The room had no obvious reception area. The detectives watched people roll from design table to computer table on their ergonomic stools. The Beatles played through the intercom as everyone seemed to move in time.
A rotund woman came up to them from behind a curved desk on one side of the lift. She had wrapped her large body in a tight, red leather mini and a constricting black see-through blouse. “Can I help you?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Yes. Lorna McCauley, does she work here?” Theo said.
The woman turned and looked toward an office in the corner. She replied with hesitation, “She’s not in today. I’m filling in for her. Can I help you with something?”
“Is your boss in?” Theo held up his warrant card and watched the color drain from her face.
“Mr. Huang?” she said, biting her lip.
“If that is your employer.”
The woman headed to the corner office, stood in the doorway and gestured in their direction. Theo wished he could hear what she said. The man in the room leaned past her and looked at them. Finally he stood and followed her out; he did not look happy to be disturbed. He spoke rapidly and angrily, but the secretary never replied.
“By Tuesday,” Mr. Huang said. He touched the Bluetooth piece attached to his ear. “Yes, that’s tomorrow. No, this should not be a surprise. We had a meeting about it a month ago.” He held a thick file folder overflowing with papers.
“How can I help you officers?” Mr. Huang asked, taking the earpiece out. The whole office, now aware they had visitors, stopped working to watch them.
Holding up his warrant card again, Theo replied, “I’m DI Blackwell, this is DS Dorland. Can we talk somewhere private?”
Mr. Huang motioned them into a conference room beside his office. “I have a client arriving in ten minutes. What is this about?”
“Lorna McCauley, she works for you?”
“What did she do now?”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Huang?”
“I say that because I pay her to work here. Lorna’s been absent three days now. Can I reach her? No. She has files and contacts I need on her computer. Completely irresponsible.”
“I understand your frustration, but we have reason to believe Lorna McCauley has been murdered.”
Mr. Huang made no comment. He didn’t even change facial expression. Theo said, “We need information from you. When was the last day she worked here?”
“Wednesday,” he said without hesitation.
“What sort of mood was she in on Wednesday? Did she seem out of sorts?”
“Not to my knowledge, but I don’t have long conversations with her about her life. I’m her boss. I would ask her to get me a file or she would tell me I had a call. We were not friends.” Mr. Huang glanced over Theo’s shoulder toward the lift doors.
“All right,” Dorland said, crossing his arms. “Did she have any friends in the office, anyone she seemed close to?”
“Close to? How the hell would I know? Not many women work here.”
Theo heard a loud ding come from the main office and turned to see two men in pinstripe suits get out of the lift.
Mr. Huang said, “I have a meeting. If you’ll excuse me, I need this conference room.”
“Not yet,” Theo interrupted. “We need more information.”
“I can’t right now,” Mr. Huang said and crossed his arms.
“Mr. Huang is being very uncooperative. What do you think, Dorland, should we take him in and ask him more questions? Do you have your handcuffs?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mr. Huang said.
“Where can we find more information about Lorna?” Theo asked.
“I would suggest her computer but she’s password protected it; I can’t even get in.”
“Do you mind if we check her desk?” Dorland said.
“No, I don’t mind. Can I get on now? These people are very important.”
“Sure,” Dorland said. As they turned to leave, Theo stopped and asked, “One more thing. Where were you Wednesday night?”
“Here.”
“Really. All night?” Theo asked. “You slept here? With who? Any witnesses?”
“I didn’t sleep here.”
“So what, you went home? To a wife? We’re looking for details. What were you doing?”
Mr. Huang seemed anxious. “I don’t have a wife,” he finally said. “What do you want from me? Why are you harassing me?”
“Give us the name of someone who can vouch for your whereabouts and we’ll leave,” Theo replied.
“I can’t.”
“Postpone your meeting. We’re going to talk somewhere more private,” Dorland said, grabbing at Mr. Huang’s arm.
“Okay, okay, talk to Sam Adams.” Mr. Huang pulled his arm away and waved to the two men who stood at the lift with the secretary.
“How can we contact Sam Adams?” Theo asked. He took out his notebook and pen.
“Sam’s sitting out there and will vouch for me.” Mr. Huang pointed out the conference room window to his staff, all of whom immediately stopped staring and returned to their drawing boards.
As the two detectives left the room, Mr. Huang approached the two men and made his loud apologies. “Police? No, they’re not police. Just inquiring about one of my employees. Don’t pay attention to them. Please, follow me.”
Theo turned to Dorland. “Now, which one is Sam?”
Looking round the room at the six male and three female architects, Dorland asked aloud, “Who is Sam?” All the staff pointed in the direction of a dark-haired colleague who sat at his computer moving the mouse around, clicking various spots on the screen.
“Sam?” Theo asked, holding his warrant card up for the architect to examine.
“Yes? Am I in trouble?”
“No, no,” said Theo. He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We just want to ask you some questions.”
“What?” As he rose from his stool, Sam pulled down his trousers that had bunched up around his crotch.
“Last week, Wednesday night, where were you?” Dorland asked.
