Tote Bags and Toe Tags (26 page)

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Authors: Dorothy Howell

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“Okay, what have we got here?” she asked, flipping through the files. “Wow, this is a real mess.”
“I'll get you a coffee,” I said, figuring she'd need the caffeine jolt.
When I brought it back to the table, she had a tablet out, making notes. I didn't want to just sit there and watch her work—nor did I want to do any actual work myself—so I asked if I could borrow her laptop.
“Sure,” she said, and pulled it from the bag she'd brought in with her.
I was all set to surf the Net, visit my favorite fashion sites, and check the availability of the Temptress at all the major department stores, when I remembered the CD that Jack had copied from Constance's computer during our covet op.
I pulled the disk out of my tote.
“This might have some info on it,” I said, placing it on the table.
Amber nodded as she flipped papers, made notes in the corners, and clipped them together in separate batches.
“I'll check it out in a sec,” she said.
Not that I was feeling guilty, or anything, that Amber was working so hard and I wasn't, but I decided I should at least try to look like I was doing something constructive. I opened the Burberry jewel case and popped the CD with the history of Dempsey Rowland into the laptop, thinking maybe I could use some of the photos at Violet's memorial service tomorrow. A lot of old-timers would be there and would probably get a kick out of seeing themselves looking younger and, no doubt, thinner.
I grabbed my frappie and settled in, ready to be bored to tears by the upcoming retrospective of Dempsey Rowland company picnics, Christmas parties, and corporate facts and figures.
Instead, I saw photos of Arthur Dempsey as a young man, in middle age, and then as I knew him from the office now. He was in luxury yachts, private airplanes, limousines; going in and out of hotel rooms with young, sexy, big-boobed girls, and huddled with other men in informal meetings.
Arthur Dempsey—nor anyone else in the pictures—had not posed for these shots.
Interspersed with the photos were black and white pics of bank statements and what appeared to be legal documents.
“What the hell?” Amber asked.
I realized then that she was watching the CD with me.
“I'm not sure,” I said.
Amber turned up the volume. I hit the PLAY button and the CD started over.
I'd only heard Violet's voice for a few grueling hours during orientation, but it had left an impression on me. I recognized it right away.
While the CD played, Violet's voice-over described Arthur Dempsey's forty-year history of corruption—photos thoughtfully included: Divulging bids to competitors for kickbacks; using overruns in government contracts for his personal use; accepting—and giving—bribes to anyone and everyone whom he could benefit from.
“Damn,” Amber mumbled.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
I realized that Violet had probably made this CD in retaliation for Arthur Dempsey's refusal to hire her granddaughter, compounded by her discovery that he'd grossly underpaid her for years. She'd probably put up with a lot from him. She'd worked tirelessly behind the scenes to insure the company's sterling reputation despite Dempsey's actions. That whole thing with her granddaughter and her salary had probably been the last straw—along with Dempsey's multimillion dollar retirement bonus.
Violet had gone into Constance's office that morning, no doubt, and put the incriminating CD with the retirement plans. Maybe she'd thought it was a good place to hide it, or maybe she wanted Constance to show it at Arthur Dempsey's retirement party—his greatest moment of triumph—so everyone would know exactly what kind of man he really was.
That's what I would have done.
But someone must have found out about the CD, confronted her, and then smashed her in the head with something big and heavy.
I thought I knew who that was.
But I also thought I knew who else it might be.
Arthur himself had the most to hide. When all this information came to light, not only would his reputation be ruined, but so would his company.
I wasn't sure Ruth would stand by and let that happen.
Maybe on that last day when Violet had gone to the Executive Unit, she'd threatened Arthur with exposing his underhanded dealings. Ruth might have overheard and decided to stop Violet herself.
Another thought popped into my head. Somebody had told me they'd seen Ruth with a laptop. Shuman said Violet's was missing.
Was that the murder weapon?
Had Ruth murdered Violet? Or had it been Arthur Dempsey himself?
I had to find out. And I knew just how to do that.
I started by calling Detective Shuman.
C
HAPTER
26
I
t was a Louis Vuitton day. Definitely a Louis Vuitton day.
I stood with the fabulous LVT organizer Ty had given me last fall—long story—checking off items on the list I'd made for Violet's memorial service. So far, everything was going great.
The main conference center was the perfect venue for today's service. The large stage at the front of the room was fully equipped for a theatrical production, with curtains, lights, microphones, the works. I didn't need any of that today, though, just the giant TV screen that hung over the stage; I'd had help from the tech people this morning to get it working like I needed.
Along one wall I'd placed the refreshment table, and the caterer I'd hired had stocked it with six kinds of coffees, three flavored teas, water—sparkling and mineral—pink and sugar-free lemonade, every soda on the market, and three kinds of fruit juices. In the adjoining full kitchen, the staff was preparing to serve the bountiful array of meats, cheeses, salads, and desserts I'd ordered, courtesy of my Dempsey Rowland corporate credit card.
