I jogged across the road to where he was parked and tapped on his window. Sure, I could have called him, but it was a relief to get out of the house.
He rolled the window down. “Glad to see Etta and Oliver decided to let you live.”
“No thanks to you. Etta might have gone easy on me if she’d had your hot body in front of her to fantasize about.”
“You think I have a hot body?”
I rolled my eyes. “Etta does.”
He looked a little less smug about that.
“Can I drive my car today?” I asked.
“No. It’s too conspicuous, and we’re trying to make your movements invisible, remember? From Hunt as well as the press.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. In that case, how would you feel about having Dudley in your SUV?” I eyed the spotless interior and silently amended my question to your immaculate SUV. Better not to draw his attention to it.
“Sure.”
“Really?”
He gave an infinitesimal shrug. “Greyhounds don’t have the normal dog odor because of the lack of oil in their skin. They don’t shed much either.”
I stared at Mr. Encyclopedia as if he’d sprouted a second head.
“Some friends of mine have greyhounds,” he said.
“Wait, you have friends?”
He ignored me. As he should have. Yet I genuinely had trouble picturing Connor in a normal, leisure setting with a group of mates and their dogs.
“Right, I’ll tell Etta the good news.”
I didn’t have to go far. She, Oliver, and Dudley were waiting at the bottom of the stairs. At least this way I wouldn’t have to ask Connor to carry Dudley down them. I just hoped they weren’t conspiring against me, plotting revenge.
“I packed a few of his things,” Etta said, passing me a bulging tote bag. “And here’s his bed to give him somewhere soft to lie down.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, shouldering the bag and gathering the massive bed under my arm so I had a spare hand for Dudley’s leash.
Oliver nudged Etta. “And also, we’re sorry your boyfriend died.”
“Yeah,” Oliver chimed in, “we’re still mad at you, but we want to be supportive too. So let us know if you need, well, anything.”
13
The SUV had plenty of room for Dudley, the soft bed, and a whole bag of bits and pieces Etta had given me. We rolled down Adams Boulevard with his head sticking out the window, nose twitching, ears flapping, and tongue lolling. I pretended not to notice the occasional bit of drool landing on Connor’s pristine door panels.
A block away from Jay’s place, Connor pulled over to the curb and handed me a transmitter with a headset attached. “This will allow you to listen in. It has a range of about two blocks, so if you take Dudley for a walk, you won’t be able to go far. Stay out of direct sight of Mr. Massey’s building in case any police or reporters are about.”
I could hear the faint sound of Connor’s footsteps and breathing as he walked to Jay’s beach bungalow unit. Dudley had lain down on his bed and looked utterly content, but the sun was creeping out from behind the clouds, my stomach was creeping over the sides of my waistband, and walking with Dudley seemed like a whole lot more fun than exercising by myself. I dug through the bag Etta supplied and retrieved the leash, some dried liver treats, and poop bags.
The poop bags gave me a moment’s pause, but I shook off the excuse, stuffed them into my pocket, and clipped on Dudley’s leash.
Dudley sprung to his feet and leapt out of the car without hesitating. It was a two-and-a-half-foot drop, but apparently that was nothing compared to the evils of stairs. He stopped halfway up the curb to sniff a patch of concrete, and I had the sinking realization that he might see curbs as steps. From what Etta had told me, he could go up but not down. I was so caught up in thinking about how to get around this potential problem that I started at the sound of voices in my ear.
“Mr. Massey? I’m Connor Stiles, a consultant with the LAPD. I have a few questions for you.”
“I already spoke to Commander Hunt about what I know yesterday,” Jay protested.
“We have new information.”
“Right. I guess you better come in then. You’ll have to excuse the mess. I’m in the middle of moving.”
Dudley didn’t hesitate to follow me up or down the curb, which meant one isolated step was a surmountable obstacle. I gave him a palmful of treats in relief. Then we strolled along the sidewalk, with plenty of stops and starts for sniffs and letting all the other dogs know he’d been in the area.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Massey,” Connor said. “What do you know about Earnest’s digital backup system?”
