Weapons of Mass Distraction (18 page)

“Don’t. It’s cute. I like that necklace you’re wearing.”

“Gift from the man in my life,” I said, picking up the pendant and playing with it.

“He must like you a whole lot.”

“Yup,” I agreed, as I leaned over and kissed him. It was brief, heart-pounding, and made me sigh.

“You taste like strawberries,” said Solomon, licking his lips.

“It’s my lip gloss. I also have apple, grape, and a lipstick that tastes like watermelon. Want to try them all?”

“So long as I don’t end up looking like a transvestite, yes.”

“Deal.” I was about to root in my purse for the extra lip glosses when Solomon picked up his cell phone, tapping the screen. The smooch moment vanished, and I was barely able to restrain a disappointed pout. Damn work, getting in the way. Sure, I was dedicated to the job, but it wasn’t like we had that much alone time and I didn’t want to miss snatching any opportunity. Maybe if we weren’t still pussyfooting around town, trying to keep our secret dating slash relationship under wraps, it would have been easier. That made me wonder: just why were we doing that? I’d come a long way in proving myself at my job and felt confident that my colleagues weren’t all that interested in my sex life. After all, now I thought about it, they knew about Maddox, and that didn’t bother them at all. Perhaps keeping our relationship to ourselves wasn’t all that necessary.

Just as I was about to voice my revelation to Solomon, he said, “Dinner? Mine? Later?”

“I like a man of few words,” I replied, nudging him with my elbow. “Very sexy.”

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “My bad. Would you like to stay at my house after dinner and a movie tonight?”

“Yes, please. Sleepover? Shall I bring my jammies?”

“Yes, and no. In that order.”

“Toothbrush?”

“You may as well leave one, one of these days.”

“Whatever will I brush my teeth with when I’m at home?” I asked, purposefully giving him my most vacant expression. Solomon leaned over, ruffled my hair and kissed me on the lips. Then he drew back, his eyes heavily lidded, urging me to sigh, before going in for a longer, more delicious smooch that sent my heart a-flutter.

“Screw the case,” he murmured. “Let’s go home, right now.”

“You’re so unprofessional,” I whispered against his lips. Before he could reply, and possibly have gotten me on the same wavelength, his cell beeped, and with a grunt, he pulled away from me and reached for it. Unfortunately, I didn’t let go and had to disentangle myself from his arms before I ended up face first in his lap. Not that I thought Solomon would argue, but as far as public displays of affection, that would be off the chart.

“It’s time for our meeting,” he said, beaming as I blushed. “Come on before I change my mind and drag you home.”

“You really wouldn’t need to drag me,” I told him as I slid out of the car and followed him to Simonstech. It was hard to resist reaching for his hand, but I did, as I figured Joseph O’Keefe, the vice president, and our scheduled appointment, probably wouldn’t take two canoodling private investigators seriously. By the time we got to the entrance lobby and signed the guest book, the security guard said O’Keefe’s secretary was on her way down. That gave us only a minute or two to scan the room.

While Solomon took discreet looks at the security, I found my attention drawn to a large glass display cabinet against one wall. Inside was a scale rendition of Simonstech, but the focus was on the land beyond and a small painted portion of lake, lapping at the shore. They even had clusters of purple flowers mixed in with the woodland. Above the model hung a landscape painting of the natural habitat sanctuary Simonstech had set aside for the local wildlife. There were some notes about how the land would never be touched, and thus, still available for employees and future generations to enjoy. I had just finished reading about it when the secretary joined us. She was mentioning the excellent PR aspects of the natural sanctuary as we followed her via a series of elevators and corridors to a large corner office on the top floor.

“Thank you for seeing us,” said Solomon, shaking the VP’s hand first. I got a swift handshake too before we were ushered to the visitors’ chairs opposite O’Keefe’s desk. He settled into his own leather, upholstered chair and leaned back, examining us as we surveyed him. He had graying temples on an otherwise full head of dark brown hair and the most delightful blue eyes. They matched the sky-blue tie peeking out from his gray suit. From his online biography, I had him pegged as sixty minimum, but he looked much younger.

“Not a problem. We don’t often get a detective agency here, or ever, I’ll admit, so I was intrigued and I had a little free time. You said it was something to do with one of our employees?” Before we could confirm, he continued. “We take the welfare of our staff very seriously here. How can I help?”

“It isn’t a current employee,” Solomon explained, “but some background on a previous one that we need in reference to a current case.”

“What kind of case? You didn't say when you called.”

