Deadly Justice

29

BACK AT HIS OFFICE, Ben finished dictating his notes on his meeting with Bernie King. There was something there, but he wasn’t sure what. One thing he was sure of, though—he was tired of all these calm, placid faces telling him not to worry, not to investigate, not to stir things up. Millions of dollars were potentially at stake, and everyone in the company was going out of the way to appear blasé about learning what really happened. That just didn’t ring true.

After a few more moments’ thought, Ben picked up the phone and dialed his old office on the North Side. Loving answered the phone.

“Loving? This is Ben. How’s business?”

He heard a noise on the other end of the line that he took for sullen grunting. “Aww, I’m making ends meet, Skipper. Been tailing naughty husbands, mostly. It ain’t the same since you left, though. You brought in such weird clients. There was always someone I could extract information from.”

Usually by terrorizing them and threatening to make their lives a misery, Ben reflected. Ben had first met Loving after he’d represented Loving’s wife in their divorce. Loving had burst into Ben’s office one day, enraged, ready to do some damage. He was so grateful afterward when Ben didn’t press charges that he offered to help Ben out with his fledgling practice. Eventually, he began working full time as Ben’s private investigator. He was generally effective, although his methods were as a rule less than subtle.

“Did you ever figure out where the ex-husband in the Crawford case hid all his money?” Ben asked.

“Oh, yeah. Days ago. Piece of cake.”

“What’d you do? Trace his bank transfers through computer networks?”

“Nah. I held him upside down over a swimming pool till he volunteered the information. You know, dip his head under for a minute, pull it out for a second. You’d be amazed how willing he was to talk after a while.”

No doubt. “Well, I’ve got a new case for you.”

“Really?” His excitement was evident. “You mean that hotshot corporation you work for is going to hire me?”

“You should just report to me. This is somewhat…unofficial.”

“Even better. Just like the good ol’ days.”

“This is a tough assignment, Loving. I don’t know…maybe I’m expecting too much from you….”

“Whaddaya mean? You saying it’s too tough for me? Just let me at it.”

Perfect. “I need you to find a man named Al Austin. All I know about him is that he used to work in Tulsa for the Apollo Consortium, in the engineering and design department. He worked on a suspension system design project called the XKL-1 about five years ago, but disappeared before the product was released onto the market. I don’t know why and I don’t know where he’s gone. I’m sorry—I realize that doesn’t give you much to go on.”

“Apollo employee, huh? I know some Apollo guys. They like to hang out at the Bull-N-Bear on Harvard—you know, shoot some pool, have a few brewskies. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Great. Call me as soon as you learn something.”

“Will do, Skipper.”

“You know, Loving, I’m not your Skipper—er, boss, anymore.”

“Aww, heck. You’ll always be the Skipper to me.”

“Well, that’s nice. I guess.”

“We’re keeping your office just like it was when you worked here. Kind of a memorial.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“We’re still waiting for you to come back. Christina says it’s just a matter of time.”

“Oh, does she? Well, she may be in for a big—”

“I better get started on this. Thanks for calling.”

No sooner had Ben hung up his phone than another familiar face from his previous life strolled through his office door.

“Jones! I wondered why you didn’t answer the phone at the office.”

“You called to check on us?” Ben’s former secretary beamed. “Remembering the people you met on the way up. Who knows, you may need us again on your way down.”

“My way—Have you been talking to Christina, too?”

“Face it, Boss. Christina is always right.”

“Not this time. I’m very happy with my spiffy office and regular salary, thank you. The boss seems to respect me and I’ve successfully completed all my assignments. Look at this—I’ve even got my own desktop computer.”

“I know. That’s why I came by. Christina told me you’ve barely figured out how to turn it on.”

“Well…I haven’t had much time to devote to trivial office details.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why I’m here. Time for a primer. Computers 101.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary”

“Oh? Fine. Show me how you use your computer.” Jones flipped the power switch on the back of the machine.

“Now where exactly is that switch?” Ben asked. “I couldn’t find it before.”

