BLACK in the Box

by Russell Blake

  Yet more proof that he was doing something wrong in life. Even the grunions working the night shift had more to show for their efforts than he did. Of course, they probably threw every dime they earned into their cars, but the rationalization did nothing to improve his mood.

  “Hey, you’ll be four grand richer when the sun comes up,” he muttered to himself, and then corrected. “Thirty-five hundred.” He checked the time and took another drag. Roxie would be there any minute.

  When he finished his smoke, he retrieved his cell and dialed Sylvia’s number. When she answered, she didn’t sound like she’d been sleeping.

  “Sylvia, listen, please. I’ve only got a few minutes here…”

  “I thought I made it clear that I don’t care.”

  “Sylvia, come on. Get real. Nobody breaks up a relationship because their boyfriend had to work at night.”

  “Call it whatever you want. I’m done playing second violin.”

  “Fiddle. But whatever. You’re not. We need to talk this out.”

  “But you’re too busy, remember?”

  “Not now. Later. In the morning.”

  “You mean you want to browbeat me with excuses and empty promises until I cave in.”

  “That’s not how I mean it at all.”

  “How many cigarettes have you already smoked?”

  “What? None. I quit, remember?”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about, right there. You’re a liar. You lie habitually, and you think I’m dumb enough to buy it. Don’t you realize that when you come home you smell like an ashtray? Do you really believe anyone’s that stupid?”

  “Okay. I had one cigarette. But that’s a huge improvement.”

  “So far tonight. But you’ll have more.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Then throw them away, right now.”

  Black sighed. She was psychic or something. Swiss feminine intuition had proved deadly for him again. “Fine. There. I did it. Happy?”

  “Lie all you want, Black. Maybe you’ll find someone whose dream is to be with an aging smoker who lies at every turn.”

  “I resent the aging crack. That hurts.”

  “I’m going, Black. Good luck with your vices. Maybe have a few drinks, too. Why not?”

  “Honey…”

  “It’s over, Black. You managed to alienate someone who really…who really cares about you. I’ve given up hope, and I’m not going to get sucked into your downward spiral anymore. Good. Bye.”

  “Sylvia, seriously. Just wait.”

  The click of the line going dead might as well have been a sonic boom. He debated calling back, but thought better of it. Fighting the overwhelming urge to have a second cigarette, he tried Stan, who sounded tired, but answered on the second ring.

  “Now what?”

  “I haven’t heard back from McCarthy yet,” Black griped.

  “The bastard! It’s almost like you’re not his top priority.”

  “Stan, I’ve had a crappy evening so far.”

  “Mine’s shaping up. I just caught my second homicide for the night. It’s like a gold rush here.”

  “So you’ll be working all night again? Join the club.”

  “Don’t whine. It’s unbecoming.”

  “I could moan plaintively.”

  “Look at you with the fifty-cent words. Listen, I gotta run. He’ll call. Just not on your timing.”

  “Thanks. Good luck with the stiff.”

  “You too. Uniforms are already there. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Right.”

  Black sighed as he shook another cigarette free and lit it. He was a weak man. Spineless. Sylvia was right – she knew him well. And besides being untrustworthy and lazy, he had real issues.

  Although the aging comment stung.

  He reviewed the staff interviews in his mind as he smoked, searching for something, anything he could use; but other than a few misgivings, he had nothing to show for almost three hours of effort. Of course everyone was playing cagey – he worked for the boss, and it wasn’t like they could go out and get new jobs tomorrow. His technique was to come out of left field with questions that would throw the subject, and then he’d use any discrepancy to come back to them and drill them, but so far nothing jumped out. Sure, Henry seemed dodgy, Kurt angry and suspicious, and the rest obviously on their guards, but nobody struck him as a murderer.

  “What happened?” he whispered, pacing back and forth in front of the door, the remaining wind tugging at his jacket as he mulled over the scenario – Bethany grabs the axe after having an argument with Alec and, in a fit of rage, slams it home in his back as he’s returning to his desk? That was the only way it fit. But what could Alec have said or done to enrage her so much that she’d kill? And why had she stuck around with the axe? Maybe she was getting ready to finish the job with a coup de grâce?

  It was hard to reconcile the mental image with the one of Bethany from her ID photo, and he suspected that one of the reasons McCarthy hadn’t hauled her away was because he knew it would be hard to make anything stick with a jury unless the case was airtight. If she’d been ugly, he was sure she’d be in lockup awaiting formal charges. He knew how the system worked. But she was Caucasian, female, with no priors and no obvious motive – and, by all accounts, hot. That wasn’t the way most pictured their vicious killers. So she’d gotten a temporary hall pass. McCarthy probably wanted to run it past the DA and get his read, too. Stan had told him stories. You didn’t bring cases that wouldn’t plead out, and would cost the system a fortune, with an uncertain outcome. That was a career no-no as a cop, especially if the accused had the looks to become a media darling, which Bethany did.

  Black finished his cigarette and ground it out beneath his shoe. He took a final look over at the tricked-out red Nissan and the Mercedes and shook his head. He could write a book about the things he was doing wrong.

