Three-Day Weekends are Murder

by Rayna Morgan

  “One last thing,” Tom said. He took a shot in the dark. “There are rumblings about problems with your latest drug. Any response?”

  The puzzled look on Mark’s face seemed genuine. “Our new antibiotic? That’s our super star. No problems whatsoever.”

  “No negative testing; no signs of inferior quality?”

  “None. If you have doubts, I’m happy to provide full disclosure on anything you have questions about. My company is an open book.”

  “So everything is kosher? That’s good to hear.”

  “The drug is meeting all the sales expectations in the first five cities. We couldn’t be more pleased. In fact, we’re having a launch party tomorrow night for its nationwide roll-out.” He looked amused. “It’s more like a dog and pony show for the media, but don’t tell my wife. She made most of the arrangements.”

  He reached in his desk and pulled out an envelope. “Please come. Here’s an invitation with the time and place. It will be an opportunity to get answers to questions you might have.”

  “That’s nice of you, but—”

  “No, I insist. I’ll put you on the guest list. Will there be a plus one?”

  Tom shifted in his chair.

  “Don’t worry, detective. Dress is casual. You don’t strike me as a person who enjoys formal attire. I don’t either, but my wife gets us into things. Too often, in my opinion.”

  Tom put the envelope in his pocket. “Thanks, I’ll try to make it. One last thing. I’d like to speak to Glen Jacobson. Can you arrange that?”

  Mark grabbed a ring of keys from his desk. “I happen to know where he is today. I’ll lead the way.”

  He looked at Tom as they left his office. “I should warn you. If you’re planning to interrupt Glen at what he’s doing, you better be right about it being a matter of life and death.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Do you play golf, Lieutenant?”

  * * *

  As Tom followed Mark Anderson along a road parallel to the freeway, he pressed a button on the phone mounted on the dashboard.

  “Lea, it’s Tom. I got your message about Simpson. What did his wife say?”

  “He hasn’t been home since Friday. She says he’s gone fishing, but I think he’s knee deep in more than wading boots.”

  “I met with his boss and found out something interesting.”

  “I thought you were talking to him tomorrow.”

  “I figured it would be better to do it today, less chance of my replacement finding out I’m butting into his case.”

  He told her about John’s promotion to partner.

  “That’s more than interesting,” Lea agreed. “What time did you say he got the news?”

  “Mid-afternoon.”

  “After he gave the file to Eric,” Lea noted.

  “Exactly. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Sadly, yes. The monetary rewards of being a partner may have outweighed moral obligations. He wanted the information back from Eric so his firm would never know he’d been willing to blow the whistle.”

  “All the more reason we need proof the file exists,” Tom said. “Until we get our hands on that file or John, we don’t know if Eric is telling the truth.”

  “That’s my other news. Maddy retrieved a copy of the file and sent it to Eric. She’s got it on a flash drive. Should I send it to you when I get it?”

  “You can send it to me, but it’s not my jurisdiction. The information needs to come from John or Eric. One of them needs to contact the Securities and Exchange Commission.”

  Mark Anderson’s car slowed in front of a sign showing a golf course a mile to the right. An arm reached out the window and waved. Tom beeped acknowledgment and Mark drove away.

  Tom turned onto the unpaved road and continued his conversation. “We don’t know if John being off the grid signifies guilt over being a whistle-blower—”

  “Or guilt over being a murderer.”

  “It’s time to find out,” Tom said. “We need to know if John went to get the file back after he found out about his promotion. I’ll get Fisher to review the security tapes from the hotel. If we’re lucky, they have cameras in the halls and we’ll see John at Eric’s room. We should at least be able to place him at the hotel. If we can put him at the scene of the crime, I’ll have Pat put out an all-points bulletin.”

  “I thought you were off the case.”

  “No one at the precinct knows these cases might be related. For now, that’s working in our favor.”

  “If you bring him in, can you keep his boss from finding out?” Lea asked. “I’d hate to jeopardize John’s promotion and get him fired if he's uncovered as a whistle-blower.”

  “Go back and tell Adele to convince her husband to talk with us. At this point, he’s not a murder suspect. We can meet and have this conversation off-the-record. His boss will never know. But this window of opportunity closes as soon as I see what Maddy found.”

  “I understand.”

  “D & M is having a launch party tomorrow night for their new drug. I’ve been invited. If I don’t have my hands on Simpson by then, I’m hoping he’ll show up at the party. If I don’t make contact there, I’ll get a warrant for his arrest.”

  “I hope I can convince Adele so that won’t be necessary.”

  “You have until tomorrow night. It will go a lot easier if he cooperates.”

  “Thanks, Tom. I’ll do my best.”

  “Have you talked to Maddy today?” Tom asked.

  “Yeah, haven’t you? You two seemed civil at dinner last night. Is your relationship still wobbly?”

  “What do you think the chances are that she’ll go to this shindig with me?”

  “For crying out loud!” Lea groaned. “This is worse than when we were in high school and guys asked if they thought my sister would go out with them.”

