by S J Grey
Caleb was on shaky ground. “You might be mistaken?”
She spun on her toes and peeked up at him. “Did he say anything to you? If he did, I need you to tell me.”
Yeah, like that was going to happen. He slung an arm around her shoulders. “I got nothing. Now pick me some amazing donuts.” It was at best a lame attempt to change the subject. He could tell from the suspicion in her eyes that she didn’t believe him, and that sucked. Hurting Emma was wrong on so many levels. He could only hope Mark was mistaken about what lay waiting for him.
Chapter Six
The ride back into the city was quick, and Caleb was lucky enough to find a parking space near his office. He locked his spare helmet away, and he and Emma walked to his office, She insisted on carrying the box of donuts.
They talked about Nicole’s video some more. The quality of it nagged at Caleb.
“What’s the chance of that video being for real?” he asked.
Emma’s step faltered. “She’s married.”
“That’s never stopped anyone before.”
“Yes, but she’s Nicole Golden. She sells the concept of her perfect private life. She’s one of New Zealand’s key social-media influencers. She’s not the type to have sex with two men in a hotel room—and film it.”
“Wait. What?” Something slotted into place in Caleb’s brain. “Why did you say it was filmed in a hotel room?” They’d reached the elevator in Caleb’s block. He pressed the button and turned to face Emma.
She frowned. “Nic mentioned it. When she told me about the video. Why? Is it important?”
“It might be.” How did Nicole know where it was filmed? Was that a guess? Or was there some hint in the background that Caleb missed earlier? He needed to watch it again.
Devin looked flustered when they entered the cramped office. “That journalist—Delilah—came by again. She said she had an appointment with you.”
Great. Just what Caleb needed, to make his day brighter. “She didn’t. Please, tell me she’s not waiting in my office.”
“Well, duh.” Devin scowled. “Give me some credit. She went to fetch you a coffee. She’ll be back any minute.”
“Wow,” said Emma behind him. “Now I see why you needed so many donuts.”
“Someone mention donuts?” Jonathan lifted his head. “Hey, Emma. How are you?”
“Good, thanks.” She held out the carton. “Will you take these, please? Caleb bought you a treat, but I need to get back to work.”
“Awesome. You went to The Donut King.” Jonathan lifted the lid with something like reverence. “Are you coming to work on our team? We need some glamour around here. Please, say yes.”
The other guys gathered around, noise levels high as they picked their choices.
Her cheeks pink, Emma laughed. “Hell no. I’m not going to be your token female.”
“That reminds me,” said Caleb to Devin. “I’ve hired a consultant, and I need you to draw up the paperwork. Andi Redmond.”
“Okay.” Devin nodded, but his attention was on the box of cakes.
“Andi with an i. She’s starting today. You need to make space for her as well.”
“Okay, boss.”
“I need to get to work. I’ll see you later,” said Emma. “Before I forget, I’m having dinner at Mum’s tonight, and she and Dad invited you, too. I’ll text you later.” She gave him a fleeting hug and left.
“I came at the right time.” A husky female voice from the open doorway caught everyone’s attention. An unfamiliar blonde stood there, two cardboard trays of steaming paper cups in her hands. “Mr. Rush, I’m pleased to finally meet you.” She sauntered in and handed the drinks to one of the team. “They’re all labelled.”
Alarm bells rang in Caleb’s head. Was this the journalist?
“I’m Delilah Berry.” She held out a hand to him. “Thank you for making time for me. Your guy here told me how you take your coffee.” She glanced at Devin. “Flat white with an extra shot and two sugars. Right?”
Caleb gave Devin a murderous glare. They were having words later. “Thanks for the coffee, but this was a wasted journey on your part. I’m not talking to you.”
Delilah’s eyebrows rose. “Your assistant called me and scheduled this appointment. I don’t mind hanging around, if you’re in the middle of something.”
“Hang on,” said Devin. “I didn’t.”
“No,” said Delilah. “It was a woman. Nicole, I think she called herself.”
–the fuck? Was Caleb still asleep and dreaming this scene? He pinched the back of his hand. It hurt. “You’d better come on through.” He strode the four paces to his office.
Devin hastened after him, coffee in his hand, and Delilah followed.
Caleb waited until Devin had left, the door closed behind him, before he spoke. “I don’t have an assistant called Nicole. What did she say, exactly?”
If Delilah’s eyebrows rose any higher, they’d disappear into space. “Really? She sounded convincing.”
“Was it a voicemail, or did you speak to her?”
“She called me yesterday afternoon. The number was unlisted, but that’s not unusual in Wellington.” Delilah lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “She said you’d changed your mind about talking to me, and that I’d catch you this morning.”
Was she lying? “And she definitely said her name was Nicole?”
“Yes. I wrote it down. I’m an old-school journalist, Mr. Rush. I keep notes using pen and paper.”
“Did she leave a number to call her back on?”
“No. I asked, but she didn’t give me one. Just said she had to go, and hung up.”
What were the odds of Nicole Golden doing this? Close enough to nil to discount it as an option. That meant it was someone pretending to be her, which meant someone knew she’d spoken to Caleb. He needed to talk to her again, and soon. This whole saga stunk.
