by Bud Crawford
You could almost see through lightly frosted glass panels on either side of the heavy wooden door. The desk backed against the left-hand wall, at the wider end of the room. There was a coffee table with chairs behind and beside it at the far end. Stephanie pushed a light switch and full-spectrum bulbs, daylight-plus, warmed gradually to offset the bronzy sunlight coming through the tinted windows. It was cold in the office.
Along the wall behind the desk stretched several sets of sideways file cabinets. The desk arced like a gibbous moon, a rosewood slab suspended on chrome pedestals. A large black leather chair was behind the desk, client chairs stood at each end. There were pictures hung over the files behind the desk, decorator prints in dark hues, and some pictures of people. Standing in sliver frames on the desk were several pictures of Stephanie, and two of Stephanie and Harold together.
Stephanie walked around the desk and sat in the big leather chair. As she saw the pictures facing her on the desk, she leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Ellen walked behind her and rested her hands on Stephanie's shoulders as they shook silently up and down. Geoff stood in the doorway, trying to figure out what he was looking for, why they were here.
There was a double knock on the door. Stephanie raised her head, took the tissue Ellen held out, and nodded to Geoff. He pulled the door and David Ickes stepped into the room.
"Are you sure you're ready to be here, my dear?" The door shut silently behind him. "But I suppose it's the same at home. I do admire your composure. It must be very difficult being back in Charlotte."
"Hello, David," said Stephanie. "Yes, it's hard being here. But it doesn't stop being hard if I'm somewhere else. At least here I can do something about it."
"Good for you, Stephanie." David pushed his fist into his palm. "Hello Geoffrey, Ellen, you've come to help?" He smiled, a broad friendly, sympathetic smile that traveled up his face almost to his eyes. "Very generous, very thoughtful."
"Yes," Stephanie agreed, "I'm glad they could be here. For one thing I wasn't sure how much personal stuff Harold had piled up, and they offered their van to haul things. But there doesn't look like much: these pictures and a few things in the drawers, I guess. There's probably more than that left in our room in Asheville. I'll go back for that someday, or maybe Alistair could ship it to me. A couple suitcases and the computer, Harold's clothes. If Detective Sprague is done with it I do want the computer. We still need to sort that out, the business stuff, the personal stuff."
"Well, bring it here, or I could come to your house. We can go over it. I'll delete any confidential Metrocor files, the rest is yours, of course." David looked around the room. "Same principle in here, just let me glance at what you take. Except we'll have to assume that all the files and computer data is Metrocor property. I'll check through whatever's left and send along any personal items that turn up." He opened the door, then twisted back to face Stephanie. "I'll be in my office. Just stop by before you go. Remember, I'm here for you, anytime, for any reason."
"Thanks, David," Stephanie stood up. "Could I get a couple cartons from the utility room?"
"I'll have Gert bring you some. Sorry I didn't already think of that." The door closed softly as David left.
Stephanie looked at Geoff, her head tilted left. "Well, you know, I really don't care about the computer. I said I did, because I don't like giving in to that man. But I have all my personal stuff on my computer, and Harold's is on his machine at home. He just used the laptop for travel."
"Have you looked?" Ellen asked. "At his computer at home?"
"Well, it was sitting there," Stephanie said, "half-an-hour ago. I did a quick walk around the house. But all the important paper stuff is in the safety deposit box at the bank, with copies in the safe at home. Harold believed in hard copy for anything that really mattered. And he was very careful about showing me where everything was, despite what I pretended about the life insurance." She stopped and looked around. "I wonder if we should assume the room is bugged, David sitting in a closet somewhere with earphones on?"
"Then," Geoff said, "there's a camera or two as well. Every office supply store today has stuff spies would have killed for ten years ago, tiny and wireless."
"Regardless, let's do whatever it is we're here for," Ellen said. "Tell us what that is, would you, Geoff?"
