Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Read Wrap-up / Chapter Summaries / Print Story |
Trouble at Risk-eGames.com Chapter 6 Okay, there was no evidence indicating the purpose of the meeting was to unmask the killer. Evidence didn't matter to me. I drew my own conclusions. The cop had asked everyone to attend. I was lost in an English drawing room fantasy. You know the one. Where the professorial detective reviews the facts and then announces that the resolution is absolutely obvious. I didn't think cops still operated this way in the twenty-first century but I didn't want to question Detective Peet's judgment. I understand that the setting wasn't quite right. We had the heavy paneling but the games and exercise equipment did not complete the image. Since most of our research collection was virtual, we didn't have rows of gorgeous leather-bound books in the background. The carpets scattered around were not lush Orientals but loud area rugs boasting the company web address. The people drifting in weren't British aristocrats dressed in silk dressing gowns but dot.com employees ready for dress-up Friday. And then there was the matter of the detective. Detective Peet was not at all professorial. He didn't carry a pipe. He'd taken off his suit jacket. He'd rolled up the sleeves of the pale blue shirt that matched his eyes. The cop seemed somewhat bored and very annoyed by the entire process as if whoever killed Eduard did so to purposefully inconvenience him. I didn't recall any of the stereotypical English detectives acting irritated in the drawing room. Nonetheless, I felt excited. I'd always dreamed of being part of such a gathering. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask the group." Detective Peet flipped back the cover of his notebook. "How often is the office cleaned?" Archibald answered. "We wanted to save a little cash. We cut back to once a week. They'll be here tonight. They come every Friday night. Is that okay? We can stop them if you want." "Mr. Karinsky." He turned to Victor. "Did you check your voice mail first thing this morning?" Victor nodded. How many messages did you receive? "Just one. From Anthony saying that he thought he'd be late this morning. He left it last night." Anthony blushed and looked very pleased with himself. The cop turned to Anthony. "What made you think at 10:41 last night that you would be late this morning?" Anthony's expression remained smug. "I think I understand women." All the other employees stared at him with wonderment. He wasn't lying; he was just so wrong. "Do you have any idea why the phone number you gave me for your girlfriend connected me to Dial-a-Prayer?" Anthony blushed but spoke steadily. "I must have given you a wrong number." "Ms. Smith," he looked at Kim. "I noticed a gym bag in your office. Where do you work out?" "I don't have time to belong to a gym," Kim replied. "I have a very demanding job. Sometimes I run after work." The detective nodded to indicate he knew all the answers before he asked the questions. "I'd like to review the events of the last thirty hours. Some unusual things have happened aside from the business event that I believe started this chain of events. Each of you had a motive to kill your colleague, Eduard Pretty good motives actually. It seems he wasn't a very nice guy. If I'd known him, I might have wanted to kill him myself." Catrina spoke with a childlike innocence. "Do you really think one of us did it?" The detective pinned her with a rueful smile. "I know that forensics will prove that one of you did it but I think we might be able to wrap this up before the data is analyzed." I was right. This was the twenty-first century equivalent of a drawing room gathering to unmask a killer. Detective Peet cleared his throat to punctuate his transition form commentator to interrogator. "Now to review the unusual happenings of the past day. Let me start with you, Mr. Lee." "Me? Nothing unusual happened to me." Archibald sounded jovial. "Not to you, sir. But you did make some unusual things happen." "How so?" The CEO sounded surprised. Apparently even he realized that he rarely made anything happen. xxxxx Anthony spoke up. "Isn't anyone here willing to believe that she actually liked me? She likes me, I'm telling you, she does." He looked from colleague to colleague nodding. "Catrina. You were the last one to see Eduard before his altercation with Victor. You made a point of saying good-night to him. How did he seem?" Catrina shrugged. "I don't know. He looked great." Her smile said death had not ended the infatuation. "Nervous?" Catrina nodded. "Definitely stressed. But he was stressed a