I DIDN’T KNOW where they found Morty and I didn’t much care. I was too nervous. I’d sashayed into plenty of places asking for answers but never as we and I didn’t know what to expect.
Charles drove into a parking garage below the Midwest building to a special section blocked off from prying eyes. I was obedient and got out when told. It was a new experience, obedience, but it didn’t rankle. Getting shot at in broad daylight next to Fats Licata will change your perspective on most things.
Charles led me to the executive elevator that required a special key. He produced the key and cleared the elevator before we got in and stood next to me watchful in a black suit with a black shirt and silver tie.
“Have you met our friend?” I asked.
“I don’t meet people.”
“Er…never?”
“Not when I’m working,” he said.
The door chimed and slid open to reveal a surprisingly small lobby about the size of Calpurnia’s closet and done in teak. A woman sat at a small ebony desk, typing and looking at two monitors. She saw us and pushed a button built into the desk. “She’s here.”
“Send her in,” said a man’s voice.
She came out from behind the desk and showed me to one of the four identical doors, opening it and taking me down a short hall with four more doors and no windows. She stopped with her hand on the knob and said, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No, thanks,” I said.
She opened the door, stepped in, and said, “Mercy Watts to see you, sir.”
I walked into a huge office done in paneling that looked like it had been liberated from a sixteenth century chateau. Château de Fontainebleau came to mind with its dark wood and rich colors. But just like Fontainebleau it didn’t feel dark or oppressive but instead warm and right, just like the man who sat behind the ornately carved desk. He was eighty if he was a day with thin silver strands of hair that sort of floated around his mostly bald, wrinkly scalp. He wore a dark blue suit and a paisley bow tie. He totally looked at home in the gorgeous room. He did not look like an Eric Schneider or anybody else that Spidermonkey said was involved with Elite.
“Miss Watts,” he said, coming to his feet slowly. “Come in and join us.”
That’s when I noticed the stiletto heels poking out from a large wingback chair. I looked back for Charles, but she’d already closed the door so I took a breath and walked over to the other wingback. Mr. Schneider or whoever he was discreetly watched me, noting every single thing about my appearance. It wasn’t exactly rude, but I felt more comfortable in front of Hervé in my ratty bra and panties. He wasn’t trying to figure me out. This man was.
I sat down, tucking the velvet of my wide skirt under my rear and crossing my ankles. Mom would be so proud.
“May I ask if you know Hervé?” he asked.
“I do,” I said. “He chose this dress for me.”
His gaze flicked over to Calpurnia who lounged in her wingback like she was at a party and totally unconcerned with what was going on. Maybe she was.
Then he came around the desk and held out his hands. I gave him one of mine and he pressed it between his cold palms. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Watts.”
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
“May I ask how you two happened to meet?” he asked. “You are strange bedfellows.”
No kidding.
“It’s a small world,” said Calpurnia. “Mercy met my nephew, Oz, helped Lucia, and the rest is history.”
“I believe you cleared Donatella Berry of those nasty allegations after the Tulio shooting,” he said.
“I did.”
“So you know Officer Ameche. He used to caddy for me. Good man.”
“I agree,” I said.
He returned to his desk and sat down even more slowly than when he got up. “So Calpurnia tells me that you have some questions about our unfortunate Mr. Weeks.”
“I do,” I said. “Can you tell me if he was having money problems?”
He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Interesting question. One would think so given his actions, but no, he wasn’t.”
“His accounts were all good? No problems?”
He blinked slowly and said, “No. He was well paid.”
“Do you mind if I ask how much?” I asked.
“I don’t mind. Porter made just under 900,000 a year and there are other perks, stock options and the like. Do you need specifics?”
I told him I didn’t and I tried to figure out what to do. I expected him to say that Porter Weeks III was hanging on by his manicured fingernails.
“Do you have any idea why he killed himself?”
He tapped his fingers together in a rhythm one by one. “I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent thinking about that, Miss Watts. May I call you Mercy?”
“Of course.”
“And I’m Edward Laidlaw,” he said. “You can call me Ward.”
I could tell I was supposed to know who he was, but I didn’t. I just nodded and looked as impressed as I could without falling all over myself.
“I knew Porter for twenty-three years, but I didn’t expect this,” he said. “He was brilliant and insightful, curious and steady.”
“Always?” I asked.
A flicker of something went through his eyes. “I believe so.”
“But there was something.”
