Cafe Underground Presents
Friday morning, Andi rolled over to look at the clock at ten minutes after six feeling like she was falling down an endless mine shaft. She'd been laying awake what seemed like an hour at that point--Armando's fixed pupils and drying blood and the muffled pop of a handgun haunted her sleep. Just outside, a car ground its starter and sat idling for what seemed an interminable time before doors finally slammed and it purred away.
Lena slept unaware, her breath regular, an arm slung out, her head turned away, the blankets forming a lump. Andi tossed and turned, afraid of waking her until finally escaping through the kitchen to put on water. A few minutes later she was in the living room, pulling back the curtains and snuggling on the couch with a blanket to watch the piece of morning sky she could see through the window.
The teapot's breathy whistle brought her back to the kitchen on the run. Coffee made, she padded back, mug in hand, grabbing her notebook as she passed the buffet. What threat could Jimmy Tuft or his video have been to Riparian? Desperate action didn’t seem their style. What did Lamar Rasheed know that was worth his life? What was it that made Armando so dangerous, that it seemed worth the risk of drawing the added attention of a murder investigation to their questionable businesses?
She should have grilled Armando when she had the chance. Ironically, now he was now responsible for keeping that secret from ever reaching light. Six people dead so far and she hadn't learned enough to even interest Ramirez.
Andi sipped her coffee trying to think herself awake enough to shake that sense of sinking, of falling backwards. Should they stop the investigation? A better question was why they should continue? Would Lena’s bound body be dumped at her feet, a bullet in her brain and bruises on her face? She didn't know anything that would really challenge them, but did Riparian know that--or care to take the chance?
Andi stared out the window. Pink clouds peeking between the house and tree next door, splashed the sky with sunrise-gold. They could simply go about their business and the project would easily die a natural death--no client, no one to pay it’s way. Certainly Oregon Industry/Nature Coalition's corporate sponsors would drop her once their new administrator was appointed. All in all, it seemed Riparian won game, set and match--who was going to care enough to look into this can of decomposing worms?
She paged back in her notebook, drifting through her last dealings with Armando. They’d met last Saturday, but talked on the phone Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Between and since, it had been phone tag. His last message promised checks and a list of key-words and mentioned something about Janus--chemicals they bought from Riparian industries--he said he was very excited. Andi meditated sadly on the note, as if it were the snapshot of a friend who'd died.
Poor Armando. But why would he be excited? "Excited" wasn't a term she'd guess he’d use much. For that matter why would Janus buy chemicals from other Riparian companies?
Outside, the clouds shifted and the sunrise faded to light-blue and grey. It wasn't much of a revelation, but given nothing else, it was probably worth a couple of phone calls. In respect to Armando, they still had money to spend. A glance at her watch confirmed that it was too early to bother anybody. She scribbled the date and made a few notes. She’d call Francois, then Bodega. Then who?
She smiled to herself at the quandary--‘why’ as well, she mused. Other than simply to consume the last of Armando's retainer, there wasn't much reason to keep working.
A buzzing ring interrupted that reverie. It took a moment to identify it, another to find its source--her cellphone.
She stood frozen a moment. The killers must have Armando's, how much effort would it take to know of hers? It was only the fear of waking Lena that extended her hand to answer it.
"Hi, it's Francois. Switch to scramble."
Andi sighed, then cursed as she reconstructed the formula--yesterday's AM was two...this was four. He called...four. And it was seven-o-four...subtract six, so set the third knob at one. "Hi, it's Andi.”
“Tell me about Armando.”
“There’s not that much to tell. We found his body in our office yesterday. They also trashed the place." She padded back to the couch. "Whoever killed him probably has his phone. Do you want to use this line?"
Francois’ voice was hushed and quiet, but with a clipped edge that might have come from a hard-clamped jaw. "Probably not in the long run. They could have beaten the scrambler system out of him or tape our conversations and figure it via trial and error, but they’ll probably have to bring a consultant. We'll change our system." Francois was almost icily open about it.
"You sure?" asked Andi nervously.
"I'll get replacements with different scrambles. Let's talk anyway."
Andi murmured agreement.
"Rumor has it he was bound like the other two." Francois switched subjects as if changing a channel.
