Chapter 6

Monday morning, Kade shot out of the taxi before it stopped completely. Sure, Texans drove fast, but at least they tried to drive in a straight line and not all over the road. "Thanks." Kade tossed the driver the fare plus a tip since he hadn't died. What was the percentage for a cabbie's tip? He didn't know. Back home he always took his bike or the bus.

Westridge's building rose before him. Well, at least the top five floors. The rest of the building was filled with other tenants. He held the door open as two women talking about Monday morning meetings zipped past him and into the building.

The charcoal suit he'd bought last night irritated his neck and he kept tugging at the collar. He'd had to find a shirt with a collar that would hide the tattoo on his neck.

Inside the building, the lobby was sparse and the air conditioning freezing against his skin. He'd arrived early to do some snooping. The receptionist smiled at him. Show time.

"Hi, I'm Kade Marshall." Tackett had given him a new last name. As bleached as the Board of Directors and all managers here were, he doubted he'd have gotten as big a pay if they knew his last name was Hernandez.

"I don't show you scheduled until eight." She frowned at the computer.

"Yeah, I know." He leaned his arm on the counter. "It's my first day and wasn't sure how long it would take in traffic. I'm from Houston and travel time to downtown is a nightmare."

"It can be here too." She pointed to a small couch and coffee table. "Have a seat unless you'd rather pick up something at the coffee shop next door."

"Actually," he smiled, "I was kind of hoping to look around upstairs so I didn't look like a klutz trying to find the office and the bathroom."

She shrugged and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. Hmmm... time for a different tactic since she didn't bite.

"Say, I bet you put in long hours and only get a lunch break, right? You see people all day long coming and going on smoke and other breaks while you are stuck here." Please, let his guess be accurate.

"It stinks. And Westridge is the worst, but I guess he's the boss so he can do whatever he wants."

Now he was getting somewhere. "That's what I heard, too. And lots of people are underpaid and overworked here, just like you." That was typical most places or at least in opinions. He couldn't lay it on too thick however. "Jobs are tough now though, so I was happy to get this one." His watch told him it was nearly seven. "Hey, how about I run next door and bring you back your favorite drink while I get a cup of coffee, then I take a tour upstairs?"

She bit her lip. "I don't - "

"My treat and I'll pick up a muffin too if you like."

"Okay." She clicked the pen and wrote down her order. She smiled as she handed it to him.

"Be right back. Thanks, Emily." He was glad she had a name badge.

At the coffee shop, the line stretched out the door. No wonder she had agreed to allow

him upstairs after grabbing a coffee. This would take him about half an hour. He bustled through the crowd and to the front counter. People cursed and hollered behind him. Man, he wished he could have his gun on this assignment. Even when he was posing as a dealer he had his gun. Always. His mother complained whenever he brought it to holidays - but the criminals kept theirs and he felt exposed without it.

The teen at the register with gauges in his earlobes frowned. "Get in line, man."

"Police business." He flashed his badge and pushed the hand written note Emily had given him. "Make me this and a large coffee with sugar. Oh, and two of those orange cream muffins, there."

An older woman shoved Kade aside and grumbled about cutters.

When he got the drinks and muffins, he dashed back to the building and gave Emily her order.

"How? That was fast."

He winked. "I've my secrets. Is that a passkey for the doors on my floor?"

Rather than argue with him, she took a bite of the muffin and handed him one of the visitor badges.

"Thank you." He turned and casually walked toward the glass doors behind her.

***

Inside the sales office, Kade put his muffin and coffee down in an empty cubical. He went to the files. Locked. Figured. Then he turned toward the sales manager's office. The lock was basic. He glanced around double-checking that there was no security camera as Westridge had told Paul, then pulled out his locksmith tools from his jacket pocket and picked the lock until it clicked.

These file cabinets were wood with no locks. Guess they figured the door was security enough. And Jerry, the Sales Manager who interviewed him, said he worked late, only stepping in the threshold to wait while the cleaning crew cleaned his office. Kade pocketed the tools and knelt down by the large file cabinet.

He eased the top drawer open and began riffling through the folders. Each member of the sales force had a folder, but he skipped those after seeing they were reports, reviews, and basic employment records. He moved onto the bottom drawer. These files were company names. Still run of the mill stuff. Sutaban Incorporated. What the hell? Two years ago, Sutaban had been under investigation for selling arms to terrorists. They were found innocent, but most of the pubic, including Kade, thought they were hiding something.

The file listed dates of sales and purchases, but not what. Just codes: BX1232, RT7580, MKX57, and so on. Kade took a picture of the pages with his phone. There were several files of Sutaban from this year and back six years. None of them showed what the codes meant.

Next he'd visit accounting and check through their invoices. Maybe that would give him a clue.

"What are you doing in my office?"

Kade cringed as he shifted his body, met the sales manager, Jerry's eyes, and pocketed his phone hoping Jerry didn't notice.

"Shit, you made me lose it."

"Lose what?" Jerry's suit crinkled as he folded his arms across his chest.

"You didn't see it? It was a big-ass spider. When I saw it run under your door, I came in here to kill it."

