by John Misak
The place was filled with press people. Being there made me feel uncomfortable. The last thing I needed was to be trapped by a bunch of hungry reporters looking for a story. We didn’t need that.
I had told Rick about the call, and he was eager to go with me to the Grand Deli. I told him it wasn’t a good idea. The guy wanted to meet with me, and an extra cop might make him nervous. Rick didn’t like it, but he agreed.
Chapman walked out onto the stage and stood behind the podium. He had four guys with him, bodyguards perhaps. Corporate execs with bodyguards. What was the world coming to?
“Good morning,” Chapman said, in a deep, vibrating voice. He was a stout man, German-looking, with a long pointy nose and thick brown hair piled high on his head. He was dressed in a three-piece suit. I didn’t think anyone wore those anymore. “As you all know, Techdata lost its CEO and son of its founder, Ron Mullins, late Tuesday. We were all shocked at the news of his death. Ron has always been important to the company, and has been pivotal in our success. Though we will mourn his passing with great sympathy for both our company and his family, the business of Techdata will continue to move forward, in the direction that he and I charted. Over the past two years, Ron had been slowly removing himself from the company, getting set to enter the political arena, as you all well know, and we have been preparing for his departure.
“Though his presence was still felt within the company, he had been placing the responsibility of running the day to day operations of Techdata to both with myself, and his eventual successor, Alfred Coleman. Alfred has been working directly with me for the past six months, familiarizing himself with all the resources he would need to take Ron’s position.”
Way to cover your ass, I thought.
“Despite Ron’s sudden death, I want to assure our stockholders, and our business partners, that the business of Techdata will continue to move forward uninterrupted. Our well-publicized talks with Onyx Corporation are near completion, and the impact of this merger will succeed in being as large as we had planned. Ron left behind detailed blueprints of several new technologies that will propel Techdata through the next decade, and beyond. We will miss Ron greatly, as will anyone who knew him.”
The man was a smooth talker. He looked into the eyes of the reporters in the audience confidently. In a way, he almost reminded me of the clips I had seen of Mullins talking. He was good. When he finished, he glanced in our direction, and I could have sworn I saw him smirk. I couldn’t wait to get a hold of him.
“Now, if you have any questions, please ask them, though I must let you know I will have to limit this to five minutes.”
A slew of reporters raised their hands. I wanted to, too.
He motioned to a man in front.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“Mr. Chapman, Chris Taylor, from Fox News. You say that Ron Mullins was preparing to leave Techdata. Any reason why?”
“He had other interests.”
“Other than the company that made him who he is?”
“That was his choice. Ron was a brilliant man, who constantly needed a challenge. I assume Techdata didn’t offer that to him anymore.”
Chapman motioned to another man, to his left, a few rows
back.
“Tom Jenkins, Daily News. We have all heard the rumors about Mr. Mullins entering the New York Senatorial race. How did Techdata feel about that?”
Chapman paused for a moment. “We were behind him, and we were certain he would be successful in any venture he got involved with.” He motioned to another reporter, a woman.
“Louise Belanger, Eyewitness News. I just wanted to know if Mr. Mullins’ political ambitions had anything to do with the bill slated to go to congress regarding New York’s Silicon Alley.” Chapman smiled. “What bill is that?”
“The one which would enforce restrictions on such companies operating in New York.”
“Of course not. Besides, from what I understand, that is a local legislature issue.”
“With chances that it will go to the US Senate.”
“Ron Mullins planned on entering politics way before that bill was even conceived. Next question.”
Interesting. That would be an angle we would have to investigate.
Chapman motioned to another reporter. “Last question,” he said.
“Richard Gonzalez, Channel Four. Would you comment on the rumors that Ron Mullins was against the merger with Onyx?”
“I know of no such rumor, and, so you know, the Onyx merger was Ron Mullins’ idea from the outset. If anything, I was against it at first. Good day.”
With that, Chapman left the stage and headed toward the back exit. We made our way through the stream of reporters who were getting up from their seats or taking quick notes. I shielded my face so that no one would recognize me, and made it to the door Chapman exited from.
We caught him entering a Lincoln Town Car. He spotted us, and stopped.
“Hello Detectives,” he said.
“Mr. Chapman, we would like a few words with you.”
“Of course. But I am on my way to an important meeting right now. Why don’t you stop by my office around four? Is that okay?”
I looked at Rick, who seemed like he wanted to pounce on Chapman and squeeze every bit of information he could out of him.
“Four o’clock. We’ll be there,” I said.
“Excellent. See my secretary directly. She’ll be expecting you.”
Chapman got into the back seat of his car and his driver pulled away quickly, leaving us standing there, holding our Johnsons.
“I don’t like that guy one bit,” Rick said.
“You’re just letting that phone call I got bother you.”
“He’s a snake in the grass.”
“Most guys like him are. Only way they can get ahead of everyone else.”
“You can think what you want. That guy’s dirt.”
