The P.U.R.E. (18 page)

“When did you make this new discovery?” Lisa asked.

“About the phony sales, missing cash and inventory overstatement? Today. Aphrodite’s controller provided me with the documentation you’re holding. I learned about the stock ownership and misclassification several weeks ago.”

“Did you report your finding to your supervisors?” Lisa asked.

“I did. I reported it to Bob Turner a few days ago—the same day I reported the harassment to him. Bob asked me to keep the information confidential until he had a chance to investigate.”

Lisa frowned. “Did he say why?”

“Yes. Bob’s wife, Leslie Dalrymple Turner, is the sole owner of Elizabethan. Bob said he was unaware of this and needed to investigate but said he would remove himself from the audit if it were indeed true.”

“Has he investigated or removed himself?” Sandy asked. Lisa cleared her throat, and Sandy twitched in her seat as if she had been kicked or pinched.

“Not to my knowledge. Bob was also in the office last night. Jon and I overheard a conversation he and Doug had about Aphrodite and the need to destroy a few particular audit files.”

Lisa raised her eyebrows. “Are you implying a highly respected partner in this firm is not only impaired independence-wise but has engaged in a cover-up?”

“Yes, I believe so. I also overheard him telling Doug to stop sending me text messages, that he was tired of bailing Doug out. Bob said if he got even one whiff of a sexual harassment claim against Doug, he would be out on the street.”

“Jon, what did you hear Bob and Doug say last night?” Lisa asked.

“I heard exactly what Gayle just stated. Neither Bob nor Doug knew Gayle and I overheard them because we were in the conference room near Bob’s office.”

“I see.” A grave expression took hold of Lisa’s face.

“What were you two doing in the conference room?” Proving fraternization seemed to be Sandy’s primary mission.

“Hiding,” Jon said in what was clearly a “duh” tone of voice.

I stifled my laugh. Anyone in the firm could have rattled off a list of at least four “fraternizing” couples, including one partner and his secretary. I didn’t know why it seemed to matter so much to her.

Jon cleared his throat. “In consideration of what Gayle discovered at Aphrodite, I would like to be reinstated. I believe I was railroaded into a confession without having been able to present all the facts. It’s obvious to me, based on what we now know, that Doug did intend to harm Gayle, and I was not wrong to defend her. His actions weren’t based solely in sexual harassment. He meant to intimidate her to prevent her from discovering the fraud at Aphrodite that he and Bob Turner participated in. Absent reinstatement, I plan to file a wrongful discharge claim, and I’ll report Gayle’s and my findings to the Texas Board of Public Accountancy’s Ethical Standards Committee as well as to the public practice section of the AICPA. Gayle’s still waiting on the DNA evidence from her apartment, but I have no doubt it will match Doug Martin.”

Lisa narrowed her eyes at Jon. “Would you and Gayle please step outside for a moment while Sandy and I discuss what you’ve both shared?”

“Of course.” Jon flashed one of his melt-them-in-their-tracks smiles.

He and I rose, and after I gathered all my paperwork and returned it to my briefcase, we stepped outside. Once we closed the door behind us, I jumped up and down as silently as possible. Jon swept me into a huge hug.

“Oh my God, Gayle, you were so awesome!” We pulled away from each other.

“I blew the whistle! Me. I did it. I not only reported Doug, I reported Bob and the whole Aphrodite fraud. I ain’t going down with this ship no more! They might still fire me, but at least I’ll go with a clear conscience and my CPA license out of jeopardy.”

“You’re an amazing woman, Gayle. You did and said all the right things every step of the way. You didn’t let them bully you.”

“You were awesome, too. I was so proud of the way you demanded your job back, or you’d file suit and report the firm. Ha! So cool. So collected.” I looked around to make sure we didn’t have an audience. I lowered my voice. “I wish we were alone so I could show you how turned on I was by your little speech.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

He wiggled his back for a wordless ‘ditto’.

“Stay with me tonight, Gayle.” His big brown eyes worked their magic. At that moment, I knew exactly how Nicky felt. “No matter what happens,” he added.

“You couldn’t keep me away.” Sheesh, I was turning into a sappy romantic plummeting down a slippery slope, but I was too giddy to worry about what lay at the bottom.

24

When we returned, I handed Sandy copies of my harassment log. A folder labeled ‘Gayle Lindley’ lay on top of her paperwork stack. A couple of photos tried to escape when she slipped the copies inside.

