Lack of Jurisdiction Page 7

  Nine

  “I’m only going to ask this once. Were you involved in Mr. Hodge’s murder?”

  “Alexis,” he let out an exasperated sigh, “no. I don’t even see how the authorities can believe it’s murder. From what Mike and Kenneth said, it sounded like an apparent suicide.”

  “Okay,” I narrowed my eyes, “what makes you think Hodge was suicidal?”

  “I never said I thought he was suicidal.” He shook his head, blinking rapidly. “After days of questioning, I can’t believe no one ever told me who died. When I asked, they said it was a hotel worker. They probably thought I must have known who it was and expected me to slip up and say his name. Shit. The authorities asked for my fingerprints and DNA. They seriously think I would do this to my friend?”

  “Did you cooperate?”

  “Whose side are you on?” He pushed his chair back, stomping around my office like a child throwing a tantrum. The only problem with the theatrics was he didn’t have anywhere else to turn. “Alvin was my friend.” He met my eyes, seeing the skepticism reflected there. “Okay, maybe we were more acquaintances than friends. Kinda like you and me, before you started hating me that is.”

  “I don’t hate you. I don’t particularly trust you, and thus, I’m not getting any warm, fuzzy feelings when I think about you. But I’m pretty much indifferent.” I still desperately wanted to know the reason for his desire to meet with Martin. “C’mon, this is a truce. So take a seat, and we’ll have a heart-to-heart.” He seemed jittery, and his hands were shaking slightly. Maybe it was the news of his friend’s death or because he might have a problem with alcohol. Rescinding my earlier proclamation, I took a beer from my office mini-fridge and put it on the desk in front of my client chair. I wasn’t AA, and his helpfulness would be impaired if he started going through the DTs. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, but after he came into the control room smelling of liquor, I suspected he was a functioning alcoholic. And why else would he keep insisting he didn’t have a problem? “Peace offering, but only if we get back to the matter at hand.”

  He went to the bottle and picked it up, spinning it by the neck as he read the label. “This doesn’t mean I have a problem,” he stated coolly, expertly popping the top off by hitting it against the desk. He took a long sip and put it down, shutting his eyes and relishing in the cold liquid. “Thanks. Dealing with all this has been so stressful.”

  “Yeah.” I leaned back in my chair and toyed with the computer mouse, attempting to look productive while I waited for him to open up. Silence was one of the most useful tools an interrogator possessed.

  “So,” he put the bottle back on the desk and adjusted in the chair, “nice place you have here.” I tore my eyes from the computer screen, abandoning the game of solitaire. “Alvin and I have known each other for about a year. PDN uses the hotel to put up VIPs every now and again. We’ve never had anyone that important to guard, but we’ll get the occasional B or C list celebrity who claims to want to avoid the paparazzi. Alvin worked the night shift, so whenever I stopped by to check in on the security detail, he’d offer a more realistic viewpoint of the situation. Occasionally, one of our clients would order a few hookers or ask the concierge for an eight ball or some coke. Things PDN didn’t want to be involved with.”

  “What does that have to do with the night clerk?”

  “He’d run interference. The concierge made the connections to procure the contraband, and then Alvin would call up to my security team and claim there was someone suspicious or an issue downstairs. That way, during delivery, we’d have plausible deniability.”

  “Does the concierge have a name?”

  “I don’t know who’s working there now. The hotel went through a few. It’s policy not to have questionable characters running things inside these fancy hotels, even though they all do it.”

  I rifled through a drawer. Placing the notepad in front of him, I pulled a pen from the cup on my desk and jerked my chin at the paper. “Make a list of names. PDN clients, hotel employees you’ve encountered, any whores or drug dealers you remember, and don’t start spouting out the confidential status of PDN’s clientele. Frankly, it’s you or them, and unless you have a better idea of who might have an axe to grind with Hodge, then I suggest you start writing.” He nodded and picked up the pen. That was the easiest request I ever made. “How much of this did you tell the police?”