He told me that a couple of years ago Porter went through a rough patch, started calling in sick and showing up late. Looked like hell and occasionally smelled like alcohol, but he was given a talking to and he straightened himself out.
“I thought it was a woman,” said Ward. “That happens. He was young and it’s easy to get in over your head.”
That’s when Calpurnia sat up and said, “What about gambling?”
Ward started. “No. He was a conservative man. He belonged to the St. Louis Legacy Country Club.”
“They can still gamble,” I said.
“It’s frowned upon.” He smiled at me and showed his dentures. “Between the three of us, that crowd isn’t very much fun. I don’t know what he saw in that place.”
“Me, either,” said Calpurnia, frowning severely before easing back into her chair.
I bit my lip and thought about what to ask next, how much to reveal. “Would you mind telling me about the account you gave to Elite Accounting three weeks ago?”
“You know about that?” he asked.
“I know a lot about it.”
“That is not good news. Our security must be failing.”
“It’s not,” I said. “We haven’t been able to hack your system yet.”
“But you have someone trying, someone you think will make it through,” he said stiffly.
“No. You already told me what I need. Weeks was flush.”
Ward relaxed. “How good is your guy?”
“Very. He’d get through eventually,” I said. “Most of what I know about the account came from Elite and it was given to me.”
He stopped breathing and his face lost what little color it had. Calpurnia leaned forward and put an elegant hand on the edge of the desk. “Mercy is discreet. I vouch for her with no hesitation. Elite made a wise choice. Listen to why.”
They focused on me and I gave him a quick rundown of Catherine’s situation, doing my best not to talk much about the sex part, but he wouldn’t let me avoid it. He insisted on knowing the down and dirty. It was like telling my grandad the ins and outs of deviant behavior. Gross with a capital G.
“Your connections are tenuous,” he said when I was done.
“I have a feeling,” I said.
“And this is important?”
Calpurnia nodded. “It is.”
Ward steepled his fingers again. “What do you need to know about our account with Elite that you don’t already know?”
“Not so much about the account itself,” I said. “More about the inner workings here.”
“In regards to Porter?”
“Yes.”
According to Ward, Porter as CFO knew of the irregularities in the debit card charges, but that was delegated to the lower ranks. They’d spoken about it several times and he was concerned, but in Porter’s opinion it was a glitch since there was no pattern to speak of.
“Was he against sending the problem to Elite?” I asked.
“No, but he didn’t really think it necessary. He thought IT should be able to figure it out.”
“He didn’t try to block it?”
“No.”
“What about Catherine Cabot? How did he feel about her?”
“We never spoke of her specifically. I don’t remember asking about who would do the forensic work. I did ask how long it would take,” said Ward.
“What was the answer?”
“I believe that Mr. Calabasas said that he couldn’t say. It was a particularly difficult puzzle. I didn’t speak to him personally. I got that from a board meeting. Eric Schneider told me.”
“Did Schneider voice any reservations about giving the account to them?” I asked.
“Not at all. He may have been slightly frustrated in the delays.” He pressed a button on his desk. “Nicole, can you please bring us coffee and some cakes. I’m beginning to get tired.”
“Immediately, Mr. Laidlaw,” said Nicole.
“My mind is as ever. My body is a different story,” he said. “Nicole’s coffee is very restorative. As I was saying, Eric didn’t like the delays. He’s a high-energy sort of person. If he were here, he’d be pacing.”
“So he wasn’t the cause of the delays,” I said. “Why did it take so long?”
“I asked and he said it was contracts and he would speed it up.”
“Was Weeks in that meeting?”
“Yes.”
“How did he react?”
“I don’t recall that he did. Porter was typically stoic in meetings. He rarely showed anything other than mild concern,” said Ward.
“Did anyone mention Catherine’s name?”
“Not to my knowledge. I didn’t know she was working on our account until she was shot and Eric informed me. We had a meeting to discuss changing companies since Elite is quite obviously down for some time.”
“Did you? Change companies?”
“Yes. It was necessary.”
So the account was out of Catherine’s hands, probably forever. Somebody would be very happy about that. But how was Weeks connected? His suicide couldn’t be a coincidence. It just couldn’t.
“When was that meeting?” I asked. “The one where you asked about the delays?”
Ward hesitated and I saw something dawn on him. “Last Monday. The day before Porter died. Do you think that’s why he did it? Because the account was going to Catherine Cabot?”
“Yes,” I said. “Absolutely.”
