Hades (24 page)

“Different passwords for hand controlled and computer controlled?”

“Yeah. Different passwords for every computer terminal, too.”

“How many hand control points were there?”

“There was one by the gate at the end of the driveway. One by the front door, one by the back door, one by the stereo in the living room that operated the inside cameras. And there was one by the pool house that operated the outdoor cameras.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there were remote hookups, too. You could operate the whole thing from a laptop. Each laptop had to be specially designated as authorized to handle the controls and each user was given a password, you know, so anyone who was workin’ away at the computer couldn’t just access the Harmons’ security system.”

“Who had laptop access?”

“Evan. On the laptop he used to travel with.”

“Abby?”

Kelley nodded. “But I don’t think she really knew how to use it. She didn’t have much interest in it.”

“Anyone else?”

Kelley hesitated, then nodded again, this time with one deep, long movement of his head back and forth. “Me.”

“Your laptop could access the Harmon security system?”

“Yeah. Evan wanted it that way. I knew the house, I knew the system; if anything went wrong, he said he wanted me to be able to, you know, see what the problem was.”

“So you could get into the system anytime you wanted?”

“Yeah.”

“To change the settings or disable it—whatever you wanted.”

“Yeah.”

“Let me ask you something,” Reggie said. “When you log on to the system, does the system register who the user is and what changes are made?”

“Yup. It logs it in the main computer and on the individual computer that’s used.”

“Should I ask?” Justin said. And when Kelley frowned glumly, Justin said, “Who was logged on when the system was disabled the night of the murder?”

“I was,” Dave Kelley said.

“On the main system and on your laptop both?” Reggie asked.

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone else know your password?”

“Evan and Abby,” Kelley said.

“Where’s your laptop now?”

“Evidence room,” Silverbush said.

“And where was it the day of the murder?” Justin asked Kelley.

Kelley sighed and said, “In my truck, I guess. That’s where the cops found it.” As Justin and Abby stayed silent, Kelley added, “See what I mean? Seven ways from Sunday.”

Silverbush’s smile now spread across his entire face. And it was still there as he walked Justin and Reggie outside a few minutes later when the interview was over.

“I’m glad we could all share this experience,” he said and extended his hand toward Reggie. “Good to meet you.” He didn’t bother to push his hand in Justin’s direction. He just said, ”I know you’re trying to drag in all sorts of complications. But you’re way off base. This guy did it. There’s no question about it. And if we find out he did it with your girlfriend, they’re both gonna get a needle in the arm.”

“Always nice to see you,” Justin said.

Silverbush had the same annoying smile on his face as he said, “You screwed it up when you were just a cop; you’re screwing it up again working with the Feds. It’s kind of reassuring to deal with someone who never learns.”

“So what do you think?” Reggie asked. They were in the car heading into Manhattan, just a few minutes outside Riverhead, where they’d talked to David Kelley.

“What do
you
think?”

“I think I can see why Silverbush is going to prosecute. Kelley’s right about being screwed. There’s a lot of evidence against him. And there’s a decent amount that links your—that links Abby.”

“Maybe. If we were looking at Evan’s murder in isolation, I’d say you’re right. But what’s the link to the other killings?”

“We have to check it out and see if those links exist.”

“They won’t.”

“They
might
. And if they don’t, it’s still possible they’re really separate cases. Maybe it’s all just a crazy coincidence. Harmon could have been doing something illegal and still gotten killed for jealousy or money or whatever this guy would kill him for.” She shook her head in frustration. “There are obviously complications, Jay, but after hearing all that, it’s hard for me to think that this guy and Abby Harmon aren’t involved. Silverbush might be right. The stuff in Providence might really be unconnected.” When Justin frowned, she said, “You sure you’re not letting your personal feelings interfere with your judgment?”

“I’m not saying anything definitively, Reggie. But as dumb as Kelley is, some things just don’t add up.”

“Such as?”

“Let’s say you actually are capable of committing the kind of well-thought-out, sadistic kind of act that someone committed on Evan Harmon.”

“Okay . . .”

“So would you have the presence of mind to ditch the murder weapon but keep the stun gun, which would probably implicate you more than anything else? Why get rid of one but keep the other?”

“What else?”

“Kelley’s right—I don’t see the motive. He’s killing off his money source.”

“Unless he thinks she’s an even better source.”

“Yeah, but he’s right again. Even Dave Kelley has to realize that he’s not going to wind up living happily ever after with Abby Harmon.”

