Chapter 11 Alex Again

Before first light the next morning, Vanessa took off in Jeremy’s BMW. The highways were empty but she avoided those leading into the city which could become jammed even at this early hour. As she approached her condo in Carol Stream she carefully parked near the rec. center and walked around near the lake to approach her home from the sliding door which opened onto the lawn. This door looked locked but she new if you lifted the edge just right, you could release it from its latch and it would slide open. It seemed a serious security breach, but Vanessa was not the nervous type, and the convenience of this emergency entrance totally outweighed any drawbacks.

Most certainly the place had been searched, things had been replaced neatly, but just not where they should be, and not quite as she would have placed them. Vanessa hoped they had had a good time, because surely they would have found nothing incriminating. Without turning on any light except in the bathroom, she showered quickly, dressed in some carefully chosen clothes, and knowing that she would probably not return there for a while packed a bag of personal things. Unconsciously she included two sets of night clothes, one her usual homely set, the other, a set that she hardly ever wore, was taken from a lower drawer and had been a gift from a long past admirer.

Her preparations complete, she left as she had come though the patio door, even though she could not lock it from the outside. Before returning to the car she peeked into the parking area in front of the condo. There across from her front door, was a dark automobile, and she was sure she could just make out two forms inside. She smiled, and thought that it was a good thing to have a personal security guard on your condo if you had to leave it for a while, particularly if you couldn't lock it up properly!

 

Just before eleven she parked in the garage under the Sears tower, and made her way in the elevator to the fifty sixth floor. Only a close inspection would reveal that the girl who emerged from the same car that yesterday had carried the body of Brad Layton to be the same as the person who had been there at that time. Her blond hair was now just darker than auburn, and the smart business suit was replaced by a bright full skirt and a floral blouse buttoned up the front. The scarf loosely knotted around her neck completed the transformation. As she spoke to the same receptionist as before, she very briefly removed her dark glasses to reveal her carefully smudged mascara which just hinted at tears shed earlier in the day. There was not a hint of recognition in the girls face as Vanessa explained that she was Brad’s sister, and would like to collect his private belongings from his office. Still shattered from the events of the previous day the girl escorted her into the inner sanctum, offered her a soda, which was declined, and left. As soon as she was alone, Vanessa began to systematically search the room for personal diaries, appointment books, or other note books that may give a hint of what Brad had been in to, and with which she and Jeremy were now inexorably entangled.

On the desk was a large daybook, one of the page a day variety, she thought she would take that when she left, but otherwise in the drawers, in the cabinets, and credenzas nothing that looked vaguely incriminating.

 

She had been alone for perhaps twenty minutes when she heard approaching voices, one of them a man’s who was saying, “I knew Brad’s sister, I should just drop in to extend my condolences.” Knowing this was heading for disaster, Vanessa ducked into the door which led out of the office in the opposite direction, only to find that she was in a toilet shower room. Down the one side was a long counter with two hand basins. on the other were the toilets, and a shower. The far end was a full length mirror . There was seemingly no escape. Just playing for time, she closed the door, which action seemed to cause a slight movement of the mirror at the end of the room. She investigated quickly, and the entire mirror swung open to reveal a dimly lit stairway leading upward. Vanessa stepped inside, pulled the mirror door closed behind her, and as she heard it click shut, she also heard the receptionist enter the bathroom looking for her. Seeing the obviously empty stalls, the girl turned to her companion saying, “She must have left without saying anything. I’m not surprised, she looked very upset, it must be very difficult, so sudden.”

Vanessa sighed with relief, a close escape, but what was she to do now. Certainly investigating what was in the room up the stairs was the first thing to do, how to get out of there without being discovered would have to wait till later.

 

She found a light switch and climbed the stairs to the secret office. Looking around her everything was as Brad had left it a few days before, and nothing seemed extraordinary. The desk in the center was clear except for a folder, inside of which was a single yellow card. The card was headed “Allocation #17.” and had six sets of letters on it, which looked like stock exchange listing symbols, next to each was a number in thousands. The only words were “Good Luck, Jeff”.