lot." "Catrina, why were your hands wet when we were introduced today?" The young woman appeared flustered. "Because we were out of paper towels." "But the trash cans weren't full of towels." Catrina grew defensive and agitated. "That's not my job." The cop smiled. "I didn't mean to imply it was." "Isabella how many wet spots did you step on today?" I provided the answer with a quizzical expression. "Two. One in front of the conference room door and one near the utility closet." "Kim, when did you pick up your message from Anthony?" The woman replied with a huff. "I told you. I picked it up this morning. Late morning. I felt bad because I'd been complaining that he wasn't here. I didn't notice my light was on." "Hmmmmh." I was happy the cop hadn't said "hmmmmh" in response to my answer. I was convinced; Hmmmmmh wasn't good. "Kim, how did you know where the key to the utility closet was kept?" "We all knew." Kim's answer was short. Catrina spoke up. "It's in the receptionist's desk . . . if we had a receptionist . . . I mean it would be the receptionist's desk . . . it's there anyway . . . in the top drawer of that desk." Again, he added "Hmmmh." "Do you go in the closet often?" He looked around the room. We all shook our heads. "Never. Rarely." We all mumbled. "So only the cleaning people will know if anything is missing." Again we all mumbled. "Yes." "I guess." "Sure." The cop stood on the treadmill, I assumed to raise himself to a position of authority, and said he had a few things he wanted to share. "Eduard Silver betrayed all of you. I suspect that his perfidy started even before he joined Risk-eGames. I believe further investigation will show that he came out of school with a plan and a partnership. He and a friend would take positions at competing start-ups. They would make sure one flourished and one failed. And, they would invest accordingly. It may not surprise you that one Marita Fields Harry is one of the largest investors in All About E-Games. She is also the maternal grandmother of Eduard Silver." I marveled at how readily available that information had been. Yet we hadn't thought to look for it. Why would we? I surveyed the expressions on the faces of my coworkers. Not one of them appeared surprised. Were they extremely good at maintaining a poker face? Had they known all along? I assumed Detective Peet would tell us. "I believe at least three of you, possibly all of you were aware of his relationship to All About E-Games. I should say, became aware. Yesterday." He turned to Catrina. "Who did you tell about the man in the picture?" The cop referred to the photo he'd shown around that afternoon -- the photo of a key investor in All About E-Games. "I . . . I . . . How . . ." Catrina sputtered to no conclusion. "Some of you know that Catrina had, or hoped to have, a special relationship with Eduard. Eduard confided in several of you that Catrina had run into him time and time again. It was only natural that when you saw the picture of Douglas Ferrier, a key player at All About E-Games, that you would go to her to see if she recognized him." Catrina hung her head. "I couldn't help it if we went to a lot of the same places and ran into each other a lot." Kim interrupted with an acerbic observation. "Catrina, no one bumps into someone fifteen times in a three week period -- even if they live in the same house." "I did. I swear it was an accident. Every time." The cop's tone was soft. "Catrina, the point is that you saw Eduard with Douglas Ferrier, didn't you?" Catrina nodded. "And you told your colleagues, didn't you?" She nodded. "It's my fault he's dead, isn't it?" "Catrina don't blame yourself for anything." His tone was reassuring until he added a single word. "Yet." "But I am not strong enough to hit Eduard." Catrina pleaded. "I could argue that anyone is strong enough to hit someone with a weapon. But . . The detective paused for effect before he added, "The blow didn't kill Eduard." The detective had told me that the blow to Eduard's face had not been enough to kill the executive. Apparently some of the others were learning this for the first time. "If the blow didn't kill him, then he died of natural causes, right?" Victor turned his eyes from Kim to Archibald to me to Anthony before meeting the detective's. "Hardly." The cop answered his question. "Although I think I understand why you would have a special interest in that scenario." The cop studied Victor's face as the color drained from it. "Eduard was young, healthy and fit. There is more to his death. And that is what I've been trying to figure out. The key lies in the open windows." We had speculated that Eduard had opened the