“While I’m here, can we talk for a few minutes?” Delilah claimed the guest chair. She had a notepad and pen in her hands, and a hopeful look on her face. She was younger than Caleb first thought. Closer to his age. The twenty-cigarettes-a-day voice and thick makeup added at least ten years. Did she intend that? It wasn’t a question he’d ever ask.
“I’m not giving you an interview. I’ve nothing to say.”
“See, that’s where we have a problem. My editor’s running a story next week, about miscarriages in the justice system. I read the transcript of your trial, and you claimed to be innocent.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Did you kill your stepfather?”
“I pled not guilty.”
“Mr. Rush, I’m trying to help you here.” She huffed a breath. “I’m on your side.”
“Really?”
“You served three years for manslaughter without a shred of evidence. It was largely bad luck that the judge presiding your trial was biased. Same with the jury. You were unlucky. A different judge, a wider cross-section of jurors, and the result could have been different.”
Caleb had to stop himself from gritting his teeth. He tried to avoid thinking about the trial. “Bad trials make news,” he said. “Headlines sell newspapers. My life was picked over in the minutest detail, for months on end. I hated my stepfather, and I won’t pretend otherwise, but I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t even there at the time. But since you’ve read the transcript, you know what I said. And if you’re any good as a journalist, you’ll have also read all the stories that followed, which means there’s nothing more I can tell you. Not one damned thing.”
His hands made tight fists. It was an effort to unclench them.
“Did you know Judge Bailey died two weeks after sentencing you?”
“No. Is it relevant?”
“Three of the jurors are also dead. Statistically, that’s improbable.”
Despite himself, he was interested. “How did they die?”
Delilah met his gaze. Her eyes sparkled. “Judge Bailey fell down the s
tairs at home. Broke his neck. Annette Marchand was the spokesperson for the jury. Thirty-one years old. She was knocked off her bicycle a few yards from home, and she hit a brick wall. Severe head injuries. She died on the operating table. Phil Jepson was twenty-two. He dropped what he thought was acid in a nightclub, but it turned out to be a synthetic hallucinogenic called N-BOMBe. What he ingested was ten times stronger than has been seen before, and he collapsed an hour later. Multiple organ failure. He was dead before he made it to the hospital.”
“You said three jurors died.”
She glanced at the notebook in her lap. “Eric Mata. Forty-nine years old. He was a lay preacher. Strictly teetotal, vegan, and never smoked a cigarette in his life. Fit as you can imagine. He was a ski instructor in the winter months. He died of heart failure, while driving a mini-bus full of his parishioners to the ski field at Mount Ruapehu.”
“Jesus. What happened to the passengers?”
“They were lucky. He careened across the road and crashed into a car going the other way, but he was the only one who died.”
Caleb pondered the information. “You don’t think they were accidental deaths?”
“What do you think, Mr. Rush?”
“I think you’re trying to make a story out of some random events.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “There’s a question you’re not asking me.”
“Go on.”
“It’s not just that three of your jurors are dead. Don’t you want to know when they died?”
Despite his better judgement, he was interested. “Go on,” he repeated.
“They all died in the same week. Two weeks after you were sentenced, four key people from your trial were all dead. Tell me that’s a coincidence.”
Caleb’s brain fritzed out at the ideas that sparked to life. “And this is the story you’re running next week?”
“No. We’re kicking off a series of detailed investigations, and the first ones are all about the inequality of sentencing guidelines. But”—she paused and leaned forward—“there’s something about your situation that stinks like a barrel of rotting fish heads. It’s partly the stuff of a B-movie—you know—where someone tries to avenge you by taking out everyone who put you behind bars, but I sense there’s more to it. Something different. And that’s why I want to talk to you. Help me tell your story. Help me put things right.”
Mark was looking into clearing Caleb’s name, and he’d sure as shit never mentioned anything like this. Or was he stringing Caleb along, to suit his own needs? Something to consider later.
“Let’s say it wasn’t a coincidence that three jurors and the judge all died within a couple of weeks,” he said. “If they were murdered—which is what you’re hinting at—then you need to be careful. What if you uncover something that puts you in the spotlight?”
“I’m an investigative journalist. I live for uncovering dirty secrets.”
“I don’t know…”
“This has been a huge brain dump, and I know it’s a lot to take in, but please think about talking to me.”
“What do you get out of it?” he asked.
She gave him a duh face. “Apart from seeing justice in action? An amazing story. The chance to be taken seriously as a journalist. Take your pick.” Delilah dug into the messenger bag at her side and pulled out a business card. She held it out to him. “Take this, and please call me. If you let me have your number, too, I can update you when I have news.”
It made sense. He let her add his number to her phone.
He saw her out and returned to his office to think. He believed Delilah when she said she took a call from someone claiming to be Nicole. Assuming it wasn’t Nicole though, who made the call? It had to be someone who’d seen her here and knew Delilah was trying to contact him. Was the office bugged? Devin was supposed to check every morning when he opened up.
Finding his assistant wasn’t hard. Devin’s desk was right by the entrance.
