Cal whirled in the chair, his hands locking onto the keyboard. “Let’s see what we can find out about Jupiter Data,” he said as he typed.
“What about…” I waved at his computers. “Whatever you’re working on.”
He grabbed a pizza crust from a plate sitting on his desk and bit off part of it. “I need a break,” he said as he chewed. Only Cal would see more computer research as a break from computer research.
I eyed an old piece of pizza sitting in a box on the floor. “Ew.” I tried to ignore his eating.
He hummed to himself and then started jabbering. “It looks like Jupiter Data started in 2011 and it folded early in 2013. They focused on ‘big data’.” He made rabbit ears with his fingers.
“I have no idea what that means.”
“ ‘Big data’ is a term for collecting large data sets that can’t be easily processed using common data processing applications,” he said, sounding like Wikipedia. “Most relational database sys –”
“Stop!” I held up a hand. “That’s more than enough. What I would be interested in knowing is why the company isn’t around anymore.”
“You’re no fun,” he muttered, focused on the monitor. “Hm, here’s something about how they came up with the name, because Jupiter is the largest planet in our solar system, and they’re dealing with large data sets. Cute. Oh, this is interesting.”
I sat up. “What?”
“Your boy Nick was in a lawsuit with his business partner, Stan Pommerville.”
“Really?” I leaned forward so I could see the screen. “Pommerville sued, saying that O’Rourke stole money from the company.”
“But Pommerville lost. Says that he wasn’t able to prove that O’Rourke actually used the money for personal purposes.” Cal glanced over his shoulder. “Someone steals money from your business, that might motivate you to kill them.”
“Yeah, and Pommerville would have lawyer and court costs, too. That could’ve been a pretty penny.” I tapped the desk. “This is a place to start. Let’s see if we can find Pommerville so I can go talk to him.”
Cal’s hands flew across the keyboard again, and a moment later he sat back. “He works at Pommerville Computer Systems. They provide’ innovative and reliable IT solutions for small and mid-sized businesses’.”
“Are you reading that right from the webpage?”
He snickered. “Yeah.” He paused as he clicked around the website. “In a nutshell, he’s a consultant. He helps people who don’t know technology.”
“Helps them with what?”
He turned around. “With everything. You’d be surprised how many businesses don’t have an IT department, so they hire consultants to help.”
I mulled that over as I jotted down the address and phone number. “I wonder how well Pommerville’s new business is doing.”
Cal’s head stayed focused on the monitor, but he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “What?”
“Do you have time for this?”
“You know I’m going to help,” he said. “Besides, I’m not just helping you, I’m helping Willie. But I do have to finish this job first.”
“Can you find O’Rourke’s phone records? That’s all I need now.”
Cal snorted. “Do you really need to ask that?” He could hack into almost any system, and it took a lot less time than if I had to flatfoot it around the city trying to gather the same information.
“Let me rephrase,” as I rolled my eyes. “I know you can find his phone records, so would you?”
“Sure. How many days’ worth?”
“Let’s start with a week. I want to know who he was talking to.”
“What else?”
“Give me all you can get on both O’Rourke and Pommerville. Finances, family information, the works. And while you’re at it, see how Pommerville’s doing with his new company.”
“You don’t want much.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Which was true. I’d known him since we were kids, when I’d brought him home, crying from a bee sting he’d suffered after putting his face too close to a beehive. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
Cal looked up at me, his face serious. “You take care of Willie. She’s good people.”
“So are you, buddy.” I stood up and clapped his shoulder.
He blushed. “There’re clean sheets in the hall closet. You can sleep on the couch in the living room.”
I left him to his work. I got the sheets and made up the couch, then tried Willie again. The call again went right to voicemail. This time I left a message asking her to call me. I sprawled on the couch, but it was a long time before sleep came.
Chapter Eight
“Such a lot of guns around town, and so few brains.” I flew off the couch. It was the ringtone on my cell phone, a Humphrey Bogart line. It was from The Big Sleep. I snatched it off the coffee table.
“Willie?”
“Hey, did I wake you?”
“No.” I rubbed my eyes. “Well, not really.” I got up and went into the kitchen. Sun streamed through a big window that looked out on a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountains. The clock on the microwave read 8:45. I guess I was tired…and not a morning person,
“I’m really sorry.” She sighed, then went on breathlessly. “After I took my shower, I went into the kitchen. I just wanted some Oreos and milk, and you didn’t have any in your kitchen, and suddenly it all hit me, and I kinda lost it.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t know when not to be funny.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m up at Cal’s. I tried to call you but it kept going to voicemail.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “After you left, I turned off my phone because I was a blubbering idiot. I guess I cried myself to sleep, and I just woke up and got your message.”
“It’s going to be okay,” I said lamely.
“I hope so. I want to see you, but I’ve got to go to that meeting with Spillman.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine. And I’m sure you have things to do?”