“Homicide.”

“Oh.” The surprise showed in O’Keefe’s eyes, but he concealed it quickly. “Recent?”

“Yes.”

O’Keefe took that in, looking from Solomon to me. “Okay. Simonstech employs more than a thousand people at this site so I can’t guarantee I know the names of everyone here now, never mind a past employee, but I’ll do the best I can. What’s the name?”

“Jim Schwarz.”

“Why, you’re in luck! I did know him. He was employed in the research division. A very pleasant man. Bright future. I was very sad to see him go. He’s dead, you say?”

“He died a week ago,” I said, taking point from Solomon, whom I saw watching the man carefully for any kind of reaction, or body language that shouted “I did it!” I didn’t know what Solomon read from him, but I got nothing but surprise, and perhaps, a little shock. O’Keefe really didn’t know his former employee was dead.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Like I said, I hated to see him go. Jim had a bright future here. He was one of the youngest heads of a laboratory in the history of the firm. What happened?”

“He was poisoned.”

“What is this world coming to?” O’Keefe got up and paced to the window. He stuck his hands in his pants’ pockets and stared out for a few moments, before looking at us over his shoulder. “Has the killer been apprehended?”

“Not yet,” said Solomon, “but it’s only a matter of time. We’re mostly interested in the reason why Jim Schwarz left your employ.”

“To be honest, I’d like to know that too. We’d just approved his promotion when he resigned. We figured he wanted more money, so I offered it to him personally. Quite a large pay raise, actually.”

“Who’s we?”

“The big boss, Carter Simons Senior, our HR director, Anne Mannering, and yours truly.” O’Keefe shrugged, continuing, “But he said there was nothing that could convince him to stay. I wrote a reference for him myself and I told him if he ever changed his mind, there was always a place for him here. I remember he seemed quite touched when he shook my hand and told me it was a pleasure to know me. Things like that really stick in your head when you’re the boss.”

“Did he give any indication as to why he left?”

“Not to me. That’s not to say he didn’t say anything to his co-workers. We’re a family firm, you know. Simons Senior is my brother-in-law and the founder. We’re still privately held, and as such, Simonstech really values its employees. I advise all my managers to have good relationships with the staff. Leniency on letting them attend their kids’ Christmas plays, birthdays, no hassle dental appointments, that sort of thing.” Solomon nodded, while O’Keefe rested his back against the window. He, crossed his legs, seemingly relaxed as he chose his next words carefully. “I hate to say it, but I wonder if Jim got into it with his manager.”

“Who would that be?”

“Carter Simons Junior, Carter’s son and my nephew.”

“Could we talk to him?” asked Solomon, rising. “I’d like to hear his take on Schwarz, then we’ll be out of here. We really appreciate your time.”

“Of course. I’ll have my secretary take you there. I have to go to my next meeting and there’s a car waiting for me downstairs.” O’Keefe rounded the desk to shake our hands again before grabbing a leather portfolio case from the desk and tucking it under his arm. “I hope you catch the bastard that hurt Jim. Call my secretary if you need anything else,” he said, waving in his secretary, who was now hovering by the open doors. “This is my junior secretary, Mark. Mark, can you take the investigators to Junior and tell him to help them however he can.” Saying that, Joseph O’Keefe was gone, with a couple of assistants flanking him as he exited the office.

“Please follow me,” said Mark, “We have to head over to the east wing; but it’s only a few minutes’ walk.”

As we followed, Solomon asked Mark a few questions, but the secretary had only joined the firm within the past couple of months and didn’t know the deceased. Solomon gave up, and together, we surveyed the building as we traversed it. There wasn’t much we could see. Unlike modern, open plan offices, Simonstech was very much closed off, with office after office hidden away behind touch code doors. Within minutes, we passed through a glass-covered walkway, hovering in the air between a second building, unseen from the front parking lot. The outside scenery turned greener as we moved towards the back of the building, and I could just see the edges of the lake and a smattering of the purple flowers, just like in the model.

A tall, slim man was waiting for us, all smiles as we approached, shaking our hands firmly and inquiring after our health. If I didn’t know he was Carter Simons Junior, I would have recognized him from the photo of his father, also posted on the company website. “Old Man O’Keefe says this has something to do with Jim Schwarz, huh? Nice guy. We were all sad to see him leave. What happened?”

“He was murdered,” said Solomon, rather bluntly.

“Well, gosh, I never would have figured Jim for a murder victim. Honestly,” Simons Junior said, leaning in as he pushed open the door to a small meeting room and gestured for us to come in, “he just wasn’t that interesting.”

