"Don't worry, nobody will hear it from me," I smiled. "And thank you for doing this, I appreciate it more than you probably know."
"No problem," he answered as he turned toward his keyboard. "I'd better get back to diagnosing this server fault."
"Sorry for bothering you with this," I said. "And thank you again." I returned to my desk, inserted the memory stick into my computer and opened the file Simon had given me.
I expanded the area where the water was seeping through the concrete. Leaning close to the screen, I examined it carefully, comparing it to the plans I had submitted for approval before commencing construction. There was a clear discrepancy. The clay layer that showed as fifty meters clear of the site was barely a meter or so from the footings.
This explained the water in the lower basement. The footing was too close to the clay deposit. It didn't show up because the excavation had been just inside the bedrock and the clay remained hidden a mere meter away in the untouched ground.
That meter wasn't enough, and due to either the excavation itself or the weight of the heavy clay, the bedrock had cracked, allowing the moisture to seep through and into the footing. It couldn't be easily fixed now the building was constructed.
I traced a line along where the building's foundations skirted the clay deposit, the clay was barely three meters away along the whole length of the building. There was more than just the one corner affected and at risk of being structurally unsound.
It could have been avoided had the plans taken into account the location of the clay deposit, but that meant the completed shopping mall may have needed to be smaller than it was now. Perhaps it could have been engineered around, but it likely would have taken more time and delayed the opening date.
Either way, fewer shops or several months’ delay meant less money for rental to Samuel Olsen. The whole project would not be as profitable, and that can't have made Olsen happy. Money was as good a motive for murder as any. This must be what Walthers had discovered. What he had been killed to conceal.
It looked like I had my answer. Was it enough to take it to Symonds? I wasn't sure. I needed to take another look at that basement to confirm what I'd found. If I was right, there should be indications of moisture or even cracks further along the wall.
There was no way I was going on my own this time. I picked up my phone and rang Dave. He answered after the first ring.
"Nat! Is everything okay?" He sounded anxious.
"Yes, I'm fine, Dave," I replied. "Look, I think I uncovered what Walthers found." I quickly explained about the clay and the modified geological reports.
"My God," he said. "That would have reduced the value of the project by hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe more."
"Yes," I agreed. "Dave, I need to go take another look at the basement to verify all of this."
"I'm coming with you."
I smiled into my phone. "That's why I called you, I was going to ask you to come."
"No way I was going to say no, babe."
"I know. It shouldn't take long, and once I've checked that wall, I will take everything to Symonds."
"Why not take it to him now?"
"He thinks I'm the one who murdered Walthers, so I need to give him Olsen's motive behind it all."
"Wait, what? He thinks YOU are a suspect?"
"Apparently. I need to show him proof that I didn't just cover up a mistake."
"My God," he replied, the disgust obvious in his voice. "That man's head is so far up his a..."
"I know, but let's sort this out and make sure I'm no longer a suspect," I said quickly, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"All right," Dave answered simply. "I’m not far away from where you are right now. I'll pick you up from outside your office building in twenty minutes, okay?"
"Okay," I said. "The site will be closed by the time we get there, but the police are leaving the gate open so they can access the basement where Walthers' body was found."
"I know, I just want this to be over. I can't stop thinking about Elliot Walthers. His job could be dangerous, but nobody deserves to die under these circumstances."
"If we find the killer, his wife will have closure."
"That's not much of a consolation for her."
"No, it's not, but it's all we can do. Let's find who did do it for her and prove that you aren't involved in any of this."
"Yes."
"Okay, I will see you in twenty. Let's try to catch ourselves a killer."
Chapter 12
Twenty minutes later, Dave pulled up in his old Toyota outside Anderson's & Anderson's, where I stood on the curb waiting for him. His car was deliberately nondescript; it paid to not stand out in his line of work as a private investigator.
I opened the door and climbed into the passenger's seat beside him. Closing the door behind me, I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss.
"Thank you for coming with me, Dave," I said.
He checked his mirrors before pulling out into the traffic. "With everything that's happened? Wild horses and all that."
"I just hope we can get to the bottom of this and get my name cleared." I sighed. "I worry what will happen after though, Olsen is by far our biggest client. I still might not have a job."
"Don't worry about that now," Dave replied. "Anderson's would be crazy to let you go if they have to downsize after the dust settles. Besides, with your skills and experience, you'd get another job in a heartbeat. Or you could start your own firm."
"My own firm?" I asked, surprised. "I'm not crazy enough for that, the hours would be insane to get it off the ground."
"You mean like the hours you work now?" He smiled. "At least you would be spending that time building something for yourself."
"True," I conceded. "But it's a big risk, going out on my own. At least I have job security at Anderson's."
"I would have agreed with you a few days ago," Dave said. "Now? It just shows that any business can be at risk under the wrong circumstances."
"Yes," I answered. "Let's just see what happens first."
The rest of the trip was in silence, preoccupied with our thoughts. An hour later we drove through the open gate. The construction workers had left for the day and the site was deserted.
