“And I don’t think you’ll ever meet another one.” She smiled and slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
“And this is Vernetta.” Bradley intimately threw his arm across my shoulders, pulling me close to him. I squirmed free and reached out to shake Trent’s hand.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Trent said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Bradley crouched back down on the floor. “Okay, let’s get started. How can we help?”
“Let me pour you some wine,” Special said to Trent in a sweet, sultry voice, ignoring Bradley’s attempt to get down to business. She filled one of the wineglasses and walked around the coffee table to hand it to Trent, even though she could have just as easily passed the glass to him without getting up.
“I hate to drag you guys into this,” I began, “so I’m not going to go into the whole long story. I’m just hoping you can take a look at these documents and tell us what they are.” I pulled the papers from my purse and handed them to Bradley.
“We think they’re some kind of engineering documents,” Special volunteered.
Bradley reviewed the first page, then handed it to Trent.
“So, Trent, what do you do?” Special asked. Her legs were daintily crossed and her hands cupped her knee.
“I’m a struggling writer-slash-director-slash-producer.” He looked up from the papers and gave her a warm smile. “But I’m also working as a production assistant at Paramount Studios to pay the rent until somebody options one of my scripts.”
“Yeah,” Bradley teased, “he gave up a promising career as a software engineer in hopes of becoming the next Spike Lee.”
Trent turned to face his brother. “Okay, big bro, after I direct my first movie, don’t ask me for tickets to the premiere.”
“That’s so exciting,” Special gushed. “Brains and creativity, too.”
Special’s mindless chatter was making me antsy. “How long did you work as an engineer for DynaTech?” I asked. All I cared about was whether he had the expertise to decipher the documents.
“About five years,” Trent said, still studying the papers.
“Hey, Trent, do you ever run into any stars down at the studio?”
Before he could answer, I interrupted. “Which way is the little girl’s room?” I asked. I had to get Special alone so I could tell her to put a lid on it.
“Don’t act like you haven’t been here before,” Bradley said playfully. “Down the hallway on the right.”
“Special, why don’t you join me?”
Special looked perplexed. “I don’t have to pee,” she said, then put a hand to her mouth. She hadn’t meant to use such an unladylike word in Trent’s presence.
I gave up and took off for the bathroom alone. I needed to think up a way to get her to turn off the charm so Trent could concentrate on the Micronics documents.
When I returned minutes later, Special was still at it. It had been a while since I’d seen her pour it on this strong.
“Trent, may I refill your glass for you?” Special asked.
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m hanging out with my friends Michelle and Curtis later tonight, so I better not drink too much.” His perfect teeth glistened when he smiled.
I stole a side glance at Special. If the mention of a female friend was meant to deter her, it had no impact whatsoever. Special thrived on competition.
“Where do you usually hang out?” Special asked.
“I really don’t have a favorite spot,” Trent replied. “Tonight we’re having dinner at The Abbey.”
“The Abbey? I’ve never heard of it.” Special nudged me with her elbow. “You heard of it?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar,” I said, trying to place it.
“Where is it?” Special asked.
“West Hollywood.”
Special gave me a furtive look that only the two of us could decipher: The brother’s into white chicks. But I knew my girl. She would consider it an honor to help Trent find his way back to the hood.
“Well, I’ll definitely have to drop by there sometime.”
Bradley had a disconcerting expression on his face. “Let’s just get back to the documents,” he said impatiently. “What do you think, Trent?”
“They look like ATPs,” he said finally. “Except these documents are a lot more complex.”
My forehead creased in confusion. “English, please.”
“ATPs—Acceptance Test Procedures. At least that’s what we called them at DynaTech. They probably call them something else at Micronics, but it’s basically the same thing. Once a product is finished, it has to pass a series of tests to make sure it can actually do everything it’s supposed to do.”
I pointed to a column on the second page. “What do these numbers mean?”
“They’re test results. It looks like whatever product they were testing failed in five of the twelve categories.”
“How can you tell that?” I asked.
“The first column is usually the threshold number.” Trent leaned forward to hand me one of the pages. “If you go down the list of numbers in the second column here, you’ll notice that every number is higher than the threshold number except in five of the twelve categories. Any number lower than the threshold number is effectively a failing grade.”
I paused to study the page. “But the numbers aren’t even off by much. This one is only off by one-hundredth of a point.”
“That might be a small number to you,” Trent said, “but in the world of engineering it could add up to major problems.”
A thought came to me. “What if somebody forges a copy of these documents?” I asked.
“Why would somebody want to do that?” Special asked before Trent could respond.
“To cover up the failed testing,” I said. “What if instead of turning in these documents—the original ATPs—someone created new ones with all passing scores?”
“That’s it,” Special blurted out. “That’s why they killed that woman. I bet you anything she was blackmailing them with these documents! That’s why they murdered her ass!”
