The CEO Came DOA

by Heather Haven

  We arrived in Redding shortly before four pm and drove straight to Wannamaker’s Storage Units. It was crucial to get there before dark and with the shorter days of winter, we only had about a half hour of daylight left.

  The yellow truck was parked directly outside unit number 53, cargo end open and empty. Andy was sitting in the driver’s seat typing furiously into his iPad.

  Andy is a small lad, even by geek standards. He’s probably around five foot four and if he weighs more than ninety pounds I’d be surprised. Next to him, Richard at five seven and a half, looks like an athlete. But what Andy does have is big brainpower and a devotion to any cause D. I. comes up with.

  He heard our footsteps crunching on the gravel, turned and gave Richard a preoccupied smile.

  “Hey, Rich.”

  He noticed me and his face lit up. It’s no secret Andy has a crush on me and thinks I’m simply the cat’s meow.

  “Looking good, Lee.”

  “Thank you, Andy,” I said. “What have you got?”

  “I was just sending you both an email with an image of the tracking device.”

  “So the truck was bugged,” I said, before Richard could speak up.

  “We found it inside the radiator,” Andy answered. “Heat resistant. If you need specifics on its other capabilities, I’ve got them right here. It was a favored one of the FBI. About six-years old but a good product.”

  “FBI? Don’t tell me you think the FBI is in on this.” My voice echoed the incredulity I felt.

  “No,” Andy and Rich said in unison.

  “The FBI uses certain equipment,” said Andy.

  Richard picked up the conversation. “Therefore, you know it does the job. The thieves probably went on the internet and bought it.”

  “If you know where to go, you can buy whatever you need,” said Andy.

  “Where’s that?”

  “Tor,” they said; their voices in unison again.

  “It’s an underground internet service, an untraceable gateway to anything,” Andy said. “You can buy whatever you want, legal or illegal.”

  I didn’t offer up just how scary the thought of that was. They probably knew better than I did what horrors lurked there. Speaking of scary, I had another idea.

  “Could you buy ‘Devil’s Breath’ on this Tor?”

  Both guys shook their heads.

  “Nope,” said Richard. “I scoped it out and there’s nothing there.”

  “I couldn’t find it, either,” said Andy. “I did find some Scopolamine --”

  Richard interrupted, “But apparently in its natural state. And such an insignificant amount, you couldn’t do more with it than cure your seasickness.”

  “Right,” said Andy.

  I turned to my brother. “I thought you were sleeping in the backseat of the car, Richard. When did you do all this research?”

  “I woke up about an hour ago, somewhere around Chico,” he said.

  “Funny, I didn’t hear you banging on the laptop.”

  “How could you,” he asked, “when you had the radio blasting ABBA’s greatest hits?”

  Andy suppressed a chortle, which I chose to ignore.

  “Let’s get back to Devil’s Breath,” I said. “Why can’t you buy it on this underground thingie, Tor?” My question seemed sane to me. “You just said you could buy anything there.”

  “Here’s what occurred to me,” said Andy. “The government can’t check everything sold on the internet, but they are on high alert for a handful of things, say like plutonium. It’s possible Devil’s Breath is listed in the same category.

  “I’m thinking along those lines, too,” said Richard. “The FDA does monitor the most deadly. If you buy it, they may not find you right away, but they’ll find you. People surfing the Dark Web know that.”

  “But that might not be the reason,” said Andy looking directly at Richard. “The sellers might have temporarily run out of a supply.”

  “No stock to sell. That could be it,” added Richard, nodding his head in agreement.

  “Gentlemen,” I said. “We need to know exactly why Devil’s Breath isn’t available on the Dark Web.”

  “Sometimes that’s easier said than done.” Andy pondered. “But I’ll find the reason, eventually.”

  “Not eventually, Andy, ASAP,” said Richard. “Put it ahead of anything else. Learn what you can about the drug. People are dying.”

  Andy gulped then nodded. I did a little gulping, myself.

