CHAPTER SIX
“I don’t really have to ask where you went, but it would have been nice to have a heads up before you disappeared on the same night our boss was murdered,” Grace muttered, walking up to Laurel with a hot cup of coffee. Grace handed off the black porcelain mug before giving Phil Colbert a deadly stare. The technology analyst continued walking toward the office set up for interviews, while Laurel and Grace remained in the foyer. “On the bright side, Smith Gallo certainly saved your ass, in spite of who and what he is. It might be in your best interest to stay with him for another week or two. That way, he won’t retract his alibi.”
“That’s not even remotely close to being funny.” Laurel eyed her friend over the rim of her cup, downing a good bit of the contents before realizing it was black. No sugar, no half and half. The coffee hadn’t been meant for her. She spit half of it back into the mug. “What’s been going on here with the investigation?”
Did it make her a bad person to want to talk about the death of her boss over her personal life? She’d already accepted her fate, so she might as well stay the course.
“Have they removed his body? Have the police figured out who killed him?”
Laurel couldn’t believe an arrest hadn’t been made yet. There were video cameras everywhere in this place. The killer had to have been recorded on one of the backup discs.
Her chest tightened at the memory of what Brad looked like sitting in his chair with his throat slit—the way his eyes were glazed over looking so dull and the general expression of horror written across his still features. It would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“The coroner took his body out of the office around six o’clock this morning. Forensics left about an hour ago.” Grace spared a glance toward Marilyn, their receptionist who was in her mid-sixties and had ears sharper than a jackrabbit. “I don’t think the police know exactly who did it, which is why we’re being paraded into that office as if we’re nothing more than a herd of cattle being led to the slaughter.”
“It’s more like roulette. That detective has been spinning the wheel, seeing who lands in the guilty slot.” Cynthia appeared out of nowhere before wrapping an arm around Laurel’s shoulders. The silver bracelets lightly chimed with the woman’s graceful movements. “You doing okay, doll? Grace said you’d gone home with a man who I shall not name. I figured he’d put you to bed. A first for everything, but this does call for extenuating circumstances.”
“Would you two just stop?” Laurel whispered harshly, chastising both of them for making assumptions. It didn’t matter that she’d done the same, though Smith’s affirmation that she was his to keep had been a bit presumptuous. Nothing he said or did last night changed anything about who they were, regardless of how her body responded to his. She shook her head, realizing that she was getting off track herself. “Nothing showed up on the security cameras? How is that possible?”
“They were wiped clean. No recording on any of the DVDs. They were all unformatted blanks. Whoever had access to the building after hours was somehow able to disable the surveillance system since five o’clock yesterday afternoon and replace the system’s recording with blanks from our own supply.” Grace shrugged when both Laurel and Cynthia looked at her in surprise. “What? Marilyn’s not the only one who pays attention. Besides, I was first up to be interviewed. Who knew the office walls were so thin?”
“Did Grace tell you that I’m going to hell?” Laurel lifted the coffee to her lips despite the fact that Grace had given her acid in a cup. She managed another sip without a grimace or spitting it back out. “Brad’s dead, and all I could think about was bye-bye partnership.”
“That’s human nature,” Cynthia said in understanding, brushing aside her concern for the fact that her friend would burn in hell for all eternity. “And it would be totally different had Brad been the same man he was when Manon Investments started out how many years ago? Let’s face it. He’d let greed change him, and not for the better. Honestly, he had turned into a dick. Death doesn’t change the facts of who he was.”
“Cynthia’s right,” Grace acknowledged, leaning back a bit so she could see down the long hallway. Laurel flicked her gaze in that direction, having already noted the yellow crime scene tape. Her stomach rolled and threatened to empty its contents at the sight. “This company isn’t what it used to be, and Brad’s death doesn’t magically change him back into the nice guy he was when he started Manon Investments.”
“Ms. Kent?” Marilyn turned at the sound of her name. Detective Nielsen had been finishing up a phone conversation and had yet to join Phil in the office. He slid his cell inside his suit jacket. “You’re free to go. I appreciate the information you supplied to us, and I’ll be following up with those individuals in question.”