“So maybe she just promised him money and not true love.”

“Granted, that might make sense from his end. But why would Abby want Evan dead? All she has to do is divorce him.”

“You never know what people can do when they’re in a relationship, Jay. Maybe he was abusive and she couldn’t stand it anymore. Maybe she found out he was molesting little boys. You never know what sends someone over the edge.” She looked at him when he didn’t react. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Justin nodded. “It’s the phone tip that led Silverbush to Kelley.”

“What about it?”

“It came early. I mean it came the day after the murder. And a lot of details hadn’t been released to the press. In fact, the detail about the stun gun burns still hasn’t been released to the press.”

She began nodding. “But the tip wasn’t just that Kelley was having an affair with Abby Harmon. It said he owned a stun gun.”

“So somebody had to know how Evan was killed.”

“Maybe somebody talked. One of your guys or one of Harmon’s guys. Or even Leona. Hard to keep that kind of thing quiet. Word could have gotten around that someone knew that Kelley had that freaking thing.”

“Maybe.”

“But it does seem kind of strange, doesn’t it? Kind of . . .”

“Orchestrated.”

“Yes. Orchestrated.”

“Kind of,” Justin said.

25

Justin had never been in an office quite like Ascension’s before.

He had been around money all his life; had been raised, more or less, in the banking and financial world his father inhabited. He’d dealt with Wall Street types and people who owned their own businesses and had their own planes. Money did not intimidate him or overly impress him. To Justin, it was something you had or you didn’t have. It was something to be used well or poorly. Even the office of Rockworth and Williams—a company dealing with more money and brokering more real power than Ascension could ever dream of—was an environment he understood. Even as it made him shudder. Rockworth and Williams was corporate life with all its pressures and politics and game playing. To succeed there was a matter of survival, of protecting yourself at all costs.

This was different.

From the moment he and Reggie were ushered into the back offices of Ascension, Justin realized they were not in a world where survival or safety mattered. What mattered was domination. Power. Greed. What mattered here was size. What mattered here was
more
.

Risk was what this was all about.

This was a world where success could be equated only with ownership. And ownership mattered only when it was defined by the worth of whatever was owned.

There was no pleasure here. There was only winning. Or oblivion.

As they sat in Carl D. Matuszek’s office, Reggie instinctively reached out for Justin’s arm. It wasn’t a gesture of affection. She needed something to hold on to. He let her hand clutch his left wrist. As they sat, waiting, he could feel her relax, and he made no acknowledgment of their contact when she finally let go.

Matuszek was sitting at his desk, on the phone, his back to them. He wore sand-colored linen pants, a light-blue button-down shirt, and a blue-and-white striped tie. No sport coat. He was peering out a sparklingly clean window at a magnificent view of midtown Manhattan as he spoke. He didn’t bother talking into a receiver; he kept the whole conversation on speakerphone.

“Phil,” Carl Matuszek was saying, “how many times do we have to go over this? We bought fourteen percent of your stock and it cost a cool twenty-four million. You know what we got for that? We got to be your biggest shareholders. And you know what we got for
that
? We got the right to tell you that
you
work for
us
.”

“You cannot assess a company’s record on six months’ worth of business,” Phil was saying. “Especially a business like this which we’re not just trying to expand, we’re trying to shift the entire paradigm. I don’t understand how you can be that shortsighted.”

Justin wasn’t sure what business Phil was in, but he realized soon enough that whatever business it was, it wasn’t doing well enough to suit Matuszek.

“Actually, we
can
make that assessment, Phil. We can and we’re doing just that. What
I
don’t understand is how people like you think you can get away with not making your numbers and then not having to face the consequences.”

“Because the consequences you’re talking about are ridiculous,” Phil was saying. “This is a long-term project. We’re changing the way kids all over the country are eating, for Christ’s sake. We’re remaking the entire school cafeteria structure, moving them from slop to healthy, well-
balanced meals. That’s why we’ve taken on employees and, believe me, the risk-reward value long term—”

“Phil, let’s get something straight right now. We’re not interested in long term. We’re interested in value. Kids want to eat chocolate cake for breakfast, that’s fine with me as long as we’re making a profit on the goddamn cake.”

“Carl, you do realize that’s an inane statement, I hope.”

“I’ll tell you what’s inane, my friend.” Matuszek’s voice, on the surface, stayed friendly and calm. But underneath that surface it turned to ice. “Thinking you can lose money and still run this company.”