  “Where’s the rest of the team?” I asked, looking around me. “And did you put the truck where it is now or did you find it that way?”

  “We left everything exactly as we found it. And once we did a clean sweep of the truck, Richard told them to go back to D. I. with the results,” Andy said. “You probably passed them on your way here.”

  I turned to Richard. “You’ve been busy in that backseat.”

  Andy looked at his boss for further instructions. Richard turned and looked at me in the same manner.

  “So what now, Lee?”

  “Okay,” I said, thinking. “The truck’s already been checked out. I’ll look inside the unit; see what I can find. Meanwhile Richard, why don’t you go to the front office and see if they keep security tapes of this place? Andy, keep researching Devil’s Breath. A question, is there any way to find out who bought tracking devices like the one you have in your hand?”

  Richard hooted out loud. “No way. There are thousands of them out there. We’d never find who bought this.”

  “Okay, so that’s a dead end,” I said. “There was a forklift. Is it here, Andy?”

  “Inside,” he answered.

  “Boys, let’s all do our thing and meet back here in fifteen. How’s that?”

  Wordless, we split up. I headed for storage unit number 53, one of the larger ones, and capable of holding a small truck. The garage-type door was open so I went right in. I snapped on my small flashlight and looked around. The cement floor was clean and looked like it had been recently swept.

  Great, I thought, a neat as a pin killer. That’s all we need.

  I sat down on the seat of the small forklift and swept the light over every part of it. Clean, clean, clean. With a sigh, I turned on the motor. It revved right up with a racket that hurt my ears. The electric ones are pretty silent, but the gas models are loud and noisy. Edging the machine forward, the space it sat on was revealed. I shut the engine off, stepped out, and splayed the light on the floor. Nothing.

  Ever hopeful, I trotted back to my car, popped the trunk, and took out my hand-held Dust Buster. I gave the floor, corners, and edges a sweep. Five-minutes later found me with an aching back from being hunched over, and not much to show for my efforts other than dust, cobwebs, and the skeletons of two spiders. I looked closer. Something else.

  I went outside and separated the handful of crud. Between the fading light, and the strong, LED flashlight I found something so small, it was almost indefinable. But I recognized it from the shiny clusters of small, decorative glass sewn on many of my mother’s evening gowns. A blue bead.

  I put the bead inside a small, clear plastic bag and cleaned my hands with one of my alcohol wipes. By then Richard returned. Andy saw him and sauntered back to me. We both looked at my brother.

  “I had some luck, Lee, but I don’t know how to pursue it,” Richard said, his face showing the ambivalence he felt. “They don’t run surveillance tapes until after they close, which is nine o’clock, but the one pointed at unit 53 didn’t work last night.”

  “How convenient,” I said. “Did he check to see what’s wrong with it?”

  “He said the wind or something knocked it over. You can see it from here.”

  Richard pointed to the rooftop across from the unit in question. I turned and saw an older, large video camera lying on its side, lens now aimed skyward. Richard went on.

  “Here’s something that might be more important. The man in charge said he saw someone when he was walking throug
h the yard around six pm. He won’t tell me anything; says he’s too busy.”

  “What does he know, Andy? Jake died at the motel, not here. Does he wonder why all of us are wandering around on his property?”

  “We told him the Penske truck was taken from D. I. and we were trying to find out who did it,” said Andy. “He wasn’t interested in anything more, although I had to show him identification. Very uncommunicative.”

  “Maybe I can get something out of him,” I said. “We could use a break. Let’s go talk to him.”

  “Oooo,” said Andy. “Are you going to seduce him with your charms? Can I watch?”

  But before I could answer, Richard turned to his assistant.

  “Andy, this is a waste of your time. Lee and I can take care of this. Why don’t you get back to learning about Devil’s Breath? Then head home. Send me all your findings ASAP.”

  “Sure thing, Rich. I’d rather do research any day than all this detective stuff. See you around, Lee. And good luck.” Andy hurried back to his car, his encased laptop slung over his scrawny shoulder.