Grace elbowed Laurel, who in turn was watching Marilyn closely for any hint of what Detective Nielsen could possibly be talking about. Granted, Marilyn was the eyes and ears of this company. But did she actually have some vital knowledge regarding one of the employees or clients that would implicate him or her in Brad’s murder?
“Fuck,” Cynthia whispered, the noise from her bracelets almost covering up her expletive. This woman, whose black hair didn’t have a strand out of place or a wrinkle in her apparel, never allowed anything to phase her. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”
Laurel and Grace would have immediately followed, but Detective Nielsen stopped them both. They could only stare after their friend as she quickly made her way through the glass doors toward the elevator bank.
“Ms. Calanthe, thank you for coming back in so soon.” Detective Nielsen motioned tiredly toward the guest chairs behind them. It was a thankless job, but he was doing it nonetheless. “Please have a seat. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
Numerous things happened at once, though none of them anything Laurel wanted to deal with. She was still running on lack of sleep, regardless of the two or three hours she’d gotten at Smith’s apartment. The acid she was drinking was only upsetting her stomach worse, and the tremors that had set up residence in her hands weren’t diminishing the way she’d hoped.
“Laurel, may I see you out in the foyer, please?” Paul asked, though it really wasn’t a question. It was obvious he’d found out about her affair with Smith. He shouldered past her through the glass doors, which happened to be where Smith stood confidently in a fresh change of clothes. “Now.”
Forensics still wasn’t allowing anyone to walk mindlessly through the offices, keeping everyone contained in the foyer. That most likely wouldn’t change until Monday morning. Laurel would have given anything to go and hide in her office until the detective asked to speak with her, but she’d been called out to face the firing squad. She just hoped that wasn’t in the literal term, because the additional time it would take to close the doors on Manon Investments would allow her the months needed to secure a good paying job elsewhere.
“I’ll go check on Cynthia,” Grace all but whispered, resting a hand on Laurel’s arm in reassurance. “Yell if you think you’re going to need help.”
Oh, she was already out in the middle of the ocean without a life jacket. There was no saving her from the circling sharks.
“You, too,” Paul told Smith as he followed Grace to the open foyer.
Laurel was grateful to have the porcelain mug in her hand. It gave her something to grip so that she didn’t try to uppercut Smith in the jaw should he say something about their relationship being long term. He’d become somewhat delusional in the last ten hours, making assumptions that weren’t true.
She reluctantly walked back out the glass doors, joining the two men who had stopped near the first elevator. Grace and Cynthia were nowhere to be found, so either they went downstairs to the lobby or they continued walking toward the other side of the floor where a long hallway contained two bathrooms and a realtor’s office.
“You want to tell me why I’m just now hearing that the two of you are involved from Detective Nielsen?”
“I really don’t see how that is any of your business, Paul.” Smith held his ground, which Laurel admired. She wasn’t his biggest fan at the moment, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t give praise where it was due. Unfortunately, his arrogance would only make this situation much worse. Especially considering that Paul liked to be appeased. “What we do on our personal time is just that—personal. It didn’t extend to the office.”
“Paul, I apologize.”
“Don’t,” Smith ordered, his dark gaze immediately making contact with hers. There was still an underlying anger simmering in the depth of his brown eyes, but this wasn’t something that he was able to get away with just because his surname was Gallo. “Neither of us have anything to apologize for, Laurel.”
“I wasn’t apologizing for what we do on our personal time,” Laurel corrected irritably, turning her attention back to Paul. She would have to deal with Smith at some point, but right now, she had to set her priorities straight. Paul and the business had been affected in a dire way due to Brad’s death. Everyone’s emotions were running on high. It was best to soothe this situation over instead of making it worse. “I’m sorry you found out about it the way you did. It was unfortunate. We meant no harm to anyone.”
“The two of you are both up for the same promotion,” Paul pointed out, his frustration evident. His ran a hand through his ruffled hair, which was rarely out of place. He’d had a hell of a morning, but then so had everyone else. “Do you know how this will look to the board members?”