“What are you, firing me?”

“Congratulations. That’s the first perceptive thing you’ve said since we’ve been doing business together. We’re also selling you. To CafRite.”

Phil seemed able to ignore the fact that he was fired. Justin, just from listening to this brief conversation, had a feeling that getting fired by Carl Matuszek would be a relief and a blessing. But Phil wasn’t able to shake off the sale of his company. “You’ll put about five hundred people out of work down here. And maybe another seven fifty to a thousand around the country. You can’t do that.”

“It’s done, Phil. It’s done. Someone from our end’ll speak to HR and we’ll work out your details.”

“My details? You scumbag—”

“Bye, Phil.”

Carl Matuszek clicked off the speakerphone and now swiveled his chair around to face Justin and Reggie. He had a perfectly placid expression on his face. The conversation he’d just had with Phil, the mysterious cafeteria person, hadn’t left an iota of stress on Matuszek’s face. “So what is it I’m actually supposed to help you with?” he asked.

“Quite a conversation you were having.”

Matuszek shrugged. “I don’t let it bother me anymore. I talk to guys like that three, four times a day now.”

“Doesn’t bother you messing around with people’s lives like that?”

Matuszek shook his head. “First of all, I don’t mess around with anything, certainly not people’s lives. I don’t have anything to do with people’s lives.”

“Firing someone doesn’t count as anything?”

“People find their own level. They fail or succeed on their own. I might be the one who has to point out their failure or success, but I’m not responsible for their fate. I take businesses and make them stronger. That’s all I do.”

“Stronger meaning more profitable,” Justin said.

“There’s no other definition, is there?”

“Sounds like you don’t just invest in companies. Sounds like you have quite a bit of control over them.”

“If we invest heavily enough, we do. And that’s the way it should be. You put up the money, you get to demand results. And if you don’t get them . . .”

“You do what you have to do,” Justin said, “to make sure you
do
get them.”

“Bingo,” Carl Matuszek said. “Want to come work here?”

“I’m afraid,” Reggie interrupted, “we’re already working. Can we talk about Evan Harmon, please.”

“A tragedy,” Matuszek said. He put as much emotion into the word “tragedy” as he would if he were discussing a problem he might have with a suit that didn’t fit properly.

“Did you work with Mr. Harmon?” Reggie asked.

“Of course. He was my mentor as well as my boss.”

“So you learned from him?” Justin said.

“Almost everything I know,” Matuszek answered.

“And did you work closely with him? On a daily basis?”

“Oh yeah. As close as it’s possible to work with someone. Hey,” Matuszek said, and Justin was pretty sure he saw an actual wink, “you mind if I see your ID or some badges or whatever you people carry? I mean, I know you’re who you say you are, but even so . . .”

Reggie took her FBI ID out and held it out. Justin held up a badge he’d bought in the East End Harbor five-and-dime. It said FBI on it in big letters. Matuszek found them both equally convincing. As Justin put his badge away, he could see Reggie staring at him incredulously.

“So you’d know a decent amount about Mr. Harmon’s dealings for the company,” Reggie asked Matuszek once she was able to recover from the sight of Justin’s toy badge.

“Pretty much,” Matuszek said.

Reggie shoved a piece of paper across the desk. “So, for instance, if I asked you to identify these companies, you could?”

Matuszek scanned the list in front of him. “Sure,” he said. “I don’t know every single one, but we do business with most of these guys.”

“Meaning what?”

“We handle their money. Do corporate investments. Some of them we invest
in
.”

“Can you tell me what they do?”

“Every company on the list?”

“If you can.”

“I don’t think I can do every one but . . .” Matuszek ran his finger down the list. “Penzine is an energy company, does that new shit with corn . . . Balbear makes ball bearings. Not very glam but incredibly solid business . . . CafRite manages school cafeterias . . .”

“That’s the company you just sold Phil’s company to.”

“Phil?”

“The guy you were just talking to. The guy you fired?”

“Oh, right, right. Yes, we just sold it to CafRite.”

“That’s allowed? Selling one client’s company to another client?”

“It’s not just allowed, it’s what we do. We invest for our clients. We buy and we sell. Doesn’t really matter who we buy from or who we sell to, as long as it’s profitable and there’s no exchange of inside information.”

“All right,” Justin said. “Keep going down the list.”

