How to Succeed in Murder

by Margaret Dumas

  “Are you hurt?”

  I had what promised to develop into nasty bruises on my knees and shins from the concrete floor of the museum’s portico, and a few scrapes on my hands and arms from the whole exploding safety glass thing in the car. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “I’m fine, naturally. Whatever do you mean?”

  Why did I always end up sounding like a bad Blanche DuBois in a third-rate production of Streetcar when I was around this guy?

  He tried a different question.

  “What happened?”

  Not big on chitchat, the homicide inspector. Which was just as well, because I’d transitioned into speechlessness. Something to do with the realization that Jack had been expecting Yahata.

  They were both looking at me. It’s possible one of them had asked me a question. But the sound of things clicking into place made it hard to hear anything else.

  Jack looked a little concerned. “Charley, do you need to sit down?”

  “What—” My voice was squeaky, so I tried again. “What—” Better. “The hell—” Much better. “Is going on here?”

  Jack took a minute to consider his answer. “How about I make some coffee and we fill you in?”

  ***

  Yahata knew everything. What’s more, he’d known all along. Because Jack had told him everything. All along.

  It took more than a cup of coffee for me to make sense of that.

  “So let me get this straight…Jack is working for you?” I stared at the inspector. We’d gathered in the kitchen, but the room’s bright lights didn’t help me read him.

  He gave me a quick, slight smile. “Not precisely. The department has retained the services of MJC.”

  Mike and Jack’s company. Okay. Now we were getting somewhere.

  “To find out who killed Clara and Lalit?”

  Yahata gave an infinitesimal shake of the head. “Not precisely. They have been retained to test, and—if necessary—recommend enhancements to the security of the department’s information systems.”

  Right. That made perfect sense. Except… “Does the police department usually outsource that sort of thing?”

  Jack looked surprised, maybe because he wouldn’t have bet I knew what outsourcing was.

  Yahata replied mildly, “‘Usually’ is not an applicable word in this situation.”

  Okay. Whatever.

  “So how does our going undercover at Zakdan fall within the scope of what Jack and Mike are doing for the department?”

  The inspector’s jaw tightened. I’d hit a nerve. “By the slimmest of threads.”

  Jack explained. “The department’s network uses the Zakdan enterprise system for information management.”

  I’d learned enough in the last week to realize what that meant. “So if there’s a vulnerability in the Zakdan code, the SFPD computer system is at risk.”

  Jack’s look said I’d made the connection faster than he’d expected. And that he was kind of turned on by it. “Exactly.”

  I finished the last of my coffee, thinking. Because of the above-board work that Mike and Jack were doing for the department, Yahata had apparently been able to make peace with the less above-board fact that civilians were being used to investigate the sordid goings-on at Zakdan.

  “But.” I spoke as if I’d been thinking out loud, which didn’t seem to bother them. “Brenda and Eileen and Simon and I aren’t really looking for the person who’s sabotaged the code. We’re looking for the killer. Which means…” I turned to the inspector. “You agree they’re connected.”

  “I do.”

  Ah HA! Now we were getting somewhere. Now it was time to—

  “It’s time to call off the undercover operation,” Jack said.

  “What? Jack, we’re just starting to make progress. I didn’t even tell you everything we found out today, and—”

  “And nothing,” he said firmly. “You got shot at today. The operation is over.”

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “Charley—”

  “Hang on a minute. I don’t mean ‘no’ to ending the operation—although I do—”

  “Charley!”

  “I mean ‘no’ I didn’t get shot at today. You did. I wasn’t the one they were after.”

  “Really? Because as I recall we were both ducking for cover up there.”

  “You and Mike are the ones who went into Zakdan as the big time computer security specialists investigating the software bug,” I insisted. “Don’t try to tell me you didn’t think that might draw the killer’s attention to you. Well, it did. Nobody started shooting at me tonight until I drove up the lawn to get you. They were after you, Jack. Just like they were after you when they tried to drive us into the tunnel wall.”

  Inspector Yahata had been observing the exchange with undisguised fascination. Now, in the silence that followed my outburst, he looked at Jack sharply. And said something I never thought I’d hear.

  “Your wife is right.”

  I stared at him as he continued speaking to Jack.

  “The fact that the killer is aware of your involvement in investigating the glitch in the Zakdan software could be a valuable distraction. As long as you are the target of their hostilities, Charley’s team might not be scrutinized. Your efforts provide a certain amount of cover for her efforts.”

  My first thought was that I liked the sound of “Charley’s team.” My second was that I didn’t like “Jack is the target.”

  Then I had a third thought, and it was a doozy.

  “Inspector, if you agree that there’s a connection between the murders and the bug, why don’t you have undercover cops or detectives or something investigating at Zakdan? Not that I’m complaining or anything, but—”

  Something in the way he was looking at me made it impossible to continue. When he answered, it was with carefully chosen words.

  “The fact that I agree there’s a connection does not necessarily mean the department agrees there’s a connection.”

  This was not exactly cheerful news.

  My mouth went dry. “What does the department think?”

  Yahata looked like there was a lot he wanted to say, but he didn’t say anything.

