Weapons of Mass Distraction

by Camilla Chafer

  “Want to see the bullet wound, Graves?” he asked when I congratulated him.

  “Does it involve you taking your shirt off?”

  Fletcher’s smile widened. He was handsome when he didn’t look so stony. “Yep.”

  I pondered that. “Maybe later.” From the corner of my eye, I checked Solomon’s reaction. He was bent over a file, but I caught the merest hint of a smile.

  “It’s a date.”

  “Before you two get cozy, we need to get our heads together on Lexi’s case,” Solomon said, finally looking up. The room pulled to order quickly. Solomon simply had that presence. He didn’t even need to raise his voice. I could hazard a bet that his voice had a very different effect on my male colleagues than it did on me. “You’ve all been briefed. Lexi, catch us up.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, walking over to the whiteboard covering one wall. It was a recent addition and a useful one. Not quite as cool as a special ops-style electronic board but it was a lot more in agency budget. It felt like a real life murder board and as I wrote the three victims names across the top, I realized it was. “We have three victims,” I told them, as I added more personal information, “initially it appeared all deaths were tragic, isolated incidents but I have a connection.”

  “And that is…?” asked Delgado, as he tapped his pen against the table.

  “Close to two years ago they all worked for a company called Simonstech and they all left abruptly. Schwarz’s neighbor says he was very regretful of something that happened prior to leaving his job. Doyle’s sister had a similar story. She was depressed about something and it changed her behavior significantly.”

  “How?” asked Solomon.

  “She stopped her favorite hobbies. Didn’t want to see anyone. Stopped socializing.”

  Delgado gave a thoughtful nod. “Sounds like depression.”

  “I agree. What’s pertinent is that the depression and behavior changes coincided with Doyle also leaving the firm. That brings us to Lorena Vasquez. I knew her, but not very well,” I qualified, knowing that the personal aspect could be perceived as either extra insightful or judgment clouding. “She called me the morning she died, asking to talk. Our working theory is that she wanted to talk to me in my professional capacity.” I waited for the derisive snort to emanate from one of my colleagues, but none was forthcoming. I resisted a smile and continued, “Lorena also left the firm at the same time, although we’ve yet to speak to anyone close to her.”

  “Any idea why they all left?” asked Fletcher.

  I shook my head. “No, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence although I won’t rule it out yet. That’s where I am with the preliminary investigation. Our first theory was that it had something to do with our client, Fairmount Gym, since that’s where Schwarz and Doyle died.” I added these notes to the board. “Lorena, however, was murdered at home. We know now the first two deaths weren’t by accident; both were poisoned, but Lorena was stabbed. The common employer connection gives this case a new focus.”

  “A change in MO is unusual,” said Flaherty. As a veteran of the murder squad, his opinion was always useful to me. “Most murderers stick to what they’re comfortable with.”

  “Lovely thought,” I said, continuing, “the first two murders were public, in the gym during busy times. I don’t know if that was by design or chance. What we do know is they were hands-off kills,” I looked to Solomon, waiting to see if he knew anything to confirm or counteract my statement, but he waved me on. “Lorena’s murder was in her home. We think she knew our killer.”

  “How was the poison administered?” asked Lucas. He was tapping away at his tablet and barely paused to look up.

  Solomon took over and I waited, watching their reactions. “There was a cut on Schwarz’s finger and he absorbed the poison through that. He got the cut from a thumbtack embedded on a spin bike’s handle. When we tested the handle, it was dusted with the drug.” A few eyebrows rose at hearing that. “Doyle ingested poison via her water bottle. Someone diluted a quantity of peanut oil into her bottle of water, to which she had a massive allergic reaction.”

  “So, we got two poisonings in which the murderer didn’t need to get near his or her victims in order to accomplish. This guy, Schwarz, definitely the target?” asked Delgado.

  I nodded. “Based on their connection to each other, I’d say yes. The murderer didn’t need to get close, but he… or she, I guess… did know Schwarz’s routine. I took the same spinning class, and as far as a I remember, Jim Schwarz always rode the same bike.”