Andi wondered where he got his rumors from, the police would never have released such information. "Pretty similar." she conceded. "But how do you know?"
"I'm monitoring Max's PC for anything on this case, your names. Armando's. Riparian." It was a surprisingly candid admission. "This morning, the light was flashing."
"Francois...nooo." Andi moaned. "Not the police...not Max. You're getting us in too deep."
"Naw." Francois gave a cavalier laugh. "I got trip wires warning me of anyone pulling up the code and I send it through one of the loops the phone company had to put through the FBI office. From the FBI, it goes back to the police department computer, then to a local church, then through a half-dozen rerouted numbers that are exchanged randomly...besides I only passively monitor. If it t looks like the cops are watching the Fed watching the cops watching the Feds watched by a church."
"Still." chastised Andi. "And a church." she tisked in disapproval.
"The Church of the obnoxious flashing sign." Francois offered in a dry aside--it was a particularly bigoted branch of the intolerant-Christianity tradition.
"Oh. In that case..." Retreat was the graceful path, she wouldn't win.
"No other news about Armando?"
Andi'd hoped he had some. "No, but I got questions. Did he give you a list of key words?"
"No."
"Too bad. Any idea why he'd be excited over a list of chemicals Janus would buy from Titan or Machine Salvage?"
"No, but I'll look into it."
"He said something about taking off for a few days. Did he think Mardell was after him?"
"Said nothing to me. When did he say that?"
"Wednesday in a phone message. It didn't seem important and without a computer we can't even access Adolf."
"Adolf wasn’t discovered?" Francois asked, concerned.
"Don't know." Andi admitted glumly. "We were entertained at Max's all day."
"I'll sidle on by to check." Francois volunteered almost under his breath. "What do you need to set up shop? The idea that Riparian might get away with killing Armando's got me chewing thirty-amp breakers."
Andi laughed. "What? An office here? You've been over. The closest things to a computer we have are the TV and calculator." Her mind strayed and she made a mental note to ask her lawyer-client, Janice Thompson if there was anything to be gained by complaining about the way they were treated yesterday.
"OK. Two boxes, a couple of screens, keyboards..." Francois mumbled as he scribbled memo to himself about replacing their gear. "Max thinks it might take until mid-week to sift your office for evidence."
"Mid-week?" Andi wailed.
"We'll set you up at home." Francois consoled. "I'll have stuff there by ten. Are you offering an early brunch? Say, one of Lena's fancy omelets, salsa and potatoes...fresh coffee?"
"You don't expect much do you." Andi observed dryly.
"Don't muzzle the ox that threshes your wheat." Francois quoted rabbinically.
Andi grumbled quietly, then replied, "She's not up yet. You might have to settle for my omelet."
Francois didn't miss a beat. "I'll wait until eleven."
Andi kept response in the same rhythm and meter. "I'll drag her to the kitchen by her toes if she's not awake by quarter-of nine."
"Gee. I'd like to see that. Shall come early?"
"Ca va. We'll see you when you get here." Andi replied with a snort. What was he thinking, hacking into the police? Not while he was on her case hired by her. How long could he do that without being sent up?
She sat quietly, wondering troubled thoughts until eight o'clock when their regular phone rang. That got her up--she'd grabbed it before the third ring, but even as she was saying "Hello," Lena's groggy voice, mumbled "Yeah?" into the phone by their bed.
"Hey Lena, sorry to wake you." It was Ramirez. "Go back to sleep, I'll talk to Andi--she sounds awake. Tanya'll call later to gab food."
Lena murmured something incomprehensible and there was a click as she hung up.
"It's amazing you have the gall to call." Andi tried to muster enough resentment to be intimidating.
"Come on Wicksham. That wasn't me. It was a bad deal all around. You got to aim your angst at the guys who killed your client."
"They didn't hold us hostage all day and bar us from our office." Andi answered indignantly.
"Neither did I." Ramirez appealed, sounding hurt--the scapegoat driven into the wilderness without a passport.
"If you'd complained before about his lack of principles, you wouldn't have this dilemma now." Andi pointed out nastily. "It's not like your force is riddled with assholes like Max."