"A spider?" Jerry paled dropping his arms.

Thank god! The man sounded like he might have a phobia. "Yes, it crawled under here. I was trying to reach it through the back. See? The cabinet was too heavy for me to move, but I spotted the bugger crawling under the bottom drawer." He pointed down between the open drawer and the carpet beneath. "You startled me when you came and I lost it."

"Y-you didn't get it? It's still alive in my office?"

"Sorry, man. Guess it'll come out when it's ready." Kade shoved the drawer closed and rose. He chuckled to himself when he heard Jerry snatch up his phone and call maintenance.

"Yes, I need my office fumigated. Now!" After a pause he added, "No I can't wait until next week. It has to be now, damn it. I can't work with spiders crawling around." He slammed the phone down. "Next time, don't come into my office with permission." His eyes narrowed,

"Even if hordes of spiders crawl through - let maintenance handle it."

"Yes, sir." Kade shut the door to Jerry's office on his way out. A glance at his watch told him it was almost eight. Too late to visit Accounting.

The rest of the day Kade spent following Nick, one of the other salesmen, on his calls. By late afternoon, he thought the smile he'd held frozen on his face for so long was cracking. Even his cheeks were numb.

Now Nick was on the phone with a client and Rebeka, the only woman sales rep, tapped him on the shoulder. "Has anyone bothered to show you how to do an expense report?" Her tone light, as though she was flirting and used the reports as a reason to lean on his desk. Expense reports were something he wouldn't require on his first day.

"No." He tried to smile, but figured it came across as a grimace.

"Here." She reached around him to the computer. "All our forms are here. This is the master and a blank copy."

For ten minutes, she explained the form, how to save it, and where they were archived.

"If you forget, just pull up one of the completed forms as a reference. Then Accounting pulls up the latest for the week and sends you a check."

"But what about receipts?"

She laughed and tapped a column. "Most of us use credit cards anyway, so an electronic copy of our bill is sent."

She crossed her arms. "A couple of years ago, things used to be based on trust. I did sneak in an extra latte now and then, but now it's impossible with ISO policies and accounting being more strict. What's a few dollars? Besides we are the lifeblood of Westridge besides the big boss himself. We are the ones that bring in the money so they don't count our dimes out."

Good to know. Maybe after this was over he'd recommend a tax or internal audit to comb through these files. In the meantime, he'd use the expense reports in his investigation and see if anything turned up.

***

The fluorescent lights hummed inside the rented office space as Kade and Paul waited for the next suspect to be brought in. Bob Hacken. It was Saturday, late afternoon, and they had already interviewed sixteen other men and twelve women who ranged from their twenties to a retiree--despite Kade's wish to leave off anyone over the age of sixty for now. Since Hacken wouldn't cooperate and voluntarily come in for questioning, the street cops had brought him in for his fourth speeding ticket and Tackett utilized the opportunity to sneak Kade in through the back as a consultant. The other interviews, Kade spent observing behind the two-way mirror when they took place after his work hours. Otherwise, he just reviewed the videos later.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Working double shift at Westridge all day and then on the case most of the night and weekend drained him. The expense reports hadn't shown him much - except a breakfast at a hotel near where he'd first met Tackett. Westridge claimed the expense, and Kade realized all the company's expense reports were housed on a single drive. The client listed had merely said, ContactS. When he shifted through more of Westridge's reports, the name ContactS repeated several times a week for lunches, coffee, and even a few strip clubs.

At the precinct, secluded in the recording room, Kade waited for Paul to begin the questioning with Hacken.

For the third time Kade checked his clipboard. Dates of the robberies were listed and so far, everyone had alibis for those days.

He sipped the cold Pepsi wishing the receptionist had brought him a Coke when he asked for one, rather than this northern stuff. He wanted the day to end.

On the edge of the questioning table, Paul sat dressed in his usual attire, as if he had a funeral to attend and wore his best suit.

Wouldn't he be more comfortable dressed in blue jeans, a wrinkled shirt, and sneakers like Kade was? Probably not. Down in Texas, many of the detectives wore jeans, some with sneakers and others with cowboy boots. Yet there were some, like Paul, who seemed to think they were one-step from the FBI and wore suits all the time, even in the hot humidity that baked and broiled everyone. He held the cool can to his forehead to ease his headache.

Still, his thoughts drifted to becoming a regular here and leaving his past behind. He'd miss the Houston food, but not the sweltering, tongue-hanging heat. And the food here in New York was different, but just as tasty and full of variety. He missed Sid and his delicious Tex-Mex breakfast tacos. He missed the food back home. Hot and spicy. Here, the hot sauce was thinner than watered-down ketchup and tasted like it too.

Yet, it would be good to be with people who knew nothing about him except what he chose to tell them. Who wouldn't judge him on his past record as an arrogant kid from the Fifth Ward. Everything swayed on this case: his career, his future, everything. He craved a change. He needed this.

Here, there were no exes and no preconceived notions. Everyone at the station back home knew pieces of his past, that he was in a gang as a kid - though they didn't know it all--and many still didn't trust him, or reminded him of it too often with snide comments.

