The Eavesdropper

by Edward Trimnell

  I was nonplussed. “You mean you don’t want to go to someone in authority?”

  “No. That’s the last thing I want. Like I said, I believe you. But I want to take care of this myself.”

  I took about fifteen seconds to mull over this unexpected instruction. Why would Ellen want to handle this by herself? She was hopelessly outmatched by the other three, in every way possible.

  On the other hand, though, this let me off the hook. I had fulfilled my obligation: I had made Ellen aware of the danger, and I had offered to testify on her behalf. If she wanted to take her life in her hands, that was her business. She was an adult by any measure, about ten years older than me.

  “All right,” I said, “if that is really what you want.”

  “That’s what I want, Frank. Now, I think we’re done here.”

  She stood and opened the door. Without waiting for me, she headed back to our area with an intent expression on her face.

  Odd, I remember thinking. Very odd.

  Chapter 18

  And things were about to become even odder. I had barely returned to my cubicle when the phone on my desk started ringing.

  I picked up the handset. Sid Harper.

  “Hey, Frank, you got a minute?”

  I swallowed and said, “Sure. What’s up?”

  “How about you meet me in the second meeting room? I think you were meeting there with Ellen Watson a few minutes ago.”

  My tongue seemed to turn to sandpaper.

  “What’s that?” Sid asked.

  “I said—fine. I’ll be down there in a second.”

  When I arrived at the meeting room, Sid was already seated at the table, waiting for me. He gestured for me to sit down.

  “Have a seat, Frank, and close the door.”

  I did as he asked. I could feel a drop of sweat run down my flank inside my oxford dress shirt.

  “I meant to grab you as you were concluding your meeting with Ellen. I couldn't catch you, though. Sorry to make you walk back down here.”

  “No problem,” I managed to say.

  “Any problems with Ellen?” he asked. “It seemed a little odd, the two of you meeting like that in private. Nothing against the rules, mind you, just a little odd.”

  “Uh, no. Nothing, really. There a few minor work-related problems that we had to straighten out. There was a lot of noise down in our area. Also, I had to talk to Ellen about a mistake on a purchase order she’d typed, and I didn't want to risk humiliating her in front of everyone else.”

  Sid nodded, said nothing. I don't know if he believed me, but he didn't press the matter any further.

  “Listen,” Sid said, “the matter we were discussing the other day—Donnie and Bethany.”

  “I haven't had any problems with them—any new problems.”

  “That’s good to hear. But I wanted to let you know, they’re both under a lot of pressure recently. There’s been an issue or two—nothing for you to worry about—just some issues with their suppliers. I had to call both of them out on the carpet the other day, and they’re not too happy about it.”

  “I see.”

  “This is all confidential, of course.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m even telling you this. Even though you’ve had a grade promotion, the three of you are technically at the same level on the org chart at this point. The reason I’m bringing you up to speed is that I know those two can be a little rough to work with. They may be more on edge than usual over the next few weeks. I’d like to ask you, as a personal favor, to do what you can to keep your distance from them. And as I said the other day: If you do have any problems—with either of them or with both of them—I want you to come to me rather than HR. Can you do that for me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right, then.”

  Sid stood. This was to be a mercifully brief meeting, at least.

  On our way out (we walked in separate directions upon leaving the meeting room) Sid clapped me on the shoulder.

  “Keep up the good work,” he said.

  Once again I had the sneaking suspicion that Sid was on to me. He stared at me just a beat or two too long. The change was subtle, but yes—it was definitely there. Sid might not know exactly what game I was playing yet, but he knew that something was amiss.

  Chapter 19

  Speaking of things being amiss: I knew that there was something amiss with Ellen’s reaction to my story. I don’t claim to have an in-depth knowledge of human nature, but I’m not a complete simpleton in that department, either. I am capable of logical predictions.

  I had told Ellen that three people who were above her on the org chart were plotting her murder, more or less. Presented with a claim like that, a forty-fiveish admin working in a cubicle farm inside a big corporation would have one of several possible reactions.

  The first would be disbelief. (This was the one I had most anticipated before talking to Ellen.) No way. Impossible. Now get away from me, before I go to HR.

  The second would be hysteria. I could also have imagined Ellen immediately exiting the Thomas-Smithfield headquarters building, and then making a beeline for the nearest police station.

  But “Don’t mention it to anyone”? No way. That didn't compute.

  I reported for work the next day the same as always. Donnie and Bethany ignored me. I spoke to Ellen once about a routine business matter. (I wasn't completely lying to Sid; she had made a mistake on a purchase order.) Ellen’s manner toward me was unchanged: grudging, and marginally surly.

  I didn't run into Sid that morning. But I was going to see Sid right after lunch—under completely changed circumstances.

  I went to Burger King that day by my lonesome. I hadn't made many real friends at Thomas-Smithfield, so when I went out to lunch, I usually went out alone. That was fine with me—especially today. I had a lot of thinking to do.

  I arrived back in the company parking lot at 12:57 p.m., later than usual. The convenient parking spots were taken, so I had to drive around to the rear parking lot.

