Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (20 page)

Tabby’s productivity for the few hours had been poor. Charlie’s early behavior had left her uneasy, as though he was waiting for bad news. Something was wrong. It had been getting worse all week. He’d tried to keep it from her, but she understood his moods and behavior well. Charlie was humorous by nature; a jovial man who liked to share a joke and hear one too. Not during the last week though. And if she thought about it, he had changed over the last few months. Now it had elevated to the next level. She felt helpless, as though nothing would drag him from his mire.

It was clear Charlie didn’t want to discuss the matter. Most things were on the table, but now and then, a problem would arise that would cause him to shut down. This was that time. And she didn’t know what to do or where to turn.

Robert Jennings was Charlie’s boss. She might call him, but his behavior after finding him and the woman in Charlie’s office dissuaded her. The only other option was Tom Bright. Their contact had been less recently, but she still thought often and fondly of him. Now she needed to push aside her long held feelings and concentrate on Charlie. Tom would know what to do.

She found his profile on her screen, tapped the handsome image, and connected through her implant. There was a long pause and then he answered. “Tom?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Tabitha.”

“
Tabby
?” Surprise. “How are you?”

“I’m… okay. Have you got a moment to talk?”

“Yeah, I’m on a short break from a meeting.”

“Thank you. It’s about Charlie. Something’s wrong.”

Tom hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“I… I don’t know. He’s behaving strangely.”

“How?”

She glanced up, almost expecting him to appear now she was talking about him. “He’s agitated. Worried about something.”

Tom considered this. “I know he’s been under a bit of stress lately, but that’s all part of the job. Is it out of the norm?”

“How he’s acting? Yes. I’ve seen him stressed before. He can usually still manage a conversation with me. This is different.”

There was a long silence on Tom’s end. Tabby wondered whether he knew more than he was letting on. Charlie and he were close; they caught up for coffee or lunch most days. “I’ll stop by when I get back, but it might not be until late tonight.”

“Tonight? You can’t get here any sooner?”

“I’m in the capital and I’ve got meetings all afternoon.”

Tabby sighed. “Okay. Try to get here sooner. What should I do?”

“Engage him. Ask him if he needs anything.”

“I’ve done that.”

“Then do it again. And if that doesn’t work, tell him to take the afternoon off. Insist.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Jennings circled the executive elevator waiting as it descended to the lower ground levels. He’d panicked when Charlie had spied him and fled down the corridor. IT was the only place where Charlie probably wouldn’t follow, if he decided to investigate. Jennings had told Tabitha of his absence to throw Charlie off, but something had piqued his curiosity. Originally, the list idea had been to force Charlie into a bad decision and break his contract by not approving the names. That would have forced Fox to sack him. But the police investigation and Charlie’s subsequent discussion had changed all of that. They couldn’t afford to wait. Whether Charlie had executed his obligation or not no longer mattered.

He reached IT and scanned himself through the entrance. Inside the bright, cluttered room, several technicians glanced up at him from their screens. Jennings gave them the death stare and they swiveled back to whatever they were doing. He took the most isolated corner and activated the holographic keypad on his watch. He punched the numbers and waited as it dialed, listening to the sound of his blood pumping.

A voice on the other end answered in a firm, iron tone. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

Like a switch, the voice became softer, almost seductive. “What’s the status?”

“The plan is go. Fox and Bright are off-site. Proceed when ready.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, Jennings wondered if she had the metal to carry it out. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Did he approve the list?”

“He won’t.” He considered asking her if she
could
do it. “Forget the list though. He’s compromised. He spoke to a detective yesterday. It’s only a matter of time before he talks.”

A long silence followed. Jennings gave her time to process the juncture. She had been adamant he would approve the list. Jennings bet he would not. It didn’t matter either way. Charlie was dead. And if he was honest, that had always been his ultimate aim for a number of reasons.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Jennings asked finally.

Another hesitation. “No. No problem.”

“You have the serum? HKX-5551?”

“Yes.”