"You're right." Ramirez replied with false humility, "mea culpa, mea culpa. I'm a frail human being." He gave her a moment to respond. "You want to hear the good news?"
"There's good news?" Andi asked cautiously, willing to be placated if it was good enough.
"Forensic worked until late and the night crew whipped the computers to a gallop. We figure his legs were cut free so he could walk then were re-taped in the office because there were prints on their inner surfaces. Good ones. Ones that pulled in a computer match."
"Who?" Andi snapped insistently.
Ramirez had to check his paperwork. "Robert Greg...an ex-con with a rap sheet three pages long. Mostly violent crimes. He'd be a good candidate for ‘three strikes and you're out’ if this wasn't a multiple murder already."
Andi jotted the name in her notebook. "Pick him up yet?"
There was a moment of silence. "Actually, no. Last night a team of uniforms showed up at his job, but he either wasn't there or was hiding. He was probably tipped off, because when they went by his apartment, his housemate said he already skipped."
"Let me guess where he works?" Andi asked, her voice liberally laced with irony. "Mardell Special Forces?"
"Funny thing, ‘eh? I told Max that Mardell was Riparian's security and that they were hiding him. I think he's actually focusing on them."
"So what? With Mardell's help Greg'll either make Timbuctoo or a shallow grave. He's a liability to them. I bet he won't need a visa."
"They might not know what we want him for." Ramirez hazarded hopefully.
"They’ve got serious pull with your brass, remember?" Andi reminded. "Your chief and his big-wigs will trip all over each other trying to get brownie points. Any other good news?"
"Armando's not his real name." Ramirez rumbled.
"Duuuh. Gee, no surprise there." taunted Andi.
"And he had phoney feet."
"What?" She reflected a moment. "That would make him Alvin Delgatto." She found she wasn't all that surprised.
"Bingo, Wicksham, you got it first-guess. I suppose you didn't know that all this time?" He sounded suspicious, if not sarcastic.
"I guess I should have, but would I have gone on my wild goose chase if I did?" Andi doled out a measure of resentfulness to balance the sneer in Ramirez' voice.
"You know, I'm not sure one way or the other," Ramirez offered hesitantly. "There are a lot of strange loose ends to this thing." He sounded genuinely worried.
"What else has you pacing the floors?" She poured everything into a warm, friendly tone.
"His apartment was never lived in."
"What do you mean?" Andi thought back to he visits there.
"Just that. a bedspread, but no blankets or sheets, one shirt was all the clothes in the closet, little of anything but coffee and pop in the kitchen. He didn't even camp out." He let the revelation speak for itself.
Andi shut her eyes and recovered. "Actually I'm not surprised. It smelled like it was never opened to fresh air."
"Yeah?" Ramirez responded sarcastically. "Funny that you never mentioned it to me."
Andi didn't rise to the bait. None of that mattered any more.
Ramirez broke the silence. "Your tip about Senator Hyde went over like super glue lube. Max is twisting himself into a pretzel figuring a way to handle it."
"I'll give you odds he shelves it." Andi quipped.
"To his credit, you'd lose." Ramirez smirked. "He's feeling his way forward. Cautiously. He's been pow-wowing with the chief, sorting out the politics; getting cover in case a fire-fight starts. They aren't bureaucrats for nothing." He laughed a satisfied laugh.
"Tell him I'm impressed." Andi asked. "It's more that I would have expected."
There was a three-beat pause before he came in on the up-beat. "How could I tell him that Wicksham? Admit that I've been blabbing? Believe me, that is not going to happen."
"Yeah." Andi was indifferent to Max's dilemma. "We need access to our office." She squeezed in a touch of impatience that she hoped expressed rightful indignation.
Ramirez sighed, as if the subject was boring. "I've brought it up three times and have a promise you can get in as long as we get copies of anything you remove and you express gratitude for Max's largess."
"Gee." quipped Andi musically, "It's that sort of thing that makes me fantasize about actually trying the nasty stuff Max thinks I pull."
"It's nice to know that we live up to our reputations." Ramirez taunted sarcastically.
Andi let two bar's worth of time click by, then asked, "We still on for dinner?"