“But why? He didn’t have anything to do with that situation.”
“I don’t know the reason, but he did. When was your meeting on Monday?”
“Nine a.m. sharp,” said Ward.
“What did Weeks do after that?” I asked.
“I have no idea.”
Nicole came in with a silver tray laden with a heavy coffee service. She poured us cups to our specifications and gave us an assortment of petite fours. They were so good Aaron could’ve made them.
“Will there be anything else?” asked Nicole.
Ward looked at me.
“Is Eric Schneider busy?”
She looked at Ward and he nodded.
“He’s not busy if you need him. I’ll call him.” She left and we took a moment to savor Nicole’s extraordinary coffee. Italian roast and brewed to perfection. Ode de Caffeine should take lessons.
I took a breath and asked a question that Ward wouldn’t like. “Can you look at what was going on in Weeks’ accounts for me?”
Ward frowned fiercely. “Porter was a customer as well as an employee and a friend. I’m not accustomed to breaching anyone’s privacy.”
“Even if they’re ripping off your customers?” I asked.
“You have no proof of that.”
“I will.”
“I told you Porter was solvent. You didn’t need to know more.”
I sipped my coffee letting its warmth revitalize me. “You already took a look or you wouldn’t have been able to tell me that.”
A smile flickered over Calpurnia’s face and she said, “She has you there, Ward.”
“She doesn’t. I didn’t look at anything. We have a system set up—our employees’ consent—to monitor overdrafts and lack of payment on credit cards. I haven’t been alerted to anything on Porter since that period years ago that I told you about. It’s a simple measure to guard against what you’re implying. An employee that’s in the red might get ideas. We want to know if there’s an issue.”
“Does it happen?” I asked. “Employees getting ideas?”
“Rarely and usually in the lower ranks. We’ve had tellers palming bills. That sort of thing. Nothing to the scale that you’re talking about.”
“Well, Porter Weeks III wouldn’t palm a bill. If he needed money, he’d need a lot. His kids’ tuition is over a quarter million.”
“Are you serious?” asked Ward, gaping at me for a second.
“Yes. His lifestyle wasn’t cheap by a long shot. Why are you surprised? He wasn’t exactly hanging on the bottom of the ladder.”
“My children went to public school the way I did. I put myself through college and so did they. So have my grandchildren and I expect my great-grandchildren to do the same.”
“Seriously?” I asked. “You’re hardcore.”
He smiled and his whole face crinkled with a glowing warmth. “I’m amused that you think so. I’ve lived a long time and I’ve seen failure and dissolution. It usually comes from being handed your life and your wealth. I wanted my family to understand where money comes from. I believe your family feels the same.”
“My dad was a cop. So yeah.”
“I meant the Bleds,” he said.
“They’re not exactly my family, but The Girls did pay for my education.”
“I believe you got a scholarship to Whitmore Academy.”
“I did, but they paid the rest. You know them?” I asked.
“I know everyone,” he said. “And you work for your living, do you not?”
“I do. I’m a nurse and I do this stuff, not really on purpose.”
He ate a petite four slowly and I could see him thinking things over before he said, “I spoke to Porter about his children’s education and advised him against exactly what you’re saying he did.”
“People don’t always follow advice,” said Calpurnia. “Or orders for that matter. I’ve got a nephew that proves the rule.”
“Porter did though. He was a thoughtful person as well as a calculated one. My family has been extraordinarily successful. I thought he would follow my example. My people do as a rule. If Porter didn’t, it would be Rita’s doing.”
“Rita?” I asked.
“His wife.” He bit a cake viciously.
“You don’t like her.”
“I like her very well.”
Calpurnia chuckled. “Tell the truth, Ward. Rita is a dingbat that got lucky.”
People said that about me on a regular basis and I liked Rita on principal.
“Is she really? Or is she just drawn that way?” I asked.
“She’s not you, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” said Ward. “Rita is a social climber without an ounce of sense between her ears. She was a stewardess when Porter met her. Rita was the one who always forgot what people asked for and mixed up drinks, but she’s nice enough.”
“What about money?” I asked. “How’s she with money?”
“Terrible. She’s the daughter of a truck driver and a teacher so you’d think she’d understand the value, but she has no concept of it. If you have it, you should spend it.”
Calpurnia and I exchanged a look.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Ward. “But Porter cut her off years ago. She gets an allowance. Their accountant handles all the bills. Rita has no say.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“Who’s the accountant?” I asked, getting out my phone.
