Morris said, “Correct. There’s also a surveillance camera covering the back door, and it shows him leaving the building at one thirty-seven, again carrying that same box. That was about the time Annie and I were sitting together in the park across the street.”
Finston got up so she could walk over to the vestibule door. “He would’ve been able to see you from here,” she said.
“That’s right.”
Finston appeared deep in thought as she stroked her pointed chin and made her way back to her chair behind the security desk. She looked up at Morris with thoughtful eyes.
“Those inscribed business cards weren’t left simply to get you involved in these murders,” she said. “While his plan might need you to be involved, he also wants to taunt you. This is personal with him. Very much so. We know he’s in disguise, and he could even be wearing prosthetics, but is it possible that you know him?”
“No, not possible. I don’t care how much he might’ve disguised himself, I’ve never seen him before.”
“His animus toward you could be because of a relative you arrested, or even something unrelated to your time as an LAPD detective. Morris, you need to explore that avenue.”
Morris felt the same dull throbbing behind his eyes that he had experienced earlier that morning. This was turning into a mess. While he knew Finston was right, he still asked whether it was possible that the killer simply wanted to prove his superiority to the famed serial killer hunter. “After all, you said the guy’s a narcissist. Isn’t that what an extreme narcissist would do?”
“There’s more to it than that. He didn’t come here just to gloat. He wanted you to be tormented by the fact that you had him and let him slip away.”
“If that’s true, why did he flee instead of sticking around so he could face me?”
“Because he realized he had made a mistake with Detective Walsh, and he was afraid you’d pick up on it.”
Morris started massaging his temples, hoping to soothe the throbbing that had spread from behind his eyes to the back of his skull.
“Possibly,” he admitted. “He stuck around after executing Javier Lopez for some sort of demented thrill, but I think he might’ve had another reason for killing Lopez. You know the story he told Annie about Heather Brandley yesterday returning from a run, and then an hour later coming back down to the lobby dressed to kill, as if she had a hot date? I’d bet money that’s true—that this was yet another way for the killer to smirk at us, in this case by telling us what actually happened. I’d also bet money that her hot date was with the killer. That he had met her at the end of her run. And I’d also bet that somebody let him know when she had left the building to go running and how long she usually ran for, so that the killer could accidentally meet her.”
“A doorman working here would know that.”
Morris said, “My thoughts exactly.”
Chapter 16
“A soft guy like you won’t fare well in prison. If I were you, I’d use the time you got left on the outside to toughen yourself up.”
Dalton Fowler’s reaction gave him away. He should’ve either acted confused or angry; instead he froze for a heartbeat before forcing a big horselaugh.
“You’re a funny guy, Brenner,” he said, his laughter giving way to red-faced chortling.
The reason Fowler called Fred Lemmon by the name Brenner was because when Lemmon was brought in three weeks ago to fill Eckhardt Engineering’s newly created position of vice president of corporate compensation, he was introduced as Mark Brenner. This was a bogus position, and only the company’s CEO knew who Lemmon really was.
“That might be true,” Lemmon said, “but ten years in prison is no laughing matter, even if you’re lucky enough to serve it out in a federal country club instead of in the California correction system.”
Fowler decided to change tack. The amusement dried up instantly, leaving his face chalky white with indignation. He should’ve gone with indignation first, but he had badly miscalculated. His hands balled into fists as he got up from his chair and took a step toward Lemmon.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a soft, menacing tone.
“Of course you do,” Lemmon said. “But let’s not waste any more time. Just sit down, okay?”
“Stand up!”
Lemmon sighed and stood up. Fowler took another quick step forward and threw a punch at Lemmon’s jaw. Lemmon could’ve just stepped away from it, but he instead ducked the punch while at the same time driving his right fist into Fowler’s stomach. That took the air out of Eckhardt Engineering’s vice president of public relations. Lemmon took hold of his elbow and guided Fowler back to his chair, and then retook his own seat.
“Let me explain the situation to you so you don’t keep acting stupid,” Lemmon said. “My name’s not Mark Brenner and I have no idea what a vice president of corporate compensation would even do. I’m an investigator with MBI, and I was brought in here to find out who’s been selling Eckhardt’s bids to Thompson Solutions. And you’re the guy.”
Fowler sucked in just enough air to force out, “That’s insane. I don’t have access to the bids.”
“You might not, but Alice Gleason does, and I followed the two of you to the Sunspot Motel three nights ago. I even snapped a couple of photos of you while you got on her laptop. This was when she was in the shower.”
Alice Gleason was the administrative assistant to the vice president of new business development. As far as Lemmon was concerned, the company had too many vice presidents. Lemmon had also fibbed about what he told Fowler. The part about following them to the motel was true. It was also true that Gleason had brought her laptop with her. But the blinds had been closed so Lemmon was unable to see what went on inside the motel room, although he knew Gleason had taken a shower after she and Fowler had had their tumble in the sack, and he also was pretty sure around fifty minutes after they had entered the room he heard through the flimsy motel door not only the shower turn on, but also the sound that laptop computers make when they’re powered on.
Lemmon could see the calculating look in Fowler’s eyes as he remembered that the blinds had been closed that night.
“One of the slats didn’t fit right and it created just enough of an opening through the blinds for me to take photos,” Lemmon said. “But that’s only part of what I have against you. You’re done, Fowler. At least if I show anyone what I have.”
Fowler reacted as if he’d been slapped. He bit his lip and asked, “What do you mean?”
“I might want to burn what I’ve collected,” Lemmon said with a guilty smile. “I’ve got expenses with two kids in college, and I’ve had my eye on a sailboat. A Corsair. Forty-eight grand used. So I’m offering you a one-time deal. A hundred and fifty thousand and I tell Eckhardt that it’s just bad luck that they keep getting underbid by Thompson.”
“So you’re a greedy swindler,” Fowler said.
“Fortunately for you, not that greedy. Otherwise I’d be asking for everything Thompson gave you. You’re still going to make out.”
Fowler laughed bitterly. “Not after you grab seventy percent.” There was more of that calculating look, then, “I’ll give you forty grand. That’s it.”
Lemmon breathed in deeply as he manufactured a pained look. “Make it forty-eight grand so I can buy the sailboat.”
“I ought to kick the crap out of you for sucker punching me earlier,” Fowler said, his mouth forming a soft pout. “But fine, I’ll pay you. It will be worth it to never have to see your cheap, swindling face again.”
Lemmon