windows to keep himself awake while working late. According to the cop, that was the conclusion the killer hoped we would reach. But the cop informed us, he felt the windows had been opened not to let fresh air in but to let poisoned air out. "That is why I've instructed the medical examiner to look for poison -- specifically poison gas." We'd known that there were no more paper towels in the ladies room but we hadn't really considered that information a clue. But the cop did. He speculated that the paper towels had been stuffed around the windows and doors of the conference room to hold the gas in. But the question remained: where did the gas come from? Poison gas was a relatively sophisticated murder weapon. The detective was flummoxed as to whom among his suspects had the knowledge to cook up a brew of poison. I'm sure as he spoke we all considered the possibilities. I felt relieved. No one could accuse me. I was hopeless at science. I took five years of Latin to get out of chemistry. But there were likely candidates among us. Archibald had trained as an engineer. I just couldn't recall whether he'd been a chemical or electrical engineer. Right now the distinction was major. I'd known that Anthony had started college in pre-med. But I didn't know that Victor had also started down the path to medical school. He admitted to the group that he didn't get too far. "I had to change majors. Turned out I hate the sight of blood. I passed out the first time they showed us a film of surgery." He shrugged weakly. No one else confessed to a scientific background. I tried to study the expressions on the faces my colleagues. In my estimation they all looked guilty. Maybe, like me, guilt or innocence had nothing to do with it. Maybe we all appeared guilty in the presence of a homicide detective. I peeked at the cop and saw a wry grin cross his face. "But these wet spots . . . " He studied the faces for the reaction he wanted and apparently found one. "You know I must congratulate whoever committed this murder. It was extremely clever." At that moment I knew. Or suspected what the cop suspected. There was no conclusive forensic evidence. The cop had to rely on a confession. And he knew how to get one in this crowd. In our little dot.com of big egos, he was going to flatter a confession out of the perpetrator. |
Trouble at Risk-eGames.com Chapter 6 Okay, there was no evidence indicating the purpose of the meeting was to unmask the killer. Evidence didn't matter to me. I drew my own conclusions. The cop had asked everyone to attend. I was lost in an English drawing room fantasy. You know the one. Where the professorial detective reviews the facts and then announces that the resolution is absolutely obvious. I didn't think cops still operated this way in the twenty-first century but I didn't want to question Detective Peet's judgment. I understand that the setting wasn't quite right. We had the heavy paneling but the games and exercise equipment did not complete the image. Since most of our research collection was virtual, we didn't have rows of gorgeous leather-bound books in the background. The carpets scattered around were not lush Orientals but loud area rugs boasting the company web address. The people drifting in weren't British aristocrats dressed in silk dressing gowns but dot.com employees ready for dress-up Friday. And then there was the matter of the detective. Detective Peet was not at all professorial. He didn't carry a pipe. He'd taken off his suit jacket. He'd rolled up the sleeves of the pale blue shirt that matched his eyes. The cop seemed somewhat bored and very annoyed by the entire process as if whoever killed Eduard did so to purposefully inconvenience him. I didn't recall any of the stereotypical English detectives acting irritated in the drawing room. Nonetheless, I felt excited. I'd always dreamed of being part of such a gathering. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask the group." Detective Peet flipped back the cover of his notebook. "How often is the office cleaned?" Archibald answered. "We wanted to save a little cash. We cut back to once a week. They'll be here tonight. They come every Friday night. Is that okay? We can stop them if you want." "Mr. Karinsky." He turned to Victor. "Did you check your voice mail first thing this morning?" Victor nodded. How many messages did you receive? "Just one. From Anthony saying that he thought he'd be late this morning. He left it last night." Anthony blushed and looked very pleased with himself. The cop turned to Anthony. "What made you think at 10:41 last night that you would be late this morning?" Anthony's expression remained