“I believe it’s Rick Madley. What are you going to do?” asked Ward.
“Put it this way. You don’t have to snoop Porter’s accounts anymore.” I called Spidermonkey and he answered on the first ring.
“Perfect timing. We got her.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Emma Ryder. She’s the one who was looking at Catherine’s photos on Fake ‘em till you break ‘em.”
“A girl? Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure. It’s her.”
I sat back in the chair. A girl. I didn’t see that coming, but I should’ve. The way the threats were written and the importance that was put on them. That did say female. Men didn’t really care so much about sluts. In my experience, they didn’t see it as a black mark for all time. The sender did.
“What is it?” asked Calpurnia.
“We got the hacker,” I said.
“The one for our account?” asked Ward.
“Probably. Give me a second.” I returned to Spidermonkey. “Who is she? An engineering student?”
“She’s working dual master’s degrees in business and computer science. Straight As and poor as a church mouse, if you believe her bank account and massive student debt.”
“You don’t though,” I said.
“No. She’s careful, but not careful enough. Last Christmas, she accessed an account in the Cayman Islands and withdrew two hundred dollars.”
“Her name is on the account?”
“Not exactly. She’s a contractor to an off-shore trust, but it’s her trust. It’s complicated.”
“I believe it. How do you know it’s hers?” I asked.
“There’s no other reason to do what’s been done. We’re talking multiple banks, trusts, and countries. I could barely follow it. Novak’s on it.”
“You’re telling me some twenty-three-year-old student figured that out?”
“She’s twenty-five and yes, she did, but she’s not alone. Once I got her phone I got her friends. There’s a group. They call themselves the Frightful Five, and I believe their money is coming from the Midwest scam.”
“How come?”
“There was some talk about nobody getting hurt. Nobody missing some money. That it’s insignificant. Midwest is only losing pennies out of their customers’ accounts. It doesn’t get more insignificant than that.”
“Are any of them related to Weeks?” I asked.
“No. They’re all students and at the starving end of the spectrum. Brilliant, but no money.”
“Can you profile them for me and find out where they were this morning and when Catherine got shot?”
“I’m on it.”
“I have to ask. How did you find her? I get the Rolla server, but they have thousands of students. How’d you narrow it down?” I asked.
“Novak tried to narrow down a location through the IP address, but she pinged it off of a lot of towers, and that was going to take forever so we went back to basics.”
What Spidermonkey and Novak did was simple. I wish I’d thought of it. They asked themselves why their subject was going to the Fakes site in the first place. It wasn’t to buy and they weren’t using it for voyeurism. There wasn’t enough time spent. So if you’re not a faker, you’re a fakee. He went back to when they accessed the site for the first time two years ago. They looked through blond and busty, where Catherine was. They saw Catherine, but didn’t focus on her pictures. They did focus on another model, younger and less busty. Novak got a list of who bought the pictures and videos of that model and then went about weeding through those names using Rolla as the denominator. One name popped up immediately, Rolla mechanical engineering student, Austin Pratt. From there it was easy. Austin Pratt was a swell guy that dated Emma Ryder for a year. She dumped him after she caught him humping another girl in her bed. Then, he deep faked her, posting porn videos with her face everywhere he could think of, including sending them to her mother. Austin was the guy my mom warned me about, but Emma had her revenge. She put the Frightful Five to work and they failed him out of school, repossessed his car, and gave him three hundred traffic tickets. He was currently serving a year for those tickets. To be fair, Austin was pretty much failing anyway and when the cops picked him up for the tickets he was found trying to shoplift a watermelon from Walmart so it seemed fair to me.
“Is it wrong that I kinda like Emma?” I asked.
“Oh, I like her, too,” said Spidermonkey. “If she wasn’t going to jail, I’d hire her to help me out. I’ve got more work than I can handle. Speaking of work, did you call for a reason?”
“I’m a little blown away by your awesomeness and I hate to give you more work, but can you find Rick Madley? He’s Porter Weeks’ accountant.” I smiled at Ward. “The bank has scruples.”
“Lucky for you, mine are limited,” said Spidermonkey. “What do you want to know?”
“If he’s got mystery money we can’t account for. If you can tie it to Emma that would be swell.”
“I have no doubt there’s a connection. We just have to find it. On the surface, there’s no reason that I can see that these kids would know Weeks. Totally different worlds.”
