“What’s the meaning of this?” I heard someone ask. “Who are you people? What are you doing here? This is a closed meeting, thank you very much.”
“Which one of you is one Mr. Emil Gregory?” Brad asked, as he looked around the room. Nearly two dozen men and women glared angrily back at him. “No one? Zack, come here. You said you’ve met the guy before. Is he here?”
The dogs and I appeared at the door. I heard several whispered comments about how the dogs weren’t supposed to be in the building, but more importantly, I then heard several passing references to that time in the park a few days ago, where they played keep-away with Sherlock and Watson. It was as I always said: my dogs were more recognized than I was.
I glanced around the room and was ready to announce that I didn’t see Mr. Gregory anywhere when I spotted him sitting at the center of the table opposite the windows. Apparently, he liked his view. Semzar’s CEO was staring straight at me and had a frown on his face.
“That’s him,” I stated, giving Brad a nudge in the right direction. “He’s the one wearing the black suit and tie, with the purple handkerchief in his outside pocket.”
“Old guy, gray hair, purple snot rag?” Brad asked.
“Yep.”
Brad nodded and started walking around the table, toward Semzar’s CEO.
“Mr. Gregory, my name is Officer Harding. I am here to serve you with a search warrant. We...”
Emil Gregory angrily punched a button on the telephone and snatched up the receiver.
“Get my lawyers on the phone,” the CEO coldly told whoever was on the other end of the phone. “We seem to have a problem here, and I want it resolved. Yesterday.”
Brad gently placed the search warrant in front of Emil and stepped away.
“You are familiar with what a ‘search warrant’ is, right? You do know that we’re now legally allowed to search the premises? Any attempt to prevent us from doing our jobs will result is me pressing charges. Against you, if that wasn’t made clear.”
Emil suddenly smiled and opened his arms, as if he suddenly decided he should be more cooperative.
“But of course, officer. I’m sorry, where are my manners? Help yourself. You won’t find anything here because we have nothing to hide. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know there was an ongoing investigation. Perhaps if you could tell me what you’re looking for, I could help point you in the right direction?”
“Mr. Gregory, is there, perhaps, something you need to tell us?” a new voice asked.
We all turned to see an Asian gentleman slowly push away from the large table and stand up, prompting five other impeccably dressed men and women to do the same. One was another Asian man, one was an Asian woman, two were middle-aged men wearing almost identical brown suits, and the fifth was an elderly woman wearing a jet-black three piece blazer business suit, with her white hair in a tight bun. The old woman was the last to stand, and she certainly didn’t look happy about seeing us.
“Members of the Board,” Emil was saying, ‘I do apologize for this senseless interruption. Rest assured, we’ll have this sorted out in no time at all. I…”
“No, you probably won’t,” Brad countered. “You six are Semzar Pharmaceuticals’ board members? Do you have any idea why we’re here? Any of you?”
The six members gave barely perceptible shakes of their heads.
Brad turned to me.
“Zack? I think you should be the one to address the board.”
I nodded and pushed my uneasiness to the side. The corgis and I walked into the room and we stopped at the seats recently vacated by the six board members. Consequently, it was directly opposite Emil Gregory. The CEO’s eyes were once more back on me, and yes, he didn’t look too pleased to see me. I stood in front of him and held out my right hand.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
“You may not remember me,” Emil Gregory smoothly replied, “but I remember you, Mr. Wadsworth. What is the meaning of this?”
Wadsworth? Oh, that’s right. I had given the name ‘Mike Wadsworth’ when I had first met Semzar’s CEO.
“Actually, it’s ‘Anderson’. My name is Zachary Anderson. I’m the husband of Samantha Anderson. She was a sales rep for your company for a number of years.”
“Samantha Anderson,” Emil slowly repeated. He finally nodded as he looked up at me. “I do know of your wife. That is to say, I did. I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Anderson. What does that have to do with today? And why would you give me a false name when we first met?”
