The CEO Came DOA (The Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries Book 5)

by Heather Haven

  Ballet dancing is exuberant and big; at least mine is. One hearty soubresaut or leap in the air followed by a grande jeté, jumping to the other foot, and anything around is likely to get steamrollered. Gurn knew it and I knew it. Even the cats knew it, fleeing the second I put my workout music on.

  Converting one of the empty downstairs car stalls into Gurn’s office was better for all concerned. Aside from giving each of us personal space, it would enable him to include a small gym, as well.

  I decided to wear my burnt orange wool bouclé coat with the matching scarf to offset the gloom of the day. Picked up at a vintage clothing store, just wearing it made me feel happy. Determined to have a good day despite the continuing light sprinkle, chill in the air, and low cloud cover, I bounded down the stairs around seven am with an armful of cats. At least the fog had lifted. After handing off the two felines to Tío, but before heading to Read-Out, I stuck my head into renovation territory.

  This is usually a place I avoided like the plague. I hate the entire process of renovating with all its noise, dust, and inconvenience. Left up to me, I’d move or burn the place to the ground. Okay, a little extreme, but listen up, Property Brothers. You’d both be working on the Food Channel if everyone thought like me. But Gurn had his heart set on doing the reno, I had my heart set on Gurn, so doing it we were.

  The contractor, a nice guy who wore his forty-plus years better than his no-matter-what-the-weather Bermuda shorts, assured me the wallboard was going up that day followed by the crown molding and painting. The work would be finished within a day or two, he said. I looked around at protruding wires, non-existent light fixtures, stacked wallboard, ladders, and paint cans, but chose to believe him. Sometimes you need to go on pure faith.

  Once in the car, I stuffed the Bluetooth in my ear and pulled out my phone with the intention of calling Katie about Skye’s copy of her father’s will. I figured with the kid going to school, both of them would be up preparing for the day.

  I looked at my messages. Stunned, I saw another text message from Gurn. There were no words, but an emoticon of a heart. Just one lone heart sent thousands of miles sometime in the middle of the night. I pulled over to the side of the road and took a moment to smile at the very good start of a new day. Then I got on with my job.

  Katie Hall’s call went directly into voice mail. I left a cryptic message about wanting to read Collier’s will, and asked her to call me back. I pulled into Read-Out, curious about how I would be greeted.

  With no problem signing in, I went directly to Rameen Patel’s office. I would have knocked on the door, but there wasn’t one and he wasn’t there, anyway. I changed my mind about finding him and cruised in the direction of my small cubicle, shedding my coat and scarf. On the way to my desk, I got double takes from most of my former co-workers at my celadon print Naeem Kahn dress, Jimmy Choo heels, makeup, and jewelry. I could tell they weren’t sure who I was, me looking more like Ms. Successful Executive rather than Granny Gooch.

  I dropped my tote bag and coat on my desk and sent a message to Rameen advising him I was onsite. Then I took out my list, and proceeded to the first name for interrogation. This was a twenty-one year old MIT dropout, who wound up giving me a big nothing.

  Even though he was wearing a faded and too small Gap t-shirt, here was a guy who was a trust-fund baby and drove a Jaguar. To hear him tell it, money was of no concern. In fact, he had a disdain for it that only people who have buckets of the green stuff can afford to have. Furthermore, he worshipped the ground D. H. Collier walked upon, practically genuflecting each time he said Collier’s name. If the CEO had told him to jump off a cliff holding a 1984 IBM PC Junior, he would have done it.

  I was on my way to suspect number two, when Rameen Patel marched up behind me. I didn’t think he’d be happy to see me, but the expression on his face was more like he’d eaten rusty nails for breakfast and was about to follow the meal up with me.

  “Lee Alvarez,” he said, with a pinched expression on his face. I didn’t even bother smiling. There are times when you know being civil is completely out of line. This was one of them. Gnashing his teeth in between words, he went on. He gnashed quite well and it helped keep the mood going.

