by Roy Glenn
I need you Carmen. I need your strength. I need Carmen the sneak. There's so much I have to tell you, about me and about what's going on around here these days. I think somebody is
The letter ended there. Carmen quickly checked the properties; it was created, modified, accessed at 6:47 PM on the day Desireé was murdered. Carmen closed the document and glanced over at the pictures on the dresser.
You were trying to tell me.
Carmen fought the urge to cry again and took the disk out of the computer, turned it off and got out of there. She ran down the steps, as fast as she could dressed like she was, and ran right into Melissa.
“I didn't think you'd be up there long. When my sister died and I had to go through her stuff it took me a month and I cried every time,” she said walking Carmen to the door. “But you come back any time you want to. Take all the time you need.”
It was still raining quite hard when Melissa opened the door. Melissa handed Carmen an umbrella and a matching scarf. “Take these; they were Mrs. Ferguson’s favorite. She wouldn't want you to get wet.”
“Thank you,” Carmen said and was crying before she could finish tying the scarf. Melissa hugged and kissed Carmen on the cheek. She ran to her car and sat there for a while.
Once she had it back together, she made the drive back to her hotel. Carmen broke out her laptop and logged onto the Internet. She made a mailing list of the people that sent Desireé email and named it friends of Desireé Ferguson.
To: friends of Desireé Ferguson
From: Carmen Taylor [email protected]
Subject: Remembering Desireé Ferguson
Hello friends,
I am Carmen Taylor, Desireé Ferguson is my sister. I recently saw some of the pictures that my father had taken of Desireé and I thought his pictures were an excellent tribute to her. But pictures need words. In the coming months I will begin compiling a pictorial memoir to my sister. If any of you, her friends, would like to contribute some memory of Desireé or a story, or a picture you'd like to contribute, please e-mail me. It is my desire to create something that is Desireé. So keep it real.
Carmen Taylor
With that out of the way, Carmen flipped through the pages of Desireé's phone book. Axle Grant, Robert Pettibone, Ira Stinson, I remember those names.
Carmen laid across her bed and began to read the mail that she took from her sister’s drawer and the files she'd copied from her computer. By a quarter to four it had stopped raining and Carmen was tired of reading and tired of being cooped up in that room. She hated living out of her suitcase and she was beginning to miss cooking for herself. She decided to look for some place to move to.
A furnished one bedroom, maybe.
Carmen picked up the paper and headed for the door. She would look through the classified section once she was out of the room. She opened the door.
“Hello, Carmen,” Dominique said standing in the doorway. “I was just about to knock.”
“What are you doing here, mother?”
“I knew you wouldn't come to see me. Can I come in?”
“No, mother you can't come in. I was just about to leave. I can't spend another minute in here,” Carmen said, closing the door. She gently pushed past Dominique and began walking down the hall. “I was about to go hunt for a furnished one bedroom.” Carmen stopped and turned to face Dominique. Maybe I just need to forgive her and move on. “Why don't you come with me, mother? You always did have good taste.”
“I would be honored, Carmen,” Dominique said, and her face lit up the hallway.
“Good. You drive.”
“You still don't like driving, do you, Carmen?”
“I hate it, mother. And traffic has gotten so bad here. I don't know how you stand it.”
“Like everything else, you get conditioned to conditions.”
Once they were in Dominique's car, Carmen looked at the ads for furnished apartments.
“Here's one, Virginia Highlands, fully furnished, one bedroom with a den, one bath. AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY, it says in capital letters, I guess that was to get my attention. Maybe the owner will be motivated enough to do a week to week.”
“Why do you need an apartment?”
“I may be here for a while.”
“You know you can always stay at the house. Your father and I would love to have you.”
“Mother, I need my space and I like my privacy.”
“I didn't come here to argue with you. It's just an offer. You can stay there until you find something.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Carmen said, realizing she was getting defensive.
“And you need to start calling me Dominique. Every time you call me mother, it makes my flesh crawl. It's like you hate me.”
“I think that's why I started doing it.”
Dominique smiled at Carmen. “I was hoping that if you called me Dominique, maybe we could start over and maybe we could become friends.”
“I'd like to try, Dominique. But I need to talk to my Mommy one more time first. I want you to know that I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused everybody. And to thank you, Mommy, for all that you tried to do for me.”
“Thank you for saying that, Carmen. It means a lot just to hear you say that.”
“I talked to Denny today.”
Dominique sucked her teeth, “How is he?”
“Still doing the same thing. You did the right thing leaving me there.”
“I am sorry about that, Carmen. I never meant to drive you away.”
“It was the right thing to do, even if it didn't seem that way at the time, I had to get away from Denny. You were right all along, about everything. But I was just too young and naïve to see it. Everything I know that matters, I learned from you or I know because of you, Mommy.”
CARPE DIEM!
Marcus parked his car in the visitors parking area and ran to get out of the rain. He shook the rain off his jacket and proceeded to the reception area.
