Illegally Dead Page 14
"Beats me. I don't remember ever seeing them at St. Alexis. I'd remember," Tony said. "You'll have to ask Maria." He sipped at the tea that had appeared in front of him during the conversation. He hadn't noticed the waitress come with it. "The most important thing, and I'm sure the medical examiner told you, is the reaction time for a fatal dose of cocaine can be immediate or can take up to a half hour. If we figure out where Juan was a half hour before the accident, we'll have a clue who could have murdered him."
"If it was murder," Alfonzo said. "The ME said there was evidence of chronic use, scarring in his nose, but the interesting thing was the cocaine in his stomach."
"Really, now?"
"The ME thought it odd. He said usually when someone is snorting—has a habit—they don't simply ingest the stuff. And, he'd have to ingest a significant amount for it to be fatal."
"Why would a former addict, one committed to staying clean, eat cocaine?" Tony asked.
"He wouldn't," Jennifer said. "If he fell off the wagon, he'd go for snorting again or maybe head right to crack."
"I agree," Tony said. "Ingestion translates to someone forcing him or to someone feeding it to him in something else."
"I say feeding it to him," Howard said. "There were traces of it mixed in the cream cheese in his stomach contents."
"So he was murdered, and I bet it's tied to the murders of the lawyers. The crash killed him, but what led to the crash?" Tony paused. "What did the ME say was the cause of death?"
"He didn't say. He suggested the likelihood hallucinations caused erratic driving or possibly a very rapid heartbeat caused him to lose consciousness before he ran into the telephone pole. He hit that concrete at almost seventy miles an hour. It's a miracle he wasn't killed on impact," Howard said.
Tony looked at his watch, then at Jennifer. "We'd better take off. Your appointment is in a few minutes." He glanced at Howard, then Alfonzo. "I'd bet on murder. My best guess is he stopped and ate with someone before he died. That's your murderer, or maybe someone who was close by. Meanwhile, I can't shake the notion there might be something connecting all this with Paul Gross. Put him on your suspect list."
"For what reason, Conte?" Alfonzo glared at Tony.
"There's a direct connect between Gross and the dead lawyers. I intend to learn if the connection shorted out." Tony waved a hand at Howard and tipped his head to his nemesis, Alfonzo. "Later." He guided Jennifer to the door.
Eighteen
When Tony told Jennifer he planned to go to work in the middle of the night to meet with the night shift, she hadn't questioned him since it wasn't unusual. He didn't want to tell her his plans. He intended to confirm the law firm paid Gross for referrals and try to determine if the scheme had gone astray.
He bent over the bed and kissed Jennifer on the cheek. "Remember," Tony said, "I don't know when I'll be home for sure. I have the deposition on the case today, and I'm not scheduled until later in the afternoon, after they're done with Nick and Chamberlain."
"Good luck, sweetheart." She rolled over and put her arms around his neck. "I hope they're not too hard on you."
"How could they be?" He kissed her forehead and then her lips. "I had minimal involvement with the case, so I don't expect to be in there very long. The timing will depend on what happens with the first two depositions, on whoever they're harassing this morning." He kissed her again. "Now go back to sleep. I heard you promise the kids you'd take them with Bella to see the ducks."
"To chase the ducks you mean." She rolled back over.
"I wouldn't let her off the leash if I were you. She's going to catch one of them soon, and it won't be a pretty sight."
Tony wore navy blue scrubs and dark sneakers. He grabbed the white athletic shoes he wore for work, stuffed a pair of white socks into them, and left the house. Bella stirred in her crate but didn't bark.
Tony had driven by the office building housing Valentine, Hansen, Henninger, and Schmeck, PA, several times during the past few days. He was convinced one guard staffed the night shift. He suspected tenants in the building were concerned about cost and reasoned that if the guards were visible during the day, no one would suspect security was sparse at night. At least, he hoped that was the case.
A careful tour of the building late Thursday afternoon convinced him there was one set of security cameras in use. A pair focused on the elevator lobby on each floor. The downstairs monitor, which sat on the counter next to the security-reception desk, switched between the floors at regular intervals. Tony chatted with the guards for several minutes, pretending to be an applicant for the security service, verifying the cameras never focused on the stairwell doors.
The guard told Tony night duty was a cinch, no interruptions, just punch the clocks during rounds in the building. He had said the night man made four sets of rounds, each taking one hour, then spent the hour in between watching television or playing video games on the computer. Tony smiled, remembering how proud the guard was of the games he had slipped onto the system.
He parked his van among several delivery vehicles behind an adjacent building and made his way through the shadows to the west entrance of the building. The lobby was empty. The guard must be on his rounds.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath. He picked the lock and slipped into the lobby. A glance at the elevator controls told him the elevator was on the third floor. He stood watching as it switched to the second floor.