  “Craig Eastham and I would like to see you in his office immediately. Follow me, if you please.”

  He spun around and tromped to the CTO’s office, apparently sure I was fast on his heels. I wasn’t. My phone rang and I saw it was Richard.

  “I’ll be right with you, Rameen,” I called out, as I changed direction and went into the his/hers restroom. “Make it fast, Richard. I’ve got a fire-breathing CFO to deal with.”

  “Those two nerds, the ones who stole the chips and tester --”

  He paused for a moment, obviously collecting himself. I was in a hurry, so I tried to prompt him to keep talking.

  “Ronnie and Jerome. What about them?”

  “Lee….they’re dead.”

  “What?”

  My voice had no emotion whatsoever, but it felt like my legs weighed three-hundred pounds. I sat down on the john, glad someone had lowered the lid. It didn’t always happen in a male-dominated atmosphere.

  “Say that again. Richard. I’m hoping I didn’t hear you right.”

  “The Fremont Police found them about an hour ago. One of the boys, Ronnie Epstein, managed to dial 9-1-1 before he died.”

  “Where were they?”

  “Back at the house in Fremont. Ronnie was in the hallway. Jerome was found sitting in a chair with a Superman comic book in his hands.”

  “Sweet Jesus. How did you find all this out?”

  “Frank called. Both guys had the chemically altered Scopolamine in their system. The company doctor monitors everyone with the implanted chips twice a day, morning and evening. But he says once the stats came in this morning, it was already too late; the drug is so fast acting. With this new information, the cause of Collier’s death has been ruled as possible murder. Bulletins on Devil’s Breath are being sent to every law enforcement agency in the Bay Area now. California is a very nervous state.”

  “Oh, my God. Richard, that’s four men dead in less than 48-hours.”

  “I know. I talked to Lila. She wants you to call her.”

  “Later. I’m about to take a meeting with Patel and Eastham.”

  There was a pounding on the door then Rameen’s stern voice. “Miss Alvarez, we’re waiting.”

  “I’ve got to go, Richard.”

  More pounding on the door, followed by a jiggling of the doorknob. I lifted the phone away from my mouth.

  “Keep your shirt on, Rameen,” I shouted. “I’ll be right out.” I lowered the phone and my voice again. “Were you able to get that erased message back from Jerome’s phone?”

  “Almost,” Richard said. “We found something, but barely audible. We’re using audio enhancing software on it right now. I should know more within the next hour or so.”

  “Any clue as to whose phone sent it?”

  “All we know is it’s a six-five-oh exchange. We’ve got data running. I found out something else you should know. About that --”

  The pounding resumed. I flung open the door, and said into the phone at the same time, “We’ll have to talk later, Richard.”

  Hanging up, I glowered at a taken aback but hostile Rameen Patel. I pointed a finger in his face.

  “You! Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt a lady in the restroom?” He gasped, but said nothing. I went on. “Craig Eastham’s office. So you say. Right now.”

  I pushed him out of the way and moved with Paul Bunyan-like strides. I beat Rameen to the CTO’s office by about ten seconds. Enough to see Craig Eastham sitting behind his desk looking like he’d swallowed a pint of apple cider vinegar.

  Rameen entered the room and came to stand next to the seated CTO. Both gave me a superior, disdainful look. I put both hands on his desk and leaned in on Craig Eastham, who pulled back at my aggressive gesture.

  “Please sit dow
n, Lee,” the CTO said nonetheless, in his best administrative tone. He was angry but contained.

  I glared from one to the other. My anger was not contained.

  “I will not sit down. And a pox on your fifteen million dollars worth of missing crap.”

  I think like a Silicon Valley entrepreneur.

  Failure is a great teacher.

  Tadashi Yanai

  Chapter Twenty

  It took a moment for the men to get over their shock. Then both Rameen Patel and Craig Eastham tried to speak at the same time. But I would not be interrupted. I waved them away like I was directing a bad philharmonic orchestra.