“He kept all his important data on a few hard drives as far as I’m aware. He didn’t trust cloud storage—um, storing stuff online that is—he was always worried about security. He used one computer for gaming and Internet stuff, and a second one for his work, which he kept offline to make it impossible to hack.”
“Do you know anything about a flash drive?”
Dudley didn’t care about the flash drive. He thought the ginger cat on top of the fence post was way more interesting. Especially when this one wasn’t hissing at him.
“Oh yeah, possibly,” Jay said. “Years ago he used to carry a flash drive around with him as an extra level of backup. It didn’t have everything on it, of course, so it was just the most important stuff. But that was before he became agoraphobic. I don’t know if he kept the habit. It would’ve been a bit superfluous with him always being in the same place as his hard drives.”
“Where did he used to keep it?”
“His wallet maybe? I think he tried having it in his pocket for a while, but it wound up in the washing machine, and flash drives weren’t as cheap back then.”
“Okay. Good.”
Oh no. This wasn’t good. Dudley was hunkering down to do number two, and the bravado I’d summoned up in the car had faded. Weren’t poop bags meant to be biodegradable? How hygienic were they? Had it been tested?
“Why the interest in the flash drive?” Jay asked.
“We were hoping it would reveal what he was working on. I know Commander Hunt already asked, but are you sure you don’t have any ideas about what he was looking into? Anything at all?”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it ever since you guys asked, and I don’t know if it means anything, but I did glimpse the company name Aptech on his screen one time. It stuck in my mind because we both worked there about eight years ago when we were starting out. It’s where we met.”
“When did you see Aptech on his screen?”
“I’m not sure exactly. Around a month or so?”
“What did you and Earnest do when you worked for them?”
“Nothing important. Mostly coding for computer applications that don’t exist anymore. It was a different company back then. They were a small player developing applications for third parties. Now they’re the lead developer for what’s supposed to be a revolutionary new operating system for the Pearl smartphones that’re aiming to take on Apple in the US.”
I wondered if this revolutionary operating system might be able to pick up dog poop. Praying the bags were hygienic, I bent down next to the steaming, aromatic pile. Dudley stared at me like I was nuts. “Yeah well, I’m not the one who pooped on the street,” I told him.
Ignoring Dudley and all my instincts, I scooped up the gift and tied the bag shut. Even if the bags were hygienic, they weren’t smell-proof. Dudley tugged me forward, and I started looking for a trash can.
“Did you remember anything else since speaking with Commander Hunt?”
“Well, Earnest’s girlfriend might be worth checking out. The timing seems suspicious to me. She flounced into his life about two months ago, having absolutely nothing in common with him, and now he’s dead.”
I flounced along the sidewalk and resisted clenching my fists because I didn’t want to break open the poop bag. Except maybe
on Jay’s stupid face.
“We’ll be looking into every angle, Mr. Massey,” Connor said.
Did I imagine the frost in his tone?
“Can you tell me what you were doing yesterday between twelve thirty and one p.m.?”
Oh. That was when I was smacked over the head.
“Yesterday? What happened yesterday?”
If Jay was feigning ignorance, he was convincing, at least over audio. But it didn’t lessen my desire to smack him over the head.
“Please answer the question, Mr. Massey.”
“Right. Um. I would’ve been picking up the keys to my new apartment. From the real estate manager. I can give you her details if you want?”
“Yes, thanks.”
So my mystery head basher wasn’t Jay, and he didn’t have any actionable information for us on the flash drive. But perhaps we had a new lead that was worth investigating.
I tried to use that to soften my feelings toward Jay. No doubt I’d have to face him a bunch more times before this was over, and being mad at him for a comment I should never have overheard wasn’t helpful. Besides, Earnest had loved him and the bond was mutual. Jay had once camped out overnight for some fancy, new, limited edition game console just to save Earnest waiting the three to five days it would’ve taken to have it posted. Remembering that took the edge off my anger.
