NetScanners International occupied the top three floors of a shiny new high-rise at I-25 and Colorado Boulevard. I stowed my silver Audi in the covered parking area beneath the building and rode the elevator to the top floor. As I approached the gilded sign that sported the NetScanners name and logo, a tall striking woman emerged from behind the opaque glass double doors. She had dark brown hair, speckled with just a hint of silver. I reached out an arm to hold the door open for her, but she was lost in thought and barely noticed me.
"Thank you," she muttered absently as she passed through the doorway.
"You're welcome, Mrs. Wyndham."
She stopped, shaken from her thoughts, and appraised me with a perplexed look. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you."
I explained, "That's because we've never met." I offered a hand. "I'm Adam Larsen."
Frowning, she stared at me as she took my hand. "The lawyer?"
"That's me," I said. "Your dance ensemble performed at the Diabetes Society benefit last spring. I happened to be in the audience. I really enjoyed the show."
She colored slightly. "Thank you." She pulled her hand away and glanced down at the expensive gold watch on her wrist, moving away from me as she spoke. "I'm sorry, but I'm late for an appointment."
I watched as she glided away. Then I moved toward the opaque doors and entered the domain of Paul Wyndham. The reception area had the sumptuous look of old money, with thick carpeting, textured wallpaper and dark hardwood trim.
A green-eyed secretary nodded when I told her who I was. "Mr. Wyndham is expecting you." She stood up with a secretive little smile and led me toward the door.
I had no idea I was walking into an ambush.
The room was large and imposing. Paul Wyndham sat rigidly upright behind a big mahogany desk, his jaw jutting belligerently like a prizefighter. I recognized the smooth face and salon-cut hair from pictures I had seen in the Clarion. He wore a double-breasted black Italian suit and a yellow power tie.
Seated in a chair in front of Wyndham's desk, looking imperious and dominating in his two thousand dollar gray suit, was Walter C. Groves, the senior partner of Denver's oldest and most aggressive law firm. He regarded me disdainfully, in the way that only the lawyers from the big firms know how to do it. To his right sat a pudgy man with a thin moustache, who began glaring at me the moment I entered the room. I learned later that he was Garrison, the security officer Mary Bryant had mentioned. Last--and certainly not least--was Sergeant Joe Stone, who stood posted like a sentry beside Wyndham's desk, with arms folded in front of his chest, his cold black eyes seething with hatred.
I paused for a moment just inside the doorway. What the hell had I gotten myself into? The air was so thick with tension I almost couldn't breathe.
Resolutely, I fixed my eyes on Wyndham as I crossed the room. "I wasn't expecting a welcoming committee."
"Well, you've sure as hell got one!" he snapped. "I've informed Mr. Groves and Sergeant Stone that you are attempting to blackmail me."
Without taking my eyes off of Wyndham, I strode over to one of the chairs near his desk and sat down. "Then you probably ought to press charges. Of course, before you do that, you'd better ask Sergeant Stone about the perils of false arrest. He knows all about that. Don't you Stone?"
Stone's face tightened with anger. A few years earlier, in a fit of rage, he'd had me hauled me down to the Detention Center, just to impress me with how powerful he was. As soon as I was released, I sued Stone and the City and County of Denver for false arrest. The morning of the trial, the City Attorney forced Stone to cave in to my settlement demand: one dollar from the City and a handwritten apology from Stone. The letter was still hanging in my office, in a gold frame on the wall beside my desk.
Wyndham glanced sharply at Stone, silently demanding that the Sergeant respond to my challenge. Stone said nothing, but his eyes smoldered dangerously.
I took advantage of the silence. "Would you care to tell me how I'm trying to blackmail you, Mr. Wyndham?"
"I'd be delighted, Mr. Larsen," he replied in a tone dripping with sarcasm. "By threatening to disclose confidential information to the press."
I gawked at him. "Confidential information? Received from my own client--who actually wants it disclosed? You'll have to come up with something better than that, Wyndham."
He exploded, "You won't be so goddamned smug when I--"
Walter Groves cleared his throat and raised a manicured hand. "This is obviously getting us nowhere, Paul." He addressed me in the condescending tone of someone reluctantly dealing with an imbecile. "Mr. Larsen, we're not here today to make any accusations or threats. That is not the purpose of this meeting."
"Then why are we here, Mr. Groves?"
"I can't speak for Sergeant Stone, but I'm here to issue a friendly warning," he purred in a voice that was anything but friendly.
"What sort of friendly warning?"
Groves let out an impatient sigh, letting me know how ignorant and uncultured I was. "There is an ongoing police investigation into the defalcation of funds from NetScanners International. Your threat to disclose information to the newspapers was reckless and ill-conceived. If you interfere with the police, your actions may well constitute criminal conduct, for which you could suffer significant, and very adverse, consequences. That could mean jail, Larsen. Or disbarment."