  “You two shut up and listen to me. Four men are dead and their deaths are directly linked to Read-Out. Try convincing the police you’re not involved in this, ‘cause I’m not buying it. With any luck, they’ll be here any minute and throw you and your illustrious board in the hoosegow.”

  They looked at one another with genuine fear on their faces. Jaw slack, Eastham turned back to me and tried to speak, but I was on a roll.

  “So do your worst. You want to sue the pants off Discretionary Inquiries? Be my guest. We’re insured and it’s only money. But, I repeat, four men are dead. That supersedes any of your idiotic IPOs.” I spun around and headed for the door.

  “Wait, Lee,” Rameen’s voice was loud enough to stop me. I stood at the doorway and folded my arms across my chest. He gestured for me to take a seat. I did not. His voice took a begging tone. “Please, sit down and let’s discuss this.”

  I walked closer to Craig Eastham’s desk. That was as much compromise as I was willing to give. Eastham looked at me with true puzzlement on his face.

  “You’ve thrown me, Lee,” said Craig Eastham. “What are these other deaths you’ve mention? What three other men? I don’t understand any of this. David’s suicide is the only death I knew about.”

  “Rameen didn’t tell you that yesterday one of our agents, Jake Gold, died while guarding Read-Out’s chips and tester?” I gave Rameen a hard stare. “It seems you like to keep mum about a lot of things.”

  While I glared at Rameen Patel, Eastham turned to him open-mouth. But the CFO only swallowed and was mute. I went on.

  “And this morning, two young men by the names of Jerome Hastings and Ronnie Epstein, who worked for this place as independent contractors, were also found dead from the same cause.”

  Eastham sat stock still, but I could see he was thinking. He finally spoke. “You’re saying that four men are dead and their deaths are related to Read-Out?”

  “Well, you’re slow on the uptake, but yes. Three had your chip implanted in them and the fourth, one of our operatives, was trying to protect those chips. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I’d lawyer up if I were you.”

  “Oh, no,” said Rameen. He let out a groan. “This can’t be happening. This could be the end. We could lose everything.”

  “That’s all you care about?” My voice rose in pitch. “This company? Four men are dead!”

  “No, no, of course it’s not.” Rameen protested, but it was weak. All Eastham could do was work his jaw back and forth.

  I was about to say more when I heard a ping-ping from my phone that meant I had a message. I decided to stop talking. It had all headed south, anyway.

  “We’ll have to continue this conversation later, gents. Make no mistake, I will find out if either or both of you are involved in these deaths. If so, you’re going down. Consider yourselves on notice.” I opened my phone and reading the message, headed out the door slamming it behind me.

  Call me immediately. Urgent. R

  Before I returned my brother’s call, I stood outside Eastham’s office trying to pull myself together. I was glad the CTO had a door for me to slam closed. I like dramatic exits - that’s the Latina in me - but I have to admit I don’t ordinarily do that type of confrontation. There’s not much percentage in it. I like to keep the element of surprise on my side, not alert people I’m going after them.

  If Patel and Eastham were involved in those two kids’ deaths, maybe alerting them would cause them to get nervous and make a mistake. That is, if they were guilty of more than just being insensitive, selfish louts. Besides, the element of surprise was long gone. Things were spiraling down at a deadly speed.

  Richard answered in the middle of the first ring. His voice was anxious.

  “Lee, I don’t know what you’re doing, but it can’t be more important than what I found out. The black van belongs to Ty Deavers, Sharise’s band manager. It was reported stolen three days ago by his housekeeper. Here’s the latest, both he and Sharise landed at SFO from Germany not fifteen minutes ago.”

  Richard managed to say everything with one breath, but now inhaled a much needed lungful. I took the opportunity to speak.

  “He may not have been in the country, but he could have hired someone to steal the chips. Our woman in blue. We’ve got to find her, Richard.”

  “Uh-uh.” I could feel him shaking his head. “We should drop all this in Frank’s lap, Lee. Things are too dangerous. I don’t want someone blowing Devil’s Breath in your face. I think that’s what Lila wants to talk to you about. If not her then me.”