smug. "I think I understand women." All the other employees stared at him with wonderment. He wasn't lying; he was just so wrong. "Do you have any idea why the phone number you gave me for your girlfriend connected me to Dial-a-Prayer?" Anthony blushed but spoke steadily. "I must have given you a wrong number." "Ms. Smith," he looked at Kim. "I noticed a gym bag in your office. Where do you work out?" "I don't have time to belong to a gym," Kim replied. "I have a very demanding job. Sometimes I run after work." The detective nodded to indicate he knew all the answers before he asked the questions. "I'd like to review the events of the last thirty hours. Some unusual things have happened aside from the business event that I believe started this chain of events. Each of you had a motive to kill your colleague, Eduard Pretty good motives actually. It seems he wasn't a very nice guy. If I'd known him, I might have wanted to kill him myself." Catrina spoke with a childlike innocence. "Do you really think one of us did it?" The detective pinned her with a rueful smile. "I know that forensics will prove that one of you did it but I think we might be able to wrap this up before the data is analyzed." I was right. This was the twenty-first century equivalent of a drawing room gathering to unmask a killer. Detective Peet cleared his throat to punctuate his transition form commentator to interrogator. "Now to review the unusual happenings of the past day. Let me start with you, Mr. Lee." "Me? Nothing unusual happened to me." Archibald sounded jovial. "Not to you, sir. But you did make some unusual things happen." "How so?" The CEO sounded surprised. Apparently even he realized that he rarely made anything happen. xxxxx Anthony spoke up. "Isn't anyone here willing to believe that she actually liked me? She likes me, I'm telling you, she does." He looked from colleague to colleague nodding. "Catrina. You were the last one to see Eduard before his altercation with Victor. You made a point of saying good-night to him. How did he seem?" Catrina shrugged. "I don't know. He looked great." Her smile said death had not ended the infatuation. "Nervous?" Catrina nodded. "Definitely stressed. But he was stressed a lot." "Catrina, why were your hands wet when we were introduced today?" The young woman appeared flustered. "Because we were out of paper towels." "But the trash cans weren't full of towels." Catrina grew defensive and agitated. "That's not my job." The cop smiled. "I didn't mean to imply it was." "Isabella how many wet spots did you step on today?" I provided the answer with a quizzical expression. "Two. One in front of the conference room door and one near the utility closet." "Kim, when did you pick up your message from Anthony?" The woman replied with a huff. "I told you. I picked it up this morning. Late morning. I felt bad because I'd been complaining that he wasn't here. I didn't notice my light was on." "Hmmmmh." I was happy the cop hadn't said "hmmmmh" in response to my answer. I was convinced; Hmmmmmh wasn't good. "Kim, how did you know where the key to the utility closet was kept?" "We all knew." Kim's answer was short. Catrina spoke up. "It's in the receptionist's desk . . . if we had a receptionist . . . I mean it would be the receptionist's desk . . . it's there anyway . . . in the top drawer of that desk." Again, he added "Hmmmh." "Do you go in the closet often?" He looked around the room. We all shook our heads. "Never. Rarely." We all mumbled. "So only the cleaning people will know if anything is missing." Again we all mumbled. "Yes." "I guess." "Sure." The cop stood on the treadmill, I assumed to raise himself to a position of authority, and said he had a few things he wanted to share. "Eduard Silver betrayed all of you. I suspect that his perfidy started even before he joined Risk-eGames. I believe further investigation will show that he came out of school with a plan and a partnership. He and a friend would take positions at competing start-ups. They would make sure one flourished and one failed. And, they would invest accordingly. It may not surprise you that one Marita Fields Harry is one of the largest investors in All About E-Games. She is also the maternal grandmother of Eduard Silver." I marveled at how readily available that information had been. Yet we hadn't thought to look for it. Why would we? I surveyed the expressions on the faces of my coworkers. Not one of them appeared surprised. Were they extremely good at maintaining a poker face? Had they known all along? I assumed Detective Peet would tell us. "I believe at least three of you, possibly all of you were aware of his