"Tomorrow? Of course." Ramirez snorted. "I don't have enough nerve to cancel Tanya's dinners just because you accuse me of kidnaping, torture and being unethical." He chuckled at his own humor.
"I should hope not." agreed Andi virtuously--it wasn’t a good time to bring faux self-righteousness out for a spin. "Want us to bring dessert?"
"She'll talk to Lena. You and I aren't to be trusted with that sort of responsibility."
Andi smiled and leaned back against the arm of the couch. "Good." She allowed a contemplative beat to tick by. "You know...this could work into a system."
"Yeah, certainly to our advantage." He hissed conspiratorially, "I've been married since the dark ages. Long enough to come up with some good angles." He laughed. "Until then, vio con dios."
"Alecum a-salaam." replied Andi. She set the phone on the floor and settled again, knees tucked under the blanket. With the cops actually cranking into gear, it might be a decent time to let the investigation die.
Letting it die--the thought triggered a wave of guilt--she reached for the phone and called mother.
Nancy answered. "Mrs. Wicksham woke at about six this morning, but is sleeping again."
Guilt slithered down her neck like a drip from snow-covered eves. "I'm had problems at work. Yesterday morning a client was found dead in our office and I was with the police until late." She needed to explain, but no explanation would be enough.
"That's a shame." Nancy responded from a professional distance. "I'll tell your mother that you called."
"I'll come by today. When do you think she'll be awake?" It would be easier if Nancy rebuked her, at least her failings as a daughter would be confirmed.
"Perhaps early this afternoon." Nancy guessed vaguely.
"Is she OK?" Andi asked fearfully.
"About the same as when you were here last. She not quite ready. She'll stop all liquids, when she decides it's time, but she hasn't said anything to me." Nancy was every bit the careful nurse.
Andi noted the omission of what her mother wasn't ready for. It was implicit, even unsaid; it chilled her. "Give her my love." she pleaded. "Please."
"I do on a regular basis." reassured Nancy with believable warmth.
Andi wondered if attending to traumatized families came part and parcel with her job--it must. She owed this woman big-time--more than she'd be able to repay. "Thank's for being there." she offered humbly.
"Of course." Nancy replied. "We'll see you this afternoon."
Andi mumbled another thanks and hung up, mentally replaying the disappointments she'd visited on her mother over the years. She shut her eyes and sat, dry-eyed and hurt a long, long time, wishing she could cry, but feeling too closed down for anything but regret.
Lena woke again a short time later and called out from the bedroom, "Good morning."
"Coffee?" Andi responded with forced cheerfulness, not wanting to explain.
"Shower first." called Lena from the bathroom.
The sound of pounding water brought life back into the apartment. Andi took a few deep breaths and kicked off the blanket, staring out the window to the rain-threatening clouds. She longed selfishly for a class-ten storm that would wash her insecurity and Riparian to the Pacific Ocean.
She splashed a little water on her face and affected a veneer of competent puttering. Francois would arrive in half an hour--she hefted the teapot to check its water and turned its flame to high. She poured the last of the coffee into her cup, dumped the old grounds, rinsed the cloth filter before returning it to its funnel and pouring fresh coffee from the bag kept in the freezer. By the time Lena emerged swathed head to mid-thigh in towels, she was sitting at the kitchen table, dry eyed with Lena's omelet fixings waiting on the counter and a fresh batch of coffee brewed.
"So, sleepyhead. It's about time. Francois'll be here in a bit with computers and he's demanding an omelet in compensation." Andi smiled and leaned back in her chair.
"Sure." Lena offered a kiss and looked over at the omelet makings. "What did Ramirez want?" She poured herself a mug of coffee, added milk from the refrigerator and plopped into the chair at Andi's left.
"They got prints from Armando's duct tape and copped a match with a Mardell employee." She paused to watch Lena's expression.
Lena's eyes opened wide and her lips curled into a sneer. "Did they get him?" she hissed. No mistaking how she felt.
Andi shook her head, lips pursed, her coffee held cradled between her palms. "They blew it again."
"Do we know his name?" Lena asked evenly.
"Robert Greg."
"Tell Francois?"
Andi shook her head, "His call came earlier."
"When's Francois coming?" Lena drummed her fingers on the table top.