In keeping with my own personal policy of spending as much of Dempsey Rowland's money on Violet's behalf as possible, I'd hired a florist to decorate the entire room with floral bouquets. Flowers and greenery abounded. On the stage, the podium was draped in garland and a giant funeral spray stood beside a large photo of Violet.
Yeah, I know, I could get into real trouble for blowing my budget big time. But if everything went as I expected, in another few minutes nobody would care.
I'd scheduled the memorial service for three o'clock on Friday afternoon. That way everybody could attend the half-hour service, have refreshments, pretend to talk about Violet as an excuse not to go back to their desks, then leave early.
Do I know how to play an event, or what?
Employees, retirees, and guests were starting to arrive. Arthur Dempsey stood at the entrance to the room greeting everyone. Ruth had positioned herself a half step behind him, as expected.
It looked like a good turnout. I'd invited about fifty people, in addition to the Dempsey Rowland employees, and it seemed they were all here. I didn't recognize many of them, but I knew city and federal government officials and corporate executives with whom Dempsey Rowland had done business for years were in attendance.
Two guests no one knew about were positioned offstage in the wings.
I glanced at my wristwatch and saw that the service was scheduled to start in ten minutes. Time to make my move.
After viewing the CD last night in Starbucks with Amber, I'd figured that either Ruth or Arthur Dempsey had murdered both Violet and Erma. All I had to do was prove it.
I didn't have any hard evidence, but that was no reason not to pursue the theory.
That's how we private eye–event planners do things.
So I'd come up with a plan to expose the real killer, and as long as that person didn't go nuts and try to murder someone else—like me, maybe—everything should be fine.
I waited until there was a gap between arriving guests, then crossed the room and stepped in front of Mr. Dempsey.
“I need to speak with you right away,” I said in my low it's-important voice.
Dempsey glared at me, as if thoroughly annoyed that I'd dared interrupt him.
“I know who murdered Violet,” I said.
That got his attention.
“I have proof,” I said. “I want you to see it before I call the police.”
I walked away and crossed the room, weaving my way between employees and guests who were milling around, talking, and helping themselves to beverages. When I climbed the stairs at the edge of the stage and walked into the wings, Arthur was behind me.
The big TV screen illuminated the stage with the Dempsey Rowland corporate logo, but it was dark back here. A gooseneck lamp turned to face the wall offered minimal light.
“I found a CD,” I said. “Violet made it.”
I'd set up my laptop earlier—with the help of the tech people—on a small table near the heavy, dark stage curtain. Mr. Dempsey glared at it.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“Just watch,” I said, and turned the laptop toward him. “Come a little closer so you can see better.”
He did. I stepped behind the table and I hit the PLAY button.
The scenes I'd witnessed last night in Starbucks rolled, and Violet's voice once again gave a vivid, detailed description of Arthur Dempsey's years of excess, abuse, fraud, and corruption.
When the CD ended, I hit a couple more buttons, hoping Dempsey wouldn't know what I was doing. He didn't seem to. He stood frozen in place, but his eyes swept back and forth, and I figured his brain was frantically searching for the best way to spin what I'd just showed him.
“Lies. Facts twisted to make them look like something they're not,” Dempsey said, pointing at the screen. “Put together by a disgruntled employee who was barely hanging onto her job. I should have fired that bitch years ago.”
“Violet threatened to expose you,” I said.
His gaze came up sharply and pinned me with a look of sheer hatred.
“That's why Ruth murdered her,” I said.
Dempsey's expression shifted. He was a crafty old bastard who'd had decades of experience at seeing an opportunity and going for it.
“Violet was seen returning from the Executive Unit the day before she was murdered,” I said. “She was furious over something. I believe she came to your office, threatened to expose you, and Ruth decided to stop her.”
He didn't say anything so I kept going.
“Violet was struck over the head with a blunt object,” I said. “It was probably her laptop. Violet's is missing, and Ruth was seen carrying one through the office shortly after her murder.”
Dempsey began to nod slowly.
“I had lunch with Erma Pomeroy to discuss the memorial service,” I said. “Ruth saw us together. She must have thought Erma knew something that would incriminate her. After all, Erma worked in payroll. She knew how you'd underpaid Violet all those years. She had friends in accounting and contracting who could back up Violet's claims that you'd made and accepted bribes for government contracts.”
“Damn,” Dempsey swore. “I should have gotten rid of Ruth a long time ago, too. Stupid bitch. Just another idiot woman I had to put up with. Now she's murdered two people and brought scandal to my company.”
“Arthur!”
From the edge of the stage curtain, Ruth rushed over. She'd followed Arthur and me back here, as I knew she would, then stood aside as a good assistant should, and listened to everything that was said.
“Arthur, how can you say those things?” Ruth exclaimed.
She was frantic, on the verge of tears, totally confounded by what Dempsey had said about her.
