Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (18 page)

Charlie sat in the back of his Mercedes scanning documents as the navigation system ferried him through the city towards Janefield’s Lower Manhattan headquarters. After a while, he tossed the tablet aside, unable to concentrate.

He had a meeting with Fox in a final effort to get Samantha removed off the list, and another catch up with Jennings about some ideas Charlie had for new revenue streams. He wasn’t looking forward to the latter. On the back of what Tabby had told him about Jennings’ presence with the mystery woman in Charlie’s office, and the mystery woman’s visit the day before, Charlie’s concern was increasing. Jennings might have been running security checks, but it was about time he told Charlie. Still, he had to be careful not to get Tabby into trouble. Jennings was different of late, more ill-tempered and impatient. Even after analyzing his own behavior over the past few months, Charlie didn’t understand what he’d done to annoy Jennings.

An alert sounded from the dashboard and the vehicle began to slow. Charlie scanned the screen, noting the trip still had eight minutes to run. Something was wrong. The only way the car reduced speed was if somebody else had control of it. Charlie twisted himself around, peering across the roadway for an identifiable vehicle, but found only a confusion of traffic.

His car edged into a service lane and stopped, its hazard lights flashing faint orange beacons into the cloudy daylight. Twice in the one week? He wouldn’t have thought it possible.

In the mirror, a dark vehicle pulled in behind. Only the police or a specific government employee had authority to pull over another vehicle. Like the speeding incident, the registration details of Charlie’s car should have excluded him from such. He ground his teeth as he waited, pushing down rising anger. He didn’t need this on top of the day ahead.

A man appeared beside the window. Charlie saw dark pants, and a suit jacket. The man held his suit jacket back, revealing a gold badge with the words CITY OF NEW YORK POLICE and DETECTIVE. A knot of worry loosened in Charlie’s belly as he lowered the window.

Charlie put a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m going to scan your license and registration details,” the man said in a deep voice. He placed a small device over the upper left corner of the windscreen. He was tall, with dark, grey-flecked hair, and a thin frame, his clothes too big for him.

“I’ve done nothing wrong. Why—”

“Where are you headed, sir?”

“Ah, work. In the city. Is there a problem?”

“Routine check, sir.”

But this was no routine check. His intuition buzzed. “Can I see some identification, please?”

The detective pushed off the window and fished into his back pocket. He removed a small circular device, like a drink coaster, and pressed it. A holographic image appeared mid-air, with details in strong dark letters.

Detective John Gutterson. NYPD, 3
rd
Precinct.

The man pressed the device and the information disappeared. Suddenly Charlie’s throat was dry.

“You are Charles Neilsen Billings?” Charlie nodded. “And you work for Janefield Investments Incorporated, Greenwich Street, New York?”

“Yes.”

“Would you exit the vehicle for me please, sir.”

Charlie considered a reasonable excuse to refuse, but couldn’t. He reluctantly depressed his seat restraint, climbed out, and leaned against the car. They stood before each other, dressed similarly, the agent’s eyebrows raised, as if he was waiting for Charlie to confess to a lifetime of sins. Charlie tried not to move; he tried not to blink even.

“I’d like to ask you some questions about—”

“Do you have the proper authorization for that?”

Gutterson looked out across the road. “I do. Enough coverage to be able to talk to you.”

“You must have something tangible though.” The detective shrugged. “What did you want to know?”

“I wanted to ask you about the recent death of your colleague, Dominic Curwood.”

Charlie felt his gut drop. His mouth might have fallen open. “Why?”

“There are some anomalies in his autopsy report.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” The detective slipped both hands into his pockets. “How well did you know him?”

“We were colleagues. Had the occasional drink outside of work.”

“Did he have any ongoing problems you were aware of?”

“His wife died recently.”

“Was he upset at that?” Charlie opened his mouth to respond. “Upset enough to take his own life, I meant.”

Charlie considered this. It was if someone had control of his voice and he couldn’t stop himself. “No. I don’t think so.”

