by G. K. Parks
The more helpful tidbit was the cap on the ransom insurance policy was set at two million. That’s how the money was so swiftly and efficiently placed into the duffel bag and taken to the exchange. It’s also probably why the sum was doubled after the shootout at the exchange. The Estes had assets, but another two million liquid was beyond their capabilities.
“They could liquidate enough stocks and sell more shares of their company,” Kate Hartley, forensic accountant, was discussing some possible options. “They could conceivably have the additional two million in a couple or three weeks.”
“So who is benefitting by the kidnappers delay strategy?” I asked, but Kate shrugged. And I sighed loudly. “Which is easier to trace, big blocks of gold or cash?”
“Depends on a number of factors,” she wanted to be helpful, but her answers led me in circles, “if it’s cash, there’s a possibility of marked bills, but it’s easy enough to distribute them around. Then again, maybe they want bearer bonds or wire transfers or…” I put my hand up, and she stopped midsentence.
“I got it. Keep those accounts flagged. If anything major disappears, let me know.”
“You got it, Parker.” She smiled as I retreated from her office. Before I made it out of the building, I bumped into Mark, who was on his way in.
“Any luck on finding O’Connell’s niece?” he asked.
“No, but I think I’m finally in bed with Mercer.”
“I’m so proud,” he replied sardonically. “I wish I could be more help, but,” he lowered his voice, “middle of an op.”
“I understand. Heathcliff, Thompson, and I are working off the books anyway. The PD’s put a PR spin on things so the public doesn’t panic, and everyone who didn’t work directly with O’Connell is busting their ass to figure this thing out.” Mark pressed his lips together in thought.
“The Bureau’s backing them. It was Director Kendall’s call, but we’re assisting in the evidence analysis and collection. The family still doesn’t want any federal agents within a couple hundred feet of their house because they’re scared.”
“Scared, not grieving?” Winter must have made contact, or Mark’s information was wrong.
“Scared.” He nodded almost imperceptibly and continued down the corridor. I took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, saying a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening. I wasn’t sure how Mark came upon his information, but if Peter and Evelyn were scared, then Catherine was definitely alive. Time wasn’t up, yet.
On my drive home, I analyzed everything Kate and Mark said. At home, I updated our wall of information, checked the answering machine, and even though it was after midnight, I called Thompson. He answered right before it switched over to voicemail.
“Parker,” he said in a hushed tone, “is everything okay?”
“Jablonsky hinted Catherine’s alive. I was hoping you could verify.”
He chuckled. “Yes.” His response was barely audible. “There was a new POL sent this morning. Polaroid photo. O’Connell got a call from Evelyn a couple of hours ago. I can’t talk now,” he said quickly, “I’m with Nick.”
“Okay. We’ll exchange information later.”
And he hung up without so much as a good-bye. At least he had an excuse for not calling with the information; he was still babysitting his partner. On the plus side, Catherine was alive. I didn’t kill her.
An unknown amount of time passed while I sat at my kitchen counter with my face buried in my hands, completely overcome by this fact. When I looked up, the weight was no longer bearing down on my chest. I earned some breathing room.
The guilt-induced fog cleared out of my brain, and I dug through the paperwork, looking for the forensic report on the leukoreduced blood. If the Four Seasons used donor blood, then it had to come from a hospital, clinic, or blood bank. Find the source and we’d find the thieves.
Scanning the databases, news reports, and any other possible source I could think of, I was determined to come up with a solid, irrefutable lead. The sun was up before I found anything useful. Apparently a free health clinic reported a break-in four days ago. Basic medical supplies, blankets, and towels were stolen. It wasn’t considered a priority by the police since it was in the ghetto and no narcotics or other control substances were lifted.
A key scraped in my lock, and I jumped and lifted my nine millimeter, waiting. Thompson and Heathcliff came in, and I immediately laid my gun on the table. “Morning,” Heathcliff offered. He looked the most rested out of the three of us, but that didn’t mean his eyes didn’t possess their own little bags to carry their fatigue around in. “You’re up early.”
“You mean I’m up late,” I countered. “Thompson, an update would be most beneficial.” I gave him my winning smile, and he grunted on the way to the coffeemaker.
“Coffee would be beneficial,” he glared at the empty pot. “What I have counts as a miracle.”
“Even better.”
“The Cales worked themselves into a tizzy. The Four Seasons are no longer demanding two million.” He dug through my cabinets for coffee. “Apparently the bull-headed negotiator emphasized the point they didn’t have that kind of money.”
“At least I’m good for something.” I watched as he searched the cabinet. “Second shelf and the water comes out of the faucet.”
“Thanks, smartass.” He dumped some coffee into the filter without measuring and filled the pot. “They have yet to make an actual demand, but no cops, no agents, and no outsiders involved or else.”
“But they told O’Connell,” Heathcliff piped up from his spot in front of my wall. “Or was he granted special clearance since he’s such a great guy?” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on me, but Thompson ignored it.
“Either Nick isn’t telling me what they want, or they haven’t decided what they want yet,” Thompson concluded as the coffee began to drip, and he pulled a mug from the drain board.
