TATE & NEELY ADVERTISING
THURSDAY, 9:20 AM
From the Medical Examiner’s Office, Becca turned onto I-95 and drove north another twenty-five miles until she came to Jacksonville. She then navigated her cruiser through the city’s grid-like roads until she found herself in the heart of downtown. Within minutes, she’d located the Jenkins Building, the business complex that housed Tate & Neely, the ad agency in which Andrea worked as a graphic artist.
“How long do you think we’re going to be here?” Silas asked as she pulled into the parking garage adjacent to the building. “I have a rather important experiment going at my motel and I’d rather not leave it unattended for too long.”
“An experiment?” Becca wasn’t sure she liked the idea of that at all. “What kind of experiment?”
“Oh, nothing to worry yourself over. Just working on something to help me find the Hand of Cain. That’s all.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Then, of course, we have the matter of searching Ms. Alvarez’s house again for your medical examiner.”
“Well, we’re already in the city,” she said, winding her way up the circular drive until she found an empty space on the third level. “I thought we might as well talk to Andrea’s co-workers before returning to Summer Haven. It’s the next logical step in the investigation.” She pulled into the spot and put the car in park. “It shouldn’t take very long.”
“Detective work really is tedious, isn’t it? Not at all like the movies. It’s not about observation and deduction and brilliant minds connecting the dots. It’s more about following standard operating procedure from point A to point B.”
Becca nodded with a smile. “There’s been some pretty brilliant minds before us who have turned investigations into an art form. While there is a lot of deduction involved, the best detectives follow the procedures. That way, they don’t miss any key pieces of information. Then, after all the data’s been collected…that’s when we put two and two together in a logical, deductive process.”
“Seems rather dull.”
The two of them slipped out of the patrol car and started making their way toward the third-floor entrance to the building.
“It can be,” she said, opening the door and holding it for Silas until he walked through. Then, she followed him. “It’s the payoff at the end that’s the real thrill. The hard work, culminating in finding justice for the victim.”
“The victim’s dead. What does she care about justice?”
Becca shrugged. “It’s also for the family. And if there is no family, I guess it’s about justice for society, as well.”
They walked up to a placard on the wall detailing the different businesses housed in the building and on what floor each could be located. Tate & Neely was on the eighth floor. Suite 815.
“So, no thrill of the puzzle itself?” Silas asked after they stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the eighth floor. “Seems to me, if I were mortal, it would be about the game itself. Cat and mouse. The twists and turns. The Rubik’s Cube of Murder.”
She laughed. “Have you been watching television?”
“A little. Once I checked into my motel. Watched a few episodes of Barnaby Jones before heading to the bar last night.”
“And the Rubik’s Cube?”
“I suppose some kid who had stayed there left it in one of the drawers and forgot about it. It really is a rather remarkable puzzle game. Managed to get three sides of matching color, but so far that’s all.”
The elevator dinged and the door spread open. “Well, keep at it. It takes practice. Me? I used to just peel the stickers off and re-apply them.”
“That’s cheating!”
She grinned. “Yeah, I know.”
They found Suite 815 and entered to be greeted by a pleasant-looking young woman with long blonde hair and a figure you typically only see in magazines. “Welcome to Tate & Neely,” she said. “How can we help you today?”
“I’m Chief Rebecca Cole with the Summer Haven Police Department.”
The woman at the front desk looked at her with a dazed expression. “You’re who now?”
Becca figured her blue uniform and gold badge should be enough to identify her to most people, but some people just weren’t that bright.
“I’m with the Summer Haven Police Department. I’m here to speak with someone about an employee of yours. Andrea Alvarez.”
The receptionist’s eyes lit up with understanding. “It’s so horrible what happened to poor Andrea. I still can’t believe it. Yes, of course. Let me get you Mr. Neely.” She picked up her phone, dialed an extension, then proceeded to tell whoever answered that the police would like to speak to them. There was a pause and the receptionist nodded as she hung up the phone. “Mr. Neely will be right with you.” She gestured toward the comfortable looking waiting room chairs. “Please, have a seat.”
They took their seats. Silas picked up a two-month-old Cosmopolitan magazine and riffled through its pages while Becca looked around. The office in which they found themselves was posh, with thick white carpeting, white walls, and white pedestals with an assortment of statuary displayed along the walls. Several framed images—display advertisements presumably developed by the company from the looks of them—hung in alcoves up near the ceiling, drawing the eye of anyone sitting in the waiting room.
From the looks of things, there was quite a bit of money in the advertising business and Tate & Neely had no problem flaunting it. She was just about to mention that very thing to Silas when her phone pinged with a text message. She took a look at her phone to see that Jeremy Tanner had sent the artist composite drawing of the woman who’d hired Jacinto Garcia to place the death curse on Andrea. The Babalowa had kept his word and had reported to the station earlier that morning. A few hours later, the sketch was completed.
The woman in the drawing was attractive. Probably in her early forties with light colored hair. The hair itself was long and straight, pulled back in a ponytail. She was heavier set, with the slightest hint of jowls—but not enough to undermine her natural beauty. She looked like a typical housewife, really, if Becca wanted to stereotype her.