Jennings checked if the techs were watching him. They were focused on their screens. Even if Fox were having his communications tracked, talking down here would scramble the message. “How long?”

“I’m on my way now.”

“Very good. Send confirmation when it is done.”

“Confirming the time for target is 5:30 pm.”

Charlie sat staring at the screen, elbows on his knees, turning over ways in his mind to provide information to Tabby. Printed pages were one option, but it would take forever and IT kept a reading of the number of print-outs each person made. Mailing her a file would work, but they’d trace it to her. He leaned back in his chair, grinding his teeth as a coil of fear loosened in his belly. The Company had long ago monitored the removal of information from the system. Once he did this, there was no going back.

And then he remembered it. Charlie yanked the top drawer of open and shoved items aside. Where was it? He had tossed it somewhere after Tabby had showed him, meaning to try it out later. His vision landed on it and he felt a flash of relief as he snatched out the tiny storage drive about half the size of his finger. It was older technology, but he could still Bluetooth the files onto it.

He activated the connection through the system settings and navigated the screen until he reached the filing system. He checked the capacity of the drive—two-hundred and fifty-six gigabytes—and grunted, surprised at the lack of capacity. He highlighted as many folders containing images and documents as the storage would allow then swiped the information onto the USB icon and watched the copy function execute. The system said it would take four minutes.

Cold panic had crept over him. He didn’t know how the situation might be rectified from here, not just for Samantha, but himself. The list, Karl Atherton’s letdown, Steve White’s losses, Jennings’ failure to assist, and finally his covert behavior had thrown Charlie.

The door opened and Charlie grabbed onto the desk, ready to spring away. It was Tabby. He closed his eyes, and tipped his head back. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

A fleeting, sinister thought jabbed at his mind. What if Tabby was part of it? A plant by the company to keep an eye on him? What if she had been manipulating things all along?
No.
Charlie observed her innocent air, knowing that although a high level of intelligence lay beneath the beautiful exterior, she had a good heart.
She might have hidden her ambition.
He trusted Tabby. If nothing else, he’d have bet on her loyalty.

“Come in,” Charlie said.

She did, glancing over her shoulder. She closed the door softly and walked towards the desk. “Is everything all right?”

He pressed his lips in a tight line and glanced at the screen. Three minutes. “No, I don’t think so.”

Her blazing blue eyes widened and her face stiffened; a look of such gravity cutting lines and furrows into her pretty features. “What is it, Charlie? What can I do to help?”

Tell her.
Yes. He had to tell someone, just in case it went wrong. He couldn’t think of a better person, but he would beg her to never repeat it. Charlie doubted he would have a job by the end of the day, or worse, and wondered whether Tabby would keep working there without him. In her position, leaving was an option if she wasn’t implicated in any wrongdoing.

“Take a seat.”

Eyes on him, she sat. Uncertainty flashed through Charlie’s mind again, but he ploughed on, convinced she was oblivious.

“You can never repeat what I’m about to tell you. Do you understand?”

She gave a quick, anxious nod. “Okay.”

“The first thing is that when we are finished this conversation you are to go home immediately and not return to work until Monday morning.” She frowned. “You maintain your normal activities though.” Charlie scratched at a sudden itch across the back of his neck. “This company isn’t what you think it is. We’re not an investment firm specializing in banking and financial services.”

Her face was blank. He half expected her to say, ‘
I know that. I’ve always known’
, but she frowned again and said, “What do you mean?”

“We don’t invest in regular activities. It’s a front for the real work. We do other things though. Terrible things.”

“Terrible…?” She gave an intense shake of her head. “Charlie, what the hell—?”

“Just listen to what I say.” The computer screen beeped. The files had finished downloading. Charlie thrust the tiny drive towards Tabby. “Take this.”

She withdrew. “No.”

“
Please
, Tabby. Take it. For protection. Just in case. It’ll provide some kind of explanation if something happens. Hide it in the safest place you can think of.”

Tabby stared at the stick as though it were a snake about to strike. “I don’t want to, Charlie. You keep it.”