The voyeur in me wanted to see the pictures, but Sandy never showed them. Who had taken them and why?

Doug was the logical choice, depending on what they were, but for him to have staked out my apartment at such an early hour solely to take pictures seemed unlikely. His calls and texts came in the dead of night.

Turned out we were naïve to believe Jon would get his job back so quickly. Sandy and Lisa deferred action on his behalf until Friday, when they would meet with the head of HR, who had already left for the day.

Lisa concluded our meeting by telling me they would thoroughly investigate my harassment claims, and they would also re-evaluate Jon’s termination in light of the latest evidence after they’d done their due diligence. His “excessive use of force” on Doug remained the most serious offense and justified his termination on its own. Jon’s salvation lay on the credibility of my accusations against Doug.

As to the Aphrodite misdeeds, HR and Legal arranged for me to meet with Jeff Hardinger, Aphrodite’s advisory partner, first thing in the morning. They also removed me from the Aphrodite project—as I expected and wanted.

I kept the files I’d taken from Doug, however, and ignored all of his increasingly venomous voice mails to return them. He’d get them back after I met with Jeff. Until then, he could stew in his juices.

My watch read four thirty, close enough to normal quitting time for me to leave without attracting attention. Jon, however, ran the gauntlet of curious and sympathetic co-workers who’d heard the rumors and wondered if they were true, and if so, why he was still at the office.

The huge boulder I’d been carrying on my shoulders no longer threatened to crush me. As I walked into my apartment, however, the remnants of Doug’s vandalism recalled its heaviness. I hadn’t cleaned up all the mess. My kitchen smelled like sour milk and rotten eggs. Glass shards riddled my carpet. Refrigerator magnets and Chip Clips tentatively held my shower curtain in place.

After filing the police report, I had spent the rest of that evening washing my clothes at my apartment’s laundromat. The next morning, I’d dropped off a massive dry cleaning order. I kept my least dusty suit so I’d have something to wear despite the heeby-jeebies it gave me. Though I promised to spend the night with Jon, I couldn’t tolerate the state of my home for another evening.

My doorbell rang just as I pulled out the sponges and Lysol.

Jon!

I opened the door and smiled. He stood on my threshold with an overnight duffel and three bags of groceries. On his delectable body, he wore a ratty T-shirt and torn jeans.

“I was about to call you. Come in. The place is still a mess, but I’m making progress.”

“It occurred to me as I drove home that you hadn’t had much of an opportunity to clean up. I figured four hands would make for light work. Plus, you probably have no food. So, tonight, I’ll be your chef and your assistant housekeeper.”

I smirked and looked heavenward, my hands in prayer, and mouthed, “Thank you!”

“I work for free, but I accept tips.” He winked before gazing down at me in a manner that made me tingle. There was no confusing his meaning or expectations. I predicted a generous tip, but I wouldn’t share my intentions because he still needed to earn it. If only I could keep the giggly schoolgirl in me at bay.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He walked past me into my apartment, straight to the kitchen. “Sadly, this needs mucho attention before it’s usable.”

“Sorry. My priorities were bedroom, bathroom and clothing before kitchen, and I haven’t even finished those yet.”

“I’d prioritize kitchen and bathroom before clothing and bedroom.”

“Yeah, but you’re a man. I doubt it’s the same sort of feeling of violation.”

“Any word from the police yet?” He swept the dry goods off the counters and into my garbage can as we spoke. I picked up the larger pieces of glass on the carpet near the television.

“No, nor have I had a chance to call them. But here’s something that’s been nagging me all day.” I dumped the glass in the trash and leaned against the vacuum cleaner as I spoke.

“What’s that?”

“Doug didn’t seem like he had any idea what I was talking about when I accused him of breaking into my apartment. I didn’t peg him as such a good liar.”

“I can’t imagine anyone else doing this, and it didn’t seem like a random crime.”

“Me neither. But why did he dig through my wallet for my address last night if he already knew where I lived, if he’d already been inside my apartment?”

“A cover? Maybe he meant to rub your nose in what he’d already done to terrorize you again. Or maybe he wanted you to think he didn’t know your address so he couldn’t possibly have been the one who trashed the place.”

“Possibly.”

“Where were your keys when he was hunting through your purse?”

“They were on me, in my pocket.” We worked quietly for a few seconds. “Who do you think took those photos of us this morning?”