For once, he could get a girl to like him for who he was instead of running as soon as she found out about his past or that he was a police detective. One or the other makes them break up with me.

He brought his attention back to the assignment. Usually, cases had a handful of suspects.

Everyone connected with Westridge on their list had a motive.

Tackett had snatched up this rent space at the edge of the city for Paul and Kade to interview suspects. A tax office that wouldn't be busy until January.

As Paul scooted his chair closer, the metal scraped along the linoleum.

Kade cringed, the sound vibrated through his backbone.

God, he hoped Bob was guilty. He itched to find the thief.

The pop and then hiss of his soda made Paul look over.

Paul tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash. "Call it a day after this last guy?"

"You and Ruby going to dinner tonight?" Kade gulped down the Pepsi, no one could tell him he didn't taste the tangy aftertaste so different than Coke, and tossed the empty can into the wastebasket.

"Yeah, the fifties diner downtown."

"Crystal going?" Kade stood and stretched. "No, but we could invite her. You wanna go?" He shrugged.

Paul fished his cell phone out of his pocket. He called his fiancée and told her to let him know if Crystal wanted to come with them to dinner tonight.

Kade hoped she would say yes. Not only was he starving, but he couldn't stop thinking about her.

"I love you too," Paul said as Bob Hacken opened the door, and then stepped inside.

"Sit down, Mr. Hacken." Paul hung up and replaced the phone in his suit pocket.

"Wife or mistress?" Hacken plopped down in the metal chair. His shaggy hair tumbled across his dark eyes. Sweat beaded above his lip.

"Pardon?"

"Your phone call, was it to your wife or mistress?" "None of your business." Paul's hands fisted.

Kade shook his head once when Paul glanced his way. He discerned Hacken's type, scum. Give him too much ammo and he'd shoot it back in your face. Just like his and Manuel's gang leader. Kade fought the urge to scratch his old gang tat. They'd been punks trying to fit in and Manuel had gotten killed in the crossfire.

Hacken chortled.

As though bored, Kade strode around the table his hands clasped behind him.

He passed Hacken's chair. He wanted to reach out and slam the man's head down on the table, but he clenched his fists instead. "Just tell us what you know and we can get you out of here."

"Go to Hell!" Hacken glared. "I'm not saying anything without my lawyer."

Paul frowned. "We'd like your cooperation to answer some questions."

Kade noticed Paul staring at him like he was a bug to be pegged to a wall, but he didn't know yet what category to pin him.

Hacken shifted his weight as though to stand. "I got nothing to say to you stinking pigs."

"Tell us or we can take you into the city and lock you in jail for twenty-four hours I might even accidentally shred your paperwork and you'd have to do it again." Hacken spit in Kade's face.

"Careful." Kade wiped off the spit and leaned forward. "You look dizzy." And part of him wanted to do it. He curled his fingers into fists. Rage had gotten him into too many fights and trouble as a teen; he didn't need to slip down that path again now.

Hacken slumped in the chair. Even though he doubted they'd find anything if they searched Hacken's residence, he recognized the stench of weed on him. This guy either was a heavy user or a dealer... maybe even both.

When Kade was on the streets as a teen, he'd seen the kids stealing, even whoring, to get a fix. It disgusted him then and even more so now.

"Where were you on the night of February twenty-first?" Paul took the lead questioning.

Hacken sunk lower in the chair. "Out."

"Out where?" Kade waved his arm out. "Did anyone see you?" He doubted the guy had

an alibi.

"I don't remember."

"All right." Paul ran his fingers through his blond hair. "What about the night of March eighteenth or April tenth?"

He answered with a shrug.

As a visual aid, Paul pushed a calendar forward.

The man paled. His eyes widened. "I don't remember."

"Don't remember or don't want to say?" Kade sneered. He didn't like this guy's arrogance or the way he denied knowing anything.

"Anyone vouch for you?"

Kade tapped Paul's shoulder. "Let him know the charges."

"Were you anywhere near Clove Forest or King's Ranch within those dates I mentioned?" "I-I want a lawyer." Hacken stood on wobbly legs.

"You haven't been charged yet, Mr. Hacken," Paul said.

"I don't care. Get me a phone or I'll not say another word."

"You do realize you'll be held overnight now." Kade flipped open his cell to call Tackett and alert him of Hacken's refusal to cooperate. When the sergeant answered, Kade filled him in, then said, "Can we get a sweep of his house? Something doesn't smell right about this guy." Later, when Hacken was gone and if nothing turned up at his residence, Paul would ask for a tail on him too. Paul hung up the phone and slid it over. "You can call your lawyer now."

Hacken's gaze narrowed into slits, but he punched the numbers in. After the call, the cops who had brought him in took him to the station and booked him.

To keep his cover, Kade hailed a taxi to Paul's apartment.

They had tonight free. Clive Owen's party, or rather the trap for a thief, was tomorrow night. News of the party spread faster than a racy tabloid story. Kade didn't want the thief to miss an opportunity to show up.