  “None of it.”

  “Why not?”

  He continued to write, but his face contorted as he thought about it. “Because I only answered the questions they asked. And they didn’t ask any of this. They asked about the conference, Mike and Kenneth, PDN’s job, and why I was staying at the hotel.” He looked up. “Did you tell them that?”

  “Yes, but if it makes you feel any better, they would have found out on their own. With a murder, it wouldn’t take much to subpoena the guest registry. In fact, I’m sure Detective Jacobs already has.”

  As he wrote, he periodically glanced up. “What gave it away?” he asked, rereading the last few names he had written down before turning the notepad to face me. “I mean your record is impressive, but anyone can look good on paper if you know the right people, go to the right schools, and create the right kinds of connections.” He let out a snort. “No judgment, but people in our line of work know how to conduct a proper background check and collect a few dirty little secrets.” He smiled. “It took almost three hours before I figured out you and James Martin are a thing, and that involved asking the right people the right kinds of questions. So who gave you the insight on my extracurriculars?”

  I still didn’t know what Paul was talking about, but the comment set my radar buzzing. Martin was always part of his plan, and that scared me. Thankfully, Martin was globetrotting, far away from all of this.

  “No one.” I spoke carefully, not wanting to tip him off to my confusion. One of the accusations I made earlier must be correct. “But your actions speak louder than words, both written and spoken.” I lifted the list and skimmed through the names, failing to find any I recognized.

  “Serves me right. After I invited you to my room that night, I could tell you were serious about this job. I should have guessed you’d realize what I was up to, but I thought if I played it cool, you’d assume I was flirting with you.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe I should have been straight with you, and then we wouldn’t be having this discussion now.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I never imagined my life would turn out this way. And PDN pays pennies compared to what our clients make. Really, what’s the harm in trading some favors and information to the highest bidder? No one is supposed to get hurt. It all adds some friendly competition to the market. Hell, if two competing companies make the exact same item, the price will be driven down to something affordable. I’m doing a service to the ninety-nine percent that are busting their asses and can barely make ends meet.”

  I smirked. Corporate espionage. Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. “Initially, I wouldn’t have pegged you as stealing secrets or selling secrets, particularly not after that sob story from Sunday night. And frankly, someone should hand it to you. You passed the government background checks with flying colors which means you don’t affiliate with questionable characters, there aren’t abnormal money transfers in your accounts, and I’m guessing not many people would have given your hotel reservation a second thought. Clearly, you’re not as stupid as you look.”

  “Thanks, I think.” He frowned suddenly. “Are you planning to turn me in?”

  “It depends. Hodge was part of this, wasn’t he?”

  He nodded, looking grim. “I didn’t kill him. I’ve never hurt anyone. Everything I do is victimless.”

  “Right, you think you’re Robin Hood or something like that, except you have no problem lining your pockets with your ill-gotten gains.” I stood up and leaned my hips against the edge of my desk. “What was the plan? When was it devised? Who was involved? And don’t you dare hold anything back.”

&nb
sp; “If you’re going to use whatever I say against me, then we’re done. I don’t need more charges to deal with.”

  “I’ll only divulge what’s absolutely necessary for the apprehension of Alvin Hodge’s killer. Whatever deals you’ve brokered, information you’ve stolen, and companies you’ve screwed over in the past might be necessary to figure out who murdered Hodge, but it might not be imperative to the police department’s case.” He remained tight-lipped, so I tried another approach. “Tell me what kinds of schemes you and Hodge were concocting during the conference.”

  He was hesitant but realized it was the best deal he could get. “Alvin gave me the room number for Bernie, the representative for Klaus Manufacturing. He put us in contact last week. It was Tuesday, so six days before the conference.”

  “Does Bernie have a last name?”

  “Bernard Muller, marketing director.” He finished the beer and tossed the bottle into the trash. “We were working out a business transaction.”