"Soon."
"Maybe I can catch him." Lena rose and retrieved her cell phone from her bag. "He can screen audio for key words like the Feds do with overseas calls." She punched in numbers and closed her eyes as if trying to remember the scrambler code.
"Four, five." Andi looked across at the clock, "Three," she offered helpfully.
Lena nodded thanks and stood looking out the kitchen window until the phone was answered. "Francois? Lena here. Push the button." Without waiting for a response, she punched in the scrambler code herself. "Hello? Hello?" she queried impatiently. "Yeah, Lena...well, even if they’ve figured our system, you need this..."
Andi half-listened, watching anger harden Lena's face with creases, tight jaw and thinned lips.
"Fingerprints on Armando's bindings match a Robert Greg...yeah Greg, a Mardell dude. Figured you might want to add the name to your search. Andi's OK'd everything, including faucets didn't she? Yeah, me too. REALLY pissed. All stops, right...yeah, a full-out blitz. OK, goodbye." She pushed the off button spun the scrambler dials and sat down, her face still tense and chiseled.
"`Faucets'?" asked Andi, raising a eyebrow and tendering a teasing smile.
"The closest I could come to ‘tap.’ He understood." Lena smiled. "He said he'll be here at eleven after setting up a system to tape their calls, add Greg's name and start a scrape-the-bottom search. I wish we had our computers." She chewed her knuckle and stared down at the table, then suddenly rose and dashed to the bedroom pulling the towel from her head as she moved.
“Maybe we should let the investigation die before one of us gets the treatment." She remained at the table, staring helplessly at Lena's retreating back.
"No way." Lena shot back, ire raised. "Get dressed if you're coming. I'm going to get our hidden disks."
Andi rose musing on Lena's attack-mode, donned levi's and a plaid shirt and tossed out a quixotic distraction. "I thought you wanted to go to Victoria. Remember our vacation?"
"After this?" snapped Lena. "Retaliation first. They're not going to get away with it. ‘Vengeance is mine,’ claimeth the geek."
Andi swallowed a restraining comment and followed down the stairs, thinking about her mother, but unable to bring the subject up.
Their office door had piece of plywood tacked over it with a police ribbon, a paper seal and a note threatening dire repercussions for violating that sanctity. Lena marched past to the janitor's closet, unlocked the door, pulled a bucket out of the way and took two large packages of toilet paper from a shelf. An almost unnoticeable panel came off to reveal the dead-space under the steep attic stairs.
Inside were two boxes of paper files and a shoe box of backup computer disks. She seized one of the boxes and thrust it into Andi's arms, then grabbed the computer disks and replaced panel and toilet paper. "Adolf still upstairs?" she asked, kicking the bucket back in place.
"Francois was going to check." Andi turned and retreated back toward the stairs. "Think anybody's watching the building?"
Lena froze a moment. "Yeah. I do." she replied glumly, staring into Andi's face as if hoping for a contradiction. She suddenly spun on her heal and marched to the office door of Johnny Iris, a graphic artist two offices up who'd been in residence Bobby Soxx’s building since the ice age.
He answered, offering a condolence for finding a dead client in their work space and made a God-awful joke about the neighborhood going. Lena cut him off with a wave and asked if he could sneak their files with some decoy stuff from the building; explaining the barest amount necessary to get his help.
He quipped that Lauren Laurano had nothing on them.
It didn't earn him a smile. "We’ll watch. Circle a few blocks to see if you're followed, then pull behind the Safeway store. If we're not there in a moment, default to your house and lock everything up." Lena's voice was low and commanding.
Johnny grinned, his eyes sparkled.
Andi gave him a route around the neighborhood while Lena emptied the shoe box, thrust half the discs into her hands and stuffed the other half under the waistband of her jeans. They left, apparently empty handed, giving silent-movie shrugs, hoping to convey the sense of dejected workers locked out of their rightful jobs.
Andi drove while Lena watched for a tail as they went around two blocks and back to a cross street they could watch from. Johnny loaded posters and cartons and rolls of paper into the back of his aging Volkswagen Rabbit in what looked like an uneventful slice of everyday life. Their boxes were topped with a colorful silk kite--he tossed them somewhat cavalierly into the front seat, got in and started off. Andi waited, watching to see if anyone thought him interesting and let him get a block beyond, still without an obvious tail. She hung a u-turn at the intersection and watched again at Harrison as he cruised east toward 39th.