"Or worse!" Wyndham added darkly. His tone was so sharp that Groves cast a warning glance at his client.
"Well," I said sourly, "I'm glad you're not here to make threats." I twisted in my chair, so that I could meet Groves full-face. "Let me explain something to you, Mr. Groves. I called Mr. Wyndham yesterday afternoon to pose a simple question. Instead, he--"
"What question?" he demanded.
"According to my client, Alice Bryant found something wrong with the company's books and tried to talk to Mr. Wyndham about it. I called yesterday to ask Mr. Wyndham if he could verify that fact."
The lawyer's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. I thought I saw a flicker of surprise--and concern. "Go on," he invited.
I nodded and continued, "Mr. Wyndham was apparently too busy to talk to Alice Bryant that night and they agreed to meet first thing the next morning. I assume they did meet. Within twenty-four hours of that meeting, Alice Bryant disappeared. My question to Mr. Wyndham--at least, initially--was whether the facts I've just stated are true. And whether Alice Bryant is really the person who first uncovered the embezzlement."
Groves was studying me warily, as though deciding he might have to reevaluate his opinion of me. "What do you mean, initially?"
I nodded approvingly. "You're a perceptive man, Mr. Groves. Obviously, we've gone far beyond my initial question. Mr. Wyndham's refusal to answer, and the fact that he felt the need to assemble such a formidable group as you gentlemen, convinces me my client must be telling me the truth."
"We have made no admissions of any kind!" Groves insisted hotly. "This discussion is not to be construed as--"
I raised a hand. "Relax, Mr. Groves. We're not in court and I don't intend to bind you to any statements that are made here today. But I do intend to act upon them. I've been hired to find Alice Bryant, and I intend to find her."
Wyndham curled his upper lip into a sneer. "Do you have an investigator's license, Larsen? It would be illegal for you to start--"
I shook my head. "Actually, it wouldn't, Mr. Wyndham. Even if I were acting as a private detective, which I'm not, you don't need a license in Colorado. Right, Stone?"
Stone gave me a loathing expression and then turned to Paul Wyndham. "You're wasting your time with Larsen, Mr. Wyndham. He thinks he knows more than anyone else." He stepped forward aggressively. "Don't you, Larsen?"
I held my ground. "In your case, Stone, it would be true."
He strode toward me and for a moment I thought he was finally going to go berserk and kill me. From the look on his face, he thought so, too. But he stopped advancing and pointed his finger, like a .44 Magnum, at my chest.
"You listen carefully, Larsen. This is a major criminal investigation into a very serious crime. If you so much as release one word to the media--one word!--I'll have you arrested as an accessory after the fact to the embezzlement. You know what I think of you, Larsen, and you know I'd like nothing better than to see you behind bars. Just give me one good reason, and, by God, I'll do it!"
"Releasing information to the newspapers would make me an accessory after the fact?" I asked. "How do you figure that?"
"You're damn right it would! Mary Bryant is a principal suspect in this case. If you start--"
I asked incredulously, "You think Mary Bryant is involved in this?"
Stone placed his face three inches from mine. "Ask your client to tell you about her criminal record. Then tell me she's as innocent as a lamb."
Mary Bryant hadn't mentioned anything about a criminal record. Doing my best to look unconcerned, I asked Stone, "What does her so-called criminal record have to do with NetScanners International?"
"Everything! So far, we've found no trace of Alice Bryant. And no proof she actually left town. For my money, your client is hiding her out somewhere. And, to cover themselves, they've concocted this cock-and-bull story about her being the one who uncovered the theft. Hell, maybe you're the one who concocted it--and maybe you're in this thing up to your neck."
I said, "Well, there's a simple solution to all of this, isn't there, Stone? Ask Mr. Wyndham whether Alice Bryant reported the embezzlement to him before she disappeared. That's all I intended to do, in the first place."
Stone turned toward Paul Wyndham, gesturing to invite the CEO to rebut Mary Bryant's accusation. It was obvious from the eager faces around Wyndham--his lawyer, his security officer and the Police Sergeant--that each of them confidently expected him to declare in no uncertain terms that my client was a bald-faced liar. It was one of those rare moments, like the point in a high stakes poker game when all the bets are in and the players finally have to lay their cards down on the table. Our eyes locked in a silent confrontation, both of us oblivious to the people around us.
And then something unexpected happened. He suddenly lowered his eyes toward his desk, and immediately I knew the answer to my question.
"So it's true?" I asked in a subdued tone.
