Chapter 18
Monty and Marc walked into Colonial Financial Group once more, this time, met by a slender receptionist, her smile seeming etched permanently on her face. They sat as directed in the comfortable leather chairs in the waiting room, cooling their heels for several minutes. The door to the hall opened and Cindy walked through.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me,” she requested, her smile forced. Leading them to Scott’s office, they noticed her name on the desk outside his door.
“I see you’ve stayed here,” Monty remarked.
Her eyes sought his as her mouth turned down. “Yes. I…I like the work here. I’m trying to…” she sucked in a deep breath before continuing, “it’s hard.” She knocked on Scott’s door and then opened it, stepping to the side to allow Monty and Marc to enter.
“Gentlemen, good to see you,” Scott greeted affably, his eyes jumping to the large, mountain man. He shook Monty’s hand before being introduced to Marc. Indicating the chairs in front of his desk, he walked to his chair and sat. “Were you offered refreshment?”
“No, but that’s all right. We’re fine,” Monty replied, noting Scott’s flash of irritation.
“I’m trying to be patient with Cindy, but I confess it isn’t easy,” Scott said. “She and Marcia were very close. Almost unnaturally so.”
Monty raised his eyebrow at this statement.
Scott caught the expression and quickly moved to amend his comment. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean to suggest that! We all know Marcia loved the men too much.” He tried to chuckle but it fell flat. Blushing, he stuck his finger in the tight neck of his shirt, giving a little jerk. “What I meant was Cindy was the consummate assistant for Marcia and now that Marcia’s gone…well, I’m kind of stuck with her and she lets me know she’s not crazy about how I’d like the office to be run.”
“If you’re not happy with her, can’t she be assigned to someone else?” Marc questioned, wanting to understand the office politics.
“Marcia was the president of our branch and her assistant had a certain seniority with that. For her to be assigned to someone else would be seen as a demotion. So, for now, I’m stuck with her.” He looked at the two stone-faced men sitting in front of him. “I’m sure you’re not here to talk about my assistant troubles. What can I do for you?”
“You’ve heard of another one of your client’s deaths—Betty Mavery?” Jack asked.
Scott’s face registered surprise and his gaze shot between the two. “I’m not familiar with that name. I don’t think she was one of my clients.”
“So if she were the client of another investment broker in Colonial Financial Group, you wouldn’t recognize her?”
“To be honest, no I wouldn’t. We’re not a huge firm, but we are diversified enough that with five investment brokers on this staff alone, and then with the branch in Arlington, I really only deal with my clients. Well,” he amended, “I know the more prominent clients with our firm even if they aren’t mine.”
A silence slid over the group as Scott turned to his laptop and, with a few clicks, located Betty’s account. “Oh, of course. She was Marcia’s client. I took her client list and divided it amongst the rest of us until we hire another broker.”
He turned back to Monty and said, “She’s dead, you say?” Gaining Monty’s affirmation, he shook his head.
“We’re concerned because that now makes three women, all from the same sorority, who have died within a two-month period.”
“I understand your concern, gentlemen, but I fail to see how that relates to Colonial Financial,” Scott replied.
“All three were clients of your company,” Marc pointed out. “With one of them being the investor, it would be unwise for us to not take into consideration their finances.”
Scott sat up straighter, his face flushed with indignation. “Are…what are you…do mean to say you suspect…I…” he sputtered.
Monty eyed him carefully. “We’re trying to find a common denominator amongst the deaths and this company keeps coming up.”
Scott leaned back heavily in his chair, his face a portrait of conflicting emotions. Rubbing his forehead, he said, “I don’t know what to tell you.” Sighing again, he said, “One of the ways Marcia was able to get ahead so quickly is she was a very social person and had a ton of friends. Considering who her daddy was, she naturally brought a lot of clients into the company. I was jealous at one time…here I worked for every client I could get and she waltzed in with a huge portfolio of friends…or daddy’s friends, ready to give her business.”
“Was that jealousy hard to handle?” Marc asked.
Scot snorted ruefully. “Honestly? It was hard to stay mad, because the more clients CFG got, the more bonuses that were shared by all of us.”
Monty’s eyebrows shot up. “So everyone benefited from Marcia’s extensive client list?”
“Yes, indeed. The company’s owners wanted it set up that way. Now, of course, the broker with the most clients got the extra commission, but we all benefitted from Marcia. I think it was the all-for-one attitude of the owners.”