  Without any plying on my part, Paul went into detail about his meetings with Bernie and the role Alvin played. Eventually, the dots connected. Klaus Manufacturing was one of the smallest companies represented at the conference. The only reason they were invited was because of the technological advances their R&D department was making with alternative energy sources. If they could power this transcontinental train system for next to nothing, then they would join the big leagues. The only problem was whether or not their research was viable. Things still considered theory or experimental weren’t favored by skeptics or, in this case, the bigger businesses fighting for their own spot.

  Bernie was the executive marketing director. He was excellent at creating flashy, business savvy presentations and selling product. But he was also a realist. He didn’t believe that their unproven energy source would be accepted, and he was right. Having decent business sense, he figured there was no reason to waste the trip and thought to enter into a lucrative venture with a smaller corporation across the pond, or whatever term the Germans used to refer to the Atlantic Ocean, and since James Martin was known for being ecologically friendly and fiscally responsible, Bernie set his sights on Martin Technologies.

  “Who did you talk to?” I asked, kicking my leg against the desk absently. “You said you asked a few board members about my past experience, so how come one of your contacts couldn’t hook a meeting up for Bernie?”

  “Maybe I embellished a little.” He let out a long exhale. “I sweet talked one of the ladies in HR to reroute my call to someone in a top position. The closest I came was to one of the lower level board members. Marcy something.”

  I rubbed my face. “Rule number one. Don’t lie to me. You do it again, and I’m walking.” I sighed. “Let me guess, she mentioned I was hired as a consultant because I was already romantically involved with James Martin.”

  “Yeah,” his eyes darted back and forth, and he held his mouth at a strange angle, “I take it from your tone there’s something inaccurate about her statement.”

  “When I met her, I was his personal security. Our relationship was a cover story.” I rolled my eyes. “All of this was based on bad intel you received, and because of that, I ended up quitting my job at PDN. Un-fucking-believable. Are you sure any of the corporate espionage you’ve sold was even accurate?”

  “Why are you mad about this?” He looked completely confused. “Shouldn’t you be thankful that I was wrong and that people airing your dirty secrets don’t even know what the hell they’re talking about? If anyone should be pissed, it ought to be me. I’m the one who was working a bad angle,” then he scrunched his face together, “except I wasn’t because you are dating him.”

  “It doesn’t matter. None of this is relevant to anything.” At least Luc wasn’t the questionable board member, and we needed to get back to the Klaus Manufacturing and Alvin Hodge issue. “So you couldn’t sweet talk Marcy into getting you a meeting?”

  “I barely managed to get her to acknowledge you were dating the CEO,” he finally admitted. “And that was after an hour on the phone, asking for all your qualifications and every single interaction she had with you. I asked when you first met, how you met, where you were, who else was there. Y’know, leading questions.”

  I put my hand up. “All right, fine. It doesn’t matter. What I’m not clear on is how Hodge knew to hook you up with Bernie.”

  “After I ran your background, it seemed your corporate connections could be of use. I mean we were dealing with plenty of industries, domestic and international, so it made sense. I told Alvin to keep his ears open, and if anyone mentioned Martin Technologies, to keep me in mind.”

  “But he was the night clerk. How would he hear any of this?” Paul’s story wasn’t making much sense.

  “Because he always worked closely with the concierge and was close with everyone at the front desk. It’s easy to find out what people want. Phone numbers, contact information, directions even, and it wasn’t like Bernie was keeping this a secret.”

  “Why didn’t Muller just arrange a meeting with MT himself?”

  “Because Martin Technologies refused his request. From what he said, there were a few dozen conference calls in the last two months between Klaus and Martin Tech. Klaus wanted to get an American company to back them. At least that was the goal before the conference, but when that proved unlikely, Klaus Manufacturing figured their best bet was Martin Technologies since the newest line is all about clean energy. But even MT said the technology wasn’t feasible, and it wasn’t the type of project they were interested in at this point. So Bernie thought if he talked to the man in charge face-to-face, then things would be different.”