Andi peered ahead to see if any cars ahead looked suspicious. Watching out the back, Lena reported "Nobody..."
They followed all the way to Safeway where they redeemed their files for a promised breakfast some time in the future.
Mission accomplished, they returned home, but went upstairs without the box. Same dilemma--were they watched and did that matter? Lena called the telephone company asking them to transfer their calls and Ramirez to arrange going back into their office while Andi donned a charwomanesque scarf and work-shirt, got a bottle of cleaner and an armful of rags and returned to the car with an empty box.
For the benefit of anybody watching, she cleaned, at last giving the headlights a gratuitous swipe and returning upstairs with the files.
Francois arrived at quarter to eleven with two used, high horse-power computers, monitors, keyboards, printer and a suitcase of cables to link the bunch together. Lena's omelets became more of a lunch than a breakfast.
Lena and Francois were on a mission and abandoning the case was not open to discussion; it relieved Andi of some responsibility. They chattered like school-kids at a museum while Andi watched.
The computers took over the living room table, with a switch between them that flipped an automatic erase and overwrite program. Dealing with Adolf through a modem and buffer was going to be tedious.
Francois and Lena chortled over Andi's accepting of technology--Andi set her jaw and tried to ignore them. She was impatient to get into Mardell's personnel files and pull out Robert Greg. She'd get Greg if he was around to be gotten--they'd slam-dunk him and his bosses at Riparian.
Finally, Lena sat at one keyboard, already getting back to work. Francois had the other set up as an remote scabbed onto their downstairs neighbor's phone line and through a half-dozen bounces to his private web of resources. First off, they’d set their sights on the Mardell computer and it’s files.
After a minute or two of typing, Lena suddenly sat back, waiting for some computer green light.
Andi had crouched behind Lena, waiting. "What's happening?" she asked eagerly.
"We're tapping in. It takes a minute for our code to get recognized and set up. They're pretty advanced...kind of James Bondy. They can pull up graphic and video files." Lena lectured. "A spare-no-expense operation when it comes to equipment, but they missed a few vital details." She smirked.
“That means?” Andi pushed.
"Typical mid-sized business. No money for hiring brains enough to run it right. Nobody’s minding the store. Francois got in, rigged their monitoring software to duplicate the signal of other lines, set up trip-wires, split our signal into three batches coordinated by a fourth. At this point they'd have to suspect something, tap all four lines, then grok the system to know what's up."
Andi just stared at her.
"We put a chunk of time into this already." Lena confided. "Here's Robert Greg’s personnel file. He’s assigned to their ‘oversight’ team. A column of facts and figures spewed onto one side of the screen. She flipped through files, clipping and posting faster than Andi could read. "I'll send it to the printer," she mumbled as she stabbed at a key.
Andi turned to Francois. "What are you doing now?"
Francois didn't look up. "Diddling Riparian's mainframe, tagging files for a key-word search."
"Making progress on their management team?" asked Andi nervously.
"I have prison and criminal records, financial checks and the down and nasty from two semi-clandestine data bases that catalogue the criminal class in storage."
"Can we see who spent time in the same institution?"
"That’s the idea." Francois replied absently. He punched up a list of his own with a flurry of keystrokes and said, "I'm supposed to send what I have to the printer? God what a waste, I should have brought three computers."
"I'm fine." snapped Andi firmly. "Actually I'd rather have paper at this stage."
"Troglodyte." Francois murmured from the side of his mouth. "Good thing I brought three recycled reams for you...paper junky."
"We're honoring work-style diversity in this establishment, thank you." Andi reprimanded primly before turning to grab the pages spitting from the printer. She retreated to the couch, sitting against the upholstered arm, her legs stretched before her and the pages affixed to a legal-sized clipboard.
She used a mechanical pencil and a yellow marking pen, scribbling ideas into her notebook and marking bits that looked interesting. Her shoes were off and she’d settled down work. At least for now, the home-office concept didn't seem too bad, but she could see how efficiency could nose-dive if she hung out on the couch too long.