Finding nothing else of interest on the desk, she turned to the computer, and was surprised that as soon as she touched the mouse the screen jumped to life. “Brad was not afraid of intruders here in this very private room,” she thought. Several program were still open including outlook express, and she could see the listing of messages that had been sent. Everything still related to stocks and trades and funds, so why were they done here in this secrecy, and not down stairs in the main office. Vanessa did not know enough about the business to know.

“Make copies,” she thought, “Jeremy will be able to decipher what is going on here.” Conveniently there was a box of new floppies near the keyboard, Brad did his backups! Knowing she had plenty of time Vanessa carefully copied every document, message, letter or database or spreadsheet she could find on the computer, and in a couple of hours she had filled nine discs. She also carefully forwarded several emails from the inbox to her own address, and attached a couple of files which had been too large for a single disc.

By now it was nearly four and she knew Jeremy would be expecting her to contact him. He was stranded at the cottage while she had his car, but had volunteered to collect supplies in the nearby village. There were three phones to chose from, and she wondered which would not alert suspicion at some switchboard or console downstairs. Of course, the modem line, this was most often direct, and there was a single old fashioned phone plugged into the computer. That would be the on to use. When she dialed the number she waited for seemingly ages before Jeremy came on the line, “Sorry, I was just getting in from the village, where are you.” Vanessa could here him visibly sag when she explained she was trapped inside the Merkel Offices, but felt him straighten up as she described what she had found. “You got his address book, and did you export the details of his email accounts?” She admitted she had not, but she would rectify that, if he would just slow down and explain to her what to do.

After some more idle chat designed more to pass the time than elucidate more information, Jeremy asked, “So how do you propose to get out of there.” Vanessa paused for a moment, I am really not quite sure, but I know I have to wait till much later. Around seven everyone who isn’t working really late will have left, and those who are still here will be absorbed in their work.” It was said more with hope than assurance.

 

A world away in New York, Frankie watched as the eighteen-wheeler transport backed into the loading dock of the fish market. This was the largest of five similar establishments he owned. He was always impressed at how these drivers maneuvered their enormous vehicles with such ease. The rear of the trailer just touched the rubber bumper on the dock as the truck stopped and there was hardly any gap to let in the weather. Not that that mattered much at this time of the year because the temperature of the February air was much the same as it was in the refrigerated room into which the cargo would be unloaded. The first twenty pallets were quickly stacked near the aisle leading to the shop, but the last ten were moved through a plastic curtain to a second smaller storeroom. The night shift would come on in a few hours and they would deal with those.

Frankie had a couple of errands to do before five pm, actually he had the same errand to do in a couple of different places. He collected the satchels from his office and walked out the back where his driver was waiting. They drove a few blocks to the first stop, an office on the second floor of a side street building with a small sign which read Franklin Capital Retail Sales Division. The sole occupant of the office was expecting him, gave him a prepared receipt, and took satchel that was offered. “The usual amount I trust” were the only words spoken. The same thing was repeated in five other locations near by. As he completed the drive Frankie thought, “It is a good thing for the small investor to be saving in mutual funds.” He no longer wondered at the fact that each of his two sons would make a similar number of drops that day with satchels emanating from this location, and each of his other stores would do about the same. Up and down the east coast, perhaps five mill every day. Yea, mutual funds were great for small investors. Still, the new deal with the unions was helping to soak up some of the rest.

When Frankie returned to the fish market the evening rush was in full swing. The night staff was divided into two groups. The first and smaller group served the walk in customers of whom there were many, because Frankie’s Fish was always fresh, delivered daily direct from Florida. The other group prepared and sometimes delivered wholesale orders. These wholesale sales were done out of the rear storeroom, small vans pulled in and were given a crate of product, surprisingly small for a fish distributor, and left. The singular difference between this and any other regular commercial distributor was that each and every order was paid for in cash, neatly packaged in bundles of a thousand.

 

Vanessa waited till just after seven before she crept down the stairs into the washroom below. She inched open the door into Brad’s official office, and quickly closed it again. There was no question that someone was there in the office. After a minute or so she cracked open the door again and listened. She could hear drawers being opened and shut and papers being ruffled, someone was doing what she had done earlier, searching the office. She was just about to close the door again when someone spoke,  “The bastard was obviously a neat freak, nothing is here but fresh untouched stationary, and empty files. I know the man was ripping us off, Bill knew it too, I’m sure that's why he was killed, but there is nothing here.” The voice was that of a mature woman.