Dave pulled up a few meters away from the building and we both stepped out of the car.
I withdrew a torch from a satchel I had brought with me from the office, and I led the way to where the stairs descended into the darkness of the basement.
As we approached the staircase, Dave said, "Jeez, it's as black as pitch in there!"
"There's no electricity on the site yet, and while there's unidentified water getting in, the electricians won't connect the power or lights until it's been resolved.”
I switched on the torch as we started to descend, the bright beam piercing the blackness.
"What you do you hope to find down here, Nat?" Dave asked.
"If my assumptions are correct, the wall adjacent to the corner will also show traces of dampness."
"If it were that obvious, wouldn't someone have seen that already?"
"Yes, but it isn’t obvious, at least not yet. That’s why I brought a moisture detector with me. It's similar to what building inspectors use to detect termite activity in wood. It measures ambient moisture in the wall."
"Ah, so it can tell us if the concrete has more water in it than it should, even if it looks and feels dry."
"Exactly," I replied. "We haven't done it before because there was no reason to suspect a problem there until I saw the real geo report."
"And nobody would have known anything about it at all, had Elliot Walthers not put that note into your purse."
"Until the footings started to crack, which may well have been years later and could have been blamed on any number of other reasons."
"True."
"Without the report indicating otherwise, I was ready to sign off the water seeping in that corner as rainwater getting inside the membrane seal. I had n
o reason to think it could be anything else."
"As soon as you check the moisture levels in the wall with your device there, we'll know for sure if it is more than that."
We finally reached the bottom of the stairwell and turned to enter the basement. As we rounded the corner, there was a bright flash from across the car park and a thunderous BANG. The wall next to us sparked with a ping as something ricocheted off it.
My brain froze in panic as it tried to process what it had just perceived. Dave, however, reacted instantly. "Nat! Gun! Get back!" He grabbed my arm and yanked me behind the concrete wall. "God damn it, I don't have my service pistol anymore."
Dave quickly peered around the corner. Another shot rang out and he dived back behind the wall. "We're sitting ducks down here. We need to get back to the car before he closes in on us." He grabbed my hand again and we started to run up the stairs.
"Turn off the light! Don't give him a target!" he hissed. I fumbled for the switch and turned off the torch in my hand. Faint light filtered from outside into the stairwell; there was just enough light for us to see where to put our feet as we ran.
Another shot rang out behind us as we climbed to the top of the staircase. We ducked at the sound and ran out of the unfinished building into the darkening evening.
"Get into the car!" Dave yelled at me. "We're sitting ducks out here with no weapons!"
We ran behind the car and crawled in, keeping as low as we could. The gun cracked again and I screamed as window glass shattered all over us. Dave hunched over me, whispering, "Stay down!" He shoved the key into the ignition and the engine fired.
He jammed the car into reverse gear and floored the accelerator. We lurched backward, bumping my head on the dashboard. Dave swung the wheel hard, spinning the car around before shoving the gearshift into forwards and drove toward the exit gate.
Dave strained to be heard as wind howled in through the broken windshield, "Call the cops, now!"
I fumbled in my bag and searched for my phone. With shaking hands, I dialed 911. Someone had been waiting for us in the basement and had tried to kill us!
An operator answered immediately, and I screamed into the phone, "There's a man with a gun at the new Olsen construction site. He was waiting for us and fired several shots at us."
The operator responded calmly, "Ok. Are you still in danger?"
I took a deep breath, trying to copy the operator's cool, professional manner. "No. We're driving out of the site now. Our windscreen has been shot out. Neither of us is injured."
"I'll dispatch several units now. Am I speaking with Natalie Shaw?"
I was confused for a moment as to how she knew my name before I realized they would have identified me from the caller ID from my phone. "Yes, that's right."
"All right, Natalie, I want you to go straight to the nearest police station while the officers investigate."
"Ok, we will."
"Who is with you right now?"
"My partner, David Forrester. He's an ex-cop."
"Ok, Natalie. You will both need to go to the station and give your accounts of what happened."
"Thank you. Could you also please inform Detective Mark Symonds?" I asked. "He's the investigating officer in a case surrounding the Olsen construction site."
"I will pass on that information," the operator said. "An officer will look after you once you arrive at the police station. Is there anything else I can help with?"
"No," I answered. "And thank you. We will head straight to the police station." We both hung up.
I turned to Dave. "You got most of that?" I asked.
"Yep," he replied. "Police station, Symonds, got it." He looked at the mirror, then back at the road. "We're damned lucky to be alive. Whoever was shooting at us was an amateur with a small-caliber gun, maybe a twenty-two. We were a big bright, slow-moving target, caught completely unawares. A professional would have got us both in two shots. We would have been dead before we knew what hit us."
"That makes it even more likely that it was Olsen," I said.
"If it was, he'd be long gone before the cops turned up at the site," he replied. "There was no way we could have stayed there, even if I had been armed. I couldn't put you in any more danger. Even amateurs can get lucky and the risk was too high."