CHAPTER 61
Bradley eased himself off the floor and sat on top of the ottoman. “Hold on a minute,” he said apprehensively. “You never said this had anything to do with murder.”
I wanted to stick a sock in Special’s mouth. “That’s because I didn’t want to get you guys that deeply involved,” I said apologetically. “And we don’t really know that these documents have anything to do with murder. Or that anybody was even murdered.”
Trent made a T-formation with his hands. “Time out. Everything I just said is all conjecture.”
“But it makes sense,” Special said.
For once, I agreed with her. “But we still don’t know exactly what project they pertain to,” I continued. “The plaintiff was complaining about overbilling on Micronics’s GAP-7 Program.”
“Do you know anything about it?” Trent asked.
“It’s a navigation system for a military aircraft.” I looked down at the page Trent had handed to me. “But there’s no indication that this document has anything to do with that program.”
“Wait a minute.” Trent moved to the edge of his chair. “About five years ago Micronics won this huge contract to build a super-advanced navigation system for an Air Force plane designed specifically for low flying in combat zones. It was going to have an extremely high-tech encryption system. The contract was worth hundreds of millions of dollars. All the big computer software companies submitted bids for it.”
“What’s encryption mean?” Special asked.
“It’s a process for encoding information,” Trent continued. “We all use some form of it every day. Like when you send an e-mail, or enter a computer password or punch in your pin number at an ATM machine. The product Micronics was working on, however, was about a thousand times more sophisticated.”
“You think these documents could pertain to that project?” I asked.
“But that seems pretty risky,” I said. “Why give the Air Force something you know won’t work?”
“Actually, it may not be a risk at all,” Trent explained. “Even though these papers show five failing test scores, it just means that the component didn’t meet some arbitrary threshold level, not that it won’t work. It’s like when you take your car in for a smog test. Just because the car doesn’t meet the state’s threshold requirements doesn’t necessarily mean you’re polluting the air.”
“But it still seems stupid to take that kind of risk,” I repeated.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Redoing just these five failed tests—which are only off by fractions—could involve tens of thousands of lines of software code, which could take months or even years to retest. There’s tremendous pressure to deliver the project on time. If you don’t, the government will definitely remember that the next time they have a contract to award. Then you have to tell them the precise nature of the problem. But you may not even know what’s wrong or how to fix it. When it hits the newspapers that Micronics is having trouble with the project, the company’s stock will almost surely plummet. So there’s really a whole lot at stake.”
I nodded. Trent’s theory definitely sounded plausible. “I know this is all just speculation,” I said, “but it’s the best explanation we’ve come up with so far.”
Bradley held up a hand. “Just make sure you leave our names out of it.”
The room remained silent until the doorbell rang again.
“That’s probably for me,” Trent said. He started to rise when Bradley waved him back to his seat. “I’ll get it,” Bradley said.
“I guess we get to see what Barbie looks like,” Special muttered.
When Bradley walked back into the room, the smile returned to Special’s face.
Standing behind him was a tall, brown-skinned man who was almost as good-looking as Trent. He was wearing black jeans, cowboy boots and a tight-fitting Lycra shirt that showed off every protruding pec and bulging biceps God had so kindly bestowed upon him. He had to be a professional body builder.
Special leaned over to me. “If Trent refuses to take the bait, this brother wouldn’t be a bad consolation prize,” she whispered. “Hell, I might even suggest we make it a threesome.”
“Hey, everybody, this is Curtis.” Trent rose to greet his friend. They embraced, then lightly pecked each other on the lips.
Special let out a loud gasp and simultaneously grabbed my knee in what was definitely a reflex move. Everyone pretended to ignore her outburst.
“I guess you guys don’t need me anymore,” Trent said. “Nice meeting you, Vernetta. Special. Hope everything works out okay for you two.”
Trent placed his arm around Curtis’s waist and the two of them walked out of the room.
CHAPTER 62
As soon as we said our goodbyes and Bradley closed the front door of his condo, Special let me have it.
“How in the hell could you just sit there and let me hit on that boy when you knew his ass was gay?” she yelled. “You’re supposed to have my back!”
I was laughing so hard I had to bend over to hold my stomach. “I didn’t know he was gay,” I said, barely able to get the words out. “I thought The Abbey might be a gay bar. But I wasn’t certain.”
“You didn’t have to be one-hundred-percent sure. Two percent would be good enough for me.” Special hurled a look to kill my way. “I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out the minute he mentioned West Hollywood. I guess because he was so damn fine I couldn’t bring myself to even consider the possibility that he might be gay.”
Special stalked off ahead of me and I had to jog to catch up with her. I was still laughing so hard tears were streaming down my cheeks.
“I thought I was going to pee on myself when that fine ass Trent put his lips on that man.” Special cupped her forehead. “My gaydar needs to go into the repair shop for a serious overhaul.”