relationship to All About E-Games. I should say, became aware. Yesterday." He turned to Catrina. "Who did you tell about the man in the picture?" The cop referred to the photo he'd shown around that afternoon -- the photo of a key investor in All About E-Games. "I . . . I . . . How . . ." Catrina sputtered to no conclusion. "Some of you know that Catrina had, or hoped to have, a special relationship with Eduard. Eduard confided in several of you that Catrina had run into him time and time again. It was only natural that when you saw the picture of Douglas Ferrier, a key player at All About E-Games, that you would go to her to see if she recognized him." Catrina hung her head. "I couldn't help it if we went to a lot of the same places and ran into each other a lot." Kim interrupted with an acerbic observation. "Catrina, no one bumps into someone fifteen times in a three week period -- even if they live in the same house." "I did. I swear it was an accident. Every time." The cop's tone was soft. "Catrina, the point is that you saw Eduard with Douglas Ferrier, didn't you?" Catrina nodded. "And you told your colleagues, didn't you?" She nodded. "It's my fault he's dead, isn't it?" "Catrina don't blame yourself for anything." His tone was reassuring until he added a single word. "Yet." "But I am not strong enough to hit Eduard." Catrina pleaded. "I could argue that anyone is strong enough to hit someone with a weapon. But . . The detective paused for effect before he added, "The blow didn't kill Eduard." The detective had told me that the blow to Eduard's face had not been enough to kill the executive. Apparently some of the others were learning this for the first time. "If the blow didn't kill him, then he died of natural causes, right?" Victor turned his eyes from Kim to Archibald to me to Anthony before meeting the detective's. "Hardly." The cop answered his question. "Although I think I understand why you would have a special interest in that scenario." The cop studied Victor's face as the color drained from it. "Eduard was young, healthy and fit. There is more to his death. And that is what I've been trying to figure out. The key lies in the open windows." We had speculated that Eduard had opened the windows to keep himself awake while working late. According to the cop, that was the conclusion the killer hoped we would reach. But the cop informed us, he felt the windows had been opened not to let fresh air in but to let poisoned air out. "That is why I've instructed the medical examiner to look for poison -- specifically poison gas." We'd known that there were no more paper towels in the ladies room but we hadn't really considered that information a clue. But the cop did. He speculated that the paper towels had been stuffed around the windows and doors of the conference room to hold the gas in. But the question remained: where did the gas come from? Poison gas was a relatively sophisticated murder weapon. The detective was flummoxed as to whom among his suspects had the knowledge to cook up a brew of poison. I'm sure as he spoke we all considered the possibilities. I felt relieved. No one could accuse me. I was hopeless at science. I took five years of Latin to get out of chemistry. But there were likely candidates among us. Archibald had trained as an engineer. I just couldn't recall whether he'd been a chemical or electrical engineer. Right now the distinction was major. I'd known that Anthony had started college in pre-med. But I didn't know that Victor had also started down the path to medical school. He admitted to the group that he didn't get too far. "I had to change majors. Turned out I hate the sight of blood. I passed out the first time they showed us a film of surgery." He shrugged weakly. No one else confessed to a scientific background. I tried to study the expressions on the faces my colleagues. In my estimation they all looked guilty. Maybe, like me, guilt or innocence had nothing to do with it. Maybe we all appeared guilty in the presence of a homicide detective. I peeked at the cop and saw a wry grin cross his face. "But these wet spots . . . " He studied the faces for the reaction he wanted and apparently found one. "You know I must congratulate whoever committed this murder. It was extremely clever." At that moment I knew. Or suspected what the cop suspected. There was no conclusive forensic evidence. The cop had to rely on a confession. And he knew how to get one in this crowd. In our little dot.com of big egos, he was going to flatter a confession out of the perpetrator. |
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Read Wrap-up / Chapter Summaries / Print Story |