Connor wrapped up the interview, while Dudley and I prowled the streets, looking for a trash can. We passed a fatter than usual Santa, two elves, one of whom had a serious wedgie, and a big guy on a Harley with antlers attached to his helmet. No trash can.
The SUV came into view before I’d managed to dispose of the bag. Somehow I didn’t think Connor would appreciate my having it in the car. Greyhounds might not have the normal doggy odor, but it doesn’t extend to their poop.
In a moment of inspiration, I lifted up the back window wiper and stuck the bag under it. Then Dudley and I hopped inside, feeling pleased with ourselves.
In keeping with my recent luck, it began to rain on our way to meet with the CEO of Aptech. I mean soaked-to-the-skin-in-thirty-seconds rain. It had drizzled twice in November and a handful of times in the past few weeks, but this was the first significant rainfall in months.
“I need my wipers,” Connor said. “Next trash can we see, you’ll have to get out and move that bag.”
Of course.
The pouring rain and the gloom it dragged in with it made it hard to spot trash cans. Traffic ground to a standstill. Dudley was happy to have the windows rolled up. Connor phoned Hunt and updated him loudly over the drumming water on the roof. Unsurprisingly, Hunt opted to stay in his office rather than meet Connor at Aptech.
At last I spotted a trash can fifty meters ahead. We oozed our way toward it with the speed of a slug, and I hoped in vain the rain might stop before we reached it. It didn’t. I stepped out into an inch of water over the road, instantly drenching my suede boots and the socks inside them, and disposed of the bag as fast as I could. Back inside, I watched the water run off my hair and clothes to form a puddle on Connor’s seat.
He didn’t say anything. Just turned up the heat at the same time as turning on the rear wiper.
My phone rang, and I fished it out of my pocket, grateful it hadn’t drowned. “Hello?”
“Isobel Avery? I’m Carrie Williams from One Two Three News, and we want to write a story about the real man behind BusiLeaks. This is a chance for you to—”
“I’m not interested, thanks.” I disconnected the call.
Forty minutes later, with the heater blasting, I had evolved to merely damp, Connor had stripped off his jacket and still looked too hot, and we’d arrived at Aptech’s headquarters. If it weren’t for the rain, the drive to Playa Vista, Silicon Beach, would’ve taken half the time.
On the way, I’d had three more phone calls from different reporters. My guess was they’d all fled to their desks and were making calls until the weather cleared. From here on in, I was letting any unknown numbers go to voice mail.
The rain stopped seconds before Connor got out of the car. Of course.
Aptech headquarters was a discreet two-story building made of prefabricated concrete panels and mirrored windows. I watched as Connor was swallowed by the shiny sliding doors. The CEO would be on the top floor, and he apparently needed an elevator because I could hear the quiet dings of the buttons and the muted hum as it rose. Then an attractive, feminine voice said, “Mr. Stiles, Mr. Coleman will just be a moment. Can I get you a drink while you wait?”
“No, thank you.”
There was a minute of the soft clacking of fingers on a keyboard. I googled the CEO’s photo while I waited. Strawberry blond hair swept across his head from a side part, crowning a face with tanned skin that looked almost baby smooth. An odd effect on a middle-aged man. He was smiling, close-lipped at the camera, but his eyebrows had a natural arch to them that transformed the gesture into one of self-satisfied amusement at your expense.
The clacking on the keyboard stopped. “Mr. Coleman is ready for you now. Please follow me.”
“Thank you, Ms. McCarthy,” said a new voice, this one slick and masculine. It fit the man in the photo perfectly. “Mr. Stiles. My assistant tells me you’re a consultant for the LAPD? What can I do to help the boys in blue?”
“You can tell me what you’re working on,” Connor said in his warm and personable style. I shared an exasperated look with Dudley. Maybe I should buy him the book How to Win Friends and Influence People for Christmas.
