How to Survive a Killer Seance (24 page)

“Will you stay out of the way? If Melvin sees you, he’ll kill me. And you’ll have to do the cleanup.”

“Poor choice of words, but yes, you won’t even know I’m there.”

“Yeah, right. This is against my better judgment. Get your stuff. Let’s go.”

 

“I’m with SFPD,” Brad said into the Hella-Graphics intercom. The door magically opened. I would have to remember the secret password the next time I wanted entry.

Once inside, I trailed Brad through the lobby to the receptionist, where he picked up his visitor badge and asked for one for me, calling me his “assistant.” The girl rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. Things seemed a bit chaotic there, with distraught employees standing around whispering, their arms crossed over their chests as if protecting themselves from an evil force that had invaded their work space.

Brad headed down the hall, following the directions from the receptionist, then turned back to me as I trailed behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh . . . with you?”

“No way. I told you, if Melvin sees you here—”

“He’ll kill you, I know.” I pointed to the café a short distance away. “I’ll be in there.”

He nodded, and shot me a look that said, “And stay put.”

I ordered my second latte of the day and sat down at the only empty table left in the place. The rest of the tables were filled with employees, most of them casually dressed in jeans, T-shirts, and running shoes or Birkenstocks. And most were in their late twenties or early thirties. They were all buzzing about the latest development. I got out my notebook, catching the eyes of a couple of curious employees no doubt wondering who the “new girl” was, and eavesdropped on a few of the conversations, in case someone happened to confess.

“What was he doing here?” I heard one guy with a ponytail ask.

“He was found in his old office . . .” said another with glasses and bed-head hair.

“Did you see his head? It was all bashed in . . .” said a woman with a blue streak in her shoulder-length hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt.

I took notes as I caught snatches of their comments. When their conversations turned to more personal topics—“Do you think they’ll shut down the campus?” “Do they plan to talk to all of us?” “I never could stand the guy.”—I tuned out and started writing down my own questions.

1. What was Zachary doing at Hella-Graphics?

2. What was the time of death?

3. How had he been killed? Someone had mentioned his head was bashed in. Same MO as Levi? (Hit from behind?) Same weapon? (Candlestick?)

All I had was a bunch of questions. I needed to start looking for answers. Brad told me that answers reveal patterns, and one pattern was obvious: All three of the deceased victims had worked at Hella-Graphics—George Wells, Levi Webster, and Zachary Samuels. Two of them had had the same job—working on the 4-D project—but George was connected. He had worked as a programmer.

The signs kept pointing to Jonathan Ellington. Had he somehow lured Zachary inside the building and bludgeoned him to death? Did he suspect Zachary of hacking into the 4-D demo and changing the voice and script to embarrass him? Did he want to kill Zachary for fooling around with Lyla?

I flipped back to my original suspect list. Now that another suspect was dead, I had to rethink the whole list.

First I crossed off Zachary and wrote “Victim #3.”

That put Jonathan at the top of the list again. He had a connection to all three victims. His fingerprints were on the weapon that killed Levi. He’d fired Zachary for trying to blackmail him.

Maybe George had tried to blackmail him too. And maybe those blackmail materials were what Jonathan was looking for in George’s desk.

Underneath Jonathan’s name were the names of the women he’d been involved with—at least the ones I knew about. But what about Stephanie? Had she been telling the truth when she said she and Jonathan had never gotten together?

Then came Lyla. Could she have murdered all these men, just to make it look like her husband was the killer? Why not? Women can do anything these days.

And last but not least was Dane Scott, CEO of Stereo-Scope, along with sidekick/fake waiter, Jerry Thompson. They were real possibilities. Hella-Graphics was losing creative staff faster than a spreading computer virus, which could only benefit Stereo-Scope. And Dane Scott, as CEO, had the most to gain if Hella-Graphics went under—especially if he had information on the 4-D Projector. Plus he had an accomplice—Jerry Thompson—who could have helped him kill the victims. Maybe Scott and Thompson somehow got the formula for the 4-D holograph and literally began killing off the competition.

I wanted to talk to Stephanie. She’d have the most inside information. She was still on my list, but she had no motive that I could see, if she was telling the truth about not sleeping with Jonathan.

Then again, maybe some other employee had a reason to kill all these people and frame Jonathan. After all, he was a jerk.

That only brought the number to several hundred . . .

The most pressing question was: Who would want these computer guys dead?

Thirty minutes later I was fidgeting in my chair at the café, tired of going in circles and not learning anything new. Some of the employees had left, others had taken their places—all were talking about the murders. I got up, threw away my paper coffee cup, and decided, in spite of Brad’s warning, to take a self-guided tour of Hella-Graphics.

I felt like Nancy Drew, peering around corners before venturing deeper into the bowels of the company. Not knowing where the crime scene was, I tried to be careful not to run into Brad or Detective Melvin. If only I’d worn a cloche hat.

I had just turned down an empty hallway when Stephanie Bryson suddenly appeared from an open doorway. She looked startled to see me, but an instant later her face broke into a gentle smile. In her dark blue suit, matching scarf, and black heels, she looked almost in mourning. The only bright spot was the crystal around her neck.

“Presley! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Stephanie. I came with the crime scene cleaner—Brad Matthews. You remember him?”