Solomon ignored that, instead asking, “We’re checking into his background and were curious about why he left Simonstech so suddenly.”

“I never really asked, but it’s always the same. More money, more vacation days,” replied Junior, with a knowing nod. “We couldn’t match his demands, so he left. His loss, I can tell you. Nice guy, but plenty of bright guys out there just waiting to catch a break for a smaller paycheck.”

“Did he have any problems with any of the staff here?” Solomon asked.

“No, friendly enough. He never mentioned anything. I can check his employee file, if you like?”

“We’d appreciate a copy.”

“If you leave your card, I’ll have my secretary mail you a copy.”

“Appreciated.” Solomon produced a card and pushed it across the table. Junior studied it a moment, then pocketed it.

“What did Jim do to warrant the special treatment with PIs?” he wanted to know. “Aside from being murdered?”

“That’s principally it,” Solomon deadpanned. “Was Schwarz… Jim… particularly friendly with any other employees here?”

“Not that I remember.”

“How about Karen Doyle or Lorena Vasquez?”

The silence in the room was audible, and Junior hesitated for the briefest of moments before recovering, and shrugging like the question was nothing. “He knew them. We all did since they all worked for me. They left a couple of years ago.”

“Were the three close?”

“I have no idea. I’m sure they wouldn’t have killed him.” Junior laughed. “Like I said, they’re not here anymore, or you could ask them personally. I’m pretty sure no one bears a grudge nearly two years old.”

“A grudge?” I asked.

Again, Junior hesitated before continuing, “Poor choice of words, I guess. I simply meant, that if they didn’t get along, I’m sure none of them care about it now. Our Human Resources department might be able to put you in contact. However, we didn’t stay in touch.”

“That won’t be possible,” Solomon replied. “Karen Doyle and Lorena Vasquez are both dead.”

“Damn shame,” said Junior, not skipping a beat. He checked his watch, then glanced over his shoulder to the empty corridor. “Nice people. Listen, I have a meeting to attend. Anything else I can help you with?” He pushed back his chair, rising, and  overtly signaling the meeting was over.

“We’re trying to work out if there was any reason why three employees of the same division, in the same firm, would all leave at the same time, and then all end up dead,” said Solomon, not rising from his chair. I stayed put in mine too.

Junior crossed to the door, opening it wide and holding it. He acted like he had all the time in the world, but when he looked from Solomon to me, his eyes were cold and angry. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating and neither would my uncle. I think you should leave now.”

“Thanks for your time,” said Solomon, surprising me by rising this time. That left me obligated to follow his lead.

“I’ll take you to the elevators, then security will show you out,” Junior told us. We followed him; Solomon quietly, and I… puzzled that Solomon wasn’t more insistent in his questioning.

“One more thing,” Solomon said, as the elevator doors opened in front of us. “Did Jim Schwarz, Karen Doyle, and Lorena Vasquez have any issues that involved Simonstech or any employee? Were they encouraged to leave in any way?”

Junior pointed to the elevator, the sleeves of his suit pulling back to reveal cufflinks with a raised butterfly, the same pattern as the company logo. “That’s enough. I won’t have you slandering the good name of my family’s firm. I don’t know how you wheedled an appointment from my uncle, but I can guarantee you won’t get another. Out,” he said, the color rising in his cheeks. “And don’t come back.”

Solomon inclined his head and we stepped inside, the doors closing on Junior’s angry face. Sure enough, a thick set, uniformed, security guard waited for us on the first floor as the elevator opened into the lobby.

“This way,” he said, without any of the pleasantries he exhibited toward us on the way in. “I’ve been instructed not to let you back into the building,” he said, striding ahead of us. Halfway across the lobby, I nudged Solomon and nodded to my right where Joseph O’Keefe stood, along with an older man. He bore a strong resemblance to Junior, but with thinner hair. Still, he was an enigmatic, handsome man. “That’s Carter Simons Senior,” I whispered and Solomon nodded. In front of the pair were Maddox and his occasional partner, Detective Rebecca Blake. They looked up and saw us. Maddox acknowledged us and Blake smiled with a nod at me. I didn’t like her for a long time, but decided I didn’t loathe her now. I tried not to grin at Maddox since we’d beaten him to the scene… again. I couldn’t say it was a surprise to see them, but I was happy we got here first. Solomon Agency, one: MPD, zero. On the other hand, they had badges and warrants we could never get. A moment later, we were out on our asses.