Wasting no more time, he sprinted across the lobby to find the heavy first floor door stairwell door locked. He hadn't planned on that. It was unlocked a few hours earlier. He had only a couple of seconds to decide what to do. Should he grab another elevator to the third floor and chance being caught, or abandon the plan? Beads of perspiration appeared across his forehead. Jennifer crossed his mind. She wouldn't able to stand it if he was in jail, and she was sick. He focused on his task. He couldn't allow Thorne to be accused of the murders he didn't commit. Proving the lawyers and Gross were involved in a referral scam would force the detectives to dig further and look at other suspects.
The elevator moved again and the doors on the main floor slid open. Tony slipped around the corner into the alcove intended to provide privacy for ATM customers. He didn't remember seeing the recession on the security cameras.
He plastered himself against the wall in the dark corner next to the machine and listened to the security guard walk across the lobby, his rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the polished marble, his steps measured. The sweat dried on Tony's brow. He was in the zone, on assignment. As he waited for the opportunity to move, a flash of a similar situation in a far away place crossed his mind. At least they don't have machine guns here, he thought.
Tony waited thirty minutes before he heard the guard's chair move, and he peered around the corner. The guard stood and stretched. It was too soon for him to tour the building. The guard ambled in the direction of the men's room.
The men's room door closed on its hissing hydraulic hinge. When it clicked, Tony sprinted to the elevator, which responded instantly to his call. He pushed the button for the third floor.
Tony pushed the first floor button to send the elevator down before stepping off on the third floor. He ran at full speed to the stairwell at the end of the hall and shoved. The door opened.
***
The elderly guard exited the men's room as the elevator doors closed. He watched the elevator for a long moment. Looking puzzled, he hurried across the lobby to the monitor. He watched scans of each elevator lobby. When he saw nothing, he settled into his chair. Several times a week the crazy accountant on the fourth floor came in during the middle of the night. It would be typical of him to slip in and not bother to alert the guard. The guard switched on the television and relaxed.
***
Tony sprinted upward, taking the steps two and three at a time. He had several flights to go, he had to search the office, be back in the stairwell within fifty minutes, then out of the building without getting caught.
Tony stood in the hall, controlling his breathing, getting his bearings. The long climb in the stairwell had turned him around many times, disrupting his accurate sense of direction. He hadn't been in the office suite before, but Howard had commented on the fantastic view of the Everglades and Sawgrass Expressway. He turned down the corridor on the right. Howard had described the wall of files on one side of the hall. Dimly glowing nightlights illuminated his path.
He pressed the clip on his penlight and read the name on each door as he passed. The plaque on the door at the end of the hall told him he chose the correct direction. He tried the door, picked the lock, and entered the suite. Soft lights at the baseboards provided him with enough light to get oriented to the environment.
Identifying Henninger's office proved to be easy. His name was on the door, and the desk looked as if its owner would return in a few minutes. Tony sat and flipped through a handwritten appointment calendar.
Turning to the credenza behind him, he saw a small Rolodex. He spun the wheel until the G section flipped open. Gardner, Gaunt, Gable, Gently, Glauberg, Glazer, Goldstein, Goldstein, Gonzalez, Good, Gross. Paul Gross, Private Investigator. Pay dirt. He glanced at the array of drawers and cabinets and wondered where he might find a record of payments. He tried several and found them unlocked, the contents irrelevant.
Tony pulled at the handle on the bottom right drawer of the desk. Locked. Weird. The desk, itself, was open. Henninger died several days earlier. Tony wondered what was in the drawer. He removed the small set of tools from his shirt pocket and soon leafed through the file folders from the desk.
Gross—in alphabetical order, the folder bore a computer generated label. Henninger had trusted his efficient secretary. Tony opened the file.
"Lookie here," Tony whispered. The ledger looked like an ongoing record of referrals, client's names associated with the doctors they wanted to sue. There were check marks next to some but not others. Tony recognized most of the people on the list. Jones, Thorne's patient who sued him, was there. So was Cray. Carney, Villegas' case was there. Carlson wasn't. He guessed Dori didn't refer Carlson, because Carlson's wife worked for the law firm.
The names and dates stopped several months ago. The last few, along with several others, didn't have marks by them. Tony wondered if marks meant the fee was paid. He studied the list and found no obvious system or pattern, the checks were as random as the referrals.
Tony flipped through the file. Several computer printouts in the back of the file recorded payment for services rendered. "Why not?" he muttered under his breath. "Attorneys hire PIs all the time." He took several minutes to check the payment records against the referral list. Most carried no balance due. Some showed amounts still owing. Again, there didn't seem to be a pattern, except the transactions stopped a couple of months before Valentine's murder. Several cases had since gone to trial and would have paid off handsomely for the plaintiff's attorney. He double-checked the referral log, verifying several of the lucrative referrals hadn't been paid for. Tony thought the evidence was mounting to support his notion the firm had refused to pay Gross for his services.
He helped himself to a piece of paper from a legal pad and quickly copied the list, making notes about the payments. Then he glanced at his watch. Time to go. He'd been in the office thirty minutes and off the first floor for nearly forty-five.
He heard a click. A door closing. Someone was in the suite and close by, or he wouldn't have heard the sound. He looked at his watch again. Too early for the guard to be making rounds. He stuck his notes in the file and, not wanting to make a noise, slipped the folder under the leather desk pad.