"I thought I was pretty clear that I didn't have a clue," Geoff said, "that's why we're looking for one." He walked around the desk. "Stef, if you don't mind, could I have first look, before you box everything up?"
"Whatever you want, it's just office stuff. All I really want is the pictures, and the coins. I guess they have value." She walked the other way around the desk and dropped into the client chair. "Look away."
Geoff sat in the desk chair and turned slowly around, scanning the desktop, the far wall, the windows, the wall behind the desk, the wall along the hall. He rolled back from the desk and pulled the center drawer open, looking carefully without touching anything. He opened each drawer in turn: three on each side, the lowest were file drawers. He thumbed briefly through the folders, then turned to look at the wide rosewood shelf on top of the files behind the desk. Dozens of coins in Lucite frames, singles, pairs, gangs. On the wall over the files, prints and photos. There were several group shots in which he recognized Harold, David, a few that included Madison Markey. Two of the group shots showed a dozen or so people, all men but Madison, wearing what looked like togas.
Geoff stood for a closer look. "Stef," he asked, "what's with the costume shots, company picnic or something?"
"What?" she asked. "Oh, that's the centurions. That's what they're called. The guys in who did the most business each year. The top ten plus David. A couple of them died or moved, one year there was a tie, so it's not always the same. I think this is the fourth year for the program, wraps up the end of June, the Metrocor fiscal year. Harold got it all three times. There were big bonuses, meant to be morale boosters. Harold made fun of it, but he would have been crushed if he missed. There's only about twenty, maybe thirty brokers in the office, so top ten isn't super exclusive, but it was a prestige thing, also a money thing. It's what bought the Mercedes, and that watch he was so proud of. He was number four, I think, last year."
"Who died?" Ellen asked, looking at Geoff. He lifted one eyebrow slightly. "They look a little young to be popping off."
"Well, Ronnie Ayers, the black guy in the bottom picture. He died last year, from food poisoning, botulism, salmonella or something, I'm not sure. That was really sad, because he had a wife and two little boys. Bill Reynolds, the short guy on the left, up top, he just left, I don't know why. Cleared out his desk and went. Probably David knows why, by now, at the time it took everybody by surprise. He was the number one guy, that first year, even beat Madison, who won the next year, only girl on the team. I didn't pay much attention, you should ask David."
"I'm not sure David wants to chat, but it might be interesting to try." Geoff turned around to face Stephanie. "By any chance do you know, was this a national thing, a Charlotte thing? Do they do it in Asheville?"
"Not a clue," Stephanie said. "I only know about here, but no reason I'd know more. Charlotte is the head office for North Carolina and South Carolina. Then comes Atlanta, for the South East. The national headquarters is in Delaware. I think that's how it goes."
There was a knock. "It's Gert, I've got some boxes."
Ellen opened the door and helped Gert put down an awkward stack of semi-nested cartons. "Will you need more?" Gert asked.
"No, Gert, that's plenty, more than. Thanks." Stephanie walked across and hugged Gert. "I may not be back here again, take care of yourself."
"You, too, sweetie. I'll miss you. You know where to find me, if you ever need somebody to talk to." She backed out the door as Ellen held it open.
"Check the makeup, Gert, mascara's dripping a little." Stephanie waved at her as the door closed. "Ok, guys, where are we? Can I start loading stuff? I want to get out of here."
.
chapter forty-sixth
David's office was on the front wall, just past the elevators, in the other half of the building. Gert opened the door for them. They each had one box, none as much as half-full.
David stood and beckoned them in. His oiled ebony desk was bare but for a coffee mug, a giant purple and silver fountain pen and a yellow legal pad. A third of the pad was folded underneath, the visible sheet covered with letters that looked too small to have come from that pen. Geoff and Ellen and Stephanie each set a box on the desk and stepped back as David walked around the desk, turned his back to them and examined the boxes.