  “So it’s likely that the murderer is a member of your gym?”

  “Um…” Thinking about it now, did I need that membership so much? On the positive side, maybe if I caught the killer, my membership might be free. For life. That was something I could mention to Michael.

  “Lexi?” prompted Solomon.

  “Oh, right… Where was I? Yes, the murderer knew Schwarz’s routines and yes, that person got close enough to Doyle to spike her water bottle. It could be a member but I have another theory,” I added, recalling the conversation I overheard.

  “There’s some creepy people around,” said Lucas. “I’m glad I don’t have a gym.”

  “How do you keep fit anyway?” I asked, because he was looking pretty buff lately. “What do you do?”

  “Cardiosex,” he said with a broad grin.

  “Gross.” I paused, fixing him with a stare. Even though I knew he was engaged, I asked, “With a blow-up doll or a human?”

  “Guys, we’re talking murder here, take it seriously,” Solomon said, reminding us of the purpose for our meeting.

  “Yes, boss,” Lucas and I chorused.

  “So the big question is what could be the motive to kill three people? And why? What spooked three professional people into quitting their jobs? Jim Schwarz and Lorena definitely took lower paying jobs.”

  There was a long pause. “That’s easy,” said Delgado. “Murder.”

  “Three murders to cover up a murder?” I asked, frowning. “Isn’t that a little too much overkill?”

  Delgado frowned this time, little wrinkles appearing around his eyes. “Is that a pun?”

  “No! Okay, let’s say they saw something… a murder months ago? Why now? Why get rid of three witnesses now, after all this time?” I asked.

  “It’s as solid as any other theory,” said Solomon, nodding to Delgado.

  “That’s a long time to let three witnesses wander around without doing anything about them. Why get rid of them now?” I persisted, voicing my concerns as much to myself as to my colleagues while I erased the whiteboard, looking for something I might have missed.

  “I think it’s time we took a trip to their former employer,” said Solomon, shutting his folder and leaning back in his chair.

  “I’ll get out there this afternoon,” I told him.

  “We’ll get out there,” Solomon corrected. “There’s no way you’re going out there on your own.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just a few questions.”

  “And we don’t know who we’re going to freak out. Strength in numbers. No arguments. I'll make the call.” He gave me a pointed look and after a moment, I nodded. This wasn’t just about strength in numbers, I realized, it was more than that. The look he gave me seared my heart. This was about Solomon protecting me and I… I liked it. Then the look was gone and Solomon went from boyfriend to boss in one swift move. “Let’s go scare up some answers, Graves.”

  ~

  Simonstech was an ambiguous-sounding name for an ambiguous-looking building on the outskirts of Montgomery. This was prime industry location, attracting employees from our town and further afield. Several years ago, I temped in a building I could just see in the distance, on the other side of the lake that spanned the building’s rear. It was cheaper than the city to operate a business here, hence, the landscaped grounds around the four-story building. The wide-open location was probably the most attractive thing about the complex. The building
was a flat gray, with an almost entire glass front, tinted, so we couldn’t see anyone moving around inside. Attached to the top left corner was a white on blue Simonstech logo, with the outline of a butterfly perched on the “h”.

  Solomon and I sat in his Lexus in the parking lot, observing the few workers that strolled around the grounds. People went to and from the glass entryway situated in the middle of the symmetrical concrete and glass structure. A few employees were clearly leaving for home, but for the most part, the parking lot was packed.

  “Pretty average-looking vehicles,” he said, his eyes roaming over the cross section of hatchbacks, minivans, SUVs and a couple of cool-looking convertibles. I said nothing, because what do you answer that with? “I like the shiny one with the soft top the best!” Incidentally, I did.

  “I’m going to bet even their Christmas party isn’t exciting,” I said. “The people look as concrete as the building. So much gray!”