  “So he didn’t discuss any of this with Martin over the phone?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Do you know who he talked to?” I asked. Paul thought for a moment but shook his head. “Okay, where’s Bernie now?”

  “I haven’t heard from him since Sunday night. I imagine he was busy with the conference. I was supposed to tell him if I could arrange a meeting once the conference ended, but then this happened with Alvin.” He froze, aghast. “Do you think Bernie did this to Alvin?”

  “I have no idea.” I paced the room, thinking through the connection from Alvin to Paul to Bernie to Martin. “What was Alvin supposed to get out of this deal?”

  “We were going to split the finder’s fee,” Paul said, realizing that might go to motive. He blanched and swallowed a few times, sweating and shaking.

  Ten

  Too many possibilities, too many problems, too little sleep. That practically summarized my entire existence, and it was still the case. After meeting with Paul Eastman and discussing the murder, I was less inclined to believe he was a killer. Frankly, it seemed he just happened to get lucky when he discovered my romantic attachment to the CEO of Martin Technologies which didn’t bode well for any of the companies or entities he sold stolen corporate espionage secrets to. Granted, if forced to choose between being good or being lucky, the correct answer is always lucky. So perhaps he was blessed with an insane amount of luck, and all his stolen secrets were accurate. But somehow, I doubted it.

  But since it seemed incredibly unlikely that Paul was the killer or in cahoots with the killer, that left everyone else. Alvin Hodge wasn’t as upstanding as his record indicated since he liked to play in the grey areas when it came to his work life. Although, it was still on the lighter side of the spectrum. Making a few extra bucks to look the other way or pass along a few messages wasn’t normally something that resulted in death, unless you were an international spy or a hitman, and as a general rule, they didn’t drive eco-friendly vehicles. Or at least that’s what James Bond and Jason Bourne would have me believe.

  After Paul left my office late that afternoon, I dialed Det. Jacobs. Even if I wasn’t getting paid to assist, it couldn’t hurt to help him do his job. I provided a brief synopsis of Paul’s story, leaving out the unimportant details. Jacobs said they were looking into m
atters, and unless I found something concrete to incriminate a suspect, I should mind my own business. So much for being helpful. Briefly, I considered going over his head and talking to Lieutenant Moretti. The former acting-captain was back to his normal position, and my assistance might give him that additional bump he needed to be groomed for a permanent captain spot. But all I had was conjecture, and that wouldn’t be beneficial to anyone at this point in the game.

  I placed a call to Interpol and asked for a full workup on Bernard Muller and Klaus Manufacturing. They still owed me a few favors for my help identifying and detaining an international contract killer, so there was no reason why I couldn’t cash in a few of my chips. The information would be available by Monday, so until then, my research was limited. I considered checking with the hotel, the Secret Service, and maybe speaking to a few of Alvin Hodge’s contacts and his ex-wives, but the police would be doing that. And I didn’t want to get arrested for obstruction. That meant my only potential leads were the names Paul provided.

  After running a quick background and ascertaining the locations for the bulk of PDN’s clientele, who were just famous enough to have their upcoming gigs or locations posted on various blogs, promotional websites, and the gossip pages, I didn’t believe any of them were responsible for Alvin Hodge’s death, particularly since they weren’t in the vicinity of the hotel during the conference. The only remaining names on the list were PDN and hotel employees, and the police would be checking into them.

  Switching gears, I read through my e-mail, locating the report I was promised on how to rectify the MT security situation. After reading through the intended process to fix the elevator in the event of a fire, I compared it to the notes I made from my test run the previous night, rewrote it in a more corporate appropriate fashion, and phoned Luc Guillot. It was Friday, and there was a good chance he left for the day, particularly since he and Martin worked all last weekend. When the call was redirected to the answering service, I left a message to schedule a meeting for sometime soon to discuss ways to correct the problem and hung up.