The Dangerous Edge of Things

CHAPTER 20

The phone rang at six the next morning. It was Trey.

“Marisa has called a meeting. You need to be here.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because she said so. Nine o’clock.”

I rubbed my eyes, still thick with exhaustion. “You’re an abomination.”

“Nine.”

“Yeah yeah. I’ll be there.”

On the way across town, I stopped at a convenience store and got a pack of cigarettes, then threw away all but two. One I smoked on the way to Phoenix, the other I wrapped in tissue and left in my wallet, an emergency ration for whatever weirdness the day planned to throw in my face.

Yvonne waited for me in the lobby. I was expecting another lecture about my lack of appropriate badgewear, but she fixed me with her sweetheart eyes. “Third floor.”

The room was deserted except for Trey, who occupied one chair on the long end of a rectangular table. He had a slew of paperwork in front of him—charts, graphs, summary reports.

I sat beside him. “You have any idea what this is about?”

“No.”

“Me, either. She didn’t say anything yesterday.”

“Who?”

“Marisa. Who’d you think I meant?”

“Janie Compton.” Trey fixed me with a hard stare. “She mentioned that you spoke with her yesterday, in the bathroom. You didn’t tell me this.”

I started to reply, but before I could formulate a reasonably innocent explanation, another guy joined us. He had a nice smile, but his distinguishing feature was a mop of double-helix brown hair that tumbled over his forehead, very nearly obscuring his eyes. He stopped in the doorway, hands on hips.

Then he grinned. “Hey, Trey, how’s it going?”

Trey’s head snapped back. “What are you doing here?”

The guy shrugged. Unlike every other dapperly suited employee, he was tricked out in khaki pants and an orange shirt. No tie. I glanced at his shoes. Black athletic sandals.

“Looking for Landon,” he said.

“No, I mean what are you doing at Phoenix. You were fired.”

“Landon pulled the suspension.”

“You weren’t suspended. You were fired.”

“Landon reconsidered.”

Suddenly, I realized who this guy was. I snapped my fingers. “Simpson!”

The guy grinned. He had an exuberant smile, open-mouthed. “All my friends call me Steve. Right, Trey?”

Trey was having none of this. “Because of your blatant incompetence—”

“Oh please! I was getting coffee!” He flung a finger in my direction. “How was I supposed to know she would show up?”

“You disregarded our objective and jeopardized my safety.”

“Cut the crap. You’re just mad ‘’cause you got made.”

Trey stood up, dropping his shoulders and shifting his body weight. I recognized it for what it was—going into a fighting stance—and Steve actually took one step forward and all I could think was, Trey is about to mop the floor with this guy.

But then Trey closed his eyes—one second, two—and when he opened them again, that flat impassive blue was back. He exhaled, relaxed his hands, and sat back down, burying his attention once again in his paperwork.

Simpson grinned some more. “Tell Landon I was looking for him.” And then he looked at me. “Nice to meet you, Tai Randolph. Been hearing a lot about you around here.” Then he winked at me and ducked out the door.

I let out a breath. “What in the hell was that about?”

Trey didn’t look up. “I thought he was terminated. Apparently he’s not.”

“He’s the computer guy you were working with at Eric’s, right?”

“Technical specialist.”

Trey gathered his file folders into a neat stack, adjusted the edges with precise focused concentration. He had a pile of index cards that he placed right next to two mechanical pencils.

“Tell the truth,” I said. “You were going to beat him to a bloody pulp.”

A swift glance my direction, then back to his legal pad. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No. I wasn’t.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

He stopped rifling through papers and placed both hands flat on the table, one neatly atop the other.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did.”

***

Marisa arrived thirty seconds after nine o’clock in a suit the color of white chocolate. She took a chair at the head of the table, Yvonne at her heels. Landon hung at her side, their voices a hushed tête-à-tête. When he saw me, he cut her a sharp look. She shook her head and opened her portfolio.

“It’s been a hell of a morning,” she said, “so let’s start with the latest. Detective Ryan called. He wants to set up interviews with all of you.”

Trey stopped writing. “Is this because we were all at Beau Elan on Thursday?”

I stared at him. Somehow he’d neglected to mention this choice fact in our conversations. So much for teamwork.

“So we’re suspects now?” Landon said.

“Not suspects,” Trey corrected. “Suspicious. There’s no evidence to make us suspects at this time.”

I raised my hand. “Um, excuse me, but—”

“You’ve been a suspect since you got into town,” Landon interjected.

I shot him a look. “Don’t start with me.”

“It’s immaterial,” Marisa said, putting a halt to the squabble. “Right now, I want to make it clear that all of you must be cleared of suspicion as soon as possible.”

