Remember, things aren’t what you think. You have to be smart.”

  She didn’t understand.

  He spoke. “Ba smard, Iiiirssss.”

  OPEN THIS. YOU WILL KNOW WHEN TO.

  She’d patted his head and thrown the envelope into her top drawer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Detective John Somers of the North Hollywood Division of the Los Angeles Police Department and his partner, Paul Lewin, sat like mismatched bookends in the McKinney Alitzer lobby, sunk back into the low mauve sofa, knees almost touching their chins, folded hands resting in the V’s of their legs.

  “I’ll be the mouth,” Lewin said. “You be the hand.”

  “No, I’ll be the mouth.”

  “Remember, Professor, we don’t got all day.”

  “Without context, you have facts in a void. Why is that a problem for you?” Somers asked.

  “The problem is that you forget to get all the facts. The problem is that in your stream-of-consciousness dicking around”—his hands swam in the air— “you forget the point. The problem is that I have to get to parents’ night at the school by six o’clock or have hell to pay.”

  “You’ll be there.”

  “Don’t wanna miss the banana sheet cake.”

  “Just remember the Saticoy Street murders,” Somers said.

  “Just remember the Burbank fuck-up.”

  “Memory like an elephant,” Somers said. “You and my ex-wife.”

  “Just keeping you straight, Professor.”

  “This is detection for the New Age. We need to expand our boundaries.”

  “Don’t fuck with me today.”

  “I’m just jerking your chain. Why are you so edgy?”

  “I feel like I’m waiting outside the principal’s office,” Lewin said.

  “I never waited outside the principal’s office.”

  “Figures.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You were the quiet kid, right? Sat in the back, reading?”

  “Daydreaming,” Somers said.

  “Me, I was just high-spirited.”

  “Sounds like something your mother told the principal.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “See.”

  “One, it was a loony”—Lewin grabbed his index finger—”or two, a gang initiation”—he grabbed his middle finger. “Three, a grudge… revenge. But given what we know about our victim, I don’t think three.”

  “I have a feeling there’s something more here,” Somers said. “No robbery. Doesn’t make sense. Something smells.”

  “You have a feeling. Maybe you should consult your whatchacallit… your whooooo”—Lewin wiggled his fingers at Somers—”type guy.”

  “Psychic advisor. Don’t make me regret that I confided in you.”

  “Whooooo.”

  “Recalcitrant.”

  “I still don’t know why you volunteered for this. I hate this corporate shit. I was going to have us canvass the neighborhood. I’d rather be outside in the smog.”

  “I did it to broaden your horizons. You look very handsome in your suit, by the way,” Somers said.

  “Hello.” They both saw Jaynie’s knees first, partially covered by a pink linen skirt, then glanced down to shapely legs, plain bone pumps, then tilte
d their heads to see her face. Blond. Straight WASP’s nose. Pale features enhanced with light makeup.

  Jaynie extended her hand. “I’m Jayne Perkins, Manager of Human Resources.”

  Lewin and Somers struggled out of the deep couch, the shorter Lewin using the taller Somers as a support. “John Somers. My partner, Paul Lewin.”

  They followed her into the suite, past cubicles humming with voices. No one looked up. It was 12:30 in the afternoon, one half hour before the market closed in New York.

  Jaynie’s office was at the end of the suite. The two walls that were not glass were painted pearl gray, one dressed with a torn-paper collage that looked like a selection by the interior decorating firm that had had its way with the rest of the suite.

  She motioned for the men to sit in the twin chairs facing her desk.

  Jaynie appraised Somers. He didn’t fit her idea of a cop at all.

  He stood over six feet, lanky and broad-shouldered with an adolescent looseness in his limbs. Late thirties. Freckles. Intelligent, pale eyes that had lost their luster. Short-cropped, wiry red hair and almost feminine Cupid’s-bow lips that suggested vulnerability. He wore a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and gold corduroy pants that looked as if he’d dropped them to the floor and stepped out of them the previous night just to step into them again this morning. Hot for August. Well-worn loafers. A tired knit tie dangled from his neck like a memory.