Mardell's ‘oversight’ team's supervisor was Jesse Clayton, the smoothed jowled wife-beater. According to the administrative chart, Clayton oversaw mid-management security positions at all the Riparian sites and controlled a three member ‘oversight team’ of technical specialists. He worked with a staff of three; a secretary, a computer jockey. No doubt Francois already scoped-out the geek. Since Mardell had a standard contingent of security personnel watching monitors and walking hallways, evidently the oversight members had loosely defined responsibilities. It seemed Greg was a technical specialist.
"Get me personnel records for Greg's co-workers." directed Andi without looking up.
Lena grunted grumpily at the tone of her voice.
Bryce Smith played the role over Clayton. Clayton ran the technical specialists.
Greg appeared as an average looking guy, a bit dissipated, but no more than your average Joe-six pack with the hard-set jaw and glinty look of other Mardell's employees. His file was useless; hobbies were listed as trout fishing, choral music and watercolor painting--they seemed as likely a match to him as crocheting and Adrienne Rich. Francois’ semi-clandestined data bases had him as a confidence man who’d dabbled in armed robbery in his youth and had been booted out of the army for repeated fights.
The other two in the oversight team were similar, with similarly phony bios. Hadrian Smiley had an extremely thin face, hollow cheeks and a receding hairline. His lips were thin, his chin recessed, the bridge of his nose was bent aside and his eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue. It was a face one would recognize after seeing only once, the sort of face your nightmares would pull up long after you’d forgotten you’d ever seen him. His alternate biography noted that he once shoved a pool cue down a man's throat for stepping on his shoe, had been in numerous knife-fights, only one of which gained him time in jail, and had been arrested for firing a shotgun at someone who pulling in front of him on a freeway. Almost as a side line, it was reported he carried a knife strapped to an ankle and had a fondness for dispensing deep abdominal wounds.
They weren’t going to get much of use researching the underlings; Andi made a decision and looked up from her reading. "Get what you can on Jesse Clayton from Mardell and Thomas Boyd of Riparian."
"We started ten minutes ago." Lena smirked over her shoulder. She turned to exchange high-fives with Francois.
Andi frowned and returned to the oversight team; the third man, Gary Plaskett, looked like a surfer-boy; tanned face with blond wavy hair, a winning smile. Everybody’s boy next door except for a wild, distracted look and a bio cataloging abductions and rapes, animal mutilation, anecdotal reports of almost constant casual violence and rumors of two murders he’d been questioned about but not charged.
All three had been with Mardell some number of years, which went against the turnover policy other workers suffered. Andi tossed the team’s credit/financial checks to the floor without a glance and shuffled through criminal records, then waded deeper into Francois' nasty-convict databases.
Robert Greg was described as a sociopath, with long lists documenting damage inflicted on people he'd attacked over the past twenty years. He liked using a police baton to break his victims limbs after disabling them. Her stomach turned sour as she read, but there was no mention of duct tape or small caliber pistols. The detail and volume lent a believability to the report, but it lacked the dry style of police reports and jail-yard gossip was about as dubious a source as you could find.
Greg's fellow technical specialists seemed to have a lot in common, including violence documented back into their teenage years. These were the actors in Armando’s murder, she could feel it. They were Mardell's, which meant Riparian's, muscle, heavy hands that would encourage cooperation from whoever strayed across Riparian's path.
Andi pulled another sheaf of pages from the printer; all three had been employed by Mardell during the DEQ murder era. She highlighted significant dates and items, scribbled a note in her notebook and carefully set the pages aside.
Francois whooped from his keyboard. "We’ve a hit on ball-and-chain roomies, it’s the executive contingent. Jesse Clayton, Robert Greg and Thomas Boyd all were guests of law enforcement; same time same station, but not prison...a county jail in LA."
"Charges?" Andi asked absently.
"Clayton was drunk and disorderly, Boyd aggravated assault, Greg apparently for traffic tickets. Different dates in and out, but you can bet your booties it's where they met."