“You have any idea why he might have committed suicide?” Charlie shook his head. The Detective scrutinized him. “You don’t think he did it, do you?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“I can read you, Mr. Billings. It’s my job. And your reactions are telling me you do not think Dominic Curwood committed suicide.” Charlie’s heart was thudding against his chest. “You don’t have to say anything. Just shake your head in the negative if you don’t think he did it.”

Maybe he wanted someone else to know. Maybe he figured it would help Tom and him in their endeavors to leave. Charlie gave a slight shake of his head.
No, I don’t think he did it.

He sensed the detective watching him. “Can you clarify that further?”

Charlie shifted his footing. “No. I don’t think that would be in my best interests.”

“We can go down to the station.”

Suddenly he regretted the acknowledgment. What had he been thinking? “I don’t think your warrant extends that far just yet.”

“True. Not yet. But I’m not giving up on this. And you’ve just confirmed my suspicions.” For a moment, Charlie’s mind went blank. “I know you were friends,” the detective said. “And if you’ve got any moral decency you’ll want justice served.” Charlie pressed his lips into a thin line. The Detective leaned in close. “Dominic Curwood. Now Bryce Adler. There’s something more going on over there at Janefield Investments.”

Charlie turned away. “I can’t help you, Detective. I’m sorry.”

“All I’m trying to do is get to the bottom of these deaths. Find out what happened.
The truth.
”

“I need to go. And I’ve got no comment to make.” Gutterson watched him. Charlie took hold of the roof and put a foot on the lower part of the door.

“Why won’t you help me?”

Charlie opened his mouth to speak and then shut it. He wanted to say something for his friends, but it would open up a box he might never close again. Silence was the only way. He had Samantha to worry about for now. “I’m sorry. I’m late for an appointment and telling my boss that I was pulled over by a detective probably won’t go down too well.” The Detective’s expression remained stony. “Can I go now?”

Gutterson removed his holographic badge again and pressed the top. It beeped, sending information to Charlie’s watch phone. “If you remember anything, let me know.
Please
.”

Charlie slipped into the back seat. He reset the destination with a shaky hand and glanced out the window as the vehicle rolled away under the guidance of the AI driver. The detective stood watching him.

Bryan Fox stepped out of the teleport booth behind his office and stood still for a long moment, gathering himself after the jump.

Chekov had requested a meeting with updates on the profit turnaround, but Fox had little progress to report. He couldn’t refuse the meeting though; Chekov was still his boss. Fox had forgotten to take some rough plans for the briefing with him the previous night. Now, he’d port twice in a short period of time, and suffer nausea for the remainder of the day.

He shrugged off the queasiness, and headed for his desk. It would only take a moment to collect the information, but he had twenty minutes before he could port again. He sat and began gathering hard copies of initial ideas, preferring not to have them electronically. He switched on his terminal, but resigned to ignore messages or changes to his calendar.

He had planned on a call with several of his allies on the board where he would put to them his theories that his division was imploding because of the underhanded tactics of Jennings, who Fox believed was in collusion with Chekov. But that would have to wait. Moments later, the screen flashed up and he saw Jennings’ grim face. Fox stiffened.

“Robert.”

“Bryan, we have a problem.”

“Oh?”

“Can we catch up this morning to discuss it?”

Fox collated the last paperwork into a pile. “I’ve got meetings all morning. All day in fact.”

Jennings cursed. “This is more important.”

“I’ll be in Washington. What’s more important than that?”

“You need to come down to my office.”

Fox wondered if it was a trap. “I’ve got about ten minutes, Robert. Will—”

“Yes. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Fox rubbed a hand over his face. “You sure I need to see this right now?”

Jennings nodded. Fox had witnessed that look before, in the old days. It was a look he had once trusted. “I’m coming.”

Fox took the thirty or so paces across the floor to Jennings office thinking about where this might be headed. He couldn’t ignore the possibility it was some kind of trap, but was absent of excuses by the time he reached his destination.

With a grim expression, Jennings sat at his desk behind his screen. He rolled clear for Fox as the CEO approached. An image filled the window, the front and rear section of a motor vehicle. Charlie Billings was sitting in the back of his company car.