“I know, but they’re in it together. I’m positive.”
I hung up and told them what Spidermonkey and Novak had found out. They were silent and Ward steepled his fingers again, mulling it over. Then a knock echoed around the room and a man in his late thirties came in. Now he was an Eric Schneider. Short, blond, and bristling with energy despite the slight concern about being summoned out of the blue. He practically dashed to Ward’s desk and went up on the balls of his feet, ready to go. “Nicole said you needed me immediately. What can I do, Mr. Laidlaw?”
“You can answer some questions,” said Ward. “This is Mercy Watts and I believe you know Calpurnia Fibonacci.”
Eric paled just the smallest bit before shaking our hands.
“What are the questions, Mr. Laidlaw?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Miss Watts has all the questions and the answers, I suspect.”
Eric turned to me. “What can I do for you?”
I decided to explain nothing and go straight at him. “Who was blocking Catherine Cabot from getting your account at Elite?”
“Oh, um,” said Eric before glancing at Ward, who nodded. “No one was really blocking her. We were exploring other avenues.”
“Very politic, Mr. Schneider,” said Calpurnia. “What really happened?”
“Can I ask what this is about?”
“No.”
The room went quiet and Eric Schneider, Head of Accounts, gathered his thoughts as Ward said he would. By pacing.
“Go ahead and tell them, Eric,” said Ward. “Although I think we already know.”
Eric stopped at the desk and looked askance at the coffee and Ward nodded. He got a cup and said, “I don’t know why, but Porter, Porter Weeks, our late CFO, questioned Miss Cabot’s being up to the job.”
“Anyone else?” I asked.
“No. She was obviously the right choice. Her résumé was second to none.”
Ward leaned back in his chair and held his delicate cup between the palms of his hands. “And you didn’t think to mention that at the board meeting or to me personally?”
Eric began pacing again, nearly breaking into a run. “I thought he was being thorough. Porter was always thorough.”
“But?” I asked.
Eric stopped and faced me. “He killed himself last Tuesday. Did you know that?”
“I did.”
“When I found out…I don’t know. I started to wonder. But Porter wouldn’t have done anything illegal. He wasn’t that kind of guy.”
Calpurnia placed her cup and saucer on the desk and looked up at him. I could almost see the chill going down the man’s spine. “But it wasn’t only his death that made you wonder.”
He swallowed. “No. After the meeting on Monday,” he looked at me, “we discussed the Elite account.”
“I know,” I said. “Go on. What happened after? What did he do?”
“He left. I called his office about another matter and June said he never came back from the meeting. I told her to call me when he did come back, but an hour later, he still wasn’t there. He’d missed a conference call with Japan and hadn’t checked in at all. It wasn’t like him.”
“What did June think?” asked Ward.
“Just that he hadn’t looked well before the board meeting and she thought he must’ve gone home or to the doctor,” said Eric.
“What did you do after that?” I asked. “Did you call Elite?”
“Yes. I talked to Kevin Calabasas and told him it was a go with Miss Cabot.” Eric looked out the window at the St. Louis skyline and said softly, “I never saw Porter again.”
“It pains me to say it, Mercy,” said Ward, “but it looks as though you were right.”
“Right about what?” asked Eric, but he knew already.
I just looked at him. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He was clearly grieving for a friend and colleague. I was about to add to that in a big way.
“Mercy,” said Ward, “I’m wondering what this might have to do with what happened to you this morning?”
“I am, too.”
“That student, Emma, might have done it or engineered it,” said Calpurnia offhandedly.
“But you don’t think so and neither do I. What would be the point?” I asked. “The account left Elite after Catherine was shot. That’s what they wanted. Why shoot me?”
“Who’s Emma? And did you say that someone shot at you?” asked Eric.
Ward held up his hand. “I’ll explain later. That doesn’t sound right to me, unless they thought you knew who they were.”
Calpurnia took out her phone and told someone, “Keep the hacker at the house. He may be a target.” Then she looked at me. “Anyone else? Your uncle?”
“I think my parents found him, but you can’t really protect him. My dad would figure that out, even if he is off his game.”
“Agreed.” She hung up. “I suppose you’ll have to finish this quickly.”
“Do you need anything else from us?” asked Ward.
“Let me think.” I wasn’t thinking about what I needed from them. I was thinking about how I could possibly avoid interviewing a grieving widow and her kids.
“Call your man,” said Calpurnia, careful not to use his name.