“I—I was at home,” Sam said cautiously and sat back down on his stool.
“You were at home all night?” Theo asked, leaning into Sam’s face.
He nodded. “Why is it important to know where I was?”
“Do you know Lorna McCauley?” Dorland asked.
Sam gestured toward the reception area. “She’s our receptionist, why?”
“She went missing,” Theo replied. “We have reason to believe she may have been murdered. We need to know your whereabouts, and we need you to be honest about it.”
“Lorna’s dead? What happened?” He looked genuinely shocked.
“Wednesday night. Where were you then?” asked Dorland again.
Sam looked toward the conference room and started biting a fingernail. “I was with a friend.”
“Does that friend have a name?” Theo asked.
“It—there was a business meeting that night. I had a business meeting with my boss,” Sam confessed.
“All night?” Theo asked.
Sam looked around. “Yes, all night. I don’t know what happened to Lorna.”
“How well did you know her?” Theo asked.
“I didn’t know her at all.”
“Did anyone here know her really well?” Theo said.
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re architects. We work over here in this section. She was a receptionist. We don’t really socialize. Sorry.”
Theo handed him his card. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, emphasizing each word. “You mix with your architect types and ask them if they have any information about Lorna. Then ring me. If you do that I won’t disclose where you and your boss were on Wednesday night. Fair?”
Sam nodded.
After thanking him for his time they headed to Lorna’s desk. The receptionist had just finished stuffing a handful of crisps into her mouth. She looked up at them wide-eye
d and wide-cheeked. Theo wasn’t sure what went through the woman’s mind, whether to chew or spit the crisps back into the bag discreetly. But she did neither.
Instead she spoke. “How can I help you?” Pieces of dried potato spewed out of her mouth and onto the desk. With one clean swipe she wiped the mess onto the carpet beneath.
“Excuse me,” Theo said as he lifted one eyebrow. “Is this the desk where Lorna sat?”
“Yes.” She finished removing the last remnants of food from the keyboard in front of her and continued to press buttons, filling in boxes on a spreadsheet program.
“I thought no one had access to her computer. I thought she had password protected it,” Dorland said.
“She did. That’s her computer there,” she replied, pointing to another computer next to her.
The other screen was black. Theo leaned over the desk, pushed the power button and moved the mouse around. The screen lit up. Please enter your password, a box on the screen requested.
Dorland said, “Yes, it seems to be locked, doesn’t it? Did she leave any personal items here?”
“Personal items?” The receptionist leaned forward and showed them a gold-framed photo of Stevie. “Like this?”
“Exactly like that,” Theo said and grabbed the framed print.
“Well, I suppose it would be all right to give you her things. Mr. Huang told me that he intended to fire Lorna anyway.”
Dorland rolled his eyes. Theo said, “It would be wonderful if you could collect all her things together so that we can take them with us. I know you haven’t worked here long, but have you received anything of a personal nature for Lorna?”
“Such as?”
“Phone calls from anyone looking for her. Post? Letters? Have you seen anything unusual lying around?” Theo inquired.
“No, nothing like that. You can look in the box. That’s all her things. She may have sent emails, but I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“I doubt she would use this computer for anything personal.” She pointed her head in the direction of her boss’s office. “Programs have been installed on our computers that track our activities. I was told this when I started a couple of days ago. I do my personal computer things on my own private time.”
“I have to question more people here. Do you have coffee?” Theo said. He moved around the desk to the computer. A clear plastic piece covered the USB port in the front of the machine. He leaned over, discreetly lifted the cover and pushed the USB drive in. A beep came from the speakers attached. Fortunately, Dorland raising his arms and flexing his muscles above his head distracted the receptionist.
“Would you like some, too?” the woman asked Dorland.
“Please.” When the woman left, Dorland turned to Theo and said, “What’s going on?”
“I want to see if I can get on this computer.” Theo pulled out the paper Sophia gave him and started typing various word and number combinations into the box. After every try the message Username and Password is Incorrect popped up. “What’s Stevie’s birthday? I can’t remember.”
“Don’t expect me to remember. Hurry, she’ll be back soon.”
Theo quickly went through the list trying various suggestions Sophia had given him. Stevie. Incorrect. Lorna. Incorrect. 0-6-0-4. Incorrect. 0-4-0-6, 0-2-1-1, and 1-1-0-2. Incorrect.
P-a-s-s-w-o-r-d. Incorrect.
Down to the last suggestion, he left the space blank, pressed the Return key and prayed. The computer screen came alive and on it another box. Theo pressed the accept button just as Sophia had told him. A green bar began to fill in. Downloading Hard Disk. Hurry, hurry.
Thirty percent. Thirty-two. Fifty. Sixty. Sixty-five. Seventy. Theo rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet in an effort to remain calm. He looked up to see the receptionist heading their way. Damn. Just as she arrived at the desk, he looked at the green bar one last time: eighty-five percent. He pressed the button on the monitor and the screen turned black.
“Here are your coffees,” she said. The men took their steaming beverages.