  “That one’s a statue,” said Solomon, pointing to the figure in front of the building. It rose from a plinth in the center of the small square. Around it was a wooden bench. A couple of women sat on it, their backs to us. I rolled my eyes and ignored him. He continued, “Something was exciting enough to scare the crap out of our victims.”

  “We still don’t know for sure that it had nothing to do with the gym, which reminds me…” I then began to recount the conversation I overheard from the gym shower.

  “You didn’t think to bring that up earlier?”

  “I forgot!”

  “Lexi!”

  “It happens!”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “Oh, damn, I wanted to ask that.” I paused as Solomon took his turn to pin me with a look. Cautiously, I smiled, and when he did too, we both laughed. “Okay, fine, it tells me we shouldn’t rule out something hinky at the gym until we’ve spoken to someone at Simonstech.”

  “Hinky? What is this? Scooby-Doo?”

  “Seemed like a good word at the time, but I’ll shelve it,” I said, sticking my tongue out.

  “Don’t. It’s cute. I like that necklace you’re wearing.”

  “Gift from the man in my life,” I said, picking up the pendant and playing with it.

  “He must like you a whole lot.”

  “Yup,” I agreed, as I leaned over and kissed him. It was brief, heart-pounding, and made me sigh.

  “You taste like strawberries,” said Solomon, licking his lips.

  “It’s my lip gloss. I also have apple, grape, and a lipstick that tastes like watermelon. Want to try them all?”

  “So long as I don’t end up looking like a transvestite, yes.”

  “Deal.” I was about to root in my purse for the extra lip glosses when Solomon picked up his cell phone, tapping the screen. The smooch moment vanished, and I was barely able to restrain a disappointed pout. Damn work, getting in the way. Sure, I was dedicated to the job, but it wasn’t like we had that much alone time and I didn’t want to miss snatching any opportunity. Maybe if we weren’t still pussyfooting around town, trying to keep our secret dating slash relationship under wraps, it would have been easier. That made me wonder: just why were we doing that? I’d come a long way in proving myself at my job and felt confident that my colleagues weren’t all that interested in my sex life. After all, now I thought about it, they knew about Maddox, and that didn’t bother them at all. Perhaps keeping our relationship to ourselves wasn’t all that necessary.

  Just as I was about to voice my revelation to Solomon, he said, “Dinner? Mine? Later?”

  “I like a man of few words,” I replied, nudging him with my elbow. “Very sexy.”

  “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “My bad. Would you like to stay at my house after dinner and a movie tonight?”

  “Yes, please. Sleepover? Shall I bring my jammies?”

  “Yes, and no. In that order.”

  “Toothbrush?”

  “You may as well leave one, one of these days.”

  “Whatever will I brush my teeth with when I’m at home?” I asked, purposefully giving him my most vacant expression. Solomon leaned over, ruffled my hair and kissed me on the lips. Then he drew back, his eyes heavily lidded, urging me to sigh, before going in for a longer, more delicious smooch that sent my heart a-flutter.

  “Screw the case,” he murmured. “Let’s go home, right now.”

  “You’re so unprofessional,” I whispered against his lips. Before he could reply, and possibly have gotten me on the same wavelength, his cell beeped, and with a grunt, he pulled away from me and reached for it. Unfortunately, I didn’t let go and had to disentangle myself from his arms before I ended up face first in his lap. Not that I thought Solomon would argue, but as far as public displays of affection, that would be off the chart.

  “It’s time for our meeting,” he said, beaming as I blushed. “Come on before I change my mind and drag you home.”

  “You really wouldn’t need to drag me,” I told him as I slid out of the car and followed him to Simonstech. It was hard to resist reaching for his hand, but I did, as I figured Joseph O’Keefe, the vice president, and our scheduled appointment, probably wouldn’t take two canoodling private investigators seriously. By the time we got to the entrance lobby and signed the guest book, the security guard said O’Keefe’s secretary was on her way down. That gave us only a minute or two to scan the room.