“What’s your read on the situation?” I asked.
“O’Connell told me and only me.” He threw warning glances at me and Heathcliff. “It doesn’t leave this room. Whatever his sis wants to do, I’m sure he’s helping in any way possible, but I’d bet they’re jumping through hoops to satisfy all the stipulations these sons-of-bitches are throwing around. All three of them, Nick included.”
“Then what the hell are we doing?” Heathcliff asked. He hadn’t forgiven Nick’s outburst, and I rolled my eyes at how juvenile men could be.
“We will figure out who these people are, what they want, and bring them down,” I responded. With Catherine alive, Mercer playing ball, and my former OIO brethren sharing information, I was ready to blow this mother out of the water.
“It’s about damn time,” Heathcliff grinned, and I told the two detectives everything I learned in the last twenty-four hours.
“Let’s divide and conquer.” Thompson was taking charge, and I had no desire to argue. “Heathcliff and I can investigate the clinic. It is official police business, and Moretti has everyone so wrapped up in the kidnapping, I doubt they’ve given this much thought. You,” he pressed his lips together, trying to come up with something productive, “have to wait for Mercer’s call. If you can get inside the Estes’ house and close to Santino, then do it. In the meantime, you’re stuck waiting for more information or something to follow-up.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep,” Heathcliff suggested, but I stared at my empty mug. That no longer seemed like a possibility, at least until the caffeine wore off.
“I’ll go back over everything. Maybe we missed something.” Waiting was always the hard part. Heathcliff and Thompson left for another fun-filled day at the office, and I worked my way through the reports, our suspect list, the financial records, and the few phone records that my hacker friends ‘accidentally’ ran across.
From my perusal, I felt reassured that Adalina Estes was the intended target. Whoever was responsible for her abduction had to be close to the Estes family and know the goings and
comings of the household. Estobar Santino had the access, the knowledge, and probably a decent enough alibi to keep official suspicion off of him. Good thing nothing I did was ever official. Assuming Bastian’s analysis of the situation was accurate, Catherine was taken to ensure police involvement and squelch any official concerns the insurance firm might have. Through my reasoning, it was also the best way to keep the police at bay. Sure, abducting O’Connell’s niece would lead to a full-scale investigation, but it also meant the police would be even more cautious because they couldn’t risk Catherine becoming a casualty. It was almost the perfect scenario.
I shut the last folder and paced my apartment. We knew why Catherine was one of the victims, why the third abductee, Sonia Casanov, was released so swiftly, and we knew where the girls were taken from. It was a start. Maybe a late start but still a start. At least we had some strong indications of who was involved, and if Mercer could get me into the house, I was sure I could find something to stick to Santino.
Slumping down in front of the computer, I wasn’t sure what to do. As Thompson determined, there wasn’t anything for me to do until someone called with a lead or more information. I considered sleeping, but too many cups of strong coffee and facts turning over and over in my mind weren’t conducive to sleep. I considered going for a run because that was the best way to clear my head, but I didn’t want to add to my own fatigue with everything hanging so precariously in the balance. Instead, I opened the folder I received from Francesca Pirelli and decided to find a more civil topic to focus on.
Twenty-six
Hover Designs created the schematics used in designing household fixtures, everything from toilet bowls to cabinets. They were a well-established home décor and hardware corporation which was surprising since Francesca didn’t strike me as the hardhat type. Then again, corporate bigwigs were about as far removed from the real work as one could get, and although she was the chief operating officer, I was sure she spent her days behind a nice big mahogany desk, signing paperwork and attending meetings. At some point, COOs and CEOs were all interchangeable; I’d just have to remember not to share that insight with Martin.
The management consulting firm, Insight International, was hired to evaluate the cost-efficiency of Hover Designs and the best ways to allocate resources. In other words, they were hired to cut the fat. It was a shitty job, but one many large corporations valued. It was nice to pass the blame for why a hard worker was getting fired on to an outsider. Excuses such as “we value your work but your department is no longer necessary” seem much nicer than “we’re cheap assholes who don’t want to pay you”. Corporate America, I cringed at the prospect. The lovely four-man team from Insight International had total access to all of HD’s financial information and upcoming projects. This was standard operating procedure, but a week after Insight International was dismissed, the new designs for HD’s upcoming countertop revolution were leaked.
Timing has a habit of being everything, and I sifted through the information concerning the new countertop construction, materials, and specifications. A countertop was a countertop to me, but apparently these were light-weight, cost-effective, constructed from recycled materials that could mimic the look of either granite or ivory, and were meant to be more durable, eco-friendly, and supplied at a fraction of the cost, making them the envy of both high-end builders and numerous government contractors. Who knew countertops could be so lucrative?
I ran background on Insight International. The management consulting firm had been in business for over a decade, and there were no complaints about the firm or its workers. Blowing out a breath, I ran criminal records on the four-man team. What the hell was up with everyone functioning in four-man teams? Craig Robinson was the leader and had no discernible criminal record. The other three members, Paige Augusta, Cynthia Dowes, and Jeremiah Little, were equally clean.
