“Only if I become Randy.” He returned the smile but remained suspicious as they sat across from each other at the picnic table. This kind of turn around wasn’t adding up in Randy’s head. Either he was no longer a suspect, or she wanted something from him. Or both.
“There have been some developments in the case,” Michelle said, “and I might be able to help you find your mystery girl.”
“How do you know about Alli?”
“Your friend, Carl Frazier and I are.. Well, let’s say we used to be acquainted. And we spoke on the phone about your mystery girl on my drive over here.”
Randy was shocked. “You guys were married, weren’t you?”
At that moment, the all-business, unflappable Detective Miller looked embarrassed, and her golden skin blushed deeply.
“Yeah... yes we were. But that was a long time ago, and it didn’t last six months. We met while I was working on another murder case, and I guess we grabbed at each other while we were going through a particularly gruesome investigation. A classic battlefield romance, as it were.”
“So does that mean I am no longer a suspect?”
“Well let’s see- you were found at the scene of a murder, with a recently fired weapon, standing over a man you had plans to meet with that evening. The restaurant hostess and the bartender both saw you go to the back of the restaurant before they heard the shots. And when I visited you at your apartment, the dead doctor’s briefcase was sitting on your kitchen floor. Plus, you fled while being questioned and locked me in your apartment. So, no, I guess you’re not a suspect.”
Randy’s facial expression went from warm and friendly, to incredulous, to relieved- after he picked up on her sarcasm. “Okay, you got me. But I suspect you know something you’re not telling me. You know by now that I didn’t kill the guy. So what’s going on?”
Chapter Twelve
Senator Byron McGinty violently pushed himself away from his desk. His large, black leather office chair breathed a sigh of relief as the Senator struggled against gravity to maneuver his oversize body into a standing position.
“I want this irritation to go away- now!” he growled through clenched teeth at his two office guests.
Senator McGinty was a force to be reckoned with in Washington. Despite his massive girth, it was rumored that he turned down the opportunity to be his party’s nominee for president- twice. He did relish power however, and he wielded plenty of it right where he was, having influence over several major Congressional committees, including being the chairman of the Senate Committee on Appropriations. What was irritating the Senator at the moment was a certain Randy Fairchild. He had recently been making inquiries about one of his Federal Call Handlers. He had persuaded a Call Center Receptionist to make inquiries about one of his Federal Call Handlers. He also had contact with one of his Call Center project team leaders before his recent death. The Federal Call Center was the Senator’s pet project, and he was not about to allow any interference with its success. “This project is top secret, top priority, and is yielding huge benefits. I have an important floor vote coming up this week that will determine the entire future of this project. We will not be compromised by one small, inconsequential office romance.”
The senator seems to be over-reacting to a minor irritation, Security Chief Perez thought to himself. He wasn’t sure what all was going on at the Federal Call Center, but it was his job to protect the building, or at least the first two floors. Up to this point, his duties had only included securing the perimeter of the building and grounds, and patrolling the first two floors’ hallways. His biggest challenges had been an occasional group of protesting nut cases on the front lawn, or one of the local vagrants wasting their time trying to get a handout. The actual operational aspects of the call center were a mystery to him.
Years earlier, he had questioned some of what was being brought in and out of the building, but he was firmly put in his place, relative to what his duties were. As long as shipments were accompanied with the proper paperwork, he was not to question what was going in or out of there. The Federal Call Center was a joint project between the Senate Committee on Appropriations, the President’s Office of Management and Budget, and a previously unknown private company, Ameriplaxi LLC. Its primary focus was to reconnect the people with their government, and at the same time hold down the cost. The majority of shipments to the call center came from Ameriplaxi, and they ran the show. After the initial set up, there was very little freight coming in or waste going out. It was nothing like his previous office security work, where literally tons of paper were arriving and leaving constantly. He had written off this anomaly as one attributable to the new “paperless society”.
Something Chief Perez did know about was the tons and tons of computer equipment that were installed in the building. He had heard that the top seven upper floors were nothing but rooms of computers and the environmental equipment to keep them functioning. The two lower floors were mostly administrative offices, reception areas, conference rooms and support and storage rooms for his security people. The third floor and above was a mystery to Perez. Dozens of people came and went, but the building was equipped with only four elevators that came to the first floor, and they only serviced the bottom three floors. He had no idea how many elevators went between the third and top floors only, but the four that came to the first floor never went above floor three. It was a strange building arrangement, but Security Chief Perez was only concerned with the bottom two floors, and the fact that Randy Fairchild’s inquiries had caused the firing of a cute receptionist.
The third person in the senator’s office that spring morning was the trusted Ameriplaxi contract employee who was in charge of security for the upper eight floors of the Call Center. Perez assumed he was also a private contractor, but whose credentials had earned him a higher security clearance than his own. Chief Perez had seen him visit the Call Center building on several occasions. This man, impeccably dressed, was always in the right place, with the right people, at the right time.
His name was Carl Frazier.