I detected a ray of hope in her voice. “Cal and I did some research on Nick O’Rourke and found his old business partner,” I said. “I’m going to start there.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
“Call me after your meeting.”
“I will,” she said.
I hung up, feeling a weight fall over me. I had to get to the bottom of this, and fast. I made coffee, then took two mugs into Cal’s office. He was still sitting at his desk, staring at the monitor.
“How’s it going?” I asked as I set a mug down on the desk.
“Fine,” he said, barely looking at me.
“What’d you find out?”
He stopped, blinked hard a couple of times and turned to me. His eyes were bloodshot and laced with crazy.
“I think you need some sleep,” I said.
“Nah, I’ve almost got this.” He tapped the monitor. “Then I’ll get to your stuff.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. I nudged the mug closer to him. “You drink that. I’m going to take a shower.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was showered and somewhat refreshed, even though I was in yesterday’s clothes and I needed a shave. I knew he wouldn’t have anything in the kitchen to eat, so I left and went down 285 to the grocery store, where I bought cereal, milk and bananas. When I got back to Cal’s house, I ate and then went into his office.
“Thanks for the help,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll look into O’Rourke and Pommerville later, once I wrap this up.”
“I think I’ll pay Pommerville a visit, see what I can dig up.”
“You’re on your own with that.” He turned back to the computer and barely noticed me leaving his office.
The higher mountain air held a chill as I drove back to Denver, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Pommerville’s number. After three rings, a deep vo
ice barked, “Pommerville Computer Systems.”
“Is this Stan Pommerville?” I asked.
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions about Nick O’Rourke. I’m –” I didn’t get to finish.
“I have nothing to say,” he snapped. Then the annoying buzz of the dial tone ripped through the phone.
I held the phone out, staring at the screen. “People lose teeth talking like that,” I said, mimicking Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon. What prompted that response from Pommerville?
I frowned. “Okay, Stan Pommerville, let’s see how you dodge me when I show up unannounced at your door.”
I pulled off the road and used my phone to access the internet and look up the address for Pommerville Computer Systems. I located it on Mapquest. I knew the area of small office complexes just north of Denver West, near the foothills in Golden. I glanced at the computer clock: just past ten. Plenty of time to drive out there before Pommerville left for lunch.
I got back on Highway 285 and soon turned onto C-470. Twenty minutes later, I parked in front of a nondescript three-story brick office building that backed up to Interstate 70. I strolled into the lobby and checked the directory. Pommerville Computer Systems was on the third floor, and I noticed that a number of other businesses also had the same suite number. Sharing office space? Was Pommerville’s company struggling?
There was a wide set of stairs that dominated the lobby, but I took the elevator up to the third floor and headed to Suite 301. The door was open so I stepped inside. Just to the left of the doorway was a cheap wood desk with an old monitor on it, the bulky kind that looked like an old TV and weighed as much. In the corner sat a printer/copier, and against the wall opposite the desk were two fake-leather chairs with a small table between them. What was missing was a secretary or office manager – someone who would call Pommerville and inform him he had a visitor.
In two long strides I was across the waiting room, and I glanced down a hallway. All was quiet. I didn’t hesitate, but marched down the hall. I was right that a number of businesses shared the office space, and each company had a plaque by the door. That took the guesswork out of finding Pommerville’s office. I passed three doors, turned a corner and found the door for Pommerville Computer Systems. I tried the knob and it turned. I opened the door, darted inside, and quickly shut it behind me.
An older man in a shirt and tie sat behind an oak desk that faced the door. He looked up, his jaw open in surprise.
Chapter Nine
“What are you…” he sputtered, then quickly recovered. “I think you’re in the wrong office.” He reached for a phone on the corner of the desk. “Wasn’t the office manager out front? She should be able to help you.”
“I need to talk to you, Mr. Pommerville.” I sat down in an uncomfortable wooden chair across from the desk.
The receiver stopped halfway to his ear.
“You can set that down,” I said.
He stared at me through wire-rimmed glasses, as if he hadn’t heard me, then he slowly hung up the phone.
“You don’t have an appointment,” he finally said.
“I called you earlier but you hung up on me.”
His eyes darted to me, then the phone, and back to me, then he put the pieces together.
“You asked about Nick O’Rourke.” His eyes narrowed and his lips formed into a cold line. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. I told you over the phone I have nothing to say, and I still have nothing to say.”
“Why?”
“Wait a minute. Who are you again?”
“Reed Ferguson. I’m a private investigator.” I showed him a badge I had in my wallet, although it wasn’t that special. Anyone who wanted to could be a detective in the state of Colorado, just hang up a sign.
He emitted a mirthless chuckle, then shook his head. “What kind of mess has Nick gotten himself into now? I assure you I’m the last person who’ll help him.”
I waited for a second, then said, “He’s dead.”
Lines formed between his eyebrows as he frowned.