“You don't mean that. I know you don't,” Ruth insisted. “How can you say I murdered Violet and Erma when you know very well that I didn't?”
“I don't know anything of the sort,” Dempsey told her.
“But Arthur, I've devoted my entire adult life to you. I took care of you. I protected you.” Ruth touched his arm. “I didn't tell you this because I wanted to surprise you, but I'm retiring, too, when you do. We can go places. Finally, we can truly be together.”
Dempsey jerked away. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I know you never loved your wife,” Ruth said.
“You're right about that. He's divorcing his wife,” I said. “But he's already picked out the next Mrs. Dempsey, and she's young enough to be—well,
me.
With bigger boobs.”
Ruth looked at me, then back at Dempsey again. She was totally lost now.
“You're ... you're marrying someone else?” she asked.
“Hell, yes,” Dempsey told her. “What the devil made you ever think I'd want
you?”
A full minute passed while Ruth just stared at Dempsey, then I guess the truth finally sank in.
“I didn't kill those women! You know I didn't!” she shouted at Dempsey. “I heard Violet in your office that day, threatening to expose everything you've done.”
“Enough!” Dempsey told her.
“You're the one who gave me that laptop,” Ruth said. “You're the one who told me to get rid of it.”
“Shut up,” he demanded.
“I told you I saw Erma and Haley at lunch together, then you left for the afternoon.” Ruth gasped. “Oh, Arthur, you killed them. You really killed both of them!”
“Damn right I did!” Dempsey shouted. “I wasn't about to let those two bitches bring me down!”
“Oh, Arthur, no!” Ruth shook her head frantically. “I was afraid you'd done it, but I didn't want to believe it. That's why I had Haley plan this memorial service and said it was your idea, so you wouldn't look guilty.”
“Be quiet,” Dempsey insisted.
I hadn't known which of them had done the killings, but I figured one of them would rat out the other when it all went down.
Ruth turned on me. “This is all
your
fault! None of this would have happened if you hadn't found that CD. You've been nothing but trouble since you came here. I found your personnel folder hidden in Arthur's briefcase, and I'm glad he took it from Adela's office so the police would think you murdered Violet!”
I flashed on the day I'd been nosing around in H.R. looking for the folders of the other new hires. Adela had shown up and interrupted me. Mr. Dempsey had been with her. He must have figured incriminating me was a way to keep suspicion off of himself and lead the detectives down a dead end.
“For God's sake, will you shut up!” Dempsey roared. He pointed at my laptop. “That CD is company property. Give it to me.”
“Sure,” I said. “How much are you willing to give me for it?”
His eyes narrowed to two beady pinpoints of hatred.
“You're known for taking bribes, and offering them, of course. It's all documented. How much is it worth to you?” I asked. “Or do you plan to kill me like you did Violet and Erma?”
“Listen to me, you little twit,” Dempsey said. “I'll do anything I have to do—including murder—to keep my company in business. You're expendable—and so were those two.”
He glanced around, as if suddenly remembering where we were and who was in the conference room just steps away. “This isn't the time or place for this discussion.”
“Don't worry. Everyone here already knows.” I pointed to my laptop. “The CD played on the big screen over the stage while you saw it here.”
Fury rolled across his face as he looked from the laptop to me.
“And everyone saw your confession,” I added.
I pointed to the webcam affixed to my laptop, which I'd switched on after the CD played. I'd figured Arthur wouldn't know enough about computer equipment to realize I'd mounted a webcam on my laptop, and even if he had, I'd doubted he'd notice it, either because it was dark backstage or because he was so caught up in the CD Violet had made.
“Wave to the audience,” I said.
But Dempsey didn't wave. He let out a growl and swiped my laptop off the table, then lunged at me. Ruth screamed. I dodged left. Dempsey overturned the table and grabbed for me.
“Stop! Police!”
Detective Shuman ran from behind the stage curtain and wrestled Arthur Dempsey to the floor. Detective Madison trailed along behind, holding a gun.
Dempsey fought and cursed as Shuman put the cuffs on. Ruth began to cry. Noise from the employees and guests in the conference room grew.
“You, too,” Madison said. He holstered his weapon and grabbed Ruth's arm.
“What? What are you doing?” she wailed.
“Accessory after the fact,” Madison said, as he snapped handcuffs on her wrists.
“Good work,” Shuman said to me, as he got to his feet.
My heart was pounding pretty good and—yikes!—I'd started to sweat, but I forced myself to calm down.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Not so fast,” Detective Madison said, over Ruth's caterwauling. “You still have a lot of questions to answer.”
 
All the other Dempsey Rowland employees left early, but not me. Detective Madison insisted I wait around the conference room, tell, and retell the facts leading up to Dempsey's confession until even he was sick of hearing about it.
I fudged a little—okay, I outright lied—about how I'd come into possession of Violet's CD. I claimed I found it in my office.

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