  Now this is the point when a big sister wants to smack her baby brother on the behind. Or maybe even kick him.

  “Richard, I realize you are now the proud father of a baby girl, but that does not give you the right to tell me how or when to do my job.”

  “Lee --”

  “The only way I am going to stop looking into Collier’s death --”

  “Lee –“

  “Is if his daughter tells me. Otherwise, I have an ethical obligation to continue –“

  “Liana!”

  “Excuse me, Richard! But do you know how much you sound like Mom right now?”

  I could hear the indignation in my voice. Nothing could be worse, my kid brother and I told each other countless times, than to be compared to Mom. He did not rise to the bait. His voice was cool and matter-of-fact.

  “I am my mother’s son, Banana Breath, as you are her daughter. But we’re all grown up now and have to pay attention to what we’re doing.”

  His voice was soft, as he spoke an old childhood nickname of mine, just between him and me. He’d dared me to eat as many bananas as I could; I did, and became sick as a dog, much to his eight-year old glee. He knew how to play me then; he knows how to do it now. I thought for a moment and climbed down from Mount Superior.

  “Right you are, Richard, and I apologize. We three need to take a meeting, calmly and rationally.” I looked at my watch. “I should be done here in a couple of hours, if the first suspect on my list is any indication. Why don’t we meet back at the office at three o’clock? How’s that?”

  I heard a beep beep – it’s amazing all the different sounds a phone can have for its various communications – and saw Katie’s name. “I’ve got to go, Richard.”

  “Three pm,” my brother repeated. “The office. I’ll let Lila know.”

  “Check. Love to Vicki and the baby.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “And apologies again, brother mine.”

  “Sometimes that Latina blood gets the better of us.” I felt Richard’s smile over the airwaves. We’d ended on a better note. That was good.

  What created Silicon Valley was a culture of openness,

  and there is no future to Silicon Valley without it.

  Sarah Lacy

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I moved away from Eastham’s office, as I answered the phone. “Good morning, Katie.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Alvarez.”

  “Call me Lee.”

  “Right, I forgot. Lee. Do you have some news for us? Skye is anxious to know what you’ve learned.”

  I didn’t answer the question, but asked one of my own. “Did you get my message about the will?”

  “Yes, I have a copy here to show you. Skye gave it to me before she went to school.”

 
I mused for a moment. A teenager has to find her father’s last will and testament for a detective investigating his death before heading off to school. How sad is that?

  “It’s very sad, Lee.”

  I hadn’t said my thoughts aloud. I was sure of it. Was Katie psychic? For sure, I didn’t know as much about her as I should. I let it go for the moment and looked at my watch again.

  “May I drop by around eleven, eleven-thirty to see it?”

  “Why don’t I fax you a copy? It might save you time from coming here.”

  “Thanks, but I was hoping you’d let me check out David’s home office. He does have one, doesn’t he?”

  “Looking out over his own private rainforest. What is it you’re searching for, Lee?”

  “Just want to know the man a little better.” I didn’t feel like telling her about the black ring box, but a good exploration of his home on the chance it was there was called for.

  “See you around eleven then. Skye should be home from school. She has a short day on Tuesdays.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “It comes in waves. But she wanted to go to school today, so I let her. A special project. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Katie disconnected and I went to the second name on the list. Phil Spector, not to be confused with the record producer. Phil was an anomaly at six-foot four and weighing in at three hundred pounds. His glance in my direction was cursory at best, his attention then returning to his monitor. It was obvious he didn’t recognize me in my getup any more than the rest did around here. I pushed aside some candy wrappers and sat on the edge of his desk.

  Phil was very forthcoming, even offered me a Milky Way bar, which I declined. I’d have to cut back on those as it was, if I didn’t want to wind up looking like Phil. Unfortunately, Phil didn’t know squat, but I suspected as much. I tore through the rest of the list in just over an hour, because they didn’t know squat, either.