“I have no idea, but I’ve been wondering about them all day.”

“Me, too.”

When he offered nothing more on the subject, I started the vacuum. Jon and I worked without speaking until he finished making dinner for us. We discussed the Aphrodite situation while we ate.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about a couple of other discoveries I made,” I said. “Remember those files I copied from Jayna? Twice?”

“The Dalrymple and Elizabethan documents?”

“Yes. In the folders, I found a few bonuses I hadn’t seen the first time.”

“Bonuses?” He leaned forward and sipped the wine he freely shared since I was a sure thing, tipsy or sober.

“Maps from Kenneth’s house to the Turner’s home and another one from his house to Rocky’s. I found a third map to the park where they found his body. All had been printed from the Internet several months ago, before the audit began.”

“It’s like Kenneth planned to go to both Rocky’s and the park all along for two different appointments, but someone, probably the person he was to meet, knew that’s where he would be and pow!” Jon pantomimed shooting a gun.

I shuddered, reminded of when Doug had pretended to shoot me earlier that day. “I’d love to be able to rifle through Bob’s office.” I raised my glass to take another sip of my wine.

At the sound of my doorbell, both of us jumped. I excused myself to answer it, thinking I could dispense of a neighbor or a solicitor quickly.

With Jon there, I didn’t bother to check the peephole first. I opened the door to find Doug standing on my welcome mat—ironic because welcome he was not.

25

“Hello, Gayle. How’re you?”

I stared at him for a few beats, wondering if his visit would turn ugly and grateful Jon was with me. “What do you want, Doug?”

A chair scraped against the floor. Jon would be at my side in a second.

“You have company?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

He dropped the insincere smile. “I want those two files. I’ve been calling you and calling you to try and get ’em, but you won’t answer or return my calls. You left me no choice but to come in person.”

“Why didn’t you text me? You’re such a wizard at that.”

He smirked and craned his neck as if to see around me. “Who’s your company?”

Jon stepped beside me in full view. “I think you’d better leave, Doug.”

“Jon. Of course. Are you getting enough tail to make it worth your while, or are you still panting at her heels? How’s unemployment suiting you so far? But I digress. I need the files, Gayle.”

“No, you don’t. I prepared the referencer’s aid and didn’t make a single cross-reference to either one of them.”

“You’re up to your eyeballs in caca, sweetheart. You really wanna burrow deeper into the shit mess you two have made? What do you need ’em for anyway?”

“HR knows I have the files. I need them for a meeting tomorrow morning. You’ll get them back when I’m finished. You can wait till then.”

I began to shut the door, but he wedged his foot in the way. Jon pushed me behind him.

The two men were about the same size, but my money would always be on Jon. He was the good guy, and he was my guy. Plus, he had a lethal left uppercut.

“Gayle asked you to leave, and so did I.” Jon glared at Doug, his jaw tight, nostrils flared.

“Not until I’ve got what I came for, Johnny boy.” No doubt buoyed by his political triumph, he took a step closer.

Jon’s hand shot out, gripped Doug about the throat and slammed him against the door jam. He released his strangling hold and shoved his right forearm against Doug’s neck causing Doug to drop his keys on the ground. I picked them up, but neither man noticed me at that point.

“I’ll call … the cops … press charges.” Doug choked and wheezed.

Jon leaned into him, his face barely an inch from Doug’s. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to beat the shit out of you again.” The voice he used belonged to a stranger—full of menace and fury. “I’ve already lost my job. If you’re still threatening me with the police, I’ve nothing else to lose. Maybe I can pound out some of your DNA to give to the cops when they come. We’re impatient to compare yours against samples from Gayle’s apartment.”

“Don’t know … what … you’re … talkin’ ’bout.”

A whump and a wheeze told me Jon made good on at least part of his threat. I missed the actual blows because I was going through Doug’s keychain. Most were obvious—a Subaru car key, an audit trunk key—everyone at Anderson-Blakely had identical ones—a blue one labeled ‘home’, a long and skinny gold one I assumed went to a mailbox because it was similar to my own. That left three other as yet unidentified keys plus another one labeled Yamaha—probably a motorcycle. The smallest key would have fit a file cabinet or credenza. The remaining two were both standard-sized silver keys—one said ‘Quickset’, and the other had ‘55-12’ etched on the head. I gambled and slipped the ‘55-12’ key off the chain and into my pocket.