Keegan 00 Soft Case (15 page)

I could. And I didn’t like it. “I will.”

Eleven

Techdata’s building was near the World Trade Center. I never went down that way too much, mainly because there was no reason for me to be there. It took me forever to find a spot, so I played “Create a Spot”, a game I used to play a lot when I first starting driving, and played almost every day ever since I became a cop. You park your car in a spot that wasn’t supposed to be a parking spot. Of course, as a civilian, you would get a ticket. Sometimes, it was wonderful being a cop.

When I got out of the car, I saw a beige Lexus turn the comer. I wasn’t certain, but that car looked a lot like Agnelli’s. What the Hell would he be doing at Techdata? I shrugged it off as coincidence. After all, there were hundreds of Lexus’ in New York. My mind was playing tricks on me. I needed to get some sleep.

The building was old, and didn’t look like much from the outside. It looked like shit, to be honest. It was made of gray concrete that was in dire need of a cleaning, and the windows looked dirty, from the street at least. I walked through the revolving door, and was taken to a totally different place. The black ceramic tiles on the floor gleamed like a still lake. Everything inside looked brand new, from the fancy, hi-tech looking elevators, to the security station, which was in the center of the lobby. Two men, dressed in blue and black security uniforms, were sitting there, looking down on a bank of monitors.

“Detective Keegan,” one of them said. Did everyone know my name? He was a middle-aged black man, and he looked like Ken Norton, a little bit. I thought about letting him know that I kicked his ass earlier in the night. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy who would appreciate that.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Chapman is expecting you.” He pressed a few buttons, and the middle elevator door opened. “Take that elevator, it’ll go straight to his floor.”

Technology. Amazing.

“Thank you.”

I got into the elevator, which was carpeted and had brass trim on the floor, and noticeably, no buttons. Everything was controlled by that security counter. Judging by how often my computer crashed, I could only imagine the problems they had at that place. But then again, these guys were dealing with cutting edge technology, and I was using ancient stuff. Still, I cringed at the thought of having to trust a computer-operated elevator every day.

Going up to Chapman’s office, which was on the 35th floor, I started to get tired. The lack of sleep hit me, and I started yawning, those full-body yawns that make you quiver. I needed sleep, or at least, I needed to get my fourth wind. The second and third were already spent.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened, giving me a view of Chapman’s floor. It was plushy carpeted, a wine color carpet similar to the one in the elevator, with granite walls and a large secretary desk. The woman seated at the desk was typing at her keyboard. A thick pane of glass was behind her, with “Techdata” etched in it. The floor was quiet, and I didn’t see anyone around, except for the secretary. She looked up at me.

“Mr. Chapman is waiting for you, Detective Keegan,” she said, with a hint of a British accent. I loved British accents. “He’s in the second office on the right.” She pointed to the hallway to her left.

“Thank you,” I said.

I walked down the hallway, feeling like I was walking on a mattress, the carpet was so thick. It looked brand new, like not many people walked on it. As I walked toward Chapman’s office, I passed Mullins’. It had his name in bold black letters printed on the door. The door was closed. Out of curiosity, I checked it out. It was locked. I laughed to myself. What the hell did I think I was going to do in there? They probably had cleaned the office out, anyway. At least they hadn’t scraped his name off yet.

Chapman’s door was open, and I could hear him talking on the phone. I walked in, to find him sitting at a black desk, amidst computer and television screens behind him. He was tapping away at a keyboard, looking at one of those flat-screen monitors that everyone who was chic had at the time. This one was huge; I’d say about 20 inches. He looked up at me, nodded, and motioned for me to sit in the stylish black leather chair to his right. I did, and sank into it a bit. I could have fallen asleep right there.

Chapman spoke quietly on the phone for about another minute or so, then hung up the phone. Without saying anything, he kept typing for a few more seconds, then looked up at me.