Geoff scanned carefully, first along the file tops on either side of a computer work area, then a second pass at picture level. Two large monitors flanked the work surface, keyboards and mice in front of them, an open laptop sat in the center, all three screens were running the same quick-flashing geometrical screen-saver. Files like the ones in Harold's office extended left and right from the computer desk, perched on them a dozen-some trophies. The wall above held several framed certificates and lots of photographs all with David in them, some with coworkers, some with celebrities, several in costume. There was no artwork.
David turned and stepped sideways. "You have only the pictures and the coins, a few odds and ends, Stephanie. Is that really all you want? Certainly nothing here is any sort of problem. I was only concerned about records, notes, client files, things that might involve Metrocor in some way. Well, this is fine, then. I'll bring you anything else we turn up. We have to move immediately to assign Harold's clients to other brokers, make sure all the pieces end up in the right places and nothing gets lost."
"Everything I want is in those boxes, David. Let me know what you find, but I believe I'm done." Stephanie's hands were in the pockets of her skirt.
"I need your keys, then, for the building, and for Harold's office. Of course you're welcome to come by any time, and if you do think of anything you need from the office, just give me a call." David extended his hand towards Stephanie, part way. She stood still for a minute, eyes aimed at the top gold button of his navy blue blazer, but not focused, then pulled out a key-ring with her left hand and slipped off a loop with four keys from the main ring. She held it between two fingers, reaching towards David's hand. He stepped closer and retrieved the keys.
"Yes," David said, looking closely at the keys. "Perfect. Building exterior, office door, desk lock, and washroom. If any other copies turn up, call me and I'll send a courier. We take security very seriously here, for obvious reasons." He leaned back across his desk, brushing aside one of Stephanie's boxes. He dropped the ring of keys in the top right-hand drawer.
"I'm sure that's all, David. I'm not planning to return. A couple days more days of spring break, then I'm back at work. Thanks for everything, especially your help during this horrible week." She extended her hand and David shook it, grasping her elbow with his other hand.
David said, "Call me anytime, Stephanie, for anything. Do remember the range of wealth-management products we can put together for you when all the insurance details are settled. We can certainly beat anything Wachovia has, and you know better than anyone how hard our brokers work for their clients." He stuck his hand towards Ellen, squeezed her fingers for a couple seconds, then towards Geoff, who pushed his palm forward against David's and gripped his hand. "You folks certainly made things easier for me, as well as for Stephanie. Too bad you had to come so far today, for these few things."
Geoff smiled. "It was a beautiful day for a drive, still is." Geoff lifted one box off the desk, then turned back. "Oh, David, I have a question, if you don't mind. Your 'centurion' program is really intriguing. Is it something you developed here?"
David leaned back, hands braced behind him on the desk. "We started it here, four years ago, but now most of the southeast is participating. It's being picked up in other regions. It may be national, in a year or two."
Ellen grabbed the second box and said, "What happened to the guy who quit, after winning the number one spot the first year? Stephanie told us a little about some of Harold's friends."
David's eyes narrowed as he stood. Sensing she was supposed to step back, Ellen didn't. David said, "I can't comment on personnel matters, not in any way. Stephanie should not be talking about Metrocor employees."
Stephanie pulled the last box off the desk, dragging the carton across the glossy wood. "Not to worry, David. I don't know any Metrocor dirty secrets, even though as a civilian and a citizen in good standing, I can tell anybody anything I want to."
David held up his hand. "I'm sorry, Stephanie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so prickly. Thing is we never did learn why Bill quit. I guess it still bothers me not to know, partly because anybody can make up a story and there's no proving them wrong."
"Why not just ask him?" Ellen wondered.
"He declines to say. It's not a crime to quit a job. So we go on wondering. He was doing so well." David walked between Geoff and Ellen and opened the door of his office. "You-all don't want to stand there all day holding up those boxes. Glad I got a chance to meet you, Ellen and Geoff. Call me, Stephanie."