He thrust it at her again. “
Take it
,
please.
And if something happens to me, give it to a man named John Gutterson. He’s a detective at the NYPD.” Tabby’s face was stone, her mouth hanging open. After a moment, she reached out and took it then slipped it inside her bra. “Do you trust me?” She nodded. “Then go. You were sick this afternoon. Headache. Even better if you go to the doctor's on the way home.”

Tabitha agreed; her lips thin, eyes downcast. “Will you be all right?”

Charlie shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t know.” Tabby came forward and Charlie took her in his arms. They hugged tight, and he felt her affection. She held on, as though if she let go, she might never have the chance again. When they parted, her eyes were glassy. He turned away, legs shaking, his own emotions surging. He had to sit. Tabby left without looking back.

Gutterson sipped on a latte and watched the Janefield building as the afternoon rush of patrons crowded around small tables and chatted. It was a different feeling to the one he had last week, sweating it out as he spied on the company headquarters without approval. With the observational warrants approved, Gutterson felt comfortable; finally, he could now conduct proper police business. He was no longer worried about people watching him. He was the one doing the watching.

He had considered a dozen ways of connecting with Charlie Billings. Gutterson felt the best option at this point was the café across the road where he had initially discovered Charlie and Tom Bright. Perhaps they would gather there after work again. If so, he would plead with Charlie to help the police investigation. It was a long shot, and somewhat risky—he might still spook the guy—but Gutterson couldn’t wait. And if this didn’t work, he’d get more aggressive. With the pressures Martinez had described, the investigation was at risk of being shut down unless he secured Charlie’s help to inform against the company for which he worked.

He sat patiently, watching the building’s exit. A trickle of people left; fewer entered. One of the scenarios had been to just stroll on into Janefield and ask for Charlie at the reception desk. But that was a last resort, saved for a day when he had run out of time.

As it ticked past five o’clock, some of the café patrons began to drift away. Gutterson glanced around and saw half a dozen remaining. One of them was staring at him—female, late thirties, pretty face, and long blonde hair styled with an undercut on one side. He turned away, and then something made him look back. Her gaze hadn’t changed. He read fear on her face, discomfort. Gutterson twisted in his seat to face her.

“Are you all right?”

Her expression didn’t change. “Why are you staring at that building?” she asked. Gutterson rotated and peered at the Janefield address.

“You work there?” She nodded slowly. Gutterson straightened up. “You work at Janefield Investments?”
Yes.
“For how long?”

The woman sat two tables away. There was nobody in the vicinity, but Gutterson left his seat and slipped out a chair at the table beside her. “You mind?”

She shook her head once. “More than a year. Why?”

Gutterson took her measure. He read fear in her tight jaw and dark eyes. He decided to try his luck. “Haven’t a couple of employees passed away recently?”

“Are you a cop?”

Gutterson smiled. “I am. A detective.”

“Are you investigating their deaths?”

“Maybe. Do you know anything about the employees?”

She shifted in her seat and shook her head. “No. They were above my level.”

Gutterson leant forward. “How are things in there—I mean, you know, are people happy working there? Are they worried about all of this?”

The woman stared up at the building, lost in its shadow. Gutterson was about to ask again when she broke free of thought. “I would have said no before today. Now I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head, as if coming out of a daze. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” She pushed her chair back. “I have to go.”

“Please. I can tell you’re upset about something. Is it to do with the company? Has something happened?” She shook her head again. “I can help. You can tell—”

“No. I can’t… I have to go. I can’t say anymore.” She stood and slung her handbag over her shoulder and stepped away from the table.

“Wait,” Gutterson said, standing. Several patrons glanced around at them. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated. “Tabitha.”

“Take my details, Tabitha.” He activated his watch. “Should I send them to your implant?” At first Gutterson thought she wasn’t going to do it. Then she pressed the screen of her watch. It beeped twice in receipt, but she didn’t look at the information. “Let me know if I can help.”

“Thank you,” she said, and before Gutterson could say anything more, she was gone.