The board members consisted of Paul, Steve Lewis, Vern Roberts, and Joshua Green. Brad also had a position at the table, but that would most likely revert to Meredith. She might have been Brad’s ex-wife, but as far as any of them knew, he’d never changed his will or any of the legal paperwork that concerned Manon Investments.
“And how does our personal relationship affect the board or their decision in any way?” Smith asked, still poking a stick at a very hurt, confused, and angry lion. Couldn’t he see that Paul was grieving over his friend? “It doesn’t. Our work speaks for itself.”
Laurel repositioned her purse on her shoulder before switching the coffee to her left hand. She wasn’t sure what prompted her to do it, but she rested her hand on the sleeve of Smith’s suit jacket. Something told her that he needed to know she didn’t feel attacked by Paul’s questioning.
“Smith, Paul is right. It is all about appearances, and that’s on us.” There was no way around taking full responsibility for the decisions they’d made and the reasons why. “Given what happened last night, none of this is any longer germane, though. The most important thing now is finding the person responsible and handling the outstanding business matters properly.”
Paul wrapped one arm around his lower chest and used his other hand to cover his face. He began to break down, which wasn’t unexpected. He and Brad had been best friends throughout college, both of them having a dream of owning their own company. They not only accomplished that vision, but they’d been successful in their endeavors as partners. They’d created a reputable hedge fund, and now it would all disintegrate into ashes as if none of it ever existed. But the most painful part of that was Paul had lost his lifelong best friend.
Smith pressed his lips together and rested a comforting hand on Paul’s shoulder.
Watching this man crumble under his grief put things into perspective. She wasn’t sure if it was the shock of finding Brad with his throat slit, but reality began to hit her like a two by four. Nothing mattered more in the short term than the impact of Brad’s death and the loss he’d left behind for his family and friends to deal with in the aftermath.
“Ms. Calanthe?”
Paul turned away to collect himself while Smith took a step to prevent the detective from seeing the other man’s grief. Her time had finally arrived to go over the accounts of last night once more, as well as any other questions the detective thought were pertinent to the case.
“We’re ready for you now.”
She briefly wondered who we consisted of, but a glance over the detective’s shoulder told her that there was another officer waiting for them. Was this a good cop and bad cop scenario? She had nothing to hide, but their intimidating presence had her heart racing and her pulse accelerating.
The ding of the elevator caught everyone’s attention. A tall woman stepped out into the foyer, her high heels clicking on the marble as she moved forward and rested her eyes on Smith. She allowed not one ounce of emotion to show as she took in the gathering crowd.
“It appears I’m just in time.” The blonde woman shifted a designer briefcase into her left hand as she casually laid her French manicured nails on Smith’s upper arm. “Is this her?”
Her obviously meant Laurel. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being referred to as if she weren’t standing right in front of them, but the woman’s brief softening toward her and Smith’s relationship came to an abrupt halt.
“Yes,” Smith answered unapologetically. He murmured something to Paul before advancing forward, causing everyone else to do the same. It was obvious he’d done so in order to give Paul some time to collect himself, but Smith still wasn’t off the hook for what Laurel suspected to be the truth. He’d brought in a high-end hired gun as a lawyer for their questioning without running that decision by her. “This is Meg Preston. She’ll be our counsel during the questioning.”
“I don’t need someone representing me, Smith.” Laurel couldn’t stop a bit of her exhaustion slipping through her mask. She shoved the coffee cup into his hand, tired of holding it. She was out-and-out drained of any energy to get her through this upcoming interrogation, but she would persevere. “I have nothing to hide and am perfectly capable of answering a few questions.”
“Not without a lawyer, you aren’t. Meg is here for us both.”
He was on a first name basis with his lawyer?
Laurel made the quick decision of allowing Smith this one concession. Having a lawyer present might very well reduce the time she needed to be here or in his presence. She could then go home and fall into bed with plans to sleep for the next twelve hours.
“Fine,” Laurel relented, feigning a smile as she spun on her own heels to face the detective. They weren’t nearly as expensive as the Jimmy Choos that Meg Preston was wearing, but they’d gotten Laurel through some tough times. “Let’s do this, Ms. Preston.”