Silence for a while, then more rustling from a different direction, “Nothing in the cabinets except regular office copies and personal files.”  A second voice, younger. “Come on, Mother, we will find nothing here, we don't even know what we are looking for.”

“Well all this has smeared the name of my son in law, and is a serious blow to the company my father built, I intend to get to the bottom of it.” The first voice again. So the older voice was probably Laurie Merkel, and maybe the younger voice was her daughter Candice, Bill Fernstine’s wife.

The older voice was muttering, “I should have listened to what Bill was saying, but I really did not want to know too much, in this business it’s all about when you knew, not what you knew. I didn’t think anything was illegal till I found the cleared checks on Bills desk, checks from a mutual fund I have never heard of, and I am in the business. Large checks made out to Brad Layton , But they were in Bill’s desk? I know we are going to have to bring in the SEC, but I don't want to do it till we know more about what they were in to. Damn Brad, and Damn Bill for letting him do it.” She was getting upset and Vanessa could hear the younger girl comfort her, and cajole her out of the room.

 

Vanessa waited a few more minutes before she risked opening the washroom door sufficiently to squeeze out into the room. She need not have worried because the office was empty and the door leading towards reception was open. She could see all the way down the corridor to the door which she knew was directly behind the receptionists desk, the route she would have to take to get out. Most of the offices were in darkness but just before the door she could see a swatch of light and as she watched carefully she noticed  a shadow move. She looked around for a weapon or something to protect herself with, and could find nothing till she remembered the daybook. If those other two women had not taken it, it may be just enough.

She walked stealthily down the corridor with the book brandished across her chest, and just as she got to the lighted doorway a man stepped out. He was totally startled to find Vanessa in front of him and she took advantage of his hesitation to bring the book up sharply and strike him on the left side of his chin. He dropped like a stone to the floor, and surely would not remember how he got there. “Talk about a cross check, Mario Lemuir would have been proud of that one,” she thought referring to her idol, the NHL star. With no further need for stealth, she ran quickly through the area past the receptionist’s desk to the door to find it locked, but easily unlocked from inside. As she opened it she heard an alarm sound deep in the office, if anyone else was there, she had to disappear fast. Quickly, she ran out the door to the fire escape, and up two flights not down as she would be expected to do, and only then did she relax and look for an elevator. One came very shortly, and it was empty. She rode right to the parking floor and seconds later was in the beamer heading towards the lake front, and the three hour drive back to the cottage. 

 

As she walked in the door she was welcomed by a gorgeous fire which made the room appear so safe and warm, and Jeremy was there in the corner working on his laptop. He jumped up, gave her a hug, and exclaimed, “You made it, I was scared half to death.”

“No problem, I was not scared at all,” she said, lying, and he knew she was.

“Supper? I’ve made a quiche.” Remembering last night’s effort, she was ready to refuse, but realized she was quite hungry, so determined to risk it, and it was quite good, not at all runny or tough.

As they ate, Vanessa recounted events of the day, trying to recall every detail in case it turned out to be important. Jeremy mostly just sat and listened, but soon he could not retain his excitement any longer, “You give me those floppies, and you go to bed. You must be bushed. I’ll stay up a little while and see what I can find on those discs. Oh, and tell me your password so I can retrieve the emails you forwarded.”  This seemed to be a good plan to Vanessa, so she retired and fell asleep immediately.

 

The next day when she awoke it was after nine, later than she had slept in years, and she staggered through to the living room. The fire had died down but it was still warm, and Jeremy was still hunched over his laptop. “Did you not sleep?” she exclaimed. “Couldn’t, I got involved. And I think I am beginning to understand what is going on,” he replied.

“You speak in the present tense when both the guys are dead, surely nothing is still going on?” Jeremy did not reply immediately, but when he did it left Vanessa with a feeling of foreboding. “What we have here in Chicago is just the tip of the iceberg, what seems to be going on is much bigger than we could imagine. We are going to need some help if we are going to get out of this mess.”