“What’s this?” Fox said, halting beside the desk.

“Charlie Billings was pulled over by a police detective this morning. The in-vehicle surveillance picked up a portion of the confrontation and sections of the audio.”

Fox grimaced. “Is it bad?”

Jennings swiped the screen and let the footage play. Fox watched, taking in the conversation, his unease growing with each second. There were parts they couldn’t quite understand, but the general intent was clear.

When it was finished, he said, “Do we know who the policeman is?”

“Not yet. I only just received the file.”

“Do you think it was random?”

“No, he’s investigating Dom’s death.” Jennings fell back in his chair. “That means the department have probably still got a case open.”

“But the findings proved he committed suicide.”

Jennings shrugged. “I don’t know, Bryan. We’ll need to investigate.”

The idea that it might be another Jennings trick surfaced. He saw no sign of it in Jennings tone or actions though. His second-in-charge appeared genuinely concerned. It was almost laughable that they might be forced to work together on something like this given what had transpired lately.

“You don’t know anything more about Dom’s death, do you?”

Jennings face twisted. “Only that he topped himself. Jesus, Bryan, do you understand what this footage means?”

“Okay. Have you spoken to Charlie yet?” Jennings shook his head. “I can’t get out of this meeting in Washington. I’ll talk to Charlie when I return either later today or tomorrow.” Jennings glanced away. Fox knew that expression. “You hear me, Bryan?
I’ll
talk to Charlie.” Jennings nodded. “You talk to our contacts in the department. Find out what’s going on with this detective.” He watched Jennings, searching for signs of falsity. “This is no bullshit, is it, Robert?”

Jennings stood. “Bryan, this is one hundred percent down the line. This isn’t about any of us. It’s about the company. I don’t like it. We’re all at risk if we’ve got a cop snooping around.”

Fox nodded. He didn’t like leaving things behind, but he couldn’t delay Chekov any longer.

At twenty-five minutes past nine on Thursday morning, Charlie slipped on his suit jacket, adjusted his slacks, and left the office for the thirty-second floor. Tabby had been able to arrange an appointment with Bryan Fox’s secretary for nine-thirty.

Despite his optimism for an earlier solution, Charlie had been considering his sermon to Fox for the last three days. Fox had always preached the separation of personal and company work, but Charlie reminded himself that this might be a matter of life and death. Fox would have to listen. They had an excellent relationship, but whenever Charlie was faced with a matter relating to company rules, he felt the pressure of letting the boss down.

As he rode the elevator, Charlie wondered if he’d ever felt so apprehensive. Not only was he risking Samantha’s life, but perhaps his own career and even his life too if he considered how events might play out in the extreme. He would need all his persuasion, be at his most engaging, appealing to any sense of empathy that Fox might still possess. He knew that foremost, the CEO believed in abiding by the rules.

He stepped out of the elevator at thirty-two, pulled his shirt sleeves down, adjusted the arms of his suit, and fastened the top two buttons of his jacket. He stood straight, lifted his chin, and started forward.

Maggie, Fox’s PA sat at a curved desk engaged on a phone call. She glanced up and waved him towards a set of double oak doors. Charlie stopped at them, feeling the smooth grain of the wood and the weight in the timber. Such objects were rare, and it spoke of Fox’s position and the company’s wealth. Stories of his rise up the company ranks were legendary. At fifty-nine, Fox had been born in the twentieth century, and Charlie enjoyed the rare moment to quiz him about life in the old days.

He pushed the doors apart and entered. But Fox wasn’t in his office.

Instead, Robert Jennings stood behind the large, redwood desk. Charlie froze. His immediate thought was to leave.

“Come in, come in,” Jennings said, moving towards a mantelshelf. Charlie tried to speak. He edged forward. “Shut the door, please.” Charlie did, and then stood behind one of the armchairs. Jennings poured two shots of scotch into thick glasses, handed one to Charlie, and sat. “Take a seat.” Charlie remained standing.

“Where’s Bryan?”