“Good afternoon, Detective Keegan,” he said, smiling. My initial impression of him, that he was a snake in the grass, still seemed correct. He didn’t strike me as the sort of guy who got things the old fashioned way, unless underhanded deals were your idea of old fashioned. He didn’t seem dangerous, just seedy, the sort of person I couldn’t stand.

“Hello Mr. Chapman,” I said. I pulled out a small tape recorder that I had taken from my apartment, and placed it on the edge of his desk.

Chapman smiled again, then touched a button on a panel next to his desk. Behind him, a compartment opened, revealing a small audio system.

“We could use my system, if you like. My microphones will record better than what you have there.”

“No thanks,” I said, “this works just fine. Nice setup you have, though.”

“Modem technology,” he said, “I love it. I’m telling you that if I gave you an hour, you probably wouldn’t be able to find the three microphones that are hidden in this room.”

“Worried about someone stealing Techdata secrets?”

He chuckled. It was an annoying, almost sinister chuckle. “No, I am just an electronics buff. Not to mention, I’ve gotten a lot of entertainment from some of the things I have caught on tape here.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Ron Mullins.”

“Obviously. It’s a real loss, not having him around.”

“He was planning on leaving anyway.”

“Yes, I am sure you know all about that.”

“I do.”

“Ron was a very creative man. He needed something to occupy his mind. He was a genius.”

“How did you feel about his leaving?”

“I was against it. He was Techdata. Without him, the company almost seems incomplete.”

“When did he first mention to you that he wanted to leave?” “Well, he had dropped subtle hints over the last two years, but I think the first time he actually came out and said it was at a convention in California. Even though I had my ideas about what he was going to do, it came as a big surprise.”

“Why didn’t he go to the convention with you in Amsterdam?” “He had other business to take care of.”

“What sort of business.”

“I’m not sure, but I would assume it had to do with his running for Senate. He had been meeting with a lot of people about that recently.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“About his meeting with people?”

I didn’t like the way Chapman was looking at me. He seemed to be analyzing me, s if to see I posed a threat to him. He kept fiddling with a pen on his desk too. He didn’t appear comfortable, though his voice didn’t sound broken at all.

“About his running for Senate.”

“I wasn’t sure it was right for him. He felt strongly about it though, and considering the fact that he was my friend as well as my partner, I supported him.”

I remembered the question that the last reporter asked him, about legislation.

“One reporter asked you about legislation regarding Silicon Alley, what do you know about that?”

Chapman leaned back in his chair, and unbuttoned his jacket. “Just that it is something they have been talking about for years. You see, when companies started making it big in California, and other companies were leaving New York for

Seattle or New Jersey, New York wanted to lure some back. They gave out huge tax breaks, something New York never had to do, and they were willing to look the other way on a lot of things. The amount of empty office space in New York was steadily climbing, and they needed to do something.

Then, about five years ago, the new legislature in New York decided that, once they already had us firmly planted here, that they could pass legislation that would cancel out the benefits companies like ours received to come here in the first place. The bill has been sitting around up in Albany for about four years now, and the issue has the government split nearly in half.”

“Corporate politics, huh?” I said.

“You could say that.”

“What about that bill going to Washington?”

“It’s not plausible. It’s a state issue. I don’t see it ever going to Washington, unless the federal government wants to rethink how it does business across the country.”

“Did you and Ron ever discuss it?”

“Of course. We were concerned about it. After all, if we lose the tax breaks we have received, it would seriously affect our bottom line.”

“What do you think of politics?”

“Don’t like them. Never did. All they do is get in the way.”

I couldn’t argue that.

“What was Mr. Mullins’ state of mind like recently?”

“He didn’t seem to be himself.”

“Suicidal?” That was a tough word to say with a numb mouth. I hoped that Chapman didn’t think I was some sort of idiot. From what I could tell, I was hiding my handicap pretty well.

“I don’t know if I would say that. Like I said, Ron was a genius. Geniuses tend to go through bouts of depression more often, I think. Especially when they think that their talent is going to waste.”

“So, you don’t think Mullins committed suicide?”