“You really didn’t know?” I asked. “It was in the news.”
“No.” His chair creaked as he shifted his heavy bulk in it. “What happened?”
“Did you hear about the house fire last week? The one northeast of downtown?”
“I saw something on the news, but I didn’t hear that someone died in the fire.”
“Someone did. Nick.”
“What caused the fire?”
No ‘Poor Nick’ or ‘Did he die painlessly’ or anything like that. Interesting. “It was arson,” I said. “And someone conked Nick over the head and tried to cover it up. Whoever started that fire is looking at some serious prison time.”
Pommerville steepled his hands and rested his chin on his fingertips. “What brings you to me?”
“You were his business partner,” I said, “until things went wrong and you took him to court.”
“And I lost.” The hard look remained on his face. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”
I tipped my head, acknowledging that. “Maybe. Maybe not.
“I’m not sure what you want from me. I didn’t like Nick and I haven’t spoken to him in years, but that doesn’t mean I killed him.”
“What happened with Jupiter Data?”
“I met Nick when I was an IT consultant with Deloitte. I was –”
I held up a hand. “What’s Deloitte?”
He looked at me like I was a dunce. “They’re a huge consulting company. I was an associate partner and he was a client. I worked with him a lot, and we started talking about what we could do in the big data sector. After a while, we decided to start Jupiter. We pooled our money, worked our butts off, and tried to grow it into a viable business.”
“And?”
He put his hands down and leaned back in his chair. “Nick was cooking the books, stealing money on the side. I handled the IT side of things and I didn’t find out about what he was doing until it was too late. I lost everything.”
“So you trusted Nick and he screwed you over?”
He nodded. “That sums it up. I’d known him for years. I knew how he worked and our idea was great. Jupiter should’ve taken off.” He hesitated.
I waited him out, knowing if I kept my mouth shut, he’d most likely keep talking.
“What I didn’t know was that he’d developed a gambling problem. That’s why he started stealing money from the company, to pay off his gambling debts.”
“How’d you find out about the gambling?”
“I didn’t, at first. My first clue that something was off was when I got a couple of calls about Jupiter being behind on some bills. I talked to Nick and he said he’d taken care of them. He was slick with his lies and I didn’t suspect anything at first. Then the calls increased and I started checking things out. That’s when I found out we were behind on a lot of things. When I confronted him, he tried to talk his way out of it, said he’d invested the money elsewhere and that it would help us in the long run. We were still a small shop, just the two of us and occasionally some contract consultants, and we were both travelling a lot, so it was hard to nail him down.”
“What does this have to do with the gambling?”
“I’m getting to that.” He frowned and the wrinkle lines returned. “It wasn’t until it all started spiraling out of control that I began putting things together. First, we were both making great money, but he never seemed to have any. He complained that he’d just been through a nasty divorce and his ex-wife got everything and he was paying her, but I knew that wasn’t right, because other times he’d say he was glad he’d broke clean from her, that he didn’t owe her alimony or anything. Then he never seemed to have his car around. Nick liked to be flashy and he owned a Mercedes, a real nice one. Had to cost a good bit, but suddenly he wasn’t driving it anymore, and when we were in town together, he’d ask me to drop him places after work. And,” he wagge
d a finger at me. “One of those places was a little dive restaurant on East Colfax, east of downtown. Not the type of place he’d normally go to. I asked him why he was eating there, if the food was that good, but he dodged the question. I wondered if he was buying drugs there, and I finally confronted him. Instead of telling me what was going on, he threatened me and said to stay out of his business. Things were getting ugly then. He was always on edge and the business was about to fold, so I took the final steps to dissolve Jupiter and get away from him. But by then I had to use my own money to pay bills and taxes. Then I spent a year in court trying to prove he was using company money for his gambling, but I lost.”
“I’m still fuzzy on how you knew he had a gambling problem,” I said.
“My daughter. She dated him for a time, and after everything fell to pieces, she told me about his gambling problem. She said she’d been to the restaurant with him a few times. She didn’t know anything about the gambling until one night when they were there, he bragged about placing a bet that was going to pay big. She said later that night they watched a basketball game and his team lost. He went crazy, went on about owing people money, so she left, and that was the end of their relationship.”
I pondered everything. “If he owed people money, did he ever act like he was worried about them coming after him? Like his bookies?”
He snorted. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“Who would that be?”
“How the hell should I know? You’re the detective.”
“I prefer not to hunt for needles in haystacks if I don’t have to,” I said, not trying very hard to hide my sarcasm. “If you know anything about where he gambled or who he owed money to, it would help me tremendously.”
“Try Easy Street Café. If it’s still there.”
“I’d like to talk to your daughter about Nick.”
He glared at me. “I don’t think so.”
“I really don’t need your permission. And this is another needle in the haystack situation,” I said, this time letting the sarcasm flow. “It’d be much easier if you’d tell me how to get in touch with her.”
Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Page 34