~
The three boxes fit easily into Stephanie's trunk. Ellen gave her the name and phone number of the police detective in Charlotte that Sprague had given to her. "I'd sooner spend the afternoon at your house, but Geoff's on a mission, though he won't say what it is. Gotta hightail it back to Asheville."
Geoff said, "No mystery mission. We've just finished here, I think."
"Finished with what?" Ellen asked.
"We'll stop by on our way home, tomorrow or the next day," Geoff said. "It's right in line, nearly. We'll bring everything from the room, that Sprague will allow. Be careful Stef, call that detective if anything strange happens. Lock your doors, look both ways."
"I'm careful instinctively, much less trusting than I look. Than I was. Be good, and don't be stupid, you two. You're poking at some creature's hidey-hole. It's not just a math puzzle." Stephanie opened her arms and hugged them both at once.
~
Ross sat behind the wheel of a ten-year-old Honda sedan, a silver Accord, five hundred yards from the Metrocor parking lot. He watched the three-way hug through his binoculars. He pushed the number one speed-dial on his cell phone, seeking instructions. No back up available, he was told. He was on his own. It was completely his call. But he'd better bring in something definite and soon.
"Shit," he said aloud. He wasn't even sure he'd done the right thing coming to Charlotte, but here he was. He could stay on Ickes, he could follow the Fletchers, wherever they were going, back to Asheville, probably. That's where most physical events had taken place, even though the control point, he was sure, was here. Were the Fletchers already players, and he had read them wrong? Were they here trying to get into the action? Or just bumbling about in a way that could knock down his last three months of work? He had got permission days ago for taps, but hadn't had a chance to set any. Cell traffic was being picked up, probably all the emails. But there was nothing there, significant contacts had all been in person lately.
He'd stay on Ickes, he decided. He could see the office light and the red convertible from here. Meanwhile he'd try to download and listen to whatever the mics inside Icke's office had picked up just now. Alden's Mercedes pulled out and went north. The Caravan disappeared from view on the way up the ramp to I-85. In the Metrocor Building, he just had Ickes office wired. Hadn't been especially watching Alden until he lit out for Asheville last week, no more than the others. Wonder what was in those boxes? Personal crap, probably, but maybe something important that lady Alden doesn't even know she has. Well, he knows where she lives, no problem getting in there later, depending on what Ickes does.
This really should be coming together, with everything he had pulled in. But it felt more like it was coming apart. Everything new just made things more complicated. Damn. He kept getting bumped off the network. Blackberries never worked right inside a car, or mayb
e he was parked under a transformer or something. He turned on the ignition and moved a few parking places to the right, one that still had good sight lines. Ah, that's better, now back the tape up half-an-hour and let's see what's been going down. He settled into the car seat, ear bud tucked in his right ear.
chapter forty-seventh
Ellen drove. A thirty-mile stretch of I-85 branched into NC 74, a mixed two- and four-lane section around the town of Shelby. Geoff hadn't said anything since they left Metrocor. He wrote down their start time. Then he just sat in the passenger seat, tilted about halfway back, eyes closed, hands on his lap. What was he doing in there? Why did somebody try to kill him yesterday? What killed Harold? James? Why Dwight?
She tried to make her own sense of what had happened, and what they had just seen. An over-designed over-decorated broker's office, meant to impress, but it was presumptuous and silly. The two offices they'd seen were both oversized and uncomfortable workspaces. Harold's was almost void of personality, except for the coins. David's looked like things got done only when he turned his back on all the furniture and tunneled into his computers. Three hundred dollar per square foot construction, two hundred dollar per foot decor. Why don't clients think, man, I don't want to pay for all this flash, I'll go where they have metal desks on linoleum floors? No, she knew, it didn't work that way. She moved smoothly, automatically, through the sparse afternoon traffic. She wasn't sure if Geoff wanted a fast transit on the return, for his time checks, but she tended to go fast. She let her instincts rule.