Satisfied with the drawing, she texted Jeremy back and instructed him to head to the college to show the picture around campus. Hopefully, someone in administration or one of the teachers would recognize her and they’d have a name.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” a man said from the corner of her periphery. Becca glanced away from her phone to see a handsome man, dressed in business casual attire, walking over to greet her. The man was roughly six something in height with a lean, athletic build. He had a Romanesque nose and a broad, prominent chin. The only flaw that Becca could see in him was that he showed signs of male pattern baldness that had caused him to simply shave his head entirely. Still, bald was a good look on him. “I’m Terrance Neely, one of the partners of this firm.”
Becca and Silas stood, each shaking the man’s hand.
“I’m Chief Cole. This is Silas Mot,” Becca said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we have a few questions about an employee of yours…Andrea Alvarez.”
“Oh, it was such horrible news,” he said, sounding astoundingly similar to the receptionist’s own declaration of dismay. Becca wondered if they’d all been instructed by some P.R. guru on how to express grief over a colleague. Before she could ponder the question further, Neely beckoned them to follow him to his office. Once inside, they each took a seat and Neely continued. “We’re all quite devastated to hear about her death. But I’d like to get something straight up front, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
“Ms. Alvarez was no longer employed with Tate & Neely. We let her go a week or so before her death.”
This is new. Not a single person we’ve talked to has even mentioned this.
“May I ask why she was fired?”
“Well, legally, we’re supposed to keep the specifics of the termination of our employees private, but since she’s deceased, our legal department says I can share whatever you need to know for your investigation.” He swiveled in his chair, opened up a cabinet drawer behind him, and pulled out a file. He handed it over to Becca and proceeded to explain. “That’s her employment record. As you’ll see, she’d worked for us for about three years. An exceptional employee for most of her time here. As a matter of fact, we’d just promoted her to the head of the art department last month.”
Becca thumbed through the file, following the paper trail corroborating Neely’s account.
“Andrea was going places,” he continued. “Her talent and imagination were only matched by her drive for success. Even as young as she was, there was no one better in our firm to run her department. John Tate, my partner, and I had no qualms about offering her the position when the time came.”
“So, what happened?” Silas asked. “If she was such an up-and-comer, why fire her?”
Neely shrugged. “We had no choice. Her behavior had become so…so disturbing in the last few weeks. Her quality of work diminished. She flaked out on meetings and would leave for lunch and not come back until the next day. The worst of it was her anger. She’d fly into fits of rage without the slightest provocation. She had simply become too much of a liability. We had to let her go.”
Becca shifted in her seat and placed the file folder back on Neely’s desk. “Were you aware of the personal issue she’d been going through for the last month?”
“The curse?” He laughed. “Everyone in the office knew about it. She wouldn’t stop talking about it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m horribly distraught over the news of her death, but the very notion of a death curse was just too much. It was probably the biggest factor in our decision to fire her actually. After all, such talk didn’t do a lot to evoke the kind of confidence in our business we want our clients to have in us.”
Terrance Neely was rapidly becoming less and less attractive to her the more he spoke.
“Oh, and of course, I can’t forget about the hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations?”
“Oh, yes. In the last few weeks, she’d report seeing the most ridiculous things in the office. Monsters. Ghouls. A few times, she even screamed out that the Grim Reaper was trying to kill her.”
Becca looked over at Silas, who rolled his eyes at the unspoken jab.
“Mr. Neely, was there anyone here in the office that was close to her?” Becca asked. “Someone she might have confided in? Someone she could have told about any enemies she had?”
“Well, she burned a lot of bridges around here. I can tell you that. But if she was close to anyone, I’d say it was Elaine Shepherd over in the art department. Those two had been thick as thieves together for the three years Andrea worked here.” He pressed his intercom button and the pretty receptionist from the lobby answered. “Ms. Simmons, do you know if Elaine Shepherd has come back to work today?” He paused and looked over at Becca. “News of Andrea’s death hit her pretty hard. She’s taken a couple of days off to grieve.”
“She’s still requested another couple of days off, Mr. Neely,” the receptionist answered. “But she just came into the office a few minutes ago to gather some things from her desk. She said she wants to do some work at home.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” Neely rose from his chair and motioned toward the door. “Come with me and I’ll take you to see Mrs. Shepherd.”
Neely led them through the office, which seemed to be designed with one large square hallway with the various rooms sprouting off to the left and right. When they’d reached the southeast quadrant of the office, the bald man stopped, and gestured toward the door marked ‘ART’. The door was currently closed.
“We have a staff of six graphic designers,” he said, as if it was important for them to know. “Right now, they’re busy working on a project for a car dealership out of Daytona.”
He opened the door and they stepped into a large office space filled with six cubicles. Four of them were occupied with designers staring at computer screens and drawing with electronic pens on tablets. A fifth artist was to their left at the copy machine.
Neely ignored everyone and began moving toward the other side of the cubicles where a second closed door was located. When they came to it, she noticed a placard that read ‘ART DIRECTOR’.
“Wait,” Becca said. “Is this Andrea’s office?”
Neely shook his head. “Not anymore. Elaine got the job after she was terminated.” He knocked on the door. “Elaine, are you in there?”
There was no response. Another knock.
“Elaine?”
A second later, the door opened and a middle-aged woman with blonde hair appeared from the other side. She was wearing a tee shirt, fashionably ripped jeans, and sneakers.
Becca gasped when she saw her. She was the spitting image of the composite sketch of the woman that hired Jacinto Garcia to perform the death curse.