CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Detective Connery waited until Silas looked up again before giving him a smile. It was obvious that he was trying to comfort the boy without all the hugs and whatnot, and his method seemed to be working.
“When you first told me about your dad’s last business meeting, I was a bit skeptical as to whether it warranted my concern,” Connery began. “But now I’ve come to realize that my skepticism stemmed from the fact that a seven-year-old child was trying to tell me how to run this investigation.” He smiled again. “Now I’ve decided to put my hurt feelings aside and consider what you have to say about it.”
“What changed your mind?”
Connery tapped his chin with a couple of fingers, as if he were debating what to say. Finally he lifted Carl’s silver walking stick up from behind the desk and said, “This did.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you aware that this walking stick has a compartment in the handle?”
“Yes, I knew that,” Silas said. “What was in it?”
“A document.”
“What document?”
Putting the walking stick down, Connery pulled out a sheet of paper from the stack on his desk. “This was inside,” he said, handing the paper to Silas.
Silas looked at the paper and read it. Elaine even sat forward and started reading too, but she was unable to understand it. The language used was confusing and complicated and lawyer-like, but Silas didn’t seem to have any trouble at all deciphering it. “This paper names Nicolette Howard as the Executive Vice President of Research and Development at Kast Varnish Enterprises,” he said, looking at the detective. “I knew Marlon couldn’t have been right. He said Dad made him vice president of research during the last meeting.”
“And Katerina Waltke’s minutes verify that your father did make Marlon vice president.”
“Then what’s this?” Silas asked, looking confused.
“This is the real document.”
“Why was Dad hiding it?”
“I believe your father was playing a practical joke on his staff.”
Sitting back, Silas looked stunned. “A practical joke?”
“I think your father was trying to ruin somebody’s weekend,” Connery said. “Namely, Nicolette Howard’s.” Connery watched Silas’s reaction to that. “Now consider this,” he said, pulling out another paper. “Everyone at the meeting agreed that this was the document presented to them yesterday. It looks as if Marlon McGhee is being named vice president of research. But if you read the fine print, you’ll see that this piece of paper is meaningless.”
“How so?” Elaine asked.
“Dad never signed it,” Silas said, his brow knitted. “The first signature says Victor Kastenmeier. That’s my uncle’s signature.”
“Why would Vic sign that?” Elaine asked.
“For a jigger of booze, a sip of vodka…. Who knows?” Silas said, then considered the other paper. “But the one Dad had stashed away in his cane is signed by him. He’d wanted Nicolette to be second. The real kicker is that Alex Gordetsky witnessed Dad’s signature on the valid document.” Silas shook his head. “Alex knew about this hoax all along.”
“I checked the name badges in the box,” Connery told him.
“You did? Are there any missing?”
“Yes, Marlon McGhee’s badge is missing.”
“Marlon’s?”
“Yes.”
“It’s possible that he could’ve killed my father, Detective. I can just feel it.”
“Well, one thing’s for sure: he was one of the recipients of a practical joke at your dad’s last meeting. Marlon was led to believe that he was the new vice president of research, and Nicolette was led to believe that the job wasn’t hers.
“Granted,” Connery continued, “your father did have a vinyl badge holder in his hand when he died, and there wasn’t a card in it. There should’ve been. We’ve searched Carl’s office, his smoking room, and the office bathroom. The card hasn’t turned up anywhere. I believe the killer snatched it out of his hands and fled the scene with it.”
Silas listened to what Connery had to say, but he was frowning. He obviously didn’t agree. “If that were the case, then why did the killer take the time to remove the card from the plastic? Why didn’t he take the whole thing? Or why didn’t he just put it back in the box with the others? No one would’ve been the wiser.”
“What do you think happened, Silas?” Elaine asked him.
“I think the killer tried to take the name badge away from my father, but he managed to take the card out and put it in a place where the perpetrator couldn’t get at it.”
“He didn’t hide it,” Slye interjected. “We’ve searched every inch of that office and bathroom: up the spigots, down the drains, in the heating vents. We didn’t find any card with a name on it. However, we did find a bag of pure cocaine taped to the underside of the bathroom door. Someone in this family is definitely resourceful at hiding things: crack water pipes in a compartment in back of the medicine cabinet and wedged between seat cushions, syringes under loose tiles, enough heroin stashed away to pay off the national debt. All of that was in this house, but no card.”
“You haven’t looked everywhere,” Silas told him. “Otherwise, you would’ve found it.”
“Well, where would you have us look?” Connery asked.
Silas looked at Connery with a no nonsense gaze that added about thirty years to his piddling seven-and-a-half. His demeanor was straightforward, and his countenance that of someone who’d been around awhile. Almost as if it should’ve been obvious, he said, “He swallowed it.”
Connery looked away from Silas and thought about that, rubbing his chin. “He swallowed it,” he repeated, nodding his head. “Well, that should be easy enough to prove. The contents of his stomach are being analyzed as we speak.”
“If you’re hoping to find the piece of card stock in his stomach and be able to read it, then I’m afraid you’d be wasting your time, Detective.”
“How’s that?” Connery said, looking quite concerned.
“Stomach acid is almost as corrosive as the acid in car batteries. Paper, even a thick piece like card stock, would burn and decompose in gastric juices in a very short time.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve studied human anatomy and physiology, sir. My dad made me memorize an entire text. If he’d read the same book, he would’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to swallow a piece of paper and then have the authorities read it later.”
“Damn!” Connery said, smacking a fist into his palm.
“Don’t be discouraged, though,” Silas said, and so Connery hesitated, giving the boy his full attention.
“Why’s that?”
“Only a bozo like me or a medical doctor would know that. I’m sure the killer isn’t aware of how fast stomach acid can destroy a piece of paper. We could use it to flush him out, especially if he saw my father swallow the paper. Why, right now he’s probably wondering about it and squirming in his seat.”
Connery smiled and looked over at Slye. Slye was nodding as if he could smell a collar coming anytime now.
“Yeah,” Connery said. He could probably smell it, too.