As much as I wanted to argue with him, I knew Rick was right.
We were back at the station, and I was trying to put things together. Chapman seemed seedy to me, at best. The kind of guy who did underhanded things, paid for expensive call girls, and basically did what he wanted. Okay, I envied him. I wasn’t sure if I could accept the fact that something was amiss, to use a fancy word, but I felt unsettled.
Geiger came over to my desk.
“Want to tell me about the phone call you got earlier today?” he said. I wondered who could have told him. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Rick, the bastard.
“Some guy called saying he worked for Techdata. That he had information for me. Could be a whacko.”
“He say anything else?”
“Yeah. He said not to trust Chapman.”
“Interesting.” He looked around my desk, which was cluttered with papers, including the printout from the Techdata website. I was tired, running on no sleep. I rubbed my eyes. I grabbed a can of soda on my desk and took a swig. When I did, a I felt a sharp pain when the cold soda touched one of my bottom teeth. It hurt like hell.
“You okay? You look like shit.”
“I didn’t sleep last night, and now I have a toothache.”
“Take some aspirin, and have some coffee. This interview with Chapman is important. And I am not so sure I want you going to see this other person alone,” Geiger said. He spread his hands on his desk, running his fingers across the smooth surface.
“That’s how he wanted it.”
“I want Rick down the block.”
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“I don’t care.”
“If this guy smells another cop in the area, he might bolt.”
“I doubt it. I want this on tape. You’ll wear a wire. Agnelli’s orders.”
“You told him about it?”
“I had to. It gives us more time with the investigation.”
“Jesus. I’m not crazy about that.”
“Just do it. And get back here right away,” Geiger said. I could tell he wasn’t
happy about it either, but we didn’t have a choice. Geiger looked nervous, blinking more than usual. I’d never seen him like that before.
“Yes, sir. Just put us in separate cars. The guy sees me walk in instead of pull up in an unmarked, he might get suspicious.”
“Okay. And John?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t fuck around.”
“Of course not.”
After Geiger left, my tooth really started aching. Like it was on fire. The worst part about tooth pain is that you can’t rub it, can’t make it feel better. I thought it was nothing at first, that it would go away, but it kept getting worse. A lot worse. Lord knows what I did to it. But I had help. Dear old Dad was a dentist, located in Queens. I checked my watch. It was 12:15. Plenty of time to get there and back to Chapman’s.
I got on the phone, and dialed my father’s office.
“Dr. Keegan’s office,” Nancy, his assistant said.
“Hello Nancy, it’s John.”
“Hello Johnny.” She’d known me since I was five and she was the only person who was not a family member I allowed to call me Johnny. Anyone else who tried to call me that would need an appointment with my father as well.
“Let me speak to Dad, please.” I said politely. She struck fear in me, that woman. Maybe it was because she was the gatekeeper to pain.
“Yes, of course. How are you?” she asked. Always polite on the phone. If I didn’t love my dad and respect Nancy I’d call her the perfect receptionist for Satan.
“Not bad. In pain.”
“Well, you haven’t been here in a while.”
“I know. Been busy.” I said, defensively.
“I’ll get him for you.” Nancy said. I heard a click and then the same horrible on hold music my dad had used for decades. Bad taste lives forever.
After a few seconds, my father’s cheery voice came on. Well, I am exaggerating. Actually, after meeting my father, most people thought I was cheery.
“The wayward son,” he said.
“Hi Dad.”
“Saw you on the news yesterday. Handling a big case. That Mullins guy. I won Techdata stock.”
“Well, according to what the company says, you’re fine.” “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Took a drink of soda and my bottom third molar, on the left side, erupted.”
“Root canal. I told you to let me take care of that tooth the last time you were in.” Dad said. He didn’t always sound like dentist, but he sure could get into character easy.
“I know. I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to call your mother, I know.”
I didn’t want to go through this. I was a good son. Better than my sister in some respects. Perhaps not in others. Damn, there I was, in my thirties, going along with sibling rivalry.
“Can you squeeze me in? I have an important meeting at four.”
He sighed, the way he always did when he spoke to me. Like I was the bane of his existence. We had gotten along pretty well when I was a kid, and I thought we were doing fine then. He was proud of my being a cop, or at least he said he did, despite his dreams of me taking over his practice. I could never look at people’s teeth for a living. Dead people’s teeth maybe.
“I’ve got an opening for 2:00. Come on in.”
“Thanks Dad. See you then.”
“Yeah.” He hung up. The side of my mouth began to swell.
No more than ten seconds after I hung up the phone, it rang. “Keegan, Homicide.”
“Detective Keegan?” It was a woman, with a familiar voice. “That’s me.”
“It’s Sondra Mullins.” Ah, Sondra.
“Yes, Mrs. Mullins.”
“I need to speak to you. Can you come by?”
“What’s happened?”