He looked at me over his glasses.

“I’ve known Ron for a long time. I’ve seen him go through a lot, with his wife, his father, and with several issues here at Techdata. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we communicated well, and I think I knew him inside and out. Yes, he’d been much different lately, but I attributed that to the changes he was considering in his life.”

“Like getting a divorce?” I interrupted.

“Where did you hear that, in the tabloids?”

I didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell Chapman about what Sondra told me. I didn’t feel as though I could trust this guy. He really didn’t give me reason not to trust him, but he also didn’t give me a reason to trust him either. I didn’t consider him a suspect.

“It’s been thrown around a few places.”

“It’s nonsense. Mullins loved his wife.”

“What do you think of her?”

“Sondra? The woman is quite a package. Very tough to please, but a loving wife regardless. I always thought she was too much for Ron to handle. He loved her dearly, and even thought they had their problems from time to time, they worked them out.”

“So they never considered divorce.”

“I’m sure they did, but so do just about every other married couple in the world. It’s a fact of life, these days. But I’m telling you, Ron would never have allowed it. He wouldn’t have done that to his kids, not would he have jeopardized his future political career by doing something like that.”

“What do you know about Mullins will?”

Chapman smiled again.

“I know what you are trying to do.”

He did? I didn’t even know what I was trying to do. I was just throwing shit against the wall to see what stuck. Not much did, but that was nothing unusual.

“You do?”

“You’re talking about the situation going on with the company. I’m fully aware of the fact that Sondra can cancel the buyout. Yes, there’s a lot of money involved, but we are dealing with the loss of a great businessman, husband, and father. Money isn’t everything.”

So, I had hit a soft spot. I liked that.

“It’s all about money.”

“What do you want, Detective Keegan? You want to consider me a suspect in this?” Chapman asked. It didn’t seem to shake him. The question came more as for information than concern.

“I consider everyone a suspect. I would think you would understand that.” I watched Chapman’s face. The expression did not change one bit.

“I know you have an investigation to carry out, and I also know that you have absolutely no leads, other than the fact that Ron apparently killed himself.”

“Which you seem to think impossible.”

He exhaled. “Not impossible. I’m no psychologist. It just doesn’t seem likely.” He paused. “Listen, I know you have a job to do, and I would like to do anything I can to help you. I mean, if there was any sort of foul play involved in Ron’s death, then that is an atrocity, and I would like to see you bring the people responsible to justice. I just don’t see how knowing about my company will help you.”

Of course he knew. I wished I had the answer machine tape with me, so I could play it for him and see his reaction. That comment about fixing what Mullins’ father started stuck in the back of my mind. Mullins’ father had started Techdata, and Harold Chapman was in charge of that. It made sense.

“Well, Mr. Chapman, I am not here to inconvenience, or anger you. Everything regarding this case is of concern to my department and me. So, if you wouldn’t mind answering just a few more questions, I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Chapman opened up a desk drawer and pulled out a cigar. He flicked a switch, which turned on a ceiling fan overhead.

“Do you smoke?” he asked, reaching in the drawer for another cigar.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pack of cigarettes, which I had purchased at a convenience store next to Dad’s office. My moth was still numb, so holding a cigarette in my lips took concentration.

“Only the sort that kill you,” I said.

“Feel free,” he said, lighting his cigar. Smoke filled the room for a second, then it rose up into the exhaust fan directly above him. He took a few long drags, savored the cigar, which smelled like shit to me, and placed in the ashtray he placed halfway between us. From what I could tell, he was inhaling it. Disgusting. I lit my cigarette, threw the match in the ashtray, and looked at him. “Go ahead, ask your questions.”

How nice of him.

“Is it true that Mr. Mullins orchestrated the Onyx deal?” I asked.

“Well, he originally was against the deal. It was my idea at first, but he was pivotal in making it happen.” Chapman spoke clearly and confidently. I sensed nothing off about his speech, anything that would give away his lying.