  “Forget I asked. I’ll find out myself,” Tom replied curtly. “But, Lea, a word of caution.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I can’t guarantee that no one will find out about John’s plan to blow the whistle, and I can’t guarantee his safety if someone does.”

  “I get your drift.”

  “Besides, John may have already created a bigger problem for himself in that regard.”

  “What do you mean?” Lea asked.

  “If someone is caught tipping an outsider with material information, that tipster can be found liable for insider trading.”

  “It seems his good intention is turning into a nightmare.”

  “Good intentions sometimes do that,” Tom agreed. “It shouldn’t stop a person from doing the right thing.”

  * * *

  Tom entered the clubhouse. In contrast to a full parking lot, the building was empty except for a young man wearing a golf shirt with the name Fairview Country Club.

  “May I help you, sir?” the employee asked, when Tom caught his attention.

  “I’m looking for Glen Jacobson.”

  “Mr. Jacobson is on the course,” the attendant responded eagerly, happy to be of service.

  “I assumed that. I don’t suppose there’s a way to get hold of him.”

  The young man pondered the question. “He comes into the lounge for a drink and a snack at the turn.”

  “Good. When will that be?”

  “I’m not sure. You can check his tee time in the pro shop.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

  Tom walked across to the pro shop and approached the man behind the counter. “I’m trying to hook up with Glen Jacobson.”

  “His foursome is on the course.”

  “When will he be in the clubhouse?”

  The pro peered at Tom in a manner meant to make non-members feel out of place. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Tom pulled out his shield. “How about you tell me what time he teed off.”

  The man checked a computer before replying sullenly, “A little over two hours ago.”

  “Good. T
hey should finish the front nine about now.”

  Tom left the pro shop without bothering to thank the man. He entered the lounge and took a seat at the bar. The same employee who directed him to the pro shop scurried behind the counter.

  “What can I get for you, sir?”

  “Iced tea is fine.”

  The young man filled a glass and placed it in front of Tom. “Did you get the information you were after?”

  “Jacobson should come any minute. Can you point him out for me?”

  “You won’t have any trouble spotting him. He’s the guy with a big beak, bald head, and loud laugh.” He pointed to a table next to the window. “He always sits at the same table. He likes to be where he can watch the action on the course.”

  “Thanks for your help. That looks like him now.”

  Tom stared to the front where four men clamored out of golf carts. They were laughing and giving each other high fives. One of them fit the description to a tee.

  The men entered the room, pulling off their visors and sunglasses. Three of them took seats at the table near the window.

  “Bring us a round, Johnny. And some tamales. I’m buying,” the bald-headed man called loudly. He headed out of the lounge. “I’m going to make sure Eddie records my hole-in-one in the register.”

  Tom cut the man off before he reached the pro shop. “Mr. Jacobson,” Tom said, displaying his credentials. “Do you have a moment?”

  The man looked surprised and not at all pleased. “What’s this about? I’m in the middle of a game.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  The man expressed a delayed reaction to Tom’s badge. “What’s happened; Marge, the kids, are they okay?”

  “This has to do with business, sir. There’s someone at your company we’re trying to locate.”

  Impatience replaced Glen’s concern. “Can’t this wait? I hate to lose my momentum.”

  He called over Tom’s shoulder. “Hole-in-one, Eddie. Write me up. Hole Six.”

  “Congrats, man!” Eddie shouted back.

  Tom’s patience was wearing thin. Mark Anderson was right to warn him about Jacobson’s probable reaction. He directed the man toward the entrance.

  “What’s the urgency, Detective?”

  “John Simpson. I need to locate him. Do you know his whereabouts? Have you heard from him this weekend?”

  “Simpson? Why should I hear from him? We hardly speak.”

  “What’s the reason?”

  “For what, that Simpson and I don’t talk? Why would we? He’s a bean-counter.” Disdain rang in every syllable. “I’m the director of product development, but I assume you know my position with the company.”

  “I’m aware of your title. I’m also aware that you and the bean-counter had a falling out over one of your new products.”

  Jacobson bristled. “What exactly is your business here, Lieutenant? Are you looking for someone or questioning my job performance?”

  “Why would I do that? I understand your new product has doubled the value of the stock.”

  “It’s also put D & M Pharmaceuticals back on the map as a leader in the industry.”

  “You neglected to brag about what the drug has done to save lives. Or is that of little consequence?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” the man spat. “That’s what we’re in business to do. But I answer to shareholders as well as users of our products. My predecessor was unconcerned about that fiduciary responsibility. The company suffered accordingly. Under my direction, the relationship with our investors has been restored.”

  Tom expected the man to thump his chest. “So there were no problems with the latest product? No negative news to report?”

  Jacobson’s eyes clouded. His visage became impenetrable.

  They both turned at the sound of someone hollering. “C’mon, Glen. Quit gloating and let’s hit the back nine.”

  “I’m sorry, sergeant, or is it lieutenant?” Jacobson said. He smoothed a leather glove onto his hand. “I have no more time. Make an appointment to see me at my office if it’s necessary, but I’m sure there’s nothing more for us to discuss.”