“Because I’m here, looking into Sam’s death. I believe someone from your organization had her killed.”
There were several gasps, most of which came from the females present. Sherlock and Watson settled to the ground, but for some reason, kept turning to look at the doorway leading out of the conference room. Was that where employee #330 was? One Mr. Glenn Ridley? It must be.
“That’s a very serious accusation, Mr. Anderson,” Emil was saying. “I do hope you have some type of evidence to support your claims.”
“Before I answer that,” I began, “I have a question for the board. Are you guys here for a reason? Would it be because the FDA is getting ready to approve glucosoquin for the general public?”
“We’re expecting an announcement at any moment,” the elderly woman confirmed. “That’s why we’re all here. Why would you want to know that?”
“Because glucosoquin is not safe,” Vance announced. “Because glucosoquin has killed everyone who has ever stopped taking it.”
“Impossible,” Emil scoffed. “If that was true, then I would have known about it. We have been waiting years for the FDA’s approval, and not once has a single negative side-effect been reported.”
I had started shaking my head the moment Emil had begun talking.
“Unfortunately, that’s not true. My wife was one of the few sales reps that were allowed to sell that damn drug before it got FDA approval. But, what none of you could have possibly realized, is just how methodical my wife truly was. According to her files, she placed follow-up calls to her customers, asking how things were going. Do you know what she found?”
“Oh, do enlighten us,” a male voice sneered, from somewhere on my left.
“Who spoke?” I demanded. “Reveal yourself, Mr. Charming.”
One could’ve heard a pin drop in that vast room. Almost immediately, I heard a warning woof. I looked down to see Sherlock staring at a big bald guy five seats away on my left. I felt my temper flare.
“Was it you? Come on, Mr. Clean, don’t go bashful on me now. You think I’m making all of this crap up?”
The bald dude defiantly rose to his feet. Damn, this guy was taller than me and had to have at least forty pounds on me.
“Of course you are,” Baldy began. “You’re just some doof who thinks he has a grudge against our company, and is trying to smear Semzar’s good name.”
“Did you know,” I said, raising my voice so that I could be heard throughout the room, “that for all intents and purposes, glucosoquin does exactly what it’s supposed to do?”
“Of course it does,” Emil snapped. “Isn’t that the point?”
“How about what happens to you should you elect to stop taking your wonder drug?” Vance asked. He appeared by my side and plunked a thick folder down in front of the CEO. “Glucosoquin has the unfortunate side effect of placing the user into a coma within 24 hours after being taken off the drug.”
“Impossible,” Emil Gregory scoffed. “Do you think we wouldn’t have done extensive testing for potential side effects? Rest assured, as far as glucosoquin is concerned, there are none. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Sadly, that’s not true,” Jillian told the CEO, as gently as she could. “I found records of follow-up calls Zachary’s wife made several months after a sale was finalized, just so she could see for herself how everything was going. Now, I will admit that there weren’t many clinics who took their patients off the
drug, but for those who did, every single one of them slipped into a coma within 24 hours. Those that didn’t receive prompt medical attention passed away less than 24 hours later.”
“If that were true,” Emil began, “then why have none of us heard anything about this?”
“Clearly, one of you has,” Vance countered. “One of you took extreme measures to make sure the general public never knew what glucosoquin was capable of.”
Semzar’s top executive crossed his arms over his chest, “And may I assume you think I was the one responsible for making sure such negative publicity never saw the light of day?”
“Only if you’re employee number 330,” Vance answered. “Are you?”
This caught the CEO off guard. He blinked a few times before shaking his head.
“My employee number? No, my number is 14.”
“Why wouldn’t it be ‘1’?” I interrupted. “You’re the boss, right? Shouldn’t you be the first on the list?”
“My Semzar ID number is irrelevant,” Emil sighed, his voice heavy with exasperation. “The number is assigned by order in which the employee is hired. However, I will admit I’m now curious about employee number 330. Does anyone know who that is?”