Scott eyed Monty and Marc speculatively for a moment. “Gentlemen, I’d be a fool to not realize you are considering someone from CFG as a possible suspect. But I can assure you that the loss of our top broker, and then two of her clients, hurts all of us. There’s no one here who’d want to lose their bonuses.”
After a few more minutes, Monty and Marc left Scott’s office. As Cindy rose from her desk to walk them out, they stopped in the empty reception area noting the receptionist had already left. “How are you holding up, Ms. Bartley?” Monty asked. He watched as Cindy’s face contorted and appeared to battle back tears.
“These…leeches,” she bit out. “Ms. Creston was brilliant. She may have had a huge social circle that brought in business, but she knew what she was doing. They all rode on her coattails.” Steeling her back, she said, “You want to know how I’m doing? I miss her.” With that, she escorted them to the door and locked it behind them.
Marc looked over at Monty as they drove away. “Don’t even ask,” Monty declared. “Just when I think I might have a direction to look at, we’re thrown for a loop and the new information doesn’t fit in with where I thought the investigation was going.”
*
Blaise sat in the Senator’s study, looking around the room as the Senator poured them both a drink. The fireplace crackled on the chilly night, casting illumination as well as shadows about the room. Several family photographs in wooden frames sat on the mantle, keeping company with a large clock. The windows on the far wall were covered in dark green drapes, closed to the setting sun. The Senator walked over, handing Blaise a tumbler filled with amber liquid. The scotch went down smooth as Blaise appreciated the quality. The Senator finally settled in a leather winged-back chair, opposite of its twin where Blaise sat. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. Nodding to Blaise, he said, “You’re more than welcome to relax as well, Mr. Hanssen. I’ve had a long day and I have a feeling you investigators have too.”
Blaise nodded but kept his suit jacket on, glancing down to ascertain there was no cat or dog fur on his coat. “What I’d like to ask you about is your daughter’s sorority. You know now that Betty Mavery has died. We’d like to understand more about their relationship.”
The senator sighed heavily, the weight of his grief bearing down on him. “When Marcia was in school, she could have joined any organization. Her mother was a legacy with a more popular sorority and we assumed she would want to follow in her mother’s footsteps.” He smiled indulgently at the memory. “But Marcia was determined to go her own way. The first time we visited her after she joined, I will say her mother and I were shocked. We expected to see a large brick sorority house, but instead, there was no house. The girls occupied a corner wing of a dorm.”
The Senator continued, “Marcia was so proud to introduce us to her new sisters. The whole group was only about twenty girls…maybe not even that many. But it was a small group of her pledge sisters that resonated with her. And such a diverse group.”
“Diverse, sir?” Blaise prompted.
“Mrs. Creston and I taught Marcia to never judge a person by how much money their parents made and that showed in her sorority. Theresa Constantine attended there on full scholarship. Betty Mavery acted just as geeky as she could,” he smiled as he remembered. “Angel Cartwright took baking classes on the side and Marcia spent a lot of time doing community service. There were about four others making the core group.” His face fell as the weight of grief once more settled on him. “All good women. Good women,” he said, his voice suddenly tired. “We were real proud of Marcia…and quite frankly were very fond of all of her sorority sisters.”
Carlton walked into the room, then halted when he saw the Senator had company. “Oh, excuse me, Uncle. I wanted to inform you dinner is almost ready.” His eyes darted to Blaise, seeking an introduction.
Blaise recognized Carlton from their investigations, but kept silent, waiting on the Senator, who simply acknowledged Carlton with a slight hand wave. Carlton stood, uncertain for a moment, before leaving the room. Blaise noted the door to the study stayed wide open and he had not heard Carlton’s footsteps continue down the hall.
“I’m sure my reminiscing about the sorority isn’t helping your investigation,” the Senator added.
“Actually, sir, it does. We’re talking to the other women, but anything we can find to tie in the three women is helpful.”
The Senator turned his intelligent gaze to Blaise. “You think the three deaths are related? I thought Betty’s was a heart condition. And Theresa’s a car accident.”
Blaise nodded noncommittally. “Yes, sir, but there’s evidence we cannot ignore. We have to look at all three cases as possibly related. Or, if not all three, then two of them and one an unfortunate coincidence.”
The Senator sat motionless for a long minute, the only sounds in the room were the crackling firewood burning in the fireplace and the tick-tock of the clock on the mantle.
“I can’t think of one single thing that tied the women together other than their friendship and I know Marcia had a few of them as clients.” He looked up quickly and added, “Marcia was a complete professional and never discussed her clients with me, but that came out in casual conversation.”