Chapter Thirteen
“No, I don’t think you killed Doctor Johnson, but I think whatever you and Carl are working on led to his death. That’s what I need to know about.” Detective Michelle Miller gave Randy a few moments for that statement to sink in before continuing. It dawned on her that she was actually enjoying this meeting. “Carl said you suspect something strange is going on at the Call Center, and I can honestly tell you that I have thought the same thing for a long time now. There is a shroud of secrecy over that project that I’ve always wondered about. I was a beat cop when they were initiating that program, and everything that went into that building was top secret.”
“Another unusual thing about the call center is the parking situation,” she continued. “They built a huge parking ramp across the street to handle the employee cars, but all the while I was assigned a beat down in that area, the parking ramp was never more than half full. That building is big enough to house thousands of workers, but I bet there can’t be more than a couple of hundred people who work there. That should make finding your mystery girl a fairly easy task.”
“I know it probably sounds a little desperate, but the few conversations between me and this Alli girl were exceptional,” Randy offered. “It was like I had known her my entire life. But every time we talked about getting together or having lunch or dinner, the call would get interrupted, as if someone was monitoring the call. But even the Feds don’t have enough people to monitor every call. It must have been electronically key-word triggered, or it was a series of incredible coincidences.”
“I also spoke to a receptionist in the main lobby on two different occasions,” Randy continued. “After I finally convinced her to help me contact Alli, she disappeared. I tried to locate her outside of her work, but there are 479 people listed as Jessica Cooper in the United States alone, and over a dozen in the greater Washington DC area.”
“Well,” Mic
helle offered, “if she worked at the call center, she must have lived nearby. Twelve is not a huge number to check out, and if you have a good description of the receptionist, I can probably rule out the majority of those twelve in a few hours of checking.”
“But frankly,” Michelle continued, “the more pressing issue that I have to deal with is the murder of Doctor Johnson. I have seen plenty of muggings and murders, and unless the victim is known by the perpetrator, the victim’s wallet usually goes missing. Doctor Johnson’s wallet was still in his pocket, so either the perp got frightened off before he found it, or the good doctor was killed by someone who knew him. He was shot in the shoulder and the chest, so it was either a sloppy hit, a hit that was made to look like a robbery, or a coincidental shooting. I don’t believe in coincidences or robberies where nothing was taken.”
“They did take his briefcase, and tried to frame me with it,” Randy added.
“Right, so that pretty much rules out the robbery thing, and ties the reason he was murdered in with something you were doing. And the only thing you have been doing out of the ordinary recently is poking around the Call Center, correct? Since Doctor Johnson was involved in the Call Center from the beginning, he probably knew something that someone else did not want you to know.”
“So what else was in the briefcase?” Randy wondered out loud. “There must have been something in there the killer wanted you to find in my apartment."
“That’s the strange thing,” Michelle continued. “The briefcase was empty, except for what looked like personal papers. Nothing really work-related, a couple of printouts on ancient philosophers, Plato, Socrates. He was fascinated with those kinds of things, searching for answers to cosmic questions I guess. Philosophical stuff.”
“It sounds to me like the killer took out whatever the good doctor was going to share with me that night,” Randy said. “And don’t forget the other Doctor- Moscovich. Somebody didn’t want me talking to him either. That’s why I’m driving that gas-guzzling beast parked over there.” Randy motioned toward the Hummer. “It drinks twice as much gas as my old Suburban.”
“That looks like one of Carl’s special vehicles,” Michelle said with a smile. “He had several of those at one time. In fact, I think he sold one or two of them to pay for our divorce.” Michelle focused her attention back on Randy and continued- “Your friend is really one of the good guys, you know. He would do just about anything to help someone. Loyal to a fault. We would still be married if Carl was really the marrying type. I guess we live in two far too distant worlds.”
“So what’s your story?” Randy asked. “You don’t seem like a typical cop. Why are you a big city homicide detective instead of a middle-class mom, driving her kids to soccer and ballet practice?”
“A career in law enforcement was not my plan when I joined the force,” she said. “My plan was to work a few years and then start a family, but after spending a couple of years as a beat cop, and getting to know the people in this city, I couldn’t see bringing any more children into this world. I saw the painful cost a family pays when a child is injured, crippled, or worst of all, gunned down in the street for no reason. I guess I wasn’t ready to pay that price. I know there are plenty of other rewards when it comes to raising kids, but from my perspective, from the street perspective, I couldn’t bring myself to risk the loss. I have seen good people turn hard and resentful when everything is taken from them. It was not a place that I wanted to go.”
“Let’s take a walk down the beach,” Randy suggested, breaking an awkward silence. “It is too nice of a day to sit around here.” He jogged over to retrieve the Hummer keys and returned. Michelle was still sitting on the picnic table bench, staring out at the ocean.
“Snap out of it, beautiful,” he said, while passing by the table. “Let’s go grab some fresh air.”
Michelle snapped out of her trance and followed him the dozen yards to the ocean’s edge. “Tell me your story, Randy. Carl says you both went through Agency Farm Training together. What happened after that?”