Trey cocked his head. “The video should be proof enough.”

Marisa’s eyes flashed his way. “What video?”

“The video from the surveillance camera at the Beau Elan entrance. It records every vehicle entering or leaving. Of course the police have the original now, but we kept back-up footage at the office.”

“And what will this footage show?”

“Our arrival at Beau Elan at approximately twelve-thirty that morning. Charley Beaumont arrived at five, left at six with Landon when the police arrived. Approximately. Simpson and I finished and left for Phoenix at six-thirty. Approximately. The video will provide specific time codes.”

“Where were you?”

“In Jake Whitaker’s office.”

“With Jake?”

“No, I was alone. Jake was elsewhere on the property.”

I wanted to follow up on that idea, but Marisa had her own agenda. “So you were in that office all afternoon?”

“Yes.”

Marisa was writing everything down in her portfolio. “Charley will corroborate this story?”

“She can, yes.”

“And what about Steve?”

“He was connecting the video feeds to the security system. Which meant that he was either working in the crawlspace or in the van.”

Landon wrote something down in his notebook. “I’ll talk to him. He did the work, so I’m sure we can establish his alibi.”

Marisa nodded at Yvonne, who sent around a set of folders, each one labeled with a name—including mine. But before I could open it, Marisa rapped sharply on the table.

“Each of you has the case notes so far in front of you,” she said, making a little steeple with her fingers. “I’ve received three phone calls in the past fifteen minutes from reporters asking me to verify if Mark Beaumont has indeed hired Phoenix to investigate Eliza’s death. Which he has. “

Trey spoke up. “The police—”

“—are doing an excellent job, yes, but Mark feels it’s his duty to contribute. He’s giving a press conference in one hour, and we’re going to be there.”

I lifted the edge of my folder, tried to peek inside.

Marisa kept talking. “I don’t mind admitting that we are out of our league here. We specialize in protecting our clients from such crimes, not mopping up afterward. But this is what Mark wants.”

And, I thought, what Mark wants, Mark gets.

Trey’s eyes snapped up from his paperwork. “But I don’t do investigations.”

“You do now.”

“But—”

“No buts. They know you at the APD. You’re a hero down there, and we need that kind of connection right now.”

He looked back down at his notepad and said nothing, but his right hand toyed with his pen, tap-tap-tapping on the clean lined paper.

Marisa continued. “One more thing. Mark has requested that Janie Compton be included in any briefings that we offer him, as a special courtesy. Which is why Tai is here.”

I looked up from my folder. “What?”

“Janie has requested that you be involved in our investigation every step of the way, as her special liaison.”

“She did?”

“Yes, she did. If you’re interested.”

“Of course I am. Thank you.”

“You’re technically research now, which makes you Trey’s responsibility.”

Trey looked up at this. “What?”

Marisa smiled. “Her job is keeping Janie Compton happy. Your job is to make sure she does that.”

Trey exhaled slowly. Then he looked back down at his folder. I slid a glance Landon’s way. He had his jaw set so tight you could have chipped flint with it.

Marisa continued. “In fact, that leads me to my last and most important point. We are in the center ring now, people, the main attraction.” She looked at Landon. “As for Steve Simpson, I rehired him on your say-so. Any further failings from that camp and your head will roll. And for God’s sake, clean him up. If I see him in the halls, he’d better be wearing a suit and have real shoes on his feet.”

Marisa stood, laid her palms flat on the table. “Because you’d better understand something, all of you. Mess this one up, and I will have your balls for breakfast. Now get going. I look forward to reading the preliminary reports this afternoon.”

And then she gathered her materials, Yvonne opened the door, and the two of them exited stage left. Landon pulled out his cell phone and began a low, terse conversation, his eyes on me the whole time. Trey stared at his paperwork.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “but did you just become the boss of me?”

He underlined something with a highlighter. “It’s not a chain of command relationship. I’m more of a coordinator.”

“Does that mean you get to tell me what to do?”

“Yes.”

He stood up abruptly. I scooped up my folders and stood too, clipping my new ID rather clumsily to my sweater. It read LIAISON in neat block script.

“Does it mean I finally get to question suspects?”

“No.”

He cocked his head and frowned at me. Tucking his files under one arm, he reached out with both hands and straightened my ID badge one millimeter. His knuckle grazed my chin.

I kept my mouth shut. And I didn’t say what I was thinking, that regardless of his rule, if suspects presented themselves, I was going to question them. Even if those suspects were the Beaumonts themselves. And no pathetic, photoshopped, slipped-under-the-windshield threats were going to stop me.