“Where did you say that box was again?” asked Theo. She pointed to a box behind him. Theo nodded toward the monitor to Dorland. Dorland understood the reference and did his best to flirt with the receptionist.
It worked. She didn’t hear the faint beep, nor did she see Theo reach down and pull out the USB.
Chapter 11
Sophia Evans paced her sitting room. She hated uncertainty. So many things depended on Mr. Theophilus Blackwell understanding her message, and she couldn’t be sure he did. Every minute past seven, her mind raced through all the difficulties he could cause her if he failed to follow the message exactly. She should’ve met him at his house to hand him the security footage, but she didn’t want to face his family again. Her world seemed to be collapsing in around her.
Time was running out. Each passing day took the team closer to another bomb, to another victim, and now other variables were creeping in that no one understood. When Marc rang her first thing in the morning to say he had to spend the day at his office, Sophia took advantage of the time alone and hacked into her building’s security system.
She considered just walking down and asking Henry, the security guard on duty, for the security footage. He would hand it over without complaint, but she didn’t want to explain. Not yet. She didn’t want questions.
Henry was like her grandfather. He worried about her, asked about her health, helped her carry groceries to her door, and occasionally brought her a container of his wife’s homemade lasagna. Although there were hundreds of tenants, he greeted each one by name. No one escaped his notice. Whether it was to help or hinder entrance, he was always prepared. The person who dropped off the letter couldn’t have come during Henry’s watch. Henry would have known.
To be certain Henry had no idea she retrieved the hours of footage, she went down after lunch to chat. He sat behind his desk with five security screens, listening to cricket. As soon as she stepped off the lift, he raised a hand to her.
“Afternoon,” he said, turning down the radio. If he was suspicious, he betrayed nothing.
“Wonderful,” she replied then realized that wasn’t the right response. “And how’s Rusty?”
“He’s doing much better, thank you, Sophia.” A picture of Henry’s dog Rusty, a very old, French bulldog, sat on the desk. On occasion, when Henry’s wife would pick Henry up after work, she brought along the friendly dog that clumped along behind her.
Two months previously, Rusty developed hindquarter paralysis and needed an expensive operation. Henry struggled with the decision whether to prolong retirement and help his dog or let Rusty suffer. Sophia talked to her father, who talked to a vet, and a handy gift certificate to Healthy Pets Surgical Care conveniently landed on Henry’s desk two days later. Now Rusty was a healthier, happier slobbery dog, and someone with fewer worries on his mind handled the building’s security.
Once small talk was complete, Sophia stopped to check her post box. Nothing. She felt somewhat relieved not to receive any letters. At least she didn’t have to find another dead face staring back at her.
Returning to her flat, a sound in the hall caught her attention—that could be him. Through her door’s peephole, she watched a man disembark from the lift and turn right without looking at the door numbers. She watched his movements carefully. He kept his eyes down and walked straight to her door. Before he could knock, she opened it and pulled him in.
“You took a taxi?” she asked. After closing the door, she looked through the peephole to confirm the corridor was empty.
“Yes.”
“You circled the street to make sure you weren’t followed?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t tell anyone you were coming here?”
“Yes.”
“You did?”
“No, sorry, I meant no. Of course I didn’t tell anyone.”
She relaxed her shoulders. “Okay, good. Make yourself at home.” She
motioned toward her sofa. “I’m so relieved you understood my message.”
Theo took his cap off, dropped it onto the corner of the table behind the sofa, and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. “I think you would have to be an illiterate chimpanzee not to comprehend the detailed instructions. I was surprised you didn’t tell me at what interval to take breaths. I almost suffocated.”
Sophia was thinking about how she had let a complete stranger into her house. She didn’t feel nervous or suspicious, and that was rare. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, or rather that he didn’t. Most men she met never looked her in the eyes because they were busy focusing on her breasts or her bum. If Theo had any thoughts beyond professional ones, he betrayed nothing.
“I was thinking of ordering Thai,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Thai food?”
“Oh. Great, I’m starving,” Theo said as he walked over to her large flat-screen TV. “Have you been watching the footage?”
“No, not yet.”
He shrugged but said nothing. Sophia went into the kitchen and opened a drawer next to the stove. She took out a menu for Thai House. Sophia knew exactly what she wanted and quickly ordered her favorites, including Goong Mapraw, Moo Pad Prik Khaeng, Priaw Waan Gai, and some rice.
“I ordered enough for two,” she said. “We may have hours of footage to go through.”
“That’s all right.” He sat down on the sofa as she went into the kitchen to make coffee. “Did you have any success cracking that code?”
“I did work on it a bit this morning but spent most of the day retrieving this evening’s entertainment.” She carefully measured the beans that went into the grinder and pressed the large button, drowning out her own words.
“What do you mean? All you had to do was ask for it downstairs in security. How hard could it be?”
With a small spoon, Sophia measured the grounds into the filter. “I like doing things the hard way. What about you; were you able to download Lorna’s hard disk?”
“They’re going through it now. It will take some time.”
The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) Page 9