“Good afternoon, my name is Marcus Douglas and I'd like to see Mr. Hudson,” Marcus said to the receptionist and handed her his card.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I'm an acquaintance of his and I'd like to speak with him. I won't take up much of his time.”
“Would you mind having a seat, please,” she said to Marcus and smiled flirtatiously.
Marcus smiled back flirtatiously and sat in the waiting area. It wasn't long before she called him back to the desk.
“Mr. Douglas, Mr. Hudson is out of town, so if it's all right, Mondrya Foster is going to talk to you.”
“And who is Mondrya Foster?” Marcus asked leaning on the counter.
“She is Executive Vice President of operations for Hudson Financial.” A female voice said from behind Marcus. He turned around and smiled at her as she continued. “Her major duties include maintaining domestic and international sales; managing sales forecasts and the sales pipeline providing monthly updates to the CEO and CFO,” she said and extended her hand. “Hi, I'm Mondrya Foster.”
“Marcus Douglas. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Foster,” he said and accepted her hand.
“I'm sure Doris has told you, Mr. Hudson is out of town. So is there anything that I can help you with?”
“I'm sure that you can, Ms. Foster.”
“If you'll follow me then. I'll give you the fifty cent tour on the way to my office.”
“Lead the way.”
“Hudson Financial is an international, full-service financial firm, which provides brokerage, investment banking, and asset management services to corporations, and individuals around the world. Our core services include sales, research, and trading for individuals and institutions. We provide underwriting, advisory and specialty financing for corporations, mutual fund services, futures, and asset management. We offers clients a full range of investment products including stocks, bonds, mutual funds, CDs, insurance and annuities, and services such as advice on retirement planning, asset
allocation, portfolio management and other services for affluent investors,” Mondrya explained as she led Marcus into her office. Once she was seated she asked, “What can I do to help you today, Mr. Douglas?”
“Ms. Foster, I'm an acquaintance of Mr. Hudson. Actually we go to the same club and I wanted his help with something.”
“Is it something that I could help you with?”
“You had an employee that committed suicide recently.”
“Two actually,” Mondrya said quickly.
“I'm sorry?”
“We've had two of our employees that have committed suicide recently. Coleman Wilson, one of our senior executives and Frank Collins, one of our account managers.”
“I wanted to ask about Frank Collins, Ms. Foster. As you probably know, I represent the interests of Mr. Roland Ferguson. At the request of Mr. Ferguson and Carmen Taylor, the victim’s sister, my staff and I are now conducting an independent investigation into Mrs. Ferguson’s death.”
“Two things. What can I do to help, Mr. Douglas? And what does it have to do with Frank?”
“Mr. Collins wife, Suzanne, was a close friend of Mrs. Ferguson.”
“It was a shame about the two of them. They were very nice people.”
“Did you know them personally, Ms. Foster?”
“Mondrya, please, and yes, before my promotion, I was Frank's group manager. I'd met his wife several times. I may have even met Mrs. Ferguson at one of Suzanne's parties.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“No, not at all,” Mondrya said, taking out a pad and pen. “Do you mind if I take notes?”
“Not at all,” Marcus replied. “What did Mr. Collins do here?”
“Frank worked as an account manager. They work closely with clients to develop a customized plan that meets their long-term financial goals and objectives. They offer exclusive access to products and an array of quality financial products and services.”
“Was he still reporting to you at the time of his death?”
“I was already in my position by that time. And if I remember correctly, that happened when Frank was transitioning to his new position. So he would have been a direct report to Mr. Hudson.”
“What was his new position?”
Mondrya turned to her computer and clicked a few times. “To develop and execute plans to integrate software and internet-based technologies into our services. Recruit, hire, lead, and evaluate staff. Measure and report on key processes; use data to identify and implement improvements. Achieve commitments: revenue, productivity, service quality, net income.”
“Impressive. All that information.”
“It's the secret of my success, availability of information. When I started here fifteen years ago right out of college. Skinny black girl with a degree in finance. They hired me as a receptionist. I made my way from there. “
“Receptionist to VP.”
“There were some stops along the way; analyst, financial planner, group manager.”
“But at times Mr. Collins did report to you?”
“Yes. We have two teams of about 18 members a piece, each under the leadership of a group manager, and each managing portfolios with credit lines up to $10 million.”
“Mr. Collins managed a portfolio like that?”
“For as many as twenty clients.”
“Any problems you know of?”
“Frank was doing an excellent job; all of his clients were pleased. And he had some hard to please clients.” Mondrya paused and looked at Marcus. “That's why he was promoted.”
“How long before his wife died was this?”
“Two weeks, maybe. After that he went to pieces. It was sad to watch a friend go through that.”
“Did he talk much a about the details of his wife's death?”
“He didn't, but there were a lot of rumors, but there always are.”
“Like what?”