I did because it was a delay in the inevitable. “Hey, it’s me. Weeks delayed the assignment to Catherine,” I said.
“Good. Good. You’ll like this,” said Spidermonkey.
“Will I really?”
“Well, no, probably not. Two of the Frightful Five are in school at SLU. They’re electrical engineering students. One is at Rolla with Emma, a senior in computer science and number five is at MIT.”
“I guess that’s good,” I said.
“The two at SLU hunt and have gun permits.”
“So it’s a good news bad news kind of thing.”
“It’s more bad news. I’m concerned about your safety.”
I glanced over at Calpurnia. “I’m good. What else? Did you get in the accountant’s files?”
“Novak’s in there right now working on it. Here’s the thing. The one from MIT, he flew into Lambert on Wednesday. The Frightful Five are all here in St. Louis.”
“What are they doing? Have you traced their movements?” I asked, suddenly aware of how quiet the room had gotten.
“They’re at a Motel 6 off 270, ordering pizzas and watching HBO,” said Spidermonkey.
“That’s it? Why are they there?”
“They went dark the moment they checked in, but, Mercy, they know Weeks is dead. They were talking about it almost immediately after it happened. First text was three hours after.”
“That’s not so immediately,” I said.
“It is when the family only found out two hours after,” he said. “It wasn’t online or in the news. How did they find out?”
“Did he call or email them?” I asked.
“Not that I can find. Novak and I can’t find any link between these kids and Weeks,” said Spidermonkey. I’d never heard him so rattled, not even after Mom’s stroke. He was so calm on the phone with me.
“It’s alright,” I said. “Wait. You don’t think they shot Weeks, do you?”
“No. It’s conclusive. A suicide.” He took a breath. “There were people on the course and they were there immediately. No one was with him. But…”
“But?” I asked.
“They did discuss killing Catherine before Weeks died. It’s not a leap to think they decided to kill you.”
But it was a leap. It was for me anyway. They didn’t threaten Catherine with violence.
“I don’t think so. It’s not right,” I said.
“They could’ve taken those shots at you this morning. They’re hunters. It fits.”
I stood up and started pacing with Eric, my skirt brushing against his legs when I turned. “But did they make a plan to kill Catherine?”
“No. They discussed it as an option,” he said. “It was ruled out, but they could’ve done it anyway on a whim.”
“This is a calculated operation and not run on whims.” I turned, my skirt belling out beautifully. “They wanted her fired, shamed, off the account, but that’s all.”
“That’s all, except she’s in the hospital with extra holes,” said Spidermonkey. “You have to take this seriously. They could’ve done your truck this morning. Hunting rifle. It fits.”
“It fits, but it isn’t right,” I said. “We have to find a connection between the Frightful Five and Weeks.”
“I’ll find one,” said Spidermonkey. “Wait a second. Novak just came back. You got your connection.”
I did and I didn’t. What Novak found was money. Weeks was using funds from an account to pad his income, like Emma Ryder he was a consultant for an off-shore trust. Unlike Emma, he was using his money to pay bills. Novak was working the money back, but he was sure it would come together with Emma’s. He’d taken a good look at the coding and it was a match for the MIT student’s style, but he still had no clue how exactly they were stealing from the accounts.
“I believe Weeks is in it with the Frightful Five. I just don’t believe they tried to kill Catherine. Hell, Weeks shot himself. He had the most to lose, a family and a reputation.”
“I agree, Mercy, but they know Weeks, they have motive and the ability,” he said.
“Can you send me their bios?” I asked.
“There’s nothing there. They’re not country club kids. As far as I can tell, Weeks has never been to Rolla. SLU maybe. Mercy, I believe they tried to kill you.”
“Just send me those bios,” I said.
“I did, but don’t do anything stupid.”
“Puhlease. When do I ever do anything stupid?”
“Practically every time I work with you.”
“No faith,” I said.
“I have every faith,” said Spidermonkey. “That’s why I’m worried.”
I hung up and quickly told Ward what I knew. Then he slowly got out of his chair and pushed the button on his desk. “Nicole, clear my schedule.”
“Yes, Mr. Laidlaw,” said Nicole. “What should I give as a reason?”
“I’ve suddenly become unavailable.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ward held out a blue-veined hand to me. “It’s time we take your questions to the horse’s mouth, don’t you think?”
I walked over and took his hand. “What horse are we talking about?”
“Rita Weeks. Porter’s wake is happening right now.”