A scraping and rattling signaled Tony someone was tampering with the lock on the suite door. He shuddered. Jennifer would never forgive him if he was caught. He scanned the office and decided the only place to hide was in the dark corner behind the conference table. Whoever was coming in didn't belong either.
A flashlight beam ran along the bottom edge of the door. Then the door opened. The light flashed around the room, but concentrated on the tops of the furniture and the labels on the file cabinet drawers. Tony crouched lower in the corner, his body tense, ready for action. He controlled his breathing, not wanting to make the slightest sound.
The figure moved closer to the large picture window and into the illumination of the half-moon. Paul Gross. He has more nerve than I do, Tony thought.
Gross sat down behind the desk and opened the bottom drawer. A puzzled look crossed his face, and he tried the other drawers. "The asshole . . . told me these drawers were locked." Gross began to paw through the files in the bottom drawer.
***
The guard looked when he heard the buzzer for the outside door. He tapped the button under his desk allowing entry. The accountant made his way across the marble lobby. As usual, he pulled a heavy, wheeled briefcase full of who knew what.
"Morning, Cooper," the accountant said. "'Tis the season again."
"Did you forget something, sir?"
"Pardon?"
"Didn't you come in an hour ago? I came out of the biff and saw the elevator door open."
"Wasn't me, Cooper."
"Must be my imagination. Have a nice day, sir."
"Thanks, Cooper." The accountant took the elevator to the fourteenth floor.
Moments later, the monitor captured the accountant's crossing of the upstairs foyer and entry into his office. Cooper called the main office of the security firm. "Helen, Cooper here."
"Hi, John. How you doing?"
"I don't mean to be rude, and I'd love to visit, but there's an unauthorized person in the building."
"I'll send Patty and Smith over. They're assigned to the building next door tonight, a special thing."
"Thanks. Tell them to put a fire under it."
"Sure you don't want the cops?"
"No. They'd know I missed something."
"Okay. Hang tight for a few minutes."
***
As Tony watched from his darkened corner, he knew Gross was no physical match for him. Gross leafed through the files in the drawer a second and a third time. He opened the desk's other bottom drawer, flipped through the contents, then faced the credenza under the computer. He tried the drawer, found it locked, took a tool from his pocket, and opened it.
He and I should team up, Tony thought. Between us, we'd have the skills to access any building in town. A smile crossed his face as Gross searched through the mountain of folders.
Gross stood and pushed the chair back. Crack. It hit the pull out drawer for the computer keyboard. "Screw it. I'm o'tta here."
The office door swung open wide and two young, uniformed guards stepped across the threshold. They aimed their raised guns at Gross.
Tony gauged their ages to be shy of twenty-five, their experience lacking. Tony held his breath and melted further into the shadow.
"Put 'em up," the taller of the two guards said. "What ya doing, pal?"
"Breaking and entering," Gross replied.
"Seems so," the shorter guard said, lowering Gross's arms one at a time and snapping handcuffs around his wrists. "We'll be taking you downstairs and calling the police."
"Make sure he's not carrying, Smith."
"Sure, right." Smith patted Gross down. "Nah, nothing here. Some little tools and a pack of smokes."
"Don't touch anything. Maybe the cops will want to take prints."
Tony glanced at his own
gloved hands, wondering why the guard thought the cops would dust the place. They had their man.
The two rent-a-cops left, catch in tow. Tony returned the file he stashed under the desk blotter to its drawer and pocketed his notes. Then he waited for what seemed an eternity before leaving.
Turning to leave, he caught a flicker of a light coming from inside the computer monitor. A reflection, perhaps. After a closer inspection, he changed his mind. There was a camera in the monitor, and it didn't go to the guard's desk. The thought confused him. Why would a camera be planted in a dead man's workplace, and who had put it there? He knew Gross hadn't done it. He would have no reason. Tony stared at the glowing light. If someone watched him search the office, he'd have to deal with it.
Tony crept down the corridor and into the stairwell. It was nearly five in the morning. Time for the guard's last rounds. He suspected there were several policemen in the lobby along with the two extra guards. The old man would rush through the motions, hit the stops, wanting to hurry with his duties and return to where the action was taking place.
Tony twisted his neck and snapped the lock of hair into place. He trotted down the stairs, stopping to rest at each landing. He had plenty of time. The main doors opened at six, and the guards stopped signing people in and out.
An hour later Tony walked unnoticed from the building.
Nineteen
"Hey, Chamberlain," Tony said, entering the administrative suite's waiting room. "I thought you'd be almost done by now." The Carlson case depositions were ongoing in the conference room inside. Nick Messing's subpoena was for one o'clock and Thorne's scheduled time was at two.
Thorne shrugged his shoulders. "The appointment times given by the plaintiff's attorneys are intended to inconvenience and disrupt rather than bring order to the process. If they wanted order, they'd schedule morning and afternoon appointments and allow themselves sufficient time. They have Messing on the grill. Started about two."