“But it’s been over two decades,” Virginia said. “Who knows what has happened to Zane during all that time? Maybe he’s desperate for some reason. Maybe he’s just flat-out crazy.”
“Or, maybe, after all these years, someone else discovered that your mother helped conceal a large sum of money and tracked down Kimberly Troy’s heir.”
“Me.”
“You,” Cabot said. “That’s the simplest answer.”
“Who else could know about it? And how?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
“Where do we start?”
Cabot opened his laptop and pulled up the organization chart for Night Watch.
“Might as well start at the top,” he said. “Let’s see if we can get to Josh Preston.”
“Why would he talk to us?”
“Because we are not the police. We are a private firm pursuing questions about the dead woman who was discovered in your gallery’s back room. Never underestimate the power of curiosity. Preston will want to know what we know.”
“Why?
“Because his company is getting a lot of attention from the police at the moment, and it’s a good bet they’re not telling him a damn thing.”
• • •
Anson was at his desk and on the phone when Virginia and Cabot walked into the office a couple of hours later. Cabot had the math book inside a paper bag tucked under one arm.
Anson put down the phone and looked at Cabot.
“Good timing,” he said. “That was Schwartz.”
“Your Seattle PD pal?” Cabot put the paper bag on the desk. “Any news?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Seems like there are rumors of embezzlement at Night Watch. A few people in the company are wondering if Sandra Porter might have been the thief. They seem to feel she would have had the skill set required to pull off that kind of thing.”
“Interesting,” Cabot said. “What did you give Schwartz in exchange for that information?”
“Nothing yet, but I probably won’t get much more out of him if we don’t come up with something he can use.”
Cabot took the fanciful math book out of the paper bag. “Whatever you do, don’t give him this. It’s for members of the Zane Conspiracy Club only.”
Anson picked up the book. “What is it?”
Virginia looked at him. “Maybe—just maybe—the key to the money that went missing twenty-two years ago.”
CHAPTER 26
Josh Preston lounged back in his chair and contemplated the two women sitting on the other side of his desk. Was one of them the thief?
Back at the start he had assumed he was looking for a techie who had the sophisticated skills required to hack into his system. But every time he thought he’d found a clue to the identity of the embezzler, he’d hit a wall.
Now he was starting to wonder if he had been looking at the wrong people. Laurel Jenner was the head of the marketing team. Kate Delbridge wrote ad copy for the Night Watch website. Neither of them could write code, but they were both smart in ways that mattered in big business.
“I assume that by now you’ve heard about the death of Sandra Porter?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Laurel said. “HR notified the entire staff this morning. I still can’t believe she was murdered.”
Josh nodded. He had been attracted to Laurel from the start, and not just because she looked like a real-life edition of an over-endowed female superhero character in a video game. The red hair was too bright to be real, but it enhanced her green eyes and catlike face.
He had not hired her for her physical assets, interesting though they were. She was sharp and savvy, and she had an intuitive sense of how to reach potential customers online. She was also as ambitious as he was and willing to work 24/7.
He liked to have driven, ambitious people working for him, but ambition had a dark side.
He realized he was drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair and tapping his foot in a jittery, agitated manner. That wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d had an old-fashioned wooden desk. Laurel and Kate wouldn’t be able to see his foot, in that case. But now he knew they were deliberately trying not to stare.
He should never have allowed the decorator to install a glass-topped desk.
Suddenly he wanted to do the damned handwashing thing. He fought the compulsion with everything he had.
To distract himself, he got to his feet, crossed to the window and pretended to study the view. His office was on the twentieth floor of a high-rise office tower in Seattle’s South Lake Union neighborhood. From where he stood he could still see a portion of Lake Union, but he knew that situation would not last much longer. Office towers and high-rise condos and apartment buildings had been cropping up all across Seattle for the past few years, and there seemed to be no end to the construction.
When he finally sold Night Watch, he would have more than enough cash to buy a higher floor in a forty-story building and get a sweeping view of the whole damned town.
“I talked to a homicide detective from the Seattle PD this morning,” he said. “Guy named Schwartz. I gather he’s in charge of the investigation. At this point they don’t have any leads. They want to talk to some of the people here at Night Watch who knew Sandra.”
Kate clutched a file folder. “That’s most of the staff. We were all shocked. People are saying that Sandra might have been into the drug scene.”
“I’ve instructed HR to cooperate fully with the investigators,” Josh said. “It’s all very sad, but the fact is that Sandra was no longer an employee of Night Watch at the time of her death. Let’s get to work. Laurel?”
“The new marketing strategy is being implemented today,” Laurel said briskly. “The whole team is really excited. The social media elements have already launched. Orders are starting to tick up.”
He nodded, trying to read her body language.