  His partner, Detective Paul Lewin, was more in line with Jaynie’s expectations. He was older than Somers, mid-forties, about five feet eight inches tall and bulldog compact, with biceps and quadriceps testing the seams of his inexpensive navy blue suit, that looked like it was brought out on special occasions. A self-indulgent belly sagged over his belt. His straight, dark hair was combed fifties-style straight back from his forehead, held by its own oil, as unadorned and uncomplex as his heavy features which were fixed in a no-nonsense expression. He continually shifted his position in the chair, looking as if he were ready to run from the room at any moment.

  Lewin took a wire-bound notebook from inside his jacket, flipped it open with a snap, and clicked open a ballpoint pen. He looked at Somers. “You’re the man.”

  Somers said, “Miss Perkins, tell me about Alejandro Muñoz.”

  “Jayne, please. ‘Miss Perkins’ makes me feel like the school-marm.”

  “Jayne.” Somers smiled.

  Jaynie smiled back. What a kind face he had. She noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Of course, that didn’t mean anything.

  “What do you want to know about Alley? We called him Alley.”

  “What kind of person he was, his work habits, what he liked to do, his friends. Whatever comes to mind.”

  “Alley started working here about a year ago. He was the office gofer. Did the mail, kept the vending machines and coffee pots full, things like that. Good worker. Punctual. Neat. Very particular about his appearance. Expensive clothes. One of those people who’s always cheerful. He came from Mexico about ten years ago to go to a deaf school.” She dabbed her eye with her middle finger. “Sorry.”

  “Take your time. I know this is upsetting,” Somers said. “Can you describe his relationships with his coworkers?”

  “He was popular, especially with the women. Very cavalier, bringing us little gifts, flowers, candy, whatnot.” A tear broke loose and rolled down her cheek. She pulled a tissue from a box on her desk. “Standard equipment for the human resources manager. Everyone loved Alley. But some people used to tease him, take advantage. This can be a ruthless bunch. You knew he was handicapped?” She shook her chin-length blond hair that was permed, frosted, moussed, sprayed, and finger-crunched to look tousled and carefree. “Funny, I didn’t mention it before. Guess I got so used to it, I didn’t notice it anymore. He had polio as a child.”

  “How did people take advantage of him?”

  “Personal errands. Going to the cleaner’s, making bank deposits, picking up flowers. I told Alley not to do it, that it wasn’t part of his job.”

  Lewin looked up from his notebook, “Why did he?”

  “Alley wanted to be liked. He was ambitious in his own way. Took classes at a junior college. Carried this expensive briefcase. Wore a jacket and tie even though he wasn’t expected to. He was like the wimpy guy at school who hangs around with the jocks. A clique of our younger representatives that we call the Boys’ Club made sport of him. Practical jokes, stuff like that. They kind of goad each other on, you know. Locker-room stuff. But I’m sorry to say that our department manager sent Alley to run around for him too. He never saw it as being out of line.”

  Lewin sighed and got up. He walked to the glass wall and looked out into the suite.

  Somers ignored him. “How did you communicate with Alley?”

  “He read lips. Of course he used to pretend he didn’t understand when it was convenient for him. He had speech but it was hard to understand if you weren’t used to it. He wrote messages if he had to.”

  She had been twisting the tissue as she spoke, rolling it into a thin thread. “I’m going to miss him.” She laughed. “He was always underfoot. You’d turn around and he was there. I guess being deaf, he didn’t think to knock or make some sort of noise when he entered a room.”

  Somers looked at Lewin who was watching a secretary in a short black leather skirt make photocopies. “You’re up, Shamus.”

  Lewin raised his heavy eyebrows and turned the pad he was holding to face Somers. “Got it all down, Professor. Dry cleaner’s, briefcase, gifts—everything.”