  While Solomon took discreet looks at the security, I found my attention drawn to a large glass display cabinet against one wall. Inside was a scale rendition of Simonstech, but the focus was on the land beyond and a small painted portion of lake, lapping at the shore. They even had clusters of purple flowers mixed in with the woodland. Above the model hung a landscape painting of the natural habitat sanctuary Simonstech had set aside for the local wildlife. There were some notes about how the land would never be touched, and thus, still available for employees and future generations to enjoy. I had just finished reading about it when the secretary joined us. She was mentioning the excellent PR aspects of the natural sanctuary as we followed her via a series of elevators and corridors to a large corner office on the top floor.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” said Solomon, shaking the VP’s hand first. I got a swift handshake too before we were ushered to the visitors’ chairs opposite O’Keefe’s desk. He settled into his own leather, upholstered chair and leaned back, examining us as we surveyed him. He had graying temples on an otherwise full head of dark brown hair and the most delightful blue eyes. They matched the sky-blue tie peeking out from his gray suit. From his online biography, I had him pegged as sixty minimum, but he looked much younger.

  “Not a problem. We don’t often get a detective agency here, or ever, I’ll admit, so I was intrigued and I had a little free time. You said it was something to do with one of our employees?” Before we could confirm, he continued. “We take the welfare of our staff very seriously here. How can I help?”

  “It isn’t a current employee,” Solomon explained, “but some background on a previous one that we need in reference to a current case.”

  “What kind of case? You didn't say when you called.”

  “Homicide.”

  “Oh.” The surprise showed in O’Keefe’s eyes, but he concealed it quickly. “Recent?”

  “Yes.”

  O’Keefe took that in, looking from Solomon to me. “Okay. Simonstech employs more than a thousand people at this site so I can’t guarantee I know the names of everyone here now, never mind a past employee, but I’ll do the best I can. What’s the name?”

  “Jim Schwarz.”

  “Why, you’re in luck! I did know him. He was employed in the research division. A very pleasant man. Bright future. I was very sad to see him go. He’s dead, you say?”

  “He died a week ago,” I said, taking point from Solomon, whom I saw watching the man carefully for any kind of reaction, or body language that shouted “I did it!” I didn’t know what Solomon read from him, but I got nothing b
ut surprise, and perhaps, a little shock. O’Keefe really didn’t know his former employee was dead.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. Like I said, I hated to see him go. Jim had a bright future here. He was one of the youngest heads of a laboratory in the history of the firm. What happened?”

  “He was poisoned.”

  “What is this world coming to?” O’Keefe got up and paced to the window. He stuck his hands in his pants’ pockets and stared out for a few moments, before looking at us over his shoulder. “Has the killer been apprehended?”

  “Not yet,” said Solomon, “but it’s only a matter of time. We’re mostly interested in the reason why Jim Schwarz left your employ.”

  “To be honest, I’d like to know that too. We’d just approved his promotion when he resigned. We figured he wanted more money, so I offered it to him personally. Quite a large pay raise, actually.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “The big boss, Carter Simons Senior, our HR director, Anne Mannering, and yours truly.” O’Keefe shrugged, continuing, “But he said there was nothing that could convince him to stay. I wrote a reference for him myself and I told him if he ever changed his mind, there was always a place for him here. I remember he seemed quite touched when he shook my hand and told me it was a pleasure to know me. Things like that really stick in your head when you’re the boss.”

  “Did he give any indication as to why he left?”

  “Not to me. That’s not to say he didn’t say anything to his co-workers. We’re a family firm, you know. Simons Senior is my brother-in-law and the founder. We’re still privately held, and as such, Simonstech really values its employees. I advise all my managers to have good relationships with the staff. Leniency on letting them attend their kids’ Christmas plays, birthdays, no hassle dental appointments, that sort of thing.” Solomon nodded, while O’Keefe rested his back against the window. He, crossed his legs, seemingly relaxed as he chose his next words carefully. “I hate to say it, but I wonder if Jim got into it with his manager.”