“I threw myself into the job, I guess. We were doing important work, or at least I felt like we were. I was stationed all over, but primarily in Eastern Europe, Germany, Turkey. I spent most of my time supporting other agents out in the field, listening to radio traffic, fabricating documents, reading satellite data, filing reports. I’m not sure what happened to the years, but I put in ten and left. That’s about it.”
“So, you never have an occasion to kil-“
“No, I never killed anyone! Why does everyone ask me that?”
Chapter Fourteen
Fredrick Hightower II looked up from his custom designer computer tablet as Carl Frazier approached. Carl was one of only a handful of people who would dare approach Hightower without an appointment. The security people surrounding Hightower knew Frazier as an associate and good friend of their boss. It was unusual to see him at Hightower’s private penthouse pool area on a weekday, but they had witnessed many other strange and more disturbing events surrounding their employer.
Fredrick Hightower II was President and Chief Executive Officer of Ameriplaxi LLC. He had inherited Ameriplaxi and a great deal of influence from his father, Fredrick Senior. Under Fredrick Senior’s control, the company had struggled to survive from one government research grant to the next. But that was before Fredrick II took over. Fredrick Hightower II was a bona fide genius. His push into microcellular neurological disease research produced a number of breakthroughs and secured the company’s future. It was Ameriplaxi’s expertise with the human mind that brought them into a partnership with the Federal Government’s Connect America program. Ameriplaxi was the “go to” company when it came to understanding the human brain and how to keep it sharp and focused; a skill required when working long, grueling hours dealing with the general public.
“Don’t get up, Freddie,” Frazier quipped as he approached. “I only need a couple seconds of your time today.”
Fredrick casually picked up his Nickel-plated Colt Anaconda and swung it toward Carl. “Calling me “Freddie” is going to get you dead someday, Carlie.” Hightower bristled every time Carl used his childhood nickname. He would not even allow his parents to call him that after he turned eleven. But, in retrospect, his parents were not nearly as useful as Carl, or as loyal.
Carl had more respect for the firearm than the man who was mishandling it. “Quit waving that peashooter around, Junior, you‘re going to end up hurting somebody with that thing.”
Hightower pointed the large gun toward his own temple, smiled, and tapped it lightly against his head. “I have everything under control, Carlie, so don’t get your panties in a bunch. I know how to use this thing, so you can stop looking so nervous.” Fredrick Hightower pointed the revolver off into the distance and pretended to fire a couple of rounds before dropping it on the table next to his chair. He considered himself lucky to have such a man as Carl Frazier in his long-term employ. Besides himself, Carl was the only one who might know all of Ameriplaxi’s secrets. And all of Fredrick’s, for that matter.
“So what brings you to my humble abode?” Hightower asked, while he toyed with one of the dozen gold bracelets he wore. “Did you get lonely for one of my girls again, or did you miss my company?”
“Neither, Junior. We need to talk about a situation,” Carl said, as he shot a glance toward Fredrick’s friends, or more correctly, his security people surrounding the pool.
“In private.”
With a wave of his hand, Fredrick’s two guards and four bikini-clad women who were lounging nearby disappeared.
Hightower used both hands to slick back his hair. “You must have something important to break up my afternoon party,” He observed, placing both hands behind his head and lounging back on his chair. “What’s on your mind?”
“I have a handle on the Call Center situation, Fredrick. You had no reason to get all bent out of shape and get your senator friend in such an uproar.” Carl remained standing. T
his was going to be a short meeting. “Anything you share with that power-hungry bastard you might as well put up on a billboard. He went ahead and got Perez or Pedro or whatever your rent-a-cop’s name is on the first floor involved. There’s a reason the bottom two floors are separate from the rest of the building, you know.”
“Duh. I designed it, remember?”
“Right. And if Senator McBlimp can’t get your bill passed, you’re going to end up with nothing more than a building and a bunch of useless computer equipment.”
“Right... right, right. And if my aunt had a dick, she’d be my uncle. Look, you worry too much. Everything is on schedule and running smoothly as long as this Fairchild guy doesn’t gum it up. So how much did McGinty leak to you guys? Is Perez going to be a problem, too?”
“Perez is not the problem here, Freddie, you are. Quit getting so excited about Fairchild. Tripping over yourself trying to frame him for something one of your thick-necked security clowns did isn’t going to work. And if you send more of your idiots to scare him, I’ll be sending you the repair bill, since he’s driving one of my vehicles now. Listen. I know this guy. He plays by the rules. I know what he’s doing every minute of the day. I’m tracking him everywhere he goes. He’s a little hung up on a friendly voice from one of your Call Center girls, but he can’t get through our security unless I let him through. I have a feeling he’ll be forgetting his fantasy girl in the very near future.”
“I hope for your friend’s sake you’re right,” said Fredrick, tossing his empty Perrier bottle into the nearby hedge.
Chapter Fifteen
Randy sat bolt upright in his bed, covered in sweat. He had been dreaming about walking along a beach, but not with Michelle from the previous day. He was with a woman, someone with whom he could place neither a name nor a face. As the dream stubbornly faded from his memory, he started planning his day.
Alli Page 5