  This placed me nearest the rear entrance of the building. I hurried inside, wondering if I would make it to my desk by 1:00 p.m. Salaried employees at Thomas-Smithfield enjoyed a sort of flextime arrangement. You could take your lunch whenever you wanted, so long as you only took an hour. Since I hadn't departed until 12:10 p.m., I was still well within bounds. Nevertheless, I liked to be back at my desk by the symbolic 1:00 p.m. hour if possible. I had learned not to do anything that might draw unfavorable notice. That habit seemed all the more important now.

  I passed through the rear entrance, which entered the building via a little hallway. On either side of me were meeting rooms. They were seldom used by anyone in the purchasing department. We had meeting rooms to spare on the third floor.

  A meeting room door opened about three yards ahead of me, and Sid stepped out. I heard Sid Harper’s voice, and then Donnie’s. I had barely enough time to duck into another room to my right. Another split second, and I would have walked right up to them. Fortunately, Sid was still engaged in a conversation—with Bethany now!—so he didn't glance in my direction and he didn't notice me.

  I stood just inside the doorway of the other meeting room. The room had no exterior windows and the lights were turned off. It wasn't the ideal hiding place; but if Sid didn’t turn around, he wouldn't be aware of my presence. I wasn't concerned about Donnie or Bethany taking the initiative to search the hallway. They would follow Sid’s lead.

  Whatever they had been talking about in the meeting room, they were obviously wrapping it up now. I head Sid say, “We’ll take care of it.”

  It occurred to me: I was an eavesdropper again.

  “You did the right thing, Ellen, getting us all together,” Sid said now.

  Ellen? I thought.

  “That’s what I figured,” I heard Ellen say.

  “That son-of-a-bitch,” Donnie said, to no one in particular.
I didn't have to wonder whom he was referring to.

  Then Bethany said, “Won’t Frank be surprised?” Her dark sarcasm, punctuated with a cold chuckle, sent a sudden chill up my spine.

  “Hush!” Sid said sharply.

  I held my breath and leaned deeper into the shadows. I could imagine Sid looking around now, to see if anyone had overheard Bethany’s lapse. They had met during the lunch hour and used one of the first-floor meeting rooms for a reason: They hadn't wanted anyone to notice the four of them meeting. To adapt Sid’s earlier observation about my meeting with Ellen, a meeting among this foursome didn't violate any rules, but it might draw attention. A little odd.

  “There’s no one here,” Bethany whispered.

  “Dammit, Bethany, haven't you said enough?”

  They exchanged a few more words, but they were walking away now.

  Sid, Donnie, Bethany, and Ellen. No matter what I had overheard—or thought I had overheard—Ellen wasn't the target of a conspiracy concocted by the other three. But there was a conspiracy. Somehow, the four of them were in cahoots.

  Now I understood why Ellen hadn't reacted to my revelation with either disbelief or alarm. She was in on it, too.

  But what exactly was “it”? I had overheard Sid say “I don’t think we have any choice: We have to eliminate Ellen.”

  It didn't make sense.

  But I had more immediate problems. What had Bethany said? “Won’t Frank be surprised?”

  I had made a horrible accusation against my boss and two of my coworkers. Ellen had betrayed me. Her motives were unclear—but there was no doubt that Ellen was cooperating with the people whom I had accused of plotting to kill her.

  What had I done? And more importantly, what were the four of them now planning to do to me?

  Chapter 20

  I wandered out of that little hallway in a desultory manner. I wanted to give the four of them plenty of time to find their way upstairs. No longer did I care about reaching my desk by 1:00 p.m. sharp. When measured against the gravity of what I had overheard just now, concerns about punctuality seemed trivial—almost laughable, by comparison.

  When I finally stepped out the hallway and out into the wide atrium of the first floor, I joined the final flow of late lunchers. There were apparently a lot Thomas-Smithfield employees who had started their lunch hours well into the noon hour today.

  One of them was Anne Hull.

  She recognized me immediately. We had met what—a little more than forty-eight hours ago?

  “Hello,” she said. She was still shivering from the January cold. She was unwrapping her scarf, standing directly before the main entrance.

  “You don't look well,” she said.

  “I—I think I’m in trouble,” I said.

  She tilted her head and examined me as if I were, perhaps, a castaway who had spent the last decade on a remote island. She didn't want to wade into my ambiguities again, I could tell. What was I but a low value-added complication in the middle of her workday, after all? But at the same time, she was a manager in the company’s human resources department. And I was a human resource.

  “Would you like to talk again, in my office?” she prompted, with palpable reluctance.

  “Yes.” I was in no position to be picky, to decline potential help simply because the person offering it might be less than sincere.

  “Follow me on in to my office, then.”

  There was no mystery regarding my sense of deja vu as I sat in the visitor’s chair before Anne Hull’s desk.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “I overheard something again,” I said.

  Anne leaned forward: “Frank, if I’m going to help you, you have to provide me with a bit more information. I mean specifics. You keep wandering in here and telling me that you’ve ‘overheard’ something, but you won’t tell me what it is.”

  “I think now that I’m the target,” I blurted out.