There was no getting around the fact that the qualities that made Laurel valuable to the company also put her on his list of suspects. Still, he could not convince himself that she had the skills required to pull off a high-tech rip-off.
Unless she was working with someone else, he thought. He hadn’t considered that possibility before now. Shit. Have I got two crooks on my staff? That seemed unlikely. Embezzlers usually worked alone, but there were exceptions to every rule.
“Do you want to go over the final version of the ad campaign again?” Laurel asked.
He realized she had asked the question twice. He turned around. Both women were watching him.
“No,” he said. “I signed off on the overall plan. I don’t need to go through the details.”
Laurel gave him her cool, self-confident smile. “Great. I’ll have some initial dates for you by tomorrow morning.”
Kate cleared her throat.
“Yes, Kate?” he said, not bothering to conceal his impatience.
He tightened his hands behind his back and clenched his fingers. He really, really wanted to go into his private restroom and wash his hands. Again.
“I’ve come up with a new angle for promoting the third level of the Deep Sleep Exploration section,” Kate said. “It’s available for preview and comment. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the team this afternoon. Will that work for you? If not, I can reschedule.”
“This afternoon is fine,” Josh said. “I think that’s it for now.” He paused. “Unless either of you has anything to add?”
Laurel shook her head and rose from her chair. She was as cool and unflustered as usual.
“No, nothing else,” Kate said.
She shot to her feet, eager to escape.
He waited until they had both left the room before he went back to his desk. He stood for a moment, staring at the closed door of his office. He had to find the thief and he had to do it soon. He was running out of time. T
he rumors of Night Watch’s financial problems were already starting to circulate. That kind of gossip spread fast in the tech world. If it got out that he was being systematically fleeced, he could forget any hope of securing another round of venture capital. It was okay to burn through cash. That was expected with a start-up. But getting scammed by someone in your own company was a killer.
He crossed the office, opened a door and entered the sanctuary of his private executive restroom. He washed his hands exactly fifteen times, very thoroughly, under very warm water.
When the ritual was complete, a sense of relief descended. He knew it would be short-lived, but at least he could think more clearly again.
He would see someone about the OCD thing when he had some time. But first he had to regain control of his business and find out who was stealing from him.
CHAPTER 27
Kate Delbridge carried her latte across the lightly crowded break room to the table where Tucker Fleming was sitting alone.
Tucker was, as usual, transfixed by whatever he was looking at on his phone. He glanced up when she arrived, acknowledged her presence with a short, impatient inclination of his head and immediately returned his attention to the screen of his device.
“Everything okay in the Zero-Zero-Zero Suite?” he asked.
Somewhere back at the start, for reasons no one had ever discovered, Josh Preston’s office had acquired the title of the Zero-Zero-Zero Suite.
“I’m not sure,” Kate said. “The boss is really wired today. He could hardly sit still when Laurel and I briefed him on the new marketing and promo plans.”
“Preston has always been the twitchy type.”
“Yes, but this is the worst I’ve ever seen him. I swear, he’s really nervous about something.”
Tucker shrugged. “Maybe he’s heard the rumors that have started up around the office.”
“You mean about the embezzlement? I’m sure he has. Heck, even I’ve heard those stories and I’m usually the last to know what’s going on around here. I’m surprised Preston hasn’t brought in a cybersecurity firm to investigate.”
“Once he does that, he won’t have a chance in hell of controlling the situation. The rumors about embezzlement will get very loud and the pool of potential investors will dry up overnight.”
“You’re probably right.”
She peeled the lid off the latte. Some people had a problem trying to carry on a conversation with a person who could not pry himself away from his phone, but she was used to it. Like most start-ups, Night Watch was populated with highly caffeinated workers who were convinced that they had evolved the ability to live two parallel lives—one on their devices and one in the real world. She was pretty sure that for a lot of them it was the real-world life that suffered. It just couldn’t compete with the never-ending stimulation of the online life. Personally, she preferred the real world.
Tucker Fleming had recently received a big bonus and been made employee of the month because of his latest Night Watch app. He was in his midtwenties and there was no denying he’d hit the genetic lottery with his looks. But he had a short, unpredictable temper. He was also impulsive. Those personality characteristics wouldn’t be a problem, however, so long as he kept coming up with moneymaking apps.
Ultimately, of course, Tucker Fleming was doomed to obsolescence. Like coloratura sopranos, football stars and prima ballerinas, the careers of the hotshots in the tech world were invariably fated to be short-lived. Tucker was a blazing star now, but there was always another generation of wizards coming up who were even faster, sharper and more in tune with the machines. Even the best programmers were viewed as over-the-hill at an age when their counterparts in other businesses were just starting to hit their career heights.