  On the way back into the building, he spotted the closed-circuit surveillance cameras and wished silently that Larry wasn’t so cheap. Black couldn’t rule out someone with a key entering and killing Alec, but that was a stretch without proof, and no jury would buy it. He reminded himself to contact everyone with a key for their alibis in the morning before he met with Larry, and pulled the metal door wide, kicking aside the wood block he’d used to crack it open while he smoked.

  Preoccupied as he walked through the loading area toward the showroom, he didn’t register the tall stack of pallets tipping toward him from the side until they were toppling, and the last thing he heard before they came crashing down on him was the beeping of a backup alarm and the revving engine of a forklift on the other side of the towering heap.

  Chapter 25

  “Dude, are you all right?” Matt asked.

  Black stirred under the pallets crushing his chest. “I…I think so.”

  “Hang on. We’ll get you out of there,” Henry said.

  The sound of pallets being lifted from on top of him was the most welcome Black had ever heard, and after several agonizingly long minutes, the pressure on him lightened. Matt raised the final pallet and set it aside, and Henry helped Black to his feet.

  Black flexed his hands and then his arms. Finding nothing broken, he did the same with his legs. Matt was staring at him, and he blinked away something warm that had trickled into his eye. When he wiped at it with his hand, his fingers came away slathered with red.

  “Looks like you got a nasty gash on your head. Here. Put some pressure on it,” Matt said, offering him a hand towel from his back pocket. “Don’t worry. It’s clean. I haven’t started dusting yet.”

  Black did as instructed. Pain began pounding in his temples, and the cut on his forehead suddenly felt like a railroad spike had been driven through it. Matt and Henry led him to a metal desk and table by the loading ramp, and Black sat while he held the rag to his head.

  “What happened?” Black asked. Matt and Henry exchanged a glance.

  “One of the forklifts hit
a pallet stack. Accident. It happens,” Matt said. “I’m sorry you were in the line of fire.”

  “Who was driving it?” Black asked.

  The two staffers shared another veiled look. “I don’t know,” Henry said. “I came running when I heard the crash. Matt?”

  “Beats me. I didn’t see anything. I was in the showroom.”

  “Who would normally drive the forklift?” Black asked.

  “Oh, everyone’s trained on them.”

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that whoever knocked into the stack took off?”

  Matt shrugged. “Not really. Who wants to admit they screwed up if they can duck it?”

  “I could have been killed.”

  “Well, then tonight’s your lucky night, because other than a torn jacket and that cut, it looks like you’re in one piece. Although we should get you to a doctor in case they want to do an X-ray of your skull or something,” Matt said.

  Black eyed him. “Let me take a look at it in the mirror. It might not need stitches.”

  “Right, but Mr. Jacobs would want you attended to.”

  “Give me another minute for it to clot, and I’ll let you know. I can’t leave yet – my assistant’s on her way.”

  “Your assistant?” Henry asked.

  “Yeah. She’s a computer genius.”

  Nobody spoke. Matt looked around at the shattered wooden slats and shook his head. “What a mess.”

  Black stood unsteadily. “Where’s the closest bathroom? I want to get cleaned up and check out my war wound.”

  “Over by the administrative offices, to the right,” Matt said. “You’re…you’re not going to sue or anything, are you?”

  “Never occurred to me. Doesn’t seem like there’s much harm done. I’ll probably just bill Jacobs for the suit and call it a day.”

  Matt was visibly relieved. “I’m sorry this happened. There’s really no excuse, but I will say it’s not the first time.” He shrugged again. “Of course, we try to minimize accidents. But you’re the first person who’s been hurt.”

  “That’s reassuring.” Black held the towel out and squinted at the drying blood on it. “Keep your eye out for a fat cat, would you? Mine got out of its cage and is around here somewhere.”

  “A cat? Um, sure,” Henry said.

  “You can’t miss him. He’s the size of a small polar bear.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Kyle appeared from around the corner. “What happened?”

  Matt explained, and Kyle shook his head in disapproval. “Bunch of irresponsible kids. You should need a license to work one of those. Bound to happen.”

  Black dusted off his pants with his free hand. “I’ll leave you to this. Matt, see if you can place everyone’s whereabouts when this happened. Should be straightforward to eliminate anyone who was with someone else and narrow it down to the driver.”

  “Will do, Mr. Black.”

  Black walked into the store and along the closest aisle, his body now starting to ache from bruising. The main force of the pallet that had landed above him had been blunted by the way it hit the one next to him, which had saved him. It had been pure luck that he hadn’t been crushed or broken into pieces.

  He slowed at the thought.

  Perhaps it hadn’t been an accident at all. Was it possible that the murderer was afraid he was getting close to something?

  If only. Right now he had nothing other than a headache and a ruined suit.

  He limped to the bathroom and studied the cut above his eye. It looked nasty, but he didn’t think he’d need stitches. He moved to the locker area and located the first aid kit prominently mounted to the wall and grabbed some surgical tape before spotting an assortment of butterfly sutures.

  “Perfect,” he whispered to himself.