Dialing MT, I asked HR if they had any dealings with Insight International, but they did not. I didn’t want to risk confusing the OIO with any more requests when it was imperative they track Catherine’s kidnappers. Instead, I considered my limited options and found Maddock Howell’s business card in my wallet. “What the hell,” I muttered, dialing.
“Howell speaking,” he answered, sounding just as sleazy as he did the night we met.
“Mr. Howell, this is Alexis Parker. We met at a conference a week and a half ago.”
“Ah, yes, Ms. Parker, lovely to hear from you. Have you reconsidered my offer?
“Perhaps,” playing along might be the only way to get the information I needed, “I was concerned about a potential conflict of interest. In the event I seriously consider the possibility of a job at Wallace-Klineman Industries, I need to know if your company has ever employed a management consulting firm?”
“I’m not sure how that would impact you in any manner.” Howell wasn’t as pliable as I hoped.
“Let me put it this way, Mr. Howell.”
“Maddock, please.”
“Maddock, I’d be willing to meet for drinks or take an interview or whatever it is you want to do to try to woo me, but I’d like an immediate quid pro quo.”
“I’d love to woo you, but we’ll see.” He sounded skeptical. “What were you hoping for in exchange?”
“Have you ever worked with Insight International?” I could hear him clicking away at the keyboard.
“We haven’t used them. Not much for a quid pro quo,” he commented.
“Come on, Maddock, you’re a well-connected man. I’m sure your ear’s to the ground. Have you ever heard anything less than stellar about the firm?”
“Let’s meet for drinks. I assume you’re back at the flagship MT building, and I’ll be in your neck of the woods next weekend. It must be kismet.” Agreeing didn’t guarantee I’d show up. “As a sign of good faith,” he stopped typing, “I’ve just e-mailed you all the corporate information Wallace-Klineman has compiled on Insight International. Although we’ve never used them, we did consider hiring them at one point. I hope you will find this beneficial.”
“Thank you. Drinks next weekend. E-mail me the details.”
“I just did.” And he hung up. As I tried to determine how he had access to my e-mail address, I realized he e-mailed my corporate MT account. Just what I needed, a job offer at my current place of employment. Thankfully, I was the security consultant and dating the boss; it really didn’t matter.
Skimming through the data Howell sent, I found a mug shot of Craig Robinson. Although official charges were never filed, he had been arrested for drunk and disorderly and possession. The charges were dropped, and I suspected he paid off some unsavory official to look the other way. Maybe there was more than meets the eye when it came to Insight International.
Insight International had a stellar reputation for getting companies out of the red and into the black. The tactics they employed were cutthroat but cost-effective. They were a small organization with an estimated ten to twenty evaluation teams. These teams each consisted of four to six individuals who were trained to evaluate PR proposals, marketing, worker/department efficiency, and the overall health of a company. It was amazing the types of things this firm could do.
When Hover Designs hired them, they signed the boilerplate nondisclosure clauses and were given access to any information they requested. While Hover Designs was one of the few companies not in the red, their profit margin stagnated. The new countertop design was meant to make their stocks soar. The new production line would open up hundreds of new employee positions, a few new factories, and earn the one-percenters another zero on their bonus checks.
Craig Robinson’s team was sent by Insight International because of their expertise in marketing strategies. These four individuals specialized in maximizing exposure and advertising while minimizing cost and preventing overspending for a project that had yet to produce any viable profits. On the surface, it all looked cogent.
Although I signed the same nondisclosures, I was only seeing what was meant
to happen. This was based solely on the proposals drawn up by Insight International. I lacked the files and resources to evaluate what the management consulting firm sifted through. Placing a call to Ms. Pirelli, I asked for a log of the files Robinson’s team accessed during the course of their evaluation. Since getting this information would take some time and finesse on Francesca’s part, I decided to analyze Insight International’s findings concerning the countertops and their profitability.
By the third page of the one hundred and seventeen page evaluation, my eyelids began to droop. Soldiering on, by the eleventh page, I ran across the name of Hover Designs’ marketing executive, Liam Naysley. Insight International cautioned that the numbers Naysley produced on the profitability of the proposed marketing campaign were substantially off. After comparing the Insight International prediction to Naysley’s, I decided to run a full background on him. After entering in a few key search terms, I leaned back in the chair, waiting for the criminal and financial records to pop up.
The phone rang, and I jumped. Grabbing for it, I noticed it was almost six p.m. I had fallen asleep while my computer ran the search. At least corporate files were good for something, namely putting me to sleep.
“Parker,” my voice came out hoarse.
“Heathcliff and I have the surveillance tapes from the clinic. Get this, along with the other supplies, there were five pints of blood taken from the cooler. They assumed it was some teenagers vandalizing or a gang initiation since there was nothing of any real value taken. The drugs were all locked up and no signs of tampering on the lock. Just basic supplies.”
“Pillows, blankets, general first-aid?” I asked.
“Yep. The kinds of things you might need if you’re keeping a couple of kids hostage,” Thompson added. “We’re getting some IT guys and lab techs together to see if we can get an I.D.”