As we climbed into my SUV, I faked a cough to keep from bursting out laughing again. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”
“Easy for you to say,” Special steamed. “You weren’t the one looking like a fool in there.”
I put the key in the ignition and pulled off. “I’m not sure what I should do next,” I said, returning to my problem. “I’ll bet anything Trent’s theory is right. And I also bet Carruthers found out about those failed ATPs and somebody killed her because of it.”
“I’m glad to hear you finally admit that I was right,” Special said with satisfaction. “I told you that woman was murdered. Does Randle’s lawsuit mention anything about the ATPs?”
“Not a word. I doubt he knows a thing about them. If he had, Reggie would’ve put it in the complaint. Or at least Randle would’ve mentioned them during his deposition. It wouldn’t make sense not to.”
“But from everything you’ve told me, Randle might’ve actually been set up,” Special said. “So if it wasn’t over the ATPs, then what?”
“I wish I knew.”
We rode the rest of the way lost in our own silent thoughts. About twenty minutes later, I turned off Slauson Boulevard onto Buckingham Drive. “Hey, why’re you turning here?” Special said.
“This is the street you live on, isn’t it?”
“I’m not ready to go back home yet,” Special moaned.
“Girl, you know I love you to death, but it’s been almost a week since the break-in. I think it’s time for you to get reacquainted with your apartment. Your place is all cleaned up now and your landlord even installed a new security system. If you don’t go back home soon, you might develop a phobia about living alone.”
Special rolled her eyes.
“Why don’t you call your detective friend with the foot fetish?” I said. “He’d probably be willing to station his big body on guard duty right outside your door tonight. Or better yet, invite him in and let him paint your toenails again.”
“My car’s at your house,” Special complained. “How am I going to get to work in the morning?”
“You still carpool with your neighbor sometimes, don’t you? She can either take you to work or drop you by my house in the morning to get your car. If she can’t, call me in the morning and I’ll come get you.”
“But all of my clothes are at your house.”
“Don’t even try it. You took half of your clothes back home after we cleaned up your place, remember?”
I pulled up in front of Special’s apartment building but kept the engine running.
Special did not open the door. “This is cold-blooded. I’m scared to stay by myself.”
“You want me to take you to your parents’ house then?”
Special threw open the door and sulked up the walkway.
Before she reached the lobby door, I rolled down the passenger window, leaned over and called after her.
“Hey, I forgot to tell you. Jefferson wants you to meet his cousin, Darnell. He just moved here from New York.”
Special stopped and did a theatrical, model-like turn, then took her time striding back to the car.
“I’m only going to stop being mad at you long enough to get the 4-1-1 on Jefferson’s cousin,” she said. “So spill it.”
“He’s thirty-eight, tall and athletic, and very, very fine. On top of that, he’s dark chocolate just like you like ’em.”
She was nodding her head and smiling. “Sounds like a nice draft pick. What does he do?”
“He’s an investment banker for Morgan Stanley. He’s transferring here to head up their Century City office.”
“Okay,” Special said, still smiling with delight, “you’re
completely forgiven for kicking me out of your house. When you planning to hook us up?”
“It’s been a while since Jefferson had a home-cooked meal, so I was thinking about planning a cozy dinner for the four of us. Jefferson’s project should be slowing down in another month or so.”
“A month? Girl, I don’t wanna wait that long. This is L.A. He could be engaged and married by then. You know how desperate the women are in this city. I need to move in for the kill. Immediately.”
“Let me talk to Jefferson and find out when he’s coming home again,” I said.
“No need,” Special replied. “We don’t need any chaperones. Just give him my number.” She paused. “Scratch that. Why don’t you get me his number? I’ll call him up and welcome him to L.A. Special style.”
CHAPTER 63
I was sitting at my desk the next morning, trying to figure out what to do about the information from Trent, when Rich Ferris called. My intuition told me it was no coincidence.
“Ms. Henderson, good morning.” He sounded just as phony as he always did. “I’m calling for an update on the Randle case.”
“Everything’s pretty much on target,” I said. This was the first time I had spoken to the HR exec since I’d been reassigned to the case. Making small talk with Ferris was always awkward. Like trying to slow dance wearing ankle weights.
“Have you had an opportunity to speak with Mr. Ellis about settling the case?” he asked. His tone was cautiously polite.
“No, not yet. As you know, we filed a motion to amend Micronics’s answer to add the after-acquired evidence defense. If the motion’s granted, Randle’s potential damages could be significantly reduced. Reggie Jenkins wasn’t very happy about it. To be honest, he went a little berserk. Anyway, I’m very hopeful that he’ll be interested in talking settlement once he cools off.”
“Well, exactly when do you think that will be?” Ferris asked sternly.
“The filing deadline for their opposition brief is just a few days away. I told them I would take the motion off calendar if they wanted to discuss settlement. I expect to hear from them any day now. They’re probably just waiting until the last minute.”
In Firm Pursuit Page 23