"She did come to me that Thursday," Wyndham admitted weakly, flipping his hand to indicate it was something insignificant. He added in a louder, more defiant voice, "But she didn't say anything about an embezzlement!"
Walter Groves let out a hiss, as though someone had just kicked him in the stomach, and dropped back into his seat. The security officer sat, red faced, staring at the expensive carpeting. Joe Stone, of course, was furious. Anger was Stone's first response to every stimulus. The Sergeant's bony jaw jutted forward and the veins in his neck stood out as he glowered at Wyndham.
"What did she tell you?"
Wyndham stammered, startled by Stone's sudden vehemence. "She didn't--she just--"
Stone took a step toward the desk. I had never seen him that mad, not even at me. "What did she tell you?" he repeated.
Groves intervened by addressing his client. "Paul, do we need to talk about this in private? You might be putting yourself in jeopardy."
Wyndham shook his head. "It's not that big a deal, Walter." I knew the CEO was assuring himself that a mere police sergeant would never dare to arrest a member of the Wyndham family for something so petty as withholding information in a theft investigation.
Stone repeated, "What did she tell you, Mr. Wyndham?"
"She said there was something wrong with our income and expense spreadsheets. Something about some payees she couldn't identify. But she didn't say a word about an embezzlement."
"What else did she say?" Stone demanded. The veins in his neck were still bulging.
Wyndham shrugged. "That was it. I was on my way to meet with two of the members of my Board of Directors. The full Board was set to meet the following evening and it was going to be very unpleasant. It slipped my mind about Alice's having tried to speak with me. I'm sorry, Sergeant," he added, not sounding sorry at all. "It was an honest mistake, and I'm sorry. I simply forgot to mention it."
"You're sorry?" Stone exclaimed indignantly. "How could you forget to mention something that important?!"
Wyndham mumbled a reply, but I didn't hear it. While Wyndham was apologizing for his honest mistake, he and his security officer exchanged surreptitious glances. It only lasted a fraction of a second, but now the security man seemed to be debating something with himself.
Stone was carrying on, "...sending us off on a wild goose chase!"
Wyndham launched a counterattack. "Look, what's the big deal, Stone? She's still the one who stole my money and left town, isn't she? What difference does it make what she did before she absconded?"
"Plenty," Stone said. "Why the hell would someone who was stealing money from the company and planning to skip town go to her boss and tell him about it?"
"How would I know? Maybe she was feeling guilty. For all I know, she was coming forward to confess her guilt. Maybe if I hadn't been in such a hurry..."
"She wasn't coming to confess," I assured him. "Her sister says Alice was convinced there was something wrong. And now that we know Mary's telling us the truth about Alice, we'd be well-advised to listen to what Mary has to say." I turned to Stone. "You should have listened to her when she tried to tell you--"
"Don't tell me how to do my job, Larsen! She's still a suspect. A primary suspect. In fact, I'm going to have a lot more questions for Mary Bryant."
"I'm going to be there when you ask them," I said.
"Like hell you will!"
I shrugged. "Either I'm there when you interview her or she'll have nothing further to say to you." He opened his mouth to respond, but I spoke first. "She'll cooperate, Stone. She wants her sister found."
Wyndham made a point of clearing his throat. "I have a question for you, Larsen. Something I hadn't thought about until just now. Is there really a chance that Alice Bryant could be innocent of stealing that money?"
I looked him in the eyes. "Yes. A significant chance."
"Then why would she have she run away?"
"I don't think she did run away," I told him. "But other than that, I don't know. I have a few theories, but nothing more."
"You have some theories," Wyndham mused. He seemed to have something specific in mind. "I want you to know, I did some checking on you after we spoke yesterday. Gene Fisher, the President of Fisher Cable Communications, gave you glowing reviews. I don't know exactly what it is that you do, but he said you pulled off nothing short of a miracle for him."
"We had a good result," I agreed affably. I'd managed to quietly extricate Fisher from a very delicate situation.
Wyndham made a sour face. "Well, we're not getting a good result in this case! Whether she's guilty or not, one thing is certain: the police have no clue where Alice Bryant is or what happened to her--and to my money. The publicity is seriously impacting our sales figures. If this matter isn't resolved soon, this company is going to be in serious trouble!"
"I understand," I said. I added with a helpless shrug, "I wish I could help you. But in light of the way you obviously feel about me..."
He studied me for a while. "I might have been too hasty in judging you. What do you think, Larsen? Could you help me?"
"What are you suggesting, Paul?" Groves asked in a distressed tone.
"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm asking. Larsen, do you think you can help me get my money back?"
