The Dangerous Edge of Things

CHAPTER 10

Kent Landon’s office was the epitome of masculinity, like a plush cave. Bigger than Trey’s, it was stuffed with heavy dark furniture, including a library table scattered with official-looking detritus—maps, files, memos.

Landon was already on the phone when we arrived. He waved us in, and I seated myself in front of his half-acre desk. Trey, however, remained standing at my side, arms folded. He checked his watch.

Unlike Trey’s blank walls, Landon’s featured a hodgepodge of portraits and diplomas and certificates, mostly from the Air Force. The photographs were telling: Landon and Ron Reagan, Landon and Colin Powell, Landon and Dubya, all candid shots, not staged grip-and-grins.

Trey took a seat, checked his watch one more time. I leaned his way. “What’s the AFOSI?”

“Air Force Office of Special Investigation. Landon worked there before starting his own agency.”

“Phoenix?”

“No, a smaller one. He sold it when Marisa offered him a partnership here.”

“Oh.”

“Hold on a second,” Landon said into the phone. “I’m putting you on speaker phone.”

And then I heard my brother’s voice. “Are you there, Tai?”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah, Eric, right here.”

“God, it’s good to hear you.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I know you guys have lots of questions. So go ahead, fire them off. I gave Kent here the short version—”

“How did Eliza Compton end up dead in front of your house?” I cut in.

Eric sighed. “I figured you’d start with that.”

***

According to Eric, Eliza met him at the Mardi Gras ball. She told him she was a receptionist at Beau Elan, talked about her psychology class at Georgia State. It was a polite conversation—party chit chat—and he thought nothing more of it until she dropped by his home office Wednesday morning.

Which was very different story. She was nervous, upset, asking if there was a place they could talk. She said it was urgent, but she didn’t want to do it in his office. She insisted they go someplace in public, maybe that evening. She kept repeating the word “urgent.”

“She said it had to be someplace where no one from work would see us,” Eric explained. “She was very specific about that.”

Eliza then quizzed him about the ins and outs of therapist-client confidentiality, especially—and this was the interesting part—whether it applied to criminal wrong-doing. Eric told her privilege was a complicated matter and suggested that if she knew of something illegal, she should talk to the police. She told him she couldn’t go to the police, and that if he would just listen to her story, he would understand why. In the end, he agreed to meet with her that evening at a restaurant several miles out of town in Duluth.

Trey leaned toward the phone. “Did you meet her?”

“No. She never showed, so I went back home. I never saw her again. But here’s something strange. When she pulled out of my driveway on Wednesday morning, this dark blue pick-up truck that had been waiting at the curb pulled right after her.”

I stared at the phone. Why had nobody mentioned this before now?

“Did you see the driver?” Trey said.

“There was a guy behind the wheel, but I didn’t pay attention to him until the truck peeled out and took off down the street right behind her.”

“So he was following her?” I said.

Landon frowned. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“I didn’t actually see anybody, just a guy in a truck,” Eric insisted.

But I wasn’t letting this one go. “Do you think this person knows you saw him?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if he figures out you can ID him.”

“But I can’t ID him!”

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Landon interrupted. “Eric, listen to me. Have you mentioned any of this to the cops?”

“I told them exactly what I’m telling you.”

“You didn’t tell anyone when Eliza first came to you?”

There was a long pause. “No.”

“Why not?”

“She asked me not to. I saw no reason to get the police involved because there wasn’t a crime. Not then anyway.”

Trey again. “Then why did you lie to me Wednesday afternoon, about where you were going that night?”

“Look, Trey, no offense, but I couldn’t exactly tell the truth without having to explain everything, and I knew where that would lead.”

Landon had a look of perplexed frustration on his face. “Didn’t Eliza’s moves strike you as strange? Or alarming?”

“No, just odd. Then Marisa called me about the murder. She told me that it could be some kind of set-up, so she sent you to take care of the house and Trey to take care of Tai.”

Marisa. The CEO of Phoenix. Her name sure was coming up a lot for someone I hadn’t seen yet.

Landon’s voice was all business. “Listen to me, Eric. The media are going to be crawling all over this thing, which is a royal pain in the ass, especially with Senator Adams’ reception coming up. The cops want you back here ASAP.”

“But my workshop isn’t done until Sunday afternoon. Can’t you talk to the detectives?”

Landon didn’t reply. Eric kept talking.

“If I have to cancel, it’s going to cost Phoenix big time. And it’s not like I had anything to do with her death; that should be obvious. You know the strings to pull.”

Landon neither argued nor agreed. “We’ll see. In the meantime, I’m alerting legal that you’ll be talking to them as soon as you get back to Atlanta. Until then, you talk to no one. No reporters, no strangers at the bar, no one. Got it?”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Landon said. “Keep every scrap of paperwork—receipts, tickets, billing statements. You’ll need all the alibi you can get. As for Tai, I think we’ll all feel better if she’s safely back in Savannah.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Landon’s voice was flat. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going.”

Eric made a noise of frustration. “Then we need to extend the personal protection order.”

Trey shook his head. “My job is premises liability. I don’t usually do—”

“No, you don’t,” Landon agreed, his eyes lasered on mine. “Which is a moot point, because the better idea is for her to go back home.”

“Atlanta is my home,” I countered. “I own a business here, which I’d like to get back to.”

Landon’s cheeks pinkened, but his gray eyes went hard. “There’s been a murder, do you understand that?”

“I’m the one who found the body; I understand that better than anyone!”

“So understand this. Trey is escorting you back to your hotel, where you are picking up your things and getting in your car and heading back to Savannah. Got it?”

“I got that you don’t get to tell me what to do. So I’m staying.” I shot a look Trey’s way. “With or without a bodyguard.”

“Personal protection,” he corrected.

***

The meeting ended swiftly after that. Landon threw me out, then had a quick confab with Trey. I couldn’t make out everything they were saying behind the closed door, but I did catch the word “liability.” Suddenly, the door opened, and Trey came out. He didn’t look the least bit perturbed, but Landon glared at me and slammed the door. Hard.

“Did you just get in trouble?” I said.

“No. But I think you did. Landon requested your dossier.”

“Oh.” I folded my arms. “I’m still not leaving town, you know.”

“I know. Marisa told him so. She said that until Eric returned, your hotel room is on her dime. Her words.”

He held the elevator door for me. I got on.

“So the Executive Partner of Phoenix Corporate Security Services is intervening with Landon on my behalf?”

“Correct. She also okayed the extension of the personal protection order for as long as necessary.”

“Why?”

“Because Detective Ryan has requested that you come into the station for a formal interview, and she decided that a security presence is still needed, for our protection as well as yours.”

“What interview? Nobody told me about any—”

My phone rang. Trey looked at it, then at me. “You should get that.”