  “The target of what?”

  Anne scrutinized me across the desk for a moment, and for a moment I scrutinized her back. Could I trust her?

  Suppose I told her everything. It would be just as I had concluded the other day: Sid and his fellow conspirators would all deny my claims. And now there would be four of them aligned against me, instead of merely three.

  But back to Anne Hull. I had laid all my cards out on the table with Ellen Watson, and where had that gotten me? Sid was a powerful manager within the company. Did his influence extend even to a manager within human resources?

  Based simply on the org chart, the answer would be: no. How much did I really understand, though, about the way things worked here—the way things really worked behind the scenes? There were secret agreements and alliances made in closed offices, just as there were secret agreements and alliances made in closed meeting rooms.

  “Let me ask you something,” Anne began. “Is it possible that you’ve been under too much pressure of late? I don't mean to pry into the personal, but didn't you go through a bad divorce a few years ago? As I understand things, you’re living away from your child—your daughter lives in Dayton.”

  The chill hit me yet again. What Anne had just described to me was, technically speaking, public information. But why had my personal history been on the tip of her tongue?

  Had Anne been researching me? Had the reference to my daughter been a veiled threat?

  Certainly not. I was imagining things now.

  Or was I? I would never have imagined any of this, and every day seemed to yield a new, horrible, surprise.

  “That may be it,” I said. I stood from the chair. “I—I think I need to maybe take a vacation day, take a road trip to see my daughter.”

  “That’s it?” she said. “You didn't tell me what you’re the target of.”

  “Maybe nothing. I’m not sure. Anyway, I’ve taken enough of your time, and I need to get back to my desk. May I leave now?”

  “By all means. I wouldn't think of holding you here.”

  As I ducked out of the office, I said, “Thank you so much for talking to me, for being so patient. You’ve made me feel much better.”

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow at me. Anne hadn't been fooled. I really was an amateur at the art of deception. I was terrible at this.

  I paused in the doorway.

  “Absolutely.” I was committed now. I had no choice but to double down, to stick to my story. “Thank you again.”

  “I think you’re not telling me something,” she said knowingly. “But HR is here to help you. My door is always open.”

  I thanked her again, and made my escape.

  Chapter 21

  Donnie and Bethany had already taken their seats in the cubicles across from mine. Ellen, adjacent to us, was tapping away at her keyboard.

  “Look who’s late,” Bethany said.

  (“Won’t Frank be surprised?”)

  I wasn't sure how to take this. I nodded and gave Bethany what I took to be a noncommittal half-grin.

  “He gets a promotion, and a few days later he’s taking ninety-minute lunches,” Donnie said.

  Under different circumstances, from the mouths of more congenial coworkers, all of this might have passed for friendly—if mildly competitive—banter. But I now knew that everything Donnie, Bethany, Sid, or Ellen said to me would be calculated. There would be no such thing as an inconsequential remark from here on out.

  Likewise, I had no idea how to respond. I didn't want to let them know that I was on to them—not before I figured out what I was going to do. And before I could possibly know that, I would have to know exactly they were up to.

  I nodded in a whatever-you-say manner. If you’ve ever worked in an office environment, you’ve seen that same nod countless times.

  I did my best to avoid all four of them for the rest of the day. I got up from my desk at 5:05 pm. This prompted another sarcastic remark from Donnie: “Hey, now he’s leaving early, too.”

  Bethany shot a reproving look at Donnie
. Ellen turned around in her chair and looked at him, too. I recalled Sid telling Bethany to “hush” when she’d spoken up outside the meeting room.

  It was four against one, yes—but this was an ill-matched team. They were arrayed against me, and probably they were in the early stages of planning something horrible. But it was also clear that they didn't like each other overmuch, with the exception of Donnie and Bethany. There was apparent disagreement about how to proceed. Sid was the careful planner, Donnie was the loose cannon, and Ellen was the transparent passive-aggressive. Bethany might be less impulsive than Donnie, but she wasn't above shooting off at the mouth when the mood struck her.

  I made for the elevator and I turned briefly around: Donnie and Bethany were watching me. Donnie stood up.

  I didn't want to be stuck on an elevator with Donnie. I wasn't ready for another confrontation. So instead I changed direction, doubled back, and headed for the nearest stairwell.

  Like all large buildings constructed to state fire codes, the headquarters of Thomas-Smithfield had multiple large stairwells. The one I was aiming for was built within one of the external walls of the building. It was all concrete and bare walls, chilly during the winter months. But it would get me out to the parking lot.

  There was a metal door between the office area and the stairwell. I opened the door, and I was immediately aware of a drop in temperature. The light was also dimmer. The office space was brightly lit with overhead squares of fluorescent lighting. The lighting in this utilitarian stairwell was minimal.

  Midway down each floor was a concrete landing, and there was a landing at each floor. I was on the landing below the second floor when I heard a door open above me.

  Ordinarily this would have been no cause for concern. Although the outer stairwells weren't popular (especially during winter), there were employees who used them. There was always someone who didn't like the claustrophobic enclosure of the elevators. There were also employees who used the stairwells for exercise.