"I know," I said. "At least this will clear any suspicions that Symonds has of my involvement."
"It bloody well better," Dave growled. "I think the time has come to give everything you have to him now. There's enough to start putting a case together."
"Yes. Once it's safe down in the basement, we can do that moisture test on the wall. Then it's a case of getting Olsen to admit it."
"Leave that to the police. All we need to do is to give them all the evidence we have."
"I hope so," I answered quietly. "I can't spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder if he gets away with it."
"Well, let's go talk to Symonds, get the bastard arrested and make sure that doesn't happen."
"All right."
Dave was probably right, but I was still worried.
Chapter 13
Detective Mark Symonds sat opposite Dave and me in the interview room at the Metro Police Station. On the desk in front of him was his notebook, the page filled with scribbled notes. It was nearly 8 pm; we had been there for over an hour.
"Wow," he said as he leaned back in his chair. "That's quite a story."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dave snapped. "You're welcome to check out the bullet holes in my car." He ran his hand over his hair. "Not to mention that we're covered in glass."
Symonds held up his hand, a sardonic smile on his face. "Relax, Mr. Forrester. No one is denying that you were shot at. The uniforms found point-two-two caliber shell casings in the basement and bullet holes in the concrete near the stairwell."
Dave glowered at him. "Then what ARE you saying, Detective?"
The detective held his gaze. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all. Just that you're accusing one of the most influential folks in the city of some serious crimes here. It needs some verification."
"That's what we're asking for," I said, placing my hand on Dave's forearm. "Look, Detective, we've told you everything we’ve found. I have a copy of the original geological reports in my office at work, I am more than happy to give it to you.”
I looked Symonds in the eye. “But right now, we've been shot at and we're both covered in glass. If there's nothing else, I'd really like to go home." I shook my head. "We aren't leaving town or anything, I just want a shower and something to eat. You know where we are if you need to ask us any more questions."
Symonds' expression softened. "Of course, Ms. Shaw. I'll get one of the uniforms to drive you home." He turned back to Dave. "I'm afraid we'll have to impound your car for evidence. We might get some slugs from it that will help identify the gun."
Dave nodded. "I expected that. Although, I'm not sure how to explain this all to my insurance company." He rolled his eyes. "I can just hear the conversation now. 'I'm sorry sir, we don't cover damage by madmen with guns,'" he said sarcastically.
“It's not like we started the day planning to be shot at," I told him.
"I know," he replied.
"Anyway," I said. "Let's take up Detective Symond's offer of a ride home before he keeps us here all night."
Symonds motioned to the door. "After you, Ms. Shaw," he said. We walked toward the main desk, where the detective spoke to the desk sergeant.
A few minutes later, a young police officer directed us to a squad car and drove us home.
---
We walked through the door and ate a simple meal, then showered to wash away the glass and sweat from our ordeal. Finally clean, we sat on the couch with coffee.
Even though it was late and we were both exhausted, sleep wasn't coming to either of us.
"I just don't understand Symond's attitude," I said, sipping my coffee. "He can be quite charming, but in the next breath, he treats you like a criminal."
Dave shook his head. "Don't take it personally, it's just an interviewing technique that some cops like to use. The idea is to make the person uncomfortable and even feel guilty. It might get a suspect rattled enough to let something slip."
"He succeeded in making me feel dirty, even though I know I haven't done anything wrong. I hate that I'm a suspect. It feels personal."
"We've told the cops everything we know, it's out of our hands. There is enough to clear your name, at least."
I turned to face him. "Is there though? I mean, yes, it might be enough so that I'm not a suspect anymore, although I’m not sure Symonds is prepared to let that go yet. But is it enough to convict Olsen? Right now, someone out there who tried to kill us. If he isn't caught, then what's to stop him trying again?"
"They'll catch him, Nat." Dave held me tightly. "I won't let anything happen to you. You're far too important to me."
I reached up and kissed him. "I'm lucky to have you, David Forrester."
"I know," he replied. I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Cheeky," I answered, punching his arm.
"Ow," Dave said dryly. He looked at the clock above the television. "It's late, we both need to get some sleep."
"Not just sleep, I hope," I said, kissing him again.
He kissed me back. "Hmph, we'll see." He yawned theatrically. "I'm pretty tired, you might have to convince me."
I stood up and started walking to the bedroom. "Well, if you don't WANT to..." I said, looking over my shoulder at him.
"Now you mention it, I'm not THAT tired," he laughed. He stood up and followed me into the bedroom.
---
I woke early the following morning. Dave was snoring lightly, his arm lying around me. I eased out of bed as to not wake him, wrapped myself in a gown and padded into the kitchen to make coffee.
I hadn't slept very much, but I couldn't stay in bed any longer. The events of the day before had haunted the dreams I had when I did manage to sleep. I kept seeing the glass shattering around us as we huddled in the car, hearing the sound of the gun.
The Body in the Building Page 6