Stone howled, "No! You can't--"
Wyndham said, "I can do anything I please, Sergeant Stone. I own this company. At least if I hire him to work for me, I can keep an eye on him. And I can also be sure he won't be going to the newspapers with any information about what Alice Bryant supposedly did or didn't do before she disappeared. Mr. Larsen, are you irreversibly committed to working for Mary Bryant?"
I nodded. "I am. But only for the limited purpose of finding her sister. You can't hire me for that. However, you could probably hire me to find the missing money. That would accomplish your goal without compromising my client's interests. I've discussed the possibility with Mary Bryant, and she agrees."
The executive turned to his lawyer. "What do you think, Walter?"
Groves spent half a minute frowning and thinking it over. Then he said, "I can see nothing wrong with it legally." He tilted his head in my direction, casting a loathing look as though I were a leper. "Whether you want someone like Mr. Larsen working for you is a business decision."
Wyndham asked, "Why shouldn't I want him working for me? Doesn't he have a good reputation? Gene Fisher says--"
"I'll admit that he is known to achieve extraordinary results," Groves sniffed. "And his claim about Alice Bryant turned out to be accurate. But his methods are definitely not, shall we say, consistent with the established norms among attorneys." He added hastily, "Not that I'm suggesting you're unethical, Larsen. I'm just not sure I approve of your way of conducting business."
I didn't answer. I didn't care what Groves thought of my way of conducting business. Instead, I turned to Wyndham, "I'd be retained only to find the stolen funds and not to give any legal advice. I'd need fairly broad authority to act in the client's best interest, and I--"
Wyndham raised his brows. "Wait a minute. You expect me to you free rein to do anything you think is in my best interest?"
"Not your best interest, Mr. Wyndham. The client's. In this case, my client would be NetScanners International."
Wyndham's fingers tapped irritably on his desk. "I'm not sure I like this."
I shrugged. "I don't expect you to. But that's the only way I can agree to help you."
Wyndham frowned as he considered the situation. "What about your fee arrangement?"
"I'll get one third of anything I recover."
"And if you recover nothing?"
"Then I'm paid nothing."
"I like that part," Wyndham muttered with a humorless smile.
I said, "Your bonding company might even be willing to pay part of the--"
Wyndham and his lawyer were suddenly exchanging uneasy glances.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
Wyndham squirmed in his chair. "As a matter of fact, there is. For some reason, the premium on our fidelity insurance didn't get paid last quarter. The surety bond lapsed."
I raised my brows. "You mean NetScanners International will have to bear any loss on its own?"
He pounded his fists on the desk. "I'm telling you this in confidence, Larsen. If our bank finds out, they'll call every one of our loans! This could destroy everything I've struggled to build here!"
Stone shifted indignantly on his feet. Obviously, this was another piece of information Wyndham hadn't bothered to share with the Denver Police Department.
Wyndham said," All right, Larsen. You've got a deal. Draw up the papers and I'll sign them."
From the inside pocket of my jacket, I produced a small envelope. "This is my standard contingency fee agreement. Subject to Mr. Groves' approval, of course."
Groves gave me a cross-wise look. "You knew it was going to play out this way?"
I shook my head. "No. But I'm an optimist."
The gray-haired lawyer shook his head in disbelief. He spent the next fifteen minutes reading and rereading the fee agreement, which I knew was just a stall since the document was only four pages long. While Groves was studying the papers, Stone came swaggering toward me. At six-one, he was only an inch taller than me but he probably outweighed me by thirty pounds, all of it muscle.
"I can't stop them from hiring you, Larsen, if that's really what they want to do. But if you do anything--anything!--to interfere with my investigation, then so help me..."
He wheeled, marched toward the door, and slammed it behind him.
Groves finally finished studying the fee contract. "Legally, Paul, there is no reason not to sign this."
Wyndham grabbed his fat Mont Blanc pen from its holder on his desk and signed the last page. "I want you to get started right away, Larsen."
I nodded. "I need to know how the embezzlement was accomplished."
Wyndham turned to the pudgy man with the moustache. "Garrison, I expect you to work closely with Larsen. And I mean closely. Do you understand?"
The security officer nodded. "I understand."
I understood, too. Wyndham was telling Garrison to keep me on a short leash.
"Good," said Wyndham. "Instruct the entire executive staff that they are to cooperate fully--at threat of being fired on the spot." He glanced at his wristwatch. "I'm late for an appointment."
Wyndham stood and sauntered around the desk, striding toward the door. Irritably, he glanced around and noticed that Garrison was still seated, making notes in a little notebook.
"Garrison!" Wyndham called out. "The door!"
Garrison jumped to his feet and scurried across the room. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wyndham."
The security officer reached for the brass handle and opened the door for Wyndham, who left us without another word.