“Yes, he was at the Séance Party, helping out. I just saw him a few minutes ago.” Her voice changed to a whisper. “So I guess you heard about Zachary Samuels.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, not knowing how she felt about the dead guy.

“Yeah, me too. It’s got everyone upset, as you can imagine. I only wish Jonathan were here to handle all this. He’s so good at taking charge.”

“Still no word from him?” I asked.

“Nothing. You?”

I shook my lying head. “How’s Lyla?”

Stephanie made a face. “Good question. I haven’t talked to her. Every time I call, she’s either out or not taking calls.”

I thought about what Zachary had said. He’d been worried that Jonathan might harm her. “Do you think she’s all right? Has anyone heard from her or checked on her?”

“She’s alive, if that’s what you mean. I overheard the police say they’ve questioned her a couple of times. Why? You think she had something to do with this?”

“Oh no. Just concerned about her, but I’m sure she’s fine. Especially if the police have been keeping tabs on her. They probably have her under surveillance.”

Stephanie sighed. “I just wish I knew what was going on around here. My employees are scared. I’m scared. . . .”

I reached out and touched her arm in an effort to comfort her.

She shook her head and added quickly, “Pretend you didn’t hear me say that. I’ve got to be strong for my staff.”

“Stephanie, how did Zachary get into the building?”

“I honestly don’t know. Someone must have let him in. His passkey was disabled as soon as he was let go.”

“Any idea who it might have been?”

“Could have been anyone. He had friends here, but why would they let him in, knowing that’s a major breach of contract and grounds for dismissal. I don’t think anyone would want to risk his or her job for Zachary.”

I thought for a moment, while Stephanie slid her crystal from side to side along the chain. “If no one can get in without a passkey or someone letting them in, isn’t it possible that someone who works here could be the killer?”

Stephanie’s hand stopped. “I suppose . . . someone who wanted these guys out of the picture, and also had access to the building . . .”

We looked at each other.

The name went unspoken.

Jonathan.

“Stephanie, do you think Jonathan could be hiding in the building? It seems like there are so many places where a person could hide out.”

“Not without using his pass card, and then it would show up on the security log. But I suppose it’s possible, if he sneaked in somehow—like Zachary did. He knows this building better than anyone.”

“I’m going to mention this to the detective,” I said. “Meanwhile, you should be careful.”

Stephanie rubbed the crystal as if it were a genie in a bottle. “You don’t think Jonathan would . . .” She pointed to herself.

“I think everyone is in danger until the killer’s caught. All the victims have a connection to Hella-Graphics—and Jonathan’s on the lam. I wouldn’t take any chances.”

Stephanie looked away, seeming to be lost in thought. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to her that she might be in jeopardy. But until we knew exactly who was doing the killing—and why—no one was safe.

Not even me, judging by the events last night.

Winding my way through a few more corridors, I found several police officers milling near a room marked PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT. A yellow police tape had been strung across the opening. There was no way I was getting past that with just a visitor’s badge.

“Hi,” I said to one of the officers, smiling and tilting my head.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. This area is restricted. You’ll have to leave.”

I don’t know which pissed me off more, being called “ma’am” or being turned away without even giving me time to make up a good lie.

I was about to go pout somewhere when I heard my name.

“Parker!”

I turned around. Detective Luke Melvin stood in the doorway, dressed more like a successful CEO than a plainclothes detective in his expensive Italian suit and shiny black loafers. Tall and lanky, he would have been handsome if he hadn’t been chewing on a toothpick, a habit I find disgusting.

“Hey, Detective,” I said, trying to sound like we were old friends. “How’s it going?”

“What are you doing here?” he said flatly.

“I . . . I sort of knew the victim, so I thought—”

“Really? Exactly how did you happen to
sort of
know Zachary Samuels?”

“I did a party for his boss—ex-boss—Jonathan Ellington.”

He bit down on the toothpick and spoke through his extra-white teeth. “Ah yes. The infamous Séance Party my brother told me about. Don’t suppose you know where Ellington is now?”

“No, why would I?”

He shrugged. “You seem to have a connection to a number of homicides these days. Anything you can tell me about the vic?”

Vic? Oh, victim. Where did cops get all this jargon—perp, unsub, vic? From TV?

“He . . .” How was I going to explain this? “I . . . was in the parking lot . . . I’d just left a meeting with Stephanie and . . .”

“Why were you meeting with Ms. Bryson?”

“Uh, post-party stuff. You know. So anyway, I had just gotten into my car and . . . uh, Zachary was in the backseat—”

“He was in the backseat?” His eyes narrowed. “How did he get in your car?”

His constant interruptions were beginning to rattle me. “I guess I left it unlocked. Anyway—”

“What was he
doing
in your car?”

“I’m trying to tell you! He said he wanted to talk to me—”

“And he couldn’t just call you?”

I glared at him. “Do you want to hear this or not, Detective?”

He pulled out the toothpick and licked his lips. “Go on.”

“Then stop interrupting. Zachary said he was concerned about Jonathan.” I explained what I knew about Zachary being fired, which I’m sure the detective knew already. Still, I didn’t want to be accused of withholding information. “So, basically, with Jonathan still on the loose, Zachary was worried about Lyla’s safety.”