Coleman chuckled, but it sounded a tad forced. “What aren’t we working on? You might want to be more specific, or we’ll be here all day.”
“What are you working on that would concern Earnest Dunst, the founder of BusiLeaks.”
“Never heard of him, so I couldn’t begin to postulate.”
“That’s a shame, given I know for a fact you have a leak at Aptech who contacted Mr. Dunst about your misconduct.”
This time the chuckle sounded more genuine. I wondered why since I expected the opposite. “Nice bluff, Mr. Stiles, but it sounds to me like you’ve got nothing.”
Connor’s voice turned lower and quieter. “I’ll tell you what I’ve got, Mr. Coleman. I’ve got a murder victim who was known to be investigating your company. Which gives you a big fat motive.”
“Wait. Mr. Dunst is dead?” He sounded surprised yet thoughtful. Like he was moving chess pieces in his mind, working out how the removal of this pawn affected the game.
“A minute ago you told me you’d never heard of him.”
“Right—”
“We can play this two ways. I can mention Aptech to the press, who are slavering for a good story, and they’ll splash your company name over the front pages until there’s so much speculation over why Earnest Dunst was investigating you that it won’t matter whether you’re guilty or not. Or you can cooperate.”
“Here’s a third option,” Coleman said. “I could sue you for defamation.”
“You could try, but I wouldn’t need to tell the press anything I couldn’t prove. Namely, that Mr. Dunst was working on something to do with Aptech when he was murdered. The press and BusiLeaks’s reputation will do the rest.”
“What proof do you have?”
“Mr. Dunst’s computer.”
Coleman snorted. “Now I know you’re bluffing, and I’ve got better things to do than waste my time with your strong-arm bullshit tactics. Let yourself out, or I’ll have my security assist you.”
Chair legs scraped on what I imagined was polished concrete flooring. “This isn’t over.”
The doors must have been soft-close because I didn’t hear it shut. I couldn’t believe Connor had gone through it gently.
“Thanks for visiting Aptech, Mr. Stiles,” said the same attractive, feminine voice as before. “Have a wonderful Christmas.”
Connor grunted at her.
My amusement at their interaction kept me from fidgeting too much as I waited for him to return to
the car. As soon as he sat down, I blurted, “Coleman knows about the hard drives being wiped.” It was the only way he could’ve been confident that we had no proof on Earnest’s computer.
“Yes.”
“Which means he organized it. Unless the Taste Society has a leak too.”
Connor clicked on his seat belt. “I’m going to bet on the former.”
“Then do you think he organized a hit on Earnest as well?” I hadn’t quite come to terms with the reality of that. Could this baby-skinned CEO really be behind Earnest’s death?
“Chances are good. But the time between the murder and the wiping of the files bothers me.” He looked me over. “If your memory of the screensaver is correct, the data was erased between eight thirty and eleven a.m., hours after Earnest’s death.”
“I’m positive Earnest’s screensaver was on when I was looking for him that morning, but I’ve been wondering about the timeline too. Could the murderer have been busy getting rid of evidence for six hours?”
“Unlikely.”
“Well. If Coleman is behind it, he’d hire a professional hitman right? What if the hired guy didn’t have the skills to wipe the computer properly? Coleman would’ve wanted to make sure it was done properly, so he could have organized a second person to deal with the hard drives when the coast was clear.”
“It’s as good a theory as any I’ve come up with. He might’ve even had someone from Aptech do the erasure part since there’s no shortage of tech experts in the company. The problem is we don’t have a scrap of evidence to hang it on. And we need evidence to confront Coleman again. We need that flash drive.”
“Have you gone through Earnest’s personal affects? Flash drives come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Is it possible that whoever processed it didn’t recognize it as something that stores data? Or didn’t realize its significance?”
“It’s worth trying. And thanks to your hard head, the intruder didn’t get to finish searching Earnest’s apartment. Perhaps we should. Even if Earnest usually kept it on him, he could’ve taken it off for some reason.”
The Hunger Pains (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 2) Page 12