  Jack cleared his throat. “If I had to guess, I’d guess that there are some people who took Lalit Kumar’s suicide as a pretty clear sign of his guilt.”

  I stared at him. “What? Why would he have killed Clara?” Then my eyes widened. Kumar was the chief technology officer, which presumably meant he had unlimited access to the Zakdan code.

  “Lalit was behind the software glitch?”

  “It’s possible,” Jack answered.

  “It’s one theory,” the inspector nodded.

  “And it’s the one the police are investigating, isn’t it?” I realized. “The only one.”

  “But if it’s wrong, and if what you and Brenda saw in the rain that night was someone holding a gun on Kumar…” Jack began.

  “Then we’re the only ones who are still looking for the real killer,” I finished.

  And if our encounter at the museum was any indication, the real killer was seriously looking for us.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The upside to having my car shot to pieces was that I didn’t have to drive to work the next morning. The downside was having Flank as my new chauffeur.

  Jack categorically refused anything like getting his own bodyguard. I suppose half a lifetime of military training and extensive experience in clandestine operations can leave a man fairly confident in his own abilities.

  But I was still worried about him.

  He was worried about me, too. It crossed my mind that mutual worry might in fact be what marriage was all about. In any case, Jack was worried enough that he presented me with a small black .22 Smith & Wesson before we went to bed that night.

  “How romantic.”

  He frowned. “You shouldn’t ever have to use this. Flank should be around you when I’m not.”

&
nbsp; “I know.”

  “But the killer has seen you with me both times he’s tried to get at me.”

  “I know.” I swallowed. “But I’m telling myself that it would have been as hard for him to get a look at me in the tunnel that night as it was for me to see him.”

  Jack nodded. “And tonight? You’re willing to bet that it was dark and drizzly enough that he didn’t realize who you are? Because I’m not sure I am.”

  My uncle Harry had done his best to ensure that I knew my way around small firearms before my sixteenth birthday. So I took the gun, getting that familiar sick feeling in my stomach that came with handling instruments of death, and checked the chamber and the safety before tucking it into a pocket of my laptop bag. Then I looked up at Jack.

  “If I were the type of woman to play things safe, I probably would have married some nice, boring investment banker.”

  “That would have made Eileen happy.” He looked at me sideways.

  “I’m not Eileen.” I moved closer to him. “I married you, and you come with danger and guns and secrets, and sometimes that drives me crazy, but it’s who you are.” I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck. “And I married you.”

  He pulled me close, and the last thing I remember him saying was “Damn right you did.”

  ***

  Naturally, Jack was gone by the time I made it downstairs the next morning. But he’d left a note next to a plate of fresh banana bread.

  C,

  Try not to drive Flank so crazy he has to kill you.

  —J

  Oh, ha ha.

  ***

  The Hummer was parked at the curb. I really didn’t think it was worth depleting the last remaining fossil fuels on the planet just to get to work in the thing, but it didn’t appear I had any choice.

  Besides, I didn’t think Flank would fit into a hybrid.

  He got out to open the back door for me, but I went for the passenger seat up front. He grunted something incomprehensible and held the back door open.

  “I’m sitting in front, Flank. Someone may see us, and I might be able to get away with saying my car was stolen and you gave me a lift, but I wouldn’t be riding in the back seat if that were the case, would I?”

  He glared at me, which was a little unnerving, the look coming from beneath his Pleistocene-era brow as it did. But he gave in and shut the door.

  It was going to be a long ride. And the conversation, I knew, would be minimal—mainly because Flank seemed incapable of articulate speech unless he had a gun in his hand. So I tried to concentrate on what I planned to accomplish in the day ahead.

  Krissy was my highest priority. Now that we knew she’d been on the point of getting fired, she was the clear frontrunner for the role of Clara’s killer. Luckily, I’d already scheduled a lunch meeting with her. If I played the scene right—

  “You’d be safer in back.”

  I jumped.

  Flank’s eyes were on the road, and his right hand was on the gearshift. It was a massive gearshift, with a solid metal shaft and a leather-wrapped handle. Was it sufficiently…masculine…to have the same effect on him as a pistol?

  “It’s my job to keep you safe.”

  Apparently so. Wow. Flank could talk. Unfortunately, his topic was a little sulky, but that should be easily fixed.

  “You’re doing a great job,” I told him. “Look how safe I am.”

  He frowned. “Should have been there.”

  I assumed he meant he should have been at the shooting spree last night. “No.” I shook my head. “You’re only supposed to be looking after us at Zakdan, and we’ve all been fine there. Besides, we figured out last night that the killer was after Jack, not me.”

  He didn’t look reassured.

  “You’ve been a huge help at the office. Saving me parking spaces, and making sure everything is organized…”

  He lightened up a little, much to my relief. And I realized we’d never asked him whether he’d heard or seen anything suspicious at Zakdan.

  “Flank, do you have any leads on the case? Have you noticed anything or overheard anything?”

  He blinked a couple of times, then looked over at me. I don’t suppose he gets a lot of call for delivering intelligence reports. Maybe some prompting would help.

  “Have any of the other secretaries told you anything?”

  He seemed to think it over. “They like to be called admins.”