  We watched him get into his Honda Civic, mentioned before as the commuter car of choice for nerds. Andy’s was brand new, however, and bright red, set off by a sleek spoiler on the back. I think there are more Honda Civics in the Bay Area than in all Japan, and some have very spiffy attitudes.

  We watched Andy pull out of the parking lot before we walked toward the storage company’s office.

  “You’ve become good at delegating work, Richard. Must be the new father in you.”

  “Speaking of which, I called Vicki and told her what was going on. I told her I’d be back to the hospital when I got there.”

  “And she, being the wonderful and understanding wife that she is, was okay with that?”

  He looked at me puzzled. “Well, of course she was. This is an emergency. We’ve lost a man.”

  I sobered instantly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant.”

  By that time we reached the office. I pulled the door open and came face to face with one Gregor Vasilyev, or at least, that’s what the nameplate on the counter read.

  “Ah, you are back, Mister,” he said to Richard in a heavy Russian accent. “You want information? But I am busy. I don’t have time for you. I need to make a living. Go away.”

  “You are Gregor Vasilyev?” I kept my tone level. Before we went any further, I wanted to make sure who the man was.

  He grunted with a nod then returned to copying numbers into the last column of a green-bound ledger. The task seemed to require complete concentration on his part, his writing slow and laborious. Meanwhile, I studied the muscular, scrappy looking man, youthful, but bearing more than passing resemblance to a Kodiak bear.

  Here was someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley, although I don’t think I’d have had the nerve to tell him. What was eye-catching was the thick, dark hair, not only on his head, but on much of the body not covered by his t-shirt and jeans.

  He had a scar above his left eyebrow and one on his chin barely hidden by his five o’clock shadow. Another one graced the top of a wrist visible through his furriness. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say here was a young man loaded with too much testosterone, but I don’t think I’d mention that to him, either.

  Focusing his attention on me, Gregor gave me a look as if I had crawled out of my Dust Buster. “Who are you?”

  After fumbling around, I found my ID and flashed it to him.

  “So?” He stared at me waiting. “Unless you have more to show me, I am busy.”

  After less fumbling around, I withdrew a crisp twenty-dollar bill and placed it on the counter. Finally I spoke.

  “How’s this for freeing up some of your time?”

  He took the bill and stuffed it in his jean pocket. “Maybe I need more, but is step in the right direction.”

  “Before I do a two-step,” I said, “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say. You told my associate you saw someone hanging around late yesterday. Who?”

  “I come back from delivering boxes to a customer last night around six pm. He pays me well to bring them to him. Is no big deal to close the office for twenty, thirty minutes, so I do. Is my business,” he added angrily, as if I’d somehow challenged him. “I can do as I wish.”

  “It’s the American way, Gregor,” I said. “Go on.”

  Mollified, he adjusted the t-shirt around his neck, tufts of black hair rearranging themselves under his fingertips. “I return here and drive into back driveway. I see this girl – woman - pulling on the lock at number 53. She try to force it open, so I yell to her, I yell, ‘hey you, lady, stop that.”

  His voice rose as if he was really yelling at someone, and he gestured with a hand as if she was standing there. Impressed by his acting ability, I nonetheless brought him back to reality.

  “This girl – woman - what did she look like?”

  “Not so tall as you, but younger and prettier from what I could see.”

  “Ouch, but go on.”

  He was silent, pushed back from the counter and stared at me again.

  “All rightie.” I pulled out another twenty, and handed it over. “Let’s have more, but it better be good.”

  “She wear sunglasses, so I not see much of her face, but she have long, red hair straight down her back.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “If you didn’t see much of her face, how do you know she was prettier than me?”

  “Ah! You are vain like so many American women.” He smiled at me with teeth in need of some serious cleaning.

  “Not in this case. I’m just trying to see how much credibility to give your story.”

  “’Credibility’? What means this word?” He stared at me non-comprehendingly, dark brown eyes huge and questioning. I could see how a visit to a dentist and about a quart of Nair might make him attractive to the opposite sex.