As for her, she just wrote content for the Night Watch blogs and social media. The thing about writing was that someone, somewhere always needed a good writer.
She drank some coffee and lowered the cup. “Did the cops talk to you about Sandra yet?”
“Yeah.” Tucker focused on the screen of his phone. “I told ’em that I was a colleague and that we’d worked together but that I didn’t know her very well. I mentioned that I’d heard rumors that she was into the drug scene. What about you?”
“The cops haven’t interviewed me yet. They probably won’t. It wasn’t like Sandra and I were close. I barely knew her. You know how it is—IT people never have any patience with those of us who got degrees in English.”
“I’ll bet the police will go with the theory that it was some kind of drug deal gone bad.”
“Think so?”
“It’s the most logical explanation,” Tucker said. “Like I told the cops, Sandra had gotten weird lately.”
CHAPTER 28
Josh Preston left the office shortly before five. Cabot waited for him just outside the exit door of the building’s underground garage. When Preston brought his very distinctive, very expensive sports car to a halt to check traffic before pulling out onto the street, Cabot walked to the driver’s-side window, wallet open, his investigator’s license in full view.
Preston looked wary, but he lowered the window. “Who are you?”
“I’ve been hired to investigate the death of a certain person. The death may or may not be linked to the death of Sandra Porter. I’d like to talk to you about it.”
“Shit. The cops haven’t said anything about another murder.”
“It might be a case of suicide. That’s what I’m trying to confirm.”
“You think one of my employees is involved?”
“I have no reason to think that—not yet, at any rate. At this point I’m just trying to gather some facts. See, here’s the problem: Sandra Porter was killed in my client’s place of business.”
“What the hell?”
“I’m sure you can understand why I’m looking for a connection to Night Watch.”
“The police are investigating Sandra Porter’s murder,” Josh said.
“Yes, but they aren’t interested in my case because they are convinced it was suicide.”
Josh snorted softly. “But your client thinks otherwise, right?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you,” Josh said. “I was not aware that anyone else connected to Night Watch has died.”
“The victim may not have had a connection. That’s what I’m trying to establish. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
Josh hesitated, fingers dancing uneasily on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched. Then he nodded once.
“There’s a bar where we can talk privately.” Josh rattled off the name and the street. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks,” Cabot said.
He stepped back, tucked his wallet inside his jacket and walked to his SUV. He opened the door and got behind the wheel. Virginia watched him from the passenger seat.
“Well?” she asked.
“Preston agreed to talk to us. We’re going to meet him at a bar in a few minutes.”
“You were right about the curiosity factor.”
“Works almost every time, but in this case I think we had something else going for us.”
“What?”
“I got the impression that Preston is nervous.”
“What did you expect? A recently fired employee was murdered and the police are questioning the people who work for him. Any CEO would be concerned. For all Preston knows, he may have a killer on the payroll.”
“There’s that,” Cabot conceded. He fired up the big engine and eased the SUV away from the curb. “But I think there’s more to it than just the natural concern about a murder investigation.”
Preston was waiting for them in a corner booth at the back of the quiet bar. His phone was on the table. There was a martini in front of him. It looked like a double. He scowled when he saw Virginia.
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“What the hell is going on?” he asked. “You didn’t say anything about bringing someone else along to this meeting.”
“I’m Virginia Troy,” Virginia said. “Sandra Porter was murdered in the back room of my shop. Mr. Sutter is working for me.”
Josh gave her a curt, appraising look. “So you’re the client.”
“Yes.”
Josh considered that briefly and then nodded once. “All right. Sit down. Tell me what you’ve got.”
Cabot pulled out a chair for Virginia and then sat down beside her.
“That isn’t how it works,” he said to Josh. “We’re here to exchange information.”
Josh hesitated and then nodded. “Fine. You want drinks?”
“No, thanks,” Virginia said very politely.
Cabot shook his head. “Can you give us some idea of why you fired Sandra Porter?”
Josh pondered that for a moment and then shrugged. “Technically, she resigned. But, yes, she was forced out. It’s not exactly a state secret. I’ve already told the cops. Porter was good at her job but my HR people say that there was a dramatic change in her behavior in recent weeks. There were rumors that she was involved with drugs. On top of everything else, I hear she was in a relationship that ended badly and that she was probably depressed. Now, what have you got for me?”
“Not a lot,” Cabot said. “I can tell you that Hannah Brewster, the woman whose death I’m investigating, was an artist. Several of her works are stored in a closet in the back room of Ms. Troy’s gallery. When we found Porter’s body, the door of that closet was open.”
“Huh.” Josh considered that for a few beats. “I can see why you’re asking questions, but I can’t give you much help. I just don’t know of any connection between Porter and the death of that artist. What kind of art did Brewster do? Sculpture? Glass?”