“Oh, he’s stuck in Washington. I’m filling in for him, of course.” Charlie’s internal alarm system blared. “And I wanted to ask you something.” Charlie didn’t move. “The IT guys reported a pullover on your vehicle this morning. I had a chance to run through the audio. Anything more you can tell me about it?”

“Not much.” Charlie shrugged. “He was a detective from Precinct Three, I think.”

“What’d he ask about?”

If Jennings was asking questions, he didn’t know everything that was said. “How well I knew Dom Curwood.”

“How well you knew him? That’s it?”

“Mostly.” Did Jennings know Charlie had suggested Dom’s death wasn’t suicide? If so, he was in trouble. But he wasn’t going to give that up in case. “It should be all on the audio.”

Jennings nodded. “It is. I just wanted to get your spin on it.”

“It only took a couple of minutes.”

“Okay. What was it you needed to speak to Bryan about?”

Charlie felt fear stir in his belly. He hesitated. This wasn’t the way he had imagined. “Perhaps I should come back when Bryan’s here.”

Jennings top lip went stiff. “
I’m
your boss, Charlie. I’m the one who pays your salary. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I just meant—”

“I know what you meant. You don’t trust me. I’m your boss, and you don’t trust me.”

What if this was his final chance? Or worse, what if Jennings held the lack of trust against him? “Okay. Sure.” He took a seat. “It’s about this week’s list.” Jennings raised his dark eyebrows. “My wife is on list, and I need to get her off.”

Jennings watched him. “You’re joking, right?”

Charlie shook his head. “No joke.”

“What’s your wife’s name again?”

“Samantha.”

“That’s it. We met at the Christmas party, the year before last?” Charlie nodded. “And you’re sure it’s not another Samantha Billings?”

“No. Her ID matches.”

“That’s odd.”

“How can I get it removed from the list?”

Jennings cracked his knuckles. “As much as working for this company provides unequalled access and opportunity, it has its challenges, too.” Charlie swallowed, trying not to let his dry throat click. “Our code is strict code. I don’t need to tell you that. Every day is a battle against forces that strive to corrupt our work. Every day we are tested.” Jennings leaned forward on the desk and folded his hands. The furniture looked too big for him, as though he was out of place. “We often receive requests of this nature. You’re not alone. Many of our top people have faced similar decisions. Did you speak to Karl Atherton?”

“
Yes
,” Charlie said. “But he told me to accept it and move on!”

Jennings nodded. “Good advice, Charlie. I appreciate the difficulty, but you need to stay focused. Don’t let this matter deter you. You have great potential.”

Charlie felt a cold clasp around his chest. This had something to do with him not telling Jennings about the police. He sensed it. Jennings knew more, and this was his payback. He stammered for a response, but the realization silenced him. Jennings couldn’t help.
Wouldn’t
help. Still, he wasn’t giving up. He found his voice and stiffened his posture, surprised he wasn’t ready to concede. “Is there another way… around this?”

Jennings rocked back and folded one leg over the other. He clasped his hands together and considered the question as though lives depended on it, which of course, they did. Now, it was his life, and that of his wife. “If we were to grant a concession, what would the next person say? Or the ones for whom we have not?” Charlie froze. “As much as I recognize your pain and wish it wasn’t so, I can’t interfere. It’s your choice how this plays out.”

His skin itched everywhere, as though it was on fire.
Fox. He needed Fox.
“So what do I do?”

“I can’t answer that, Charlie. I will say that thus far, your record has been faultless. I’d like it to stay that way.” Charlie swallowed, but his tongue felt swollen, the saliva in his mouth and throat dry.

Jennings laid his palms out, and pushed the chair back. “Like I said, you must make the choice. That’s what you signed up for. Did you think the money and lifestyle wouldn’t come at a cost one day? We all have to pay the price, Charlie.”

“What about Bryan? When is he—?”

“
No.
” Jennings stood with his hands on his hips. “Bryan won’t be back for a few days. I’m running things at the moment.” Charlie saw a gold wedding ring on Jennings finger and repressed the urge to ask about
his
wife.

“In the end, you’ll make the right decision for the company.”