And he did. One company designed and built ice-skating rinks around the country; one company was a trucking and shipping line; one manufactured lightbulbs. One company made substrates—and when Justin asked what a substrate was, half expecting Matuszek to come up with some kind of idiotic punch line—he was told it was the key to auto exhaust systems; it’s what allowed those systems to meet environmental standards around most of the world. A big business, Matuszek said. A big business. And a good example of the way they worked. They didn’t just invest in substrates. The next company on the list was an auto parts company that made the exhaust systems that
used
substrates.

“One hand washing the other,” Justin said.

“Washing has nothing to do with it,” Matuszek said. “It’s one hand taking money from one pocket and putting even more money in the other pocket. That’s what we do.”

Other than the link between the two businesses that dealt in auto parts, there was no rhyme or reason to the others being on the same list except that they all were involved in a transaction handled by Ascension. Matuszek explained that they weren’t developing a core business. Nothing had to relate to anything else. Their core business, he said, was money.

There were several companies on the list that Carl Matuszek didn’t know. And there were two he knew but had nothing to do with.

“And why don’t you deal with those two?” Reggie asked.

“They deal in commodities. Not my area. If you want more info on them, you have to talk to Hudson Fenwick.”

“That’s my favorite Dickens novel,” Justin said.

“What?” Matuszek said blankly.

“Nothing. Where do we find Hudson Fenwick?”

Matuszek didn’t answer, just reached toward his phone, pushed a few buttons, and said, “Hud? You wanna come in here for a minute?”

And a few moments later, Hudson Fenwick walked through the door. Fenwick was more or less a thinner, less-athletic version of Carl Matuszek. Same short haircut; same button-down long-sleeved shirt; same slacks; and same striped tie, except his was red and black instead of blue and white. Fenwick also seemed nervous and fidgety. He immediately got more nervous and more fidgety when Matuszek told him the visitors were from the FBI. Justin went to pull out his badge, but Reggie managed to grab his hand before he could dig it out of his pocket.

“What—um—what can I do for you?” Fenwick asked.

“They’re looking for some information on Menking, Inc. and—what’s the other one?” He looked down at Reggie’s list. “Right. Cates and Herr.”

“What—what—what do you want to know?”

“What they do, for one thing.”

“Menking—um—deals in precious metals. Trades. Buys, sells. Mostly platinum.”

“Platinum?” Reggie said. She leaned forward, then realized it probably gave the impression she was a little too interested.

“Yes,” Hudson said. “Something wrong with that?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “Where are they located?”

“They’ve got offices all over the world. London, Belgium . . . I think their home office is in Canada.”

“What about the other one?” she asked. “Cates and Herr.”

“Um . . . mining, actually. Platinum again.”

“Uh-huh,” Justin said. “Where does one mine platinum?”

“They’re in”—he coughed two or three times, then cleared his throat from all the coughing—“South Africa.”

Before Hudson Fenwick could do any more hemming, hawing, or coughing, Forrest Bannister walked into Carl Matuszek’s office. Justin couldn’t help noticing that with five people in the office, the room looked a lot less crowded than his own living room with just two people in it.

“Chief Westwood,” Bannister said. “I apologize for being late. Things are a little . . . out of the ordinary, as I’m sure you understand.”

Justin said that he understood completely and he introduced Reggie. He was surprised at the difference in Bannister’s demeanor from the night that he had found Evan Harmon’s body and called in the murder. He was far more calm and collected now, which wasn’t really surprising. But he was also much more commanding and assertive. He no longer seemed like the kind of guy who’d immediately come running a hundred miles when Evan Harmon called.

“I hope Carl and Hud are being helpful.”

“Yes,” Justin said. “Extremely so.”

“What can
I
help you with?”

Justin glanced over at Reggie, so she told Bannister what she needed. She wanted a record of Evan Harmon’s travel over the past fifteen-month period, everywhere he went and who he went to see. She also wanted the same information for any of the associates at the firm who might have traveled to Canada, California, Russia, South Africa, and South America. She also asked for records of any business transactions that had been done with the LaSalle Group in Providence.

When she was finished, Bannister smiled evenly and said, “Of course. Would you mind telling us what you’re looking for specifically? That might make it easier for us to give you what you want.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mr. Bannister. We’d like all the information in as complete a form as possible. We don’t want you sifting through it or editing it for us.”

“Absolutely. I wasn’t trying to interfere. I simply thought it might help us be more efficient.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “Let me see . . . This will take some time—”