“Here, I’ll put a yellow Post-it on it that says TURN ME ON.” The monitor was illuminated with a blue screen. “This is your menu. It tells you what programs the corporation has already stored in your hard disk. What do you want to do?”

“Oh…I don’t know. What are my choices?”

Jones rolled his eyes. “Sheesh.” He brought the cursor to the top of the screen. “How about word processing? Lawyers do a lot of writing, right?”

“I’ve heard of that. That sounds good.”

“Push W, and you’ve entered the word processing program, already installed on your hard disk. Now, you want to be able to store any documents you create. You can probably store them on the hard disk, but you should also keep an extra copy on diskette. Where do you keep your diskettes?”

“My what?”

Jones shook his head. “Lucky I came when I did. You’re in sad shape, Boss.” He rifled through Ben’s desk drawers, eventually finding a box full of preformatted diskettes. He removed one small, square plastic 3 x 5-inch disk. “This,” Jones said, “is a diskette.”

Ben stared at the object in his hand. “That’s it.”

“I know it is. That’s what I just told you. Ben, you’re not paying attention.”

“No, you misunderstand. That’s it—that’s what I saw but couldn’t remember. That’s what Hamel had in his hand when his body fell on top of me.”

“Boss, are you on any medication?”

Quickly, Ben filled Jones in on what had happened during the past few days—finding Hamel’s body in his office, then losing it, then finding it again in the alley behind his house.

“Boss, you’re becoming the Typhoid Mary of premeditated murder.”

“This is a major breakthrough,” Ben said, ignoring him. “Why was Hamel clutching a diskette? And what was on the diskette? Was someone trying to get it?”

“But the police searched the area after the body disappeared, right?”

“Right.”

“And there was no diskette?”

“Right.”

“So whoever took the body also took the diskette.”

“I suppose so. What kind of information can be stored on one of these, Jones?”

“Just about anything you want. Financial data, documents, lists, even entire publications.”

Ben snapped his fingers. “Didn’t you say documents could be saved on a computer’s hard disk, then transferred onto a diskette?”

“That’s the usual procedure. It’s not mandatory.”

“Then there’s a possibility that whatever was in Hamel’s hand is also stored on a computer somewhere.”

“True. But where?”

“Well, we did find Hamel in my office….”

Quickly, Jones punched a few buttons and brought up the document file on Ben’s word processing program. It was empty. Jones spent the next ten minutes punching buttons, bringing up files from other programs. “Sorry, Boss. There’s nothing here.”

“If it isn’t here, maybe it’s stored in the main office computer. That would make more sense anyway—easier access for Hamel—and the computer room is just across the hall from my office.” Ben snapped his fingers again. “Maybe Hamel was actually working in there. Then, when he heard Herb and Candice leaving, or when he heard Rob and me coming, he ran across the hall and hid in my office.”

“Well,” Jones said, wiggling his fingers, “shall I cross the hall and commence a search?”

“Not now. The computer room is well-staffed during the day. I don’t think they’ll let you sit down and start reading their confidential files. Besides, I don’t want to tip anyone off. Remember, my theory is that Hamel’s killer is someone in this corporation.”

“What a pleasant thought. Well, I don’t want to overstay my welcome….”

“Okay. I’ll call you later. Maybe we can arrange for a clandestine examination of the computer files. I’ll need your help, obviously.”

“You know where to call.” Jones flashed a smile and headed out the door.

Ben pondered this new information. It seemed to confirm his theory that the killer was someone closely tied to the Apollo Consortium. Someone who had killed one person and tried to kill a second, if the attempt on Crichton’s life was what he thought it was. Someone who in all likelihood would try to kill again, especially if he thought Ben was getting close.

Ben stood up and closed the door. Suddenly, his office seemed very small. The entire building seemed to be shrinking, as if the walls were slowly moving in on him. There he was, enclosed in a strange world filled with backstabbers, buttkissers—and someone who had killed one man and targeted a second.

And Ben could be next.