“And just who is going to help us, that is help two suspected murderers?” Vanessa’s question was more a cry of dismay, but Jeremy responded as if it were just a routine enquiry, “Well, you actually hit on the key yourself last night. Laurie Merkel, Bills mother in law. Actually not her alone, but she has the resources at her disposal, and the fact that she is looking to clear her firm’s reputation, she has the incentive to get involved.  The conversation you overheard shows she is not implicated in whatever illegal acts are going on, and I know from her reputation that she is a tough old bat.”

Vanessa was getting increasingly skeptical, “Of course we are just going to walk up to Merkel’s and announce to the receptionist that the two people suspected of killing one of their vice presidents wish to meet with his mother in law, the president of the company.”

“No,” said Jeremy calmly,  “we are going to a funeral, and if we don't hurry we will be late.”

 

As the beamer wove through the lunch time traffic, Jeremy began to explain what he thought he had found out. “We thought the issue was insider trading but that seems to be the least important scam. There seems to be a lot of in house trading, which is what I was talking to Bill Fernstine about. Fund managers do this all the time, sometimes to overcome caps on holdings or to balance their risk. Brad’s division of Merkel was doing more than usual. Bill had to see these trades because he had to authorize the brokerage, and maybe he was getting suspicious. Perhaps that is why he was killed, and perhaps it was Brad, or someone paid by Brad who killed him.”

Vanessa was not quite sure she fully understood, but she listened intently as Jeremy continued, “You see, Brad seems to have added his own personal wrinkle creating scam number two. He inserted a phantom fund into the process. Every tenth or so time he made an internal trade of one of their select stocks, he first sold it to the phantom fund at no profit, then he resold it to the other in house fund at a predetermined small price increase. So each time this happened he was creaming off a few pennies per share, and with the volumes being traded he accumulated a sizable chunk of change. This money was being stolen from the investors in Merkel funds. This is the information I am going to give to Laurie Merkel, and when we have her attention, we will ask for her help.

“Laurie Merkel already knows that Bill suspected Brad was up to something, and those cleared checks you heard her speak about, the ones in Bill’s office made out to Brad, they were Brad’s payoff from the phantom fund. Somehow those checks are linked to why Brad was killed, maybe on Bill’s orders. Wouldn’t that be a joke, Brad pays someone to kill Bill, and before the contract is carried out, Bill pays the same someone to kill Brad! Well at least the killer must be laughing, that is if he got all his money up front.” Vanessa did not find it amusing, and they drove in silence the rest of the way.

 

It was lucky it was a very cold day. With everyone wearing heavy coats, scarves and hats, Jeremy did not look out of place as he approached the chapel hunched into his parka, the hood shielding most of his face from view. He and Vanessa had waited, parked just down the street until they saw the Limo approach. Although they could not see inside, it seemed likely that this would be the family, as it was very close to the scheduled start of the service.  Telling Vanessa to wait with the engine running, Jeremy walked quickly down the street to where Laurie Merkel had stopped to talk quietly with a small group of mourners and other close family members who had been waiting for her. He timed it perfectly to be at the door just as Mrs. Merkel turned to enter. Making out that he was opening the door for her he briefly blocked her path, and spoke softly. “I am Jeremy Baird. Please read this, and if you want to know more, be at the Trader in Oakbrook Terrace at nine tonight.” He slid a small envelope into the pocket of her coat as he guided her through the door. Laurie Merkel did not show any sign of surprise or fear. As Jeremy had said, she was a tough old bat.

 

He turned and walked quickly back down the street towards his car. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two men start to run towards him from across the street. Obviously, Vanessa saw them as well because she accelerated towards him. She was still traveling at a considerable speed as he opened the door and rolled into the passenger seat, the wheels screeching as Vanessa put her foot flat. He was sure he heard the fender scrape the nearest of the two men as they jumped smartly out of the path of the now speeding BMW.  As the car rounded the first turn to be out of sight of the church, and the two men, Jeremy laughed, “Add resisting arrest to murder. I’m sure one of those guys was Agent Hargrove.”