  Oh. Okay. Duly noted.

  “Are there any rumors going around? How do people feel about Krissy?”

  He shrugged, and we stopped at a red light on Pine Street.

  “How about Jim Stoddard? Any gossip about him?”

  “Drinks too much.”

  “Really? Jim drinks?” Oh, but I knew that already. Brenda had found out about the engineer’s old DUIs in her initial research. But it was good to know he still drank. At least, good in the sense that it offered the possibility that rampant alcoholism had led him into a life of crime. Maybe.

  “What about the rest of them? Troy? Or Bob Adams? Or MoM?”

  Something in Flank’s reaction suggested we’d be better off taking the suspects one at a time. “Let’s start with Troy.”

  The light turned and I gave him a minute to get things in motion again.

  “Creep,” he said. “Womanizer.”

  Fascinating. If the head of Marketing had that kind of a reputation, maybe someone had filed a harassment suit against him. And if that someone had been Clara…but wouldn’t Morgan have known about that?

  “Oh,” I said. “What about Morgan? What do they say about him?”

  Flank shook his head. “Poor guy.”

  “Are you saying that? Or do they say that?”

  “Them. He was getting married.”

  I was stunned. “Are you saying it’s common knowledge at Zakdan that Morgan and Clara were engaged?”

  He nodded and made the left onto Golden Gate.

  This was amazing. Morgan thought nobody knew. If the whole company was talking about it, the list of suspects could be huge.

  “Bob.” Flank interrupted my thoughts. “Loser.”

  I can’t say I was surprised at the prevailing opinion about the head of Quality.

  “MoM,” he continued flatly. “Bitch.”

  My eyebrows went up, more at his use of the word than the consensus about Millicent O’Mally.

  “Really?” But the higher-ups seemed to love her. Maybe she was only a bitch to the underlings. Which Clara had been once…

  I shook my head. We were supposed to be finding people who might have hated Clara, not people Clara might have hated. “What about Tonya from Human Resources?”

  “Gossip.”

  Not enough for my taste, she wasn’t. “How about—”

  But further conversation would have to wait for the trip home. Traffic had picked up and Flank needed both hands on the wheel.

  ***

  “Do we have to guess where you were last night?”

  Eileen asked the question as she handed me a copy of the Chronicle. I’d spotted her, huddled with Brenda and Simon over it, as I’d scanned the Friday morning crowd at Café Arugula.

  I looked at the paper. The front page gave prominent space to the story of a mysterious shootout at the Palace of the Legion of Honor. Lots of bullets. No bodies and no suspects.

  “Charley, are you okay?” Brenda asked.

  Simon’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll forgive you completely for standing me up at that party last night, darling, but only on the condition that you tell us absolutely everything.”

  So I did. Which made us very late for work.

  ***

  “Ready for lunch? It’s Mongolian Hot Pot day and there’s usually a line.”

  Which is how I found out from Krissy that Zakdan actually had an on-site cafeteria. And that the Friday build-your-own-stir-fry event was an experience not to be missed.

  The cafeteria was on the first floor at the back of the building. And Kris
sy had been right—there was a line.

  I didn’t really get a chance to question her in the crowd as we inched forward, putting raw veggies from a sort of salad bar into our bowls. The line moved pretty smoothly. The cooks seemed to know the drill. They’d probably been doing it for years. Except for one. I was almost sure it was his first day.

  Because it was Gordon.

  Jack’s former partner and Harry’s former chef looked at me as if we’d never met.

  “Meat?” he enquired.

  “Chicken,” I accused.

  How the hell had Jack gotten him in position so quickly? And what did he think Gordon would be able to accomplish from behind the cafeteria counter?

  But my what-do-you-think-you’re-doing-here stare provoked no response other than a slight glint of amusement in Gordon’s unflappable expression.

  “Hot and spicy, or mild?”

  “What do you think?” I answered testily.

  He reached for the hot sauce.

  Whatever. I looked around the place. The get-your-lunch area consisted of a salad bar, sandwich bar, and grill station, in addition to the hot meal line where Gordon was igniting my stir fry. The eat-your-lunch area was a colorful space beyond the cashiers where it looked like the whole company was congregated.

  The same corporate colors from the lobby were splashed around here. Tables shaped like ink blots in deep red and purple, minimalist acrylic chairs in yellow-gold and more red, with big abstract blotches of color on the walls.

  “Tess?” Krissy poked me in the ribs, and I saw Gordon holding my bowl back to me.

  “Have a nice day,” I told him, and was rewarded with the briefest of grins before he turned to the next person in line.

  I followed Krissy to the cashier and then to the seating area. She paused, looking around the crowded room, and for a moment I had a little first-day-in-the-high-school-lunchroom déjà vu.

  “Who do you normally sit with?” I asked Krissy. I saw several of the execs all together at the far side of the room. Tonya, Bob, MoM, and Troy were at a table with several vacant seats, but Krissy was steering us away from them.

  She led me to a small table in the corner, and answered as she unloaded her tray.

  “Lately I’ve been taking my lunch back to my desk. I used to sit with them.” She nodded in the direction of a loud group at a large central table.