  “Reliable, believable, trustworthy,” I said. “In short, that you know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know what I talk about. But okay,” Gregor shrugged. “Maybe she was no better looking, ‘cause you a pretty lady, but I could tell she was younger, by how she moved.” He winked at me. “And the skirt, short, so short I want to take her right then and there and --”

  He pantomimed crudely what he wanted to do. I wasn’t sure when I’d lost control of this conversation, but clearly I had. Before I could cast a net back over it, Richard leapt in.

  “Easy, man, easy; we have a lady present.”

  I looked at my brother in surprise. Richard glared back at me, unyielding.

  “Well, we do. That would be you.” He then turned to Gregor. “Just tell us what you saw.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And without any gestures. How was she dressed?”

  He pointed a finger at me like I was suddenly smart. “That is good question. How she is dressed. It was like the Wild West, but today.”

  “You mean like an urban cowgirl?”

  “Yes. All the girls here in America, they like the cowboys. I’m going to get a cowboy hat; meet a lot of girls that way.”

  “You do that. But first, give me a few more details.” He stared at me. I decided to help him out. “You said the skirt was short. What color was it? Was it the same color as the rest of her outfit?”

  “Color, color, color,” he droned on, thinking. “The blue. Shiny blue top, the short skirt and boots all blue.”

  “A light blue? Dark blue? Medium blue? There’s a lot of shades of blue,” I said, my pulse picking up.

  “A medium. My mother would say the color of the sky on clear summer day. She liked to name the colors, my mother.” He gave me an honest, shy smile. I suddenly found myself liking this fellow, although I was somewhat shocked to learn he had a mother.

  “You said her blouse was shiny? In what way? How?”

  “It has the sparkle, but only on the swaying things hanging down here.” Another gesture indicated across the bust line.
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  “You mean fringes? Fringes on her blouse?”

  Rather than answer he shrugged, stepped back and went into his silent routine. He stared at me. I stared at him. Richard just watching.

  “I’m already out forty dollars,” I said. “And all we know is she’s a longhaired redhead wearing blue.”

  “The second part is more important, but will cost you.” He grinned at us stupidly and shrugged. But he wasn’t stupid. I was the cash cow and he knew it.

  I withdrew a fifty-dollar bill from the stash, set it down on the counter, but kept a firm hand the side of the bill closest to me. He reached out for the money, but I pulled back, tantalizingly.

  He leaned in, stale cigarette breath and hot spices making my eyes smart. “She get into van, a black van --”

  “Was there anyone waiting in the van?”

  “Maybe. I think so, but I don’t see clearly. Windows all blacked out. Then she drove away.”

  “This black van. Was it newish, old, what?”

  “New. Like from showroom.”

  He put an even firmer hand on the money before saying, “And I see license plate as she drive away. I remember last four numbers because they are same as my house.”

  “And they were?”

  He tugged on the bill. I released my grip. He smiled and tucked the money in his jeans again.

  “Seven, four, two, two. California license.” He studied both of us. “You see? I told you was worth the money. It was BMW, too, this black van. Expensive. You don’t ask, but I tell you, anyway. I give to you.” And another sweeping gesture, this one indicating his generosity.

  “Thanks,” I said, turning around. I gave Richard a shove and moved to the door.

  “You like the cowboy?” Gregor shouted after me. “You are older but pretty enough for me.”

  “I’m more of an astronaut girl, myself,” I said as I hurried out, followed by Richard.

  “Don’t you have those cowgirl boots from New Orleans, sister mine?” Richard looked at me with a smirk, as we walked side-by-side back to unit 53 and my car. “You remember the ones with the red hearts on them. I’ll bet our friend would like those.”

  He was teasing me about a pair of cowgirl boots I’d had to buy real fast after I lost my shoes in a chase. It was another story, another time, but it still rankled. Six hundred dollars for a pair of boots I wouldn’t be caught wearing dead in a ditch.