  Somers took a notebook and a pen from a jacket pocket.

  Lewin sat on a corner of Jaynie’s desk and leaned on his palm toward her. “When was the last time you saw Alley?”

  Jaynie unconsciously slid her chair back a few inches and crossed her arms over her chest. “When he left to go home yesterday at three-thirty. Like every day.”

  “Was there anything unusual about yesterday?”

  “No. Typical.”

  “Anything unusual happen during the past few days or so?”

  “No. Everything’s been very routine.”

  “How much did Alley earn here?”

  “About sixteen, seventeen thousand a year.”

  “That’s not much.”

  “No.”

  “But he wore expensive clothes.”

  “He was always nicely dressed.”

  “How did he afford them?”

  “I don’t know what his financial situation was.”

  “And an expensive briefcase, like you said.”

  “One of those aluminum ones.”

  “Did he leave it here?”

  “No. He took it with him last night.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “I saw him.”

  “Somers, we didn’t recover a briefcase, did we?”

  “No, and witnesses said the suspect only had the weapon in his hands.”

  “There probably wasn’t anything in it, anyway. It was sort of a joke around the office,” Jaynie said.

  “It was empty?” Lewin asked.

  “No. He’d have his lunch, a couple of the self-improvement books he was always reading… those paperbacks… pencils and pens, notebooks. The rest was a bunch of junk, really.”

  “Junk?”

  “He was sentimental. He kept cards, gifts the girls gave him, and carried some of it around in that briefcase. Blue Smurf figures, plaques with funny sayings, Cracker Jack prizes. Junk.” She shrugged.

  “Do you know anything about his family and friends?”

  “He lived with his mother at his uncle’s house in North Hollywood. He never mentioned any friends outside the office. Our relationship was pretty much just business.”

  Lewin stood.

  Jaynie rolled her chair back to her desk. “Alley was friendly with one of our investment counselors, Iris. She’s calling on a client, but she should be back soon.”

  Somers stopped writing. “Iris?”

&n
bsp; “Yes. She taught the hearing impaired before she went back to school to get her MBA and change careers. She and Alley would converse in sign language.”

  “Iris Thorne taught the hearing impaired?” Somers said.

  “You know her?”

  “No, why?”

  “You know her last name.”

  “Because you just said it.”

  “Did I?”

  “No, you didn’t.” Lewin said, watching Somers.

  “Oh, I must have read it in the employee roster McKinney Alitzer sent us,” Somers said.

  “Really? I handle requests like that,” Jaynie said. “I didn’t send the police department a list.”

  “It was… the main office. They sent it—rather, faxed it. This morning.”

  “That’s impressive. They let my requests sit for weeks.”

  Lewin scrutinized Somers, his heavy eyebrows pulled together and eyes narrowed.

  Somers stood and looked down at Lewin. “Got what you need?”

  “Yep. Got what you need?”

  “Yep.”

  “Detectives, if you need any more information, just give me a call.” Jaynie smiled at Somers.

  Lewin gave her his card. “Call if that briefcase turns up.”

  Jaynie looked at Somers. “Do you have a card?”

  “Certainly.” He fished out a card from his jacket and handed it to her. “Can we see Alley’s work area and talk to some of his coworkers?”

  “I’ll give you a tour of the office.”

  Lewin turned to Somers. “Maybe Iris Thorne will show up.”

  Somers’s red tone deepened slightly.

  “She should be back any minute unless she got held up in traffic,” Jaynie said. “You know how that goes.”

  Lewin and Somers stood back and let Jaynie through the door. Lewin stood close to Somers. “We didn’t get an employee roster.”

  “You didn’t see it?”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Somers. Are you going to tell me now or am I going to have to find out?”

  “Nothing to find out.”

  “I will find out, you know.”

  Somers stood back and swung his arm out, gesturing for Lewin to pass through the doorway. “Welcome to the world of high finance, Shamus, where criminals in handmade suits steal from widows and children…”