“Devin, did you do a sweep this morning?” Caleb knew he sounded harsh, but if they were bugged, he was severely pissed.
Devin looked up, surprise on his face. “Yes, of course.”
“And we’re clean?”
“Squeaky clean. Why?”
The other techs were peeking over their screens at him, and Caleb made a snap decision. This was supposed to be his team, so why not use them?
“Listen up,” he said. “We have a problem.”
Chapter Seven
The background noise of voices and keyboard-clicks stopped. Five people swivelled in their chairs to face him. “Nicole Golden came in yesterday morning, for an unplanned meeting. She stayed ten minutes. A few hours later, the journalist Delilah Berry received a phone call from someone claiming to be my assistant, Nicole, to schedule a meeting with me. I’m betting Nicole didn’t make that call, so my questions are—who was it, and how did she know Nicole was here or that I was avoiding Delilah?”
Caleb paused and regrouped in his head. “Devin, please do another sweep, to make sure we’re still clean, and then we’ll figure out what the fuck is going on.” And maybe he should’ve asked Devin to do the sweep before he spoke.
The room was silent as Devin swept the wand over all the surfaces and light fittings. “We’re clean,” he announced.
“Okay,” said Caleb. “Thoughts?”
Nat raised his hand. “Maybe the Blue Team is trying some underhanded tactics, to get a jump on our plans?”
Caleb nodded. “That’s a good idea, and we should guard for it, but how does it relate to this situation?”
Jonathan spoke next. “Who was here when Nicole arrived? Was that when the furniture was delivered?”
“I was the only one here, apart from Caleb and the furniture movers,” said Devin. “But it wasn’t me.”
Will joined in. “We can check the security-cam footage.”
“Do it,” said Caleb.
There was a flurry of keyboard clicks, and then Will said, “Got it.”
The team clustered around his desk. Caleb peered at the screen. Their security footage was good, as he’d expected. There was Nicole, exiting Caleb’s office through the main door. There was the brief conversation when Devin told him Delilah wanted to speak to him, while in the background two burly men hauled packing cartons of furniture inside. Could one of them be listening in?
Hang on. Was that another person just outside the open door? “Pause it,” Caleb barked, and the footage froze. He leaned closer. “There,” he said, pointing. “Who’s that?”
A guy stood in the corridor beyond the office space, his face turned away from their camera. He was there while the furniture came in, and when Nicole left. There was a good chance he heard Devin mention Delilah.
The footage ran again, and Caleb focused on what he could see of the mystery guy. At last, the man moved. He wore biker gear, a helmet dangling from one hand, but his face was turned away from the camera. A moment before he moved completely out of range, the hi-vis vest over his black leather jacket was visible. Corona Courier Services.
“Have you seen that man before?” Caleb asked Devin.
“No. And I’ve not heard of Corona either.”
“Searching for them now,” said Nat, “but they’re not showing up in Wellington. Could be a fake name.”
That right there rang alarm bells for Caleb. “Do what you can to identify him. I know you guys have access to facial-recognition software.”
“You don’t see his face,” someone muttered.
Caleb sighed. “Ours aren’t the only security cameras. Check the feed for the lobby downstairs and any neighbouring cams inside and outside the building. I want to know who he is.”
“Is this part of the exercise?” asked Will.
“Anything and everything is part of the exercise,” said Caleb. “If you want to be swapped out for someone else, let me know.”
Caleb was used to working solo or with a couple of people at most. He wasn’t cut out to lead a team and that was b
lindingly evident from the way he handled Will’s question. He glanced at his watch. “Find what you can about that courier in the next half an hour. I’ll be in my office.” He wanted to have another look at Nicole’s video, and then he needed to talk to her. “Devin, will you please schedule another meeting with Nicole, as soon as she can make it? Thanks.”
Devin knocked on the open door a few minutes later. “Nicole can come over in the next half an hour.”
“That works.” And it gave him time to review the video before she arrived.
Caleb closed the office door. Better to look like an asshole, than for someone to think—like Mark did—that he was watching porn in the office. He played the video again, but this time he scrutinised the background, or at least, what little of it wasn’t blurred out. There was nothing to suggest it was a hotel room. No keycard or information booklet or handy little bible sitting in view. The woman knelt on the carpet, while the guy in the background sat on the edge of a bed. It could be any bedroom, anywhere.
Why did she think it was a hotel? What wasn’t she telling him?
A knock sounded on the door, and Caleb minimised the screen. “Come in,” he called.
Devin stuck his head around the door. “Nicole Golden is on her way but running a few minutes late.”
“Thanks.” He needed to talk to Devin anyway. “Do you have a minute?”
“Yep.” Devin walked into the office. “What’s up?”
“The exercise is going to generate masses of data, both images and notes. How do you feel about collating it? I can ask Jonathan for a business analyst, if you’d prefer, but I thought you might like to get involved.”
Devin looked surprised but pleased. “Yeah, I could do that. I’d like to. Thanks, Caleb.”
“I never asked you what your skills are. Is there any part of the exercise you could take part in?”
“I’m good at creatives—graphics and image manipulation. You know.” He shrugged.
“So if we got a design for the security passes, you could get involved in replicating them?”