  Tom stared at the retreating figure, noting his final words with satisfaction. “I missed my drink and snack,” the man grumbled as he walked toward the carts.

  * * *

  Tom met Paul at the racquetball club. “I reserved a court. Our room will be open in ten minutes.”

  “Did you put us down for thirty minutes or an hour?”

  “An hour. I need to work off excess energy.”

  “Energy or frustration?” Paul asked.

  “Both.”

  “How’s the case going? Or should I say Cranston’s case, since you’re not supposed to be working it?”

  “I’m making headway, but I'm not sure what direction I’m moving in. Toward more clarification or more confusion.”

  “You reach this juncture in every case,” Paul reminded him.

  “You’re right, but I could use your input about now.”

  “Glad to help any way I can.”

  “Mark Anderson. The CEO of D & M Pharmaceuticals. Know anything about him?”

  “I figured you’d ask me that at some point in this investigation. I met Mark when his father hired me a couple of years ago to buy a building. I’ve run into Mark on one or two occasions since, when I have to do the arts and charity stuff Lea gets us into.”

  “What sort of business does his father have?”

  “He’s a surgeon. But the building wasn’t for his medical practice.”

  “What then?”

  “To house his vintage cars.”

  “I probably don’t want to hear the answer, but how big a building did he need?”

  “Let’s just say I earned a sizable commission.”

  “What’s the old man like?”

  “Tough as nails,” Paul replied. “He’s in surgery all the time, so he doesn’t require a bedside manner. His own father was far from wealthy. The good doctor doesn’t mind telling you that he paid his own way through medical school. From what I’ve heard, he’s a shrewd investor and has built a large fortune.”

  “Mark didn’t follow his father into the medical profession.”

  “No, but being in pharmaceuticals gives him more in common with his old man than his siblings.”

  “Will Mark inherit the family fortune?”

  “If he stays in his father’s good graces. Like I say, there are other siblings in the picture.”

  “You think it’s difficult for Mark to stay in daddy’s good graces?”

  “Mark’s got big shoes to fill in terms of the family’s public image. Not a position I’d care to be in. His father has a low tolerance for mistakes, and no tolerance at all for failure.”

  “Interesting,” Tom said, stretching his racquet over his head. “Mark may not be as easy-going and transparent as he’d like me to believe.”

  “It looks like they finished their game,” Paul said. He nodded toward the court.

  Tom dropped to his knees to tie a shoelace. “Have you seen Maddy today?” he asked, without looking up.

  “Why are you asking me? I don’t keep tabs on my sister-in-law.”

  “Do you think she and I are okay? This stuff with Eric is like dodging land mines. I need to invite her to a thing tomorrow night. Do you think she’ll go?”

  Paul swatted Tom with his towel. “The version I get from Lea is biased, but from what I hear, if there’s anything wrong with the relationship, it’s your fault.”

  “I take that to mean it’s not a good idea to invite Maddy.”

  They entered the court and threw their equipment bags on the floor.

  “I never know where I stand with her,” Tom grumbled.

  “Get used to the feeling, pal. It doesn’t go away.”

  “I don’t like not being in control.”

  “You’re going to have to get over that,” Paul told him. “Love is one area where control doesn’t apply, especially for
us guys.”

  “You seem to be on top of your marriage.”

  “Are you kidding! All I know for sure is that Lea and I love each other, and that we’re always there for each other. Beyond that, I never know what to expect.”

  “But you’ve got Lea figured out.”

  “The words ‘figured out’ and Lea don’t belong in the same sentence.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Adele was unloading groceries when Lea pulled into the driveway. She looked up as Lea approached. “Did you forget something?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you again, but we need to talk.”

  “I’m a little busy. Could you come back—”

  Lea grabbed a bag of produce from the trunk. “Let me help. What I have to say can’t wait.”

  Setting the groceries on the kitchen table, Adele pushed a bucket with her foot. “Let me move this stuff out of the way. I was cleaning the floor earlier.”

  She picked up a toothbrush, rinsed it, and placed it under the sink before storing a bottle of bleach and a box of baking soda in the cupboard. When she saw Lea’s quizzical expression, she offered an explanation. “John doesn’t think a mop gets the grout clean enough.”

  Is that Adele’s obsession? What sort of man is that picky about housecleaning?

  As soon as they got the last bag in the kitchen, Lea presented her case. “I wasn’t completely candid with you this morning.”

  Adele motioned Lea to take a chair and removed her sweater. There was a small black and blue mark on her arm above the elbow. “Do you mind?” she asked, pointing at the groceries.

  “Go ahead,” Lea answered. She watched Adele transfer lettuce to the refrigerator. “The problem I alluded to earlier…”

  “Your sister wanting to get her ex out of town.”

  “It involves the place where your husband works.”

  Adele paused, a milk carton in her hand. “Oh, does your sister’s ex work there, too?”

  “No, it concerns an exchange of information between him and your husband.”

  Adele carried canned goods to the pantry and lined them neatly on the shelves. “I don’t know much about John’s business.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I want you to convince your husband to talk to us about it.”

  “Us?” Adele asked, placing bags of frozen corn in the freezer.