Officer Harding cleared his throat and raised a hand, “We do. But, before we announce who it is, would that person, if you’re here, care to identify themselves?”
Much to my surprise, Mr. Clean stepped forward.
“My employee number is 330, and I have no idea what any of this is about. I couldn’t possibly be the one you’re looking for.”
“For the record, will you state your name, sir?” Officer Harding asked, as he turned his attention to the Semzar executive.
“Glenn Ridley. I’m the VP of Excellence.”
“Corporations and all their blasted titles,” Vance softly grumbled, shaking his head.
Brad reached into a large paper bag and withdrew Samantha’s laptop.
“All right, Mr. Ridley, do you recognize this?”
Glenn stared at the laptop and shrugged, “It’s one of our laptops, no doubt about it. We use about five different models here at Semzar. I don’t know who was assigned to use that particular model. It isn’t one of the more widely-used models, if that’s what you’re wondering. I think that might be the model Sales uses.”
Brad gave the laptop a slight shake, “No, I’m talking about this specific laptop. This one, right here. Does anyone recognize who it belonged to?”
I quickly glanced around the room, intent on seeing whether a look of recognition would give anyone away. Unfortunately, not one person gave me the slightest indication they had seen that particular laptop before, and that included Mr. Clean, er, Glenn Ridley. So much for that theory. He had to be lying.
“Does ‘almightygridiron’ have any special meaning for you?” Officer Harding asked, as he focused his attention on Glenn.
“That’s one of the usernames I’ve used on the Internet,” Glenn slowly admitted. “How could you possibly know that?”
“That particular username has been linked to a recent burglary at a Scottsdale hotel,” Brad answered. “This laptop was stolen from the Phoenician. We believe someone here was getting worried about what we’d find on this thing. That person then arranged to have the door codes from Detective Samuelson’s hotel room transferred to a custom-built door card and presto, we have the ingredients for a high-tech robbery. Only, our perp didn’t count on having two canine detectives on the case. They were able to alert their owner and follow them to the Phoenix Art Museum, where this laptop was stashed.”
“Please,” Glenn scoffed. “You’d have us believe mere dogs did that?”
Brad pointed down at Sherlock and Watson, “Yep. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, then I would be just as skeptical as you are. As it is, they… Zack? Why do your dogs keeps staring at the door?”
I shrugged, “I’m not sure. Someone is probably having lunch out there, and the dogs can smell it.”
“Anyway,” Brad continued, as he turned back to the big bald dude, “we apprehended the guy responsible for hacking into the hotel’s computer to steal door access codes. He has identified his employer as you, Mr. Ridley.”
Mouths dropped open as heads slowly swiveled until everyone was staring, aghast, at the VP of Excellence. Glenn held up both hands in mock surrender and vehemently shook his head.
“Hey, I don’t know where you get your information, but you’ve got the wrong guy. I had nothing to do with that. I don’t know anything about a laptop robbery.”
“What was a Semzar Pharmaceuticals computer doing in at a hotel in Scottsdale?” Emil Gregory suddenly asked, frowning. Consequently, the room fell silent. “Those laptops are property of Semzar, and, due to the confidential information they contain, should never have left this building.”
“Wait a moment,” another voice interjected. “A computer hacker identified Mr. Ridley as his employer?”
We all turned to look as a new speaker pushed his way into the room from the hall outside. He was a somewhat short, pudgy, middle-aged man with long, thinning hair and a full, bushy beard. Unlike the others, he wasn’t dressed in full business attire, but rather a simple pair of khakis and a green Polo shirt.
“And you are, sir?” Brad asked, as he turned his attention to the bearded man.
Sherlock jumped to his feet and sounded a warning woof, which caused Vance, Jillian, and myself all to stare down at the corgi. Why would he bark at this guy? Were we looking at another person who’d be implicated in Sam’s death?
“Arthur Mazlo, but you can call me Art. Or Maz, your choice.”
“And what role do you have here at Semzar, Mr. Mazlo?” Brad wanted to know.