"Document it. But I don't know what use it'll be." Circumstantial and probably useless since they already had them connected. Andi had an unfair thought about jail-house bonding, but kept it to herself. "Are you still inside Riparian's VAX? Any mention of the DEQ?"
"That's in the key-word search." snapped Francois impatiently. "Did you look through Janus and A&C’s stuff?"
"About the DEQ?" Andi asked, surprised. "No."
"It's in Adolf." interceded Lena, pointing to the external drive at her elbow and giving a dismissive shrug. "I haven't read it either." She offered a supportive glance as Andi came over.
It was a huge file, too big to print. Lena started previewing and Andi went back to the couch pleased that they didn't have another computer--she kind of liked the pace they were going.
Next in the pile were a long string of invoices recovered from Janus Industrial Chemicals. It was probably what Armando was excited about, but the terminology was beyond her. She grabbed the phone and called Bodega.
"Hey Ramone. It's Andi Wicksham. I got chemistry questions."
"I heard about Armando." his voice was husky with suppressed anger. "Is this involved with that?" There was an ominous tenor to the question.
"Yeah." Andi answered quietly. “Something he said in his last message to us. He was excited about a list of materials Janus Industrial Chemicals handled."
"Can you fax it?" he asked.
Andi's enthusiasm dropped like a brick, she'd have to spell the unpronounceable terms letter by letter. "Fax? No I'm at home..." she apologized.
"Yes you can." called Lena from her table. "I'll e-mail it. Geeze Andi, you live in the dark ages." She flailed away at her keyboard.
"I heard her." Bodega's voice announced in Andi's ear, then from his end there was a series of clicks and beeps.
Andi stood and paced.
"Here it is." Bodega announced. "Methyl-ethyl ketone and toluene with a variety of additives. This is pretty standard stuff." he mumbled as he read. "Armando was excited about it?" It sounded like he was still reading.
"It's stuff Janus was buying from some of Riparian's industries." Andi offered hopefully.
There was a long empty moment, then a hushed, "Buying? Oh yeah, I see." Bodega seemed pleased with his revelation, but he didn't explain. "Sure...poly-chlorinated aromatics with heavy metals...poly-chlorinated phenol, anisole and toluene soups...nasty stuff. They were buying this?"
"Yeah." Andi replied carefully. "But what does it mean?"
Bodega laughed cynically. "Spent solvents like toluene are collected for re-distillation, though they're more often exchanged for fresh instead of bought. The worst of the gunk however..." he emitted a bitter chuckle.
"What?" Andi demanded.
"They're waste. Toxic residue industries pay big bucks to have taken away for disposal. They're calling it a saleable commodity--not a waste product, so it escapes environmental regulation." He chuckled to himself. "Pretty slick scam. Probably legal too." His chuckle wasn't laughter, it had changed into something darker.
"Janus is buying pollution?" Andi asked incredulously.
There was a snort of disgust. "Pollution's a generic term like `weeds,'" Bodega explained slowly. "One person's weeds are another's flowers. Plants you don't want somewhere are weeds. Chemicals are the same...they're only pollution if they're somewhere you don't want them."
"OK. And..."
"Simply calling the stuff a commodity and not a by-product avoids the biggest chunk of the regulations." Bodega explained. "Type a different label and poof. It's not toxic waste anymore."
"And that's legal?" Andi demanded, outraged.
He laughed ironically again. "Why do you think industry keeps up a howl that there are too many regulations. These are the loop holes they're after."
"But where does it go?"
"That's the real question, isn't it?" Bodega responded quietly. "If it's a product, it could sit on somebody's shelf for the next hundred years or just disappear. As private property somebody wants, it’s off the books. Most places nobody keeps track."
"Thanks Ramone." Andi stared out the window.
"Remember I told you this is important to a lot of people I care about." His voice had an almost icy edge to it. "Tap me for anything you think I can do."
Andi said "OK" and they both hung up. She hadn't mentioned that Armando was really Alvin Delgatto, but the way his crowd stuck together, Bodega might have known that all along.
"Francois." Andi grabbed her notebook and stepped to his side. "I've got a project worthy of your talents. We want to follow the crap Janus's been buying. Find out where it's going." She sat at his elbow to get him started and glanced at her watch. Two o'clock--time to visit her mother.
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