“Like he raped and killed her himself, or that she was having an affair with - - -” the phone rang. “Excuse me, Mr. Douglas. My husband,” Mondrya said and turned away. “Instruct our broker to execute that order as quickly as possible at the best price available.” She said and hung up the phone. “I just love it when he calls for investment advice.”
“Is this your family?” Marcus asked picking up the picture frame from her desk
“Yes, those are my two sons, Zaviere & Keenan. Zavi is 17 and Keenan is 12. That's my husband Amar. Handling them is truly a labor of love.”
“I'm sure that you handle them in the same manner you do your job.”
“I wish. With this new project I barely have time to sleep.”
“What are you working on, if you don't mind me asking, Mondrya. And by the way, that's a very pretty name.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Marcus. And no, I don't mind telling you. My current project is to develop and implement strategic and tactical plans to offer and deliver services to small and middle market businesses. Develop, close, and integrate business and portfolio acquisitions. And in addition, I have to develop and implement distribution using multiple channels.”
“How do you plan to accomplish all that?”
“Through direct sales, direct marketing, Internet, alliances. It won't be hard. But it will be time consuming.”
“You have to learn to rule the day or the day will rule you. I try to rule every day, Ms. Foster.”
“Carpe diem.”
“Excuse me. But what does that mean.”
“Carpe diem is Latin. It means Seize The Day.”
“Thank you for the translation. Are you fluent in Latin?”
“No, that's the only Latin I know,” Mondrya said and her phone rang again. “Excuse me again, Marcus. Mondrya Foster.”
While Mondrya talked, Marcus thought that he had gotten all the information from her that there was to get.
“Good, Gloria, I'll see you next Monday night at Starbucks. Six is good for me,” Mondrya said and turned her attention back to Marcus. “I'm sorry, Marcus, lawyer this time.”
“I know how annoying those lawyers can be, so I won't take up anymore of your time.”
“I hope I was able to help you, but somehow I don't think I was.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You're looking for, fishing really, for some connection between what happened to Frank and his wife, and Mrs. Ferguson's murder.”
“You've given me some interesting information.”
“Interesting, maybe. But nothing I've told you, and I think I've told you quite a bit, would seem at the surface to be of interest to you. It might if you were investigating Frank and Suzanne.”
Marcus smiled and got up from his chair. “But it was still a pleasure talking with you Mondrya.”
“It was a pleasure talking with you as well, Marcus. And you feel free to talk with anybody else you like. Just coordinate the interviews with the receptionist.”
“I don't think that will be necessary, Mondrya. You've told me what I need to know. If I have any more questions, can I call on you again?”
“Please do, and when you see Mr. Ferguson, tell him I said hello and that I wish him well. He probably won't remember me.”
Marcus sat down. “You know Roland Ferguson?”
“Yes, I worked very closely with him during the time of the merger.”
“Merger? What merger?”
“There was a proposed merger between Hudson Financial and Atlanta life. But the deal fell apart at the last minute. We had the press release all ready to go and everything.”
“Who backed away from the table?” Marcus asked.
“Ferguson.”
“What would be gained by such a merger?”
“The stock holders wanted to know that too. Wait a minute, you can read all about it. I still have the press release that never went out.” Mondrya printed a copy and handed it to him.
Marcus read the date. January 1990. Desireé was still in high school, no conne
ction there.
“I don't think you'll find anything you can use in that document. I would have given it to you sooner if I thought it was important.”
“Do you mind if I keep this anyway?” Marcus asked, rising to his feet again.
“Be my guest.”
“Mondrya, it's been a pleasure talking with you.”
“Likewise, Mr. Douglas.”
“Marcus, please.”
“You know, I may not have been any help to you, but when I sit and think about it, there are some things to I might look into. If I get something you can use, I'll call you.”
“That is more than I could have hoped for,” Marcus said smiling as Mondrya escorted him out of the office.
“It wasn't all that, but I'll call you anyway,” she said as Marcus walked away.
When Marcus left the building the rains had stopped. He got to his car and tried to call Carmen, but she wasn't in her hotel room. His next stop was the library. Armed with the press release he'd gotten from Mondrya, Marcus went to check to see if Desireé's death began in January of 1990.
He checked the microfiche of the Atlanta Journal Constitution for information on the merger. He cross referenced Roland Ferguson and Bill Hudson. Marcus found a story dated July, 1988: Proposed Merger Brings New Capital to Struggling Brokerage. The story detailed a list of ill advised moves and bad investments made by Hudson Financial during the early 80's. The article went on to say that the influx of much needed capital is the only thing that market analysts predict will save the cash strapped brokerage.
Another dated December, 1989: Atlanta life, Hudson Financial Merger Dead In Water. That article quoted unnamed sources as saying that Roland Ferguson pulled out of the deal in the eleventh hour. It quotes Roland saying; “There's something rotten at Hudson Financial.” When asked to elaborate Roland declined to comment. And later denied making any such comment, off handed or not.