“Arthur Mazlo is our vice president of information technology,” Emil answered for him.
A chill swept over me as I studied Arthur’s face. This guy? He was the VP of IT? Hadn’t this particular person been mentioned once or twice as a possible suspect? If he was head of IT, then that meant he was in control of the create-your-own-magnetic-card machine. Did that mean this guy also had the skills to hack a car’s computer and force it off the road? Could this be why Sherlock was suddenly paying attention to him?
I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth. I had to know if this pathetic excuse of a human being was, in fact, Sam’s killer. I studied the pale, overweight man who, I might add, looked as though he rarely stepped outdoors, when a firm, but friendly, hand appeared on my shoulder and prevented me from taking a step.
“Not yet, pal,” Vance softly murmured. “Let’s see how this play’s out first.”
“How nice to make your acquaintance,” Brad said, smiling, as he and several other officers appeared at Arthur Mazlo’s side. “We’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Maz.”
Arthur Mazlo’s eyes widened with shock, “Why? I don’t have anything to do with this, either.”
“Yes or no, Mr. Mazlo,” Brad started, as he slid the laptop back into the oversized bag it had come from and withdrew Chuck the Hacker’s Semzar employee ID badge. “Do you have access to the machine that makes these things?”
“We do have an RFID dual-sided card encoder, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Arthur confirmed. “So what? Many companies do. Anyone can purchase one. For crying out loud, we bought ours off the Internet.”
“And who runs that machine?”
“Uh, well, I do.”
“Mm-hmm. What about hacking into a car’s on-board computer?”
Arthur shrugged, “Sure. Today’s cars don’t really have any type of protection in place, so it wouldn’t take much to do it.”
“Could you take over the car’s controls and make it do what you want it to do?” Brad continued.
Arthur shrugged again, oblivious to the hole he was digging himself, “It all depends on the car. If the car has advanced features, like those designed to help you parallel park, then I suppose you could.”
“Arthur, stop talking,” Emil snapped. “They�
��re setting you up.”
Arthur’s eyes widened with alarm and he suddenly raised both hands, as though he were being held at gunpoint, “Hey, now wait a minute. I didn’t hack into anyone’s car, okay?”
“Yet, you know how to do it,” Brad said, as he turned to look at the group of officers standing silently near the doorway to the conference room.
One of them, an older fellow, with more decorations on his uniform than the others, nodded. I narrowed my eyes as I studied the guy. Who was he, Brad’s superior?
Officer Harding opened the thick folder he had dropped on the table and pulled out a copy of the police report back from that fateful day.
“Do any of you happen to know how Samantha Anderson died? Her Audi veered off the road and directly into an on-coming semi-truck, killing her instantly.”
Gasps and muted whispers were bandied about.
“How could you possibly know that?” Glenn Ridley asked. “I remember reading about that wreck. There was nothing left to examine.”
Every single person in the conference room, which included the police, was now suddenly staring at Semzar Pharmaceuticals’ VP of Excellence.
“Hey, I know how that makes me look, all right? I knew Samantha. She was my friend. You’ve gotta believe me, I had nothing to do with any of this.”
I started walking around the table, intent on telling Mr. Clean what I really thought of him, when I felt the dogs’ leashes go taut. Surprised, I glanced down at Sherlock and Watson, only they were nowhere to be seen. The leash was stretched back the way I had come, and based on how long I knew the leash to be, both corgis more than likely hadn’t budged an inch from where that had originally sat.
“Guys? What are you doing? Come here.”
Nothing. As I slowly walked back to the dogs, I could see that Sherlock and Watson were still staring at the doorway, as though they were trying to see who was outside. Sherlock, I should also add, kept turning to look at Emil Gregory, as if he was afraid he’d try to escape.
So, who was out in the hallway? I couldn’t see anyone, but then again, that could be because the doorway was blocked by people. It couldn’t hurt to check who was out there.
Case of the Chatty Roadrunner Page 18