“A lot. I keep getting strange phone calls, and a lot of hang-ups. One man said he had information about my husband’s death. He wanted to meet me. I’m scared.”
“I’ll be there in a half an hour.”
“Come by yourself. I didn’t like your partner.”
“Okay.”
I hung up. Was this a cheap excuse for a sexual invitation? Secretly, I hoped so, but I also knew I was hoping against hope itself. She was out of my league.
Geiger wasn’t happy with my going by myself, but he realized it was the only way. He assigned me an unmarked car, and I headed out to Massapequa, the needle pinned near 80 the whole time.
Nine
I made it to the Mullins residence by 12:45.1 was doing okay, time wise, unless Sondra had other things in mind. Then again, I could be quick with that if I had to. Not that I am ever quick. Ever. Really. I pulled through the gates, which were open, and parked right by the front door. I got out of my car, and the front door opened. Steve came outside.
“Detective Keegan, how nice to see you again.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I walked up to the front porch.
“Listen, the guys are supposed to come to do something with the driveway. They probably won’t be here for a while, but if they do, you’ll have to move your car.”
“I won’t be long.”
“That’s fine. Just leave me your keys, in case they do. This way, I can move it for you, and you won’t have to be interrupted.”
I looked him over. He was being real friendly. I should have thought something of that, but my mind was on my aching tooth and my throbbing libido.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t turn on the lights or the siren. I promise.”
I threw him the keys, eager to get to Sondra.
She was waiting for me in the same room we spoke in the day before. She had certainly gotten herself together since the last time I saw her. Not to say that she looked bad the day before. I am sure I left no doubts about that.
Sondra was sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. I reached into my pocket for mine, but I only came up with an empty pack.
“Have one of mine,” she said, opening the cedar box, which she had placed on the sofa next to her. I walked over and grabbed one. It was a Virginia Slim, about the size of a pencil. I don’t care how cool of a guy you are, you can’t make yourself looking good smoking a Virginia Slim. You might as well have a dick hanging out of your mouth. But, I was desperate. For the cigarette I mean. “How are you,” I said, after lighting the smoke.
“Not good, Detective.”
I sat down in the chair.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you said you are receiving phone calls.”
“Yes. From some man who said he works for Ron’s company. He told me he knows something about his death, but he won’t say anything over the phone. He wants me to meet him. I’m not so sure I should do that.”
I decided not to tell her about my meeting later on in the evening. It might have scared her, or it might have supplied her with information that she didn’t need. But I was certainly going to say something to the informant about her, see if he was making the calls to her. I figured it was.
“You shouldn’t.”
“You don’t think it’s safe?” she asked. She looked good, wearing an orange sundress, showing off her perfectly shaped legs. They were shiny and smooth, the sort of legs I like. For a woman in her mid-thirties, she had it going good. Real good.
“I’m not sure. But there are a lot of idiots out there who watch the news and then try and capitalize on victims. He didn’t give you his name, did he?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“Not at all.”
“You have Caller ID?”
“Yes, but the number came up anonymous.”
“You want someone tracing your calls?”
“I don’t know. You think it’s that important?”
“Could be. If you have some nut job pranking you after your husband’s death, it might be a good idea to pinch him, before he does something stupid, or does it to someone else.”
&nbs
p; She finished her cigarette, and stood up. She was breathing a little heavy. Her chest heaved up and down nicely, and she caught me looking. It didn’t seem to bother her. Certainly didn’t bother me.
“This is all too much for me. I mean, what if this man does know something? What if Ron didn’t commit suicide? What if he was murdered?”
“That’s what we are here to find out,” I said.
“Have you found anything yet?”
“Not anything out of the ordinary, no. But we are checking everything. If there was foul play involved, we’ll find out.”
“Oh Jesus, this is just too much. Poor Ron. If he did commit suicide, why didn’t I see it coming? I’m his wife, was his wife. Shouldn’t I have seen it?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Of course she should have seen it, in my opinion. But, then again, I had never been involved with a suicide personally, and really couldn’t judge. I had to think that maybe this was all an act, that maybe she had something to do with her husband’s untimely death. But saying something to either effect wasn’t going to do any good. Plus, I didn’t want to make her feel bad.
“Things like that are tough. It’s easy to look back now and say you should have seen the signs, because the signs are so much clearer in hindsight. But don’t do that to yourself. He was acting strangely, but people act strange all the time, and don’t commit suicide. You just never know.”
“I should have known. Now, I have two kids without a father, at a time when they need him so badly. I have a company to decide what I want to do with, and I have the press lurking around everywhere. I just can’t handle it.” Sondra showed some distress, but again, I couldn’t tell if this was some sort of performance. She liked attention.
“You have to try and relax. Is there anything I can do?” I asked, running a few scenarios through my mind of what I wanted to do.
She gave me a look, one that appeared to be of interest. Like I could do something, but she wasn’t in the position to say what that was. Maybe I was projecting all of this, making it up in my head. I did that a lot.