  His phone rang. He answered with a jab of his thumb to the screen. It was Roxie.

  Her voice sounded annoyed. “I’m here.”

  “Where?”

  “Out by your boat.”

  “Front entrance is locked. Can you come around the back? I’ll meet you there.”

  “See you in a minute.”

  Chapter 26

  “Ow.”

  Roxie eyed her work, the butterfly sutures holding the ugly laceration on Black’s forehead closed.

  “Don’t be such a little baby,” she said. “Hold still and I’ll put some ointment on it.”

  “Think that’ll do the trick?”

  “Either that or you’ll bleed to death.”

  He winced as she applied antiseptic to the cut and then stepped back.

  “Thanks,” Black said.

  “No charge.”

  He stared at her latex pants and managed a smile. “You look very festive tonight.”

  “This is my come-to-a-shithole-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-play-nurse outfit.”

  “I would expect nothing less for four hundred bucks.”

  “Five. Or I go home now.”

  “Just kidding, Roxie. I appreciate you coming down here.”

  “Sucking up won’t lower the price.”

  Black shrugged. “I can always try.”

  “Well, at least something good came out of this,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Your pimp suit will get retired. About fifty years too late.”

  “It’s not a pimp suit,” Black protested.

  “If it was any more pimp, you’d be carrying a walking stick and wearing a wide-brim hat.”

  “I’ve got the hat.”

  “I rest my case.” She made a face. “You look like you lost a fight. Want to tell me about it?”

  Black filled her in as they made their way back to the office he’d commandeered. He held the door open for her, and she stopped just inside when she saw the cat carrier. “Mugsy’s here?”

  Black sighed. “Depends on what you mean by here.”

  She gave him her most lethal squint eye. “What does that mean?”

  “He escaped. Flew the coop. Ran for the hills.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “Cue the cheesy laugh track.”

  “How?”

  Black explained about Mary. “Which brings me to why you’re here. As you know, the victim, Alec Strong, was killed by an axe blow to the back early yesterday evening.”

  “Can we fast-forward?”

  “He was an IT guy. I’m investigating the murder for the owner of Home World and need to know what’s on the computers.”

  “Why?”

  “In case he had anything in his files that would give us a clue as to who offed him.”

  “Like a folder marked, If Murdered, Click Here?”

  “That would be great.”

  “I’m kidding.”

  “I picked up on that.”

  “So what am I looking for?”

  “Anything suspicious.”

  She turned to him. “Like a treasure map? Skull and crossbones? Seriously.”

  “I don’t have anything else, Roxie. I need you to poke around. There might be something on the system.”

  “Right. Because everyone stores confidential files on a publicly accessible server.”

  “It’s protected. The way Mary explained it, there are different access levels depending on the password.”

  “Why don’t you get the owner’s password?”

  Black stared at her with his mouth open. “I…”

  “You didn’t think of calling him?”

  “I did call. I just didn’t ask for the master password.”

  “Dare I say d’oh? And he’s paying you in real money? Or glass beads?”

  “Let me ask him.” Black removed the phone from his pocket and was relieved to see that it wasn’t damaged, although his cigarettes felt like they’d been flattened. Probably just as well, he thought, as Larry’s line rang.

  “Yes?” Larry answered.

  “My computer person’s here. I need your master password.”

  “I’ve bee
n thinking about this. I’m not comfortable with a stranger rooting around in our system. I’m sorry, Black, you’re going to have to make this work without our server.”

  “But you agreed…”

  “And then I considered it, and decided against it. Which I get to do since I’m the boss,” Jacobs said, his voice hard.

  “I’m not coming up with much through the interview process,” Black warned. “The system may be our only real shot at catching a break.”

  “I understand that. But you can’t indemnify me if your person screws something up. And if we lose the records, that could be disastrous. We haven’t backed up the day’s data – there’s nobody to do it now that Alec’s gone.”

  “Larry, please reconsider.”

  “I just told you. I did. It’s off the table.”

  “Then don’t expect much. It’ll be hard to do the job with one hand tied behind my back.”

  “Do the best you can. I don’t expect miracles.”

  Jacobs terminated the call, and Black shook his head. “Damn. He said no go.”

  “But…you’re already in the system,” she said, fiddling with the mouse, her eyes glued to the screen.

  “Yeah, but that’s only the personnel area.”

  “That might be enough.”

  “Really?”

  “Just kidding. You’re F-d.”

  “Damn.”

  She sat back. “Only not. I think I can do it.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  Black exhaled noisily. “Why are you screwing with me?”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked innocently. “Got my five hundred dollars?”

  “Of course.”

  “Now’s where you slap it into my hand.”

  “Roxie, come on. I’m good for it.”

  “This seems like it’s got multiplexing geo-filtered nano-algorithms in the data sequence. Hmm. Hmmmmm.”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  She switched to a passable Scottish brogue. “It means the engines are gonna blow, Captain! I don’t know how long I can keep ’em together!”

  “Very funny, Roxie. Quite entertaining. If music doesn’t work out, you can do stand-up.”

  “I’m doing stand-up. My rate is five hundred smackers. Payable in advance.”