Blaise nodded and then stood. “I don’t want your dinner to grow cold, Senator Creston, so I’ll take my leave. I appreciate you seeing me on such notice.”
As they shook hands, the Senator added, “Feel free to ask me anything. I not only want my daughter’s murderer found, but if the other two women did indeed meet an untimely end, then I want their cases solved as well.”
As they stepped into the hall, Carlton rounded the corner once more. “Oh, there you are Uncle. Would you like me to see Mr. Hanssen out?”
“Yes, thank you,” the Senator said before disappearing down the hall.
Blaise turned toward Carlton, a smile on his face. “I don’t want to keep you from your dinner.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m just here to check on my aunt and uncle. I’ll be eating at the club later.” The only sound was their shoes clicking on the entry foyer. Just as they reached the front door, Carlton asked, “So, um…how’s the investigation going? I know the FBI have kept my uncle up on their findings but I was curious about the others. Is there a tie-in?”
“We don’t know, yet, but as I told your uncle, we have to look at all possibilities.” Blaise let the silence sink into the space between the two of them. “Is there any information you can give us that you think will help?”
Startled, Carlton immediately jerked and said, “No, no. I didn’t meet any of Marcia’s sorority sisters.”
Blaise offered his hand before turning to walk out the door. Standing on the stoop for a second he looked back through the glass at the side of the door and saw Carlton still in the entry foyer, his phone already at his ear.
*
The black of the moonless night aided Bart and Cam, although they would have had no difficulty if their way had been more illuminated. Easily disarming the building’s security system, the two slipped into the Colonial Financial Group offices.
Their footsteps made no sounds on the dark burgundy carpet as they moved down the ivory painted hallways. Peering into the dark paneled offices, they became acclimated to the layout of the company. The front held the reception room filled with chairs and an ordered receptionist’s desk. The building was bifurcated with a hallway straight down the middle, with three offices on either side of the hallway. The hallway ended in a cross hall, the left leading to Scott’s office. As the now acting president of the branch, he enjoyed the largest office with an assistant desk sitting in the area outside of his door. To the right were the workroom, several closets, and another space for the second assistant.
Splitting up, they moved from office to office, searching for anything that might give them insight into the inner workings of the employees. Bart had spoken to Monty and knew he was particularly interested in Scott’s office. A thorough search gave him nothing. The office was neat and organized, although not as neat as Marcia’s apartment had been. Going through his files and drawers turned up nothing, other than a roll of antacids and a strip of condoms. Smiling, he wondered if Scott ever used them at work or if they were there for his after hour’s activities.
Turning on Scott’s computer, he slipped in the special flash drive Luke had given him. Sending Luke a text on his phone, he waited until he received the signal. Scott’s computer flared to life, the login bypassed. Leaving it running for a moment, he then shut it down, making sure to pocket the drive. Stepping back into the hall he ran into Cam, who had been performing the same task in the smaller offices of the other brokers.
“You get the info from their computers?” Bart asked.
“Oh yeah,” Cam whispered back. “Just the receptionist and the two assistant desks are left.”
“I’ll get this one,” Bart volunteered. “This is the assistant that used to work for Marcia. We’ll see what information Luke can gain from her computer.”
Nodding, Cam moved silently down the hall. Bart checked out her desk, but there was not a paper-clip out of place. Firing up her computer, he did the same thing. He moved to the other assistant’s desk, finding it much messier.
By the time Cam returned from the front reception area, the two met in the back hall. “What are your impressions?” Bart asked.
“The place is extremely clean,” Cam noted. “Even the workroom is neat. I remember the same cleaning company that works here, was also hired by Marcia Creston for her condo. I’m also struck by how little personal effects I found in the receptionist’s desks.”
“Same for the assistants’ desks,” Bart commented. “We know Marcia Creston was a neat-freak, but it seems her legacy for order has been passed on.
As they slipped back out into the dark night, resetting the alarm system, they moved to their vehicle. In the still moonless night, the only illumination came from the headlights and streetlights. Cam leaned over and peered at the sky. “The big storm is supposed to hit tomorrow. They’re calling for more snow than we’ve had in a couple of years.”
“It’ll make getting around hard for a few days. I’m sure Luke’ll just stay at the compound and work on what he can pull up from the computer drives we copied. I’ll get them to him tomorrow morning at our meeting.”
“I have a feeling once the storm hits I’ll be at home with Miriam for a day or so.”
Bart could not hold back his grin. There was a time when he had a hard time imagining spending days indoors with one woman. Now that he had Faith—bring on the storm.