“Great. Call me as soon as you learn something.”
“Will do, Skipper.”
“You know, Loving, I’m not your Skipper—er, boss, anymore.”
“Aww, heck. You’ll always be the Skipper to me.”
“Well, that’s nice. I guess.”
“We’re keeping your office just like it was when you worked here. Kind of a memorial.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“We’re still waiting for you to come back. Christina says it’s just a matter of time.”
“Oh, does she? Well, she may be in for a big—”
“I better get started on this. Thanks for calling.”
No sooner had Ben hung up his phone than another familiar face from his previous life strolled through his office door.
“Jones! I wondered why you didn’t answer the phone at the office.”
“You called to check on us?” Ben’s former secretary beamed. “Remembering the people you met on the way up. Who knows, you may need us again on your way down.”
“My way—Have you been talking to Christina, too?”
“Face it, Boss. Christina is always right.”
“Not this time. I’m very happy with my spiffy office and regular salary, thank you. The boss seems to respect me and I’ve successfully completed all my assignments. Look at this—I’ve even got my own desktop computer.”
“I know. That’s why I came by. Christina told me you’ve barely figured out how to turn it on.”
“Well…I haven’t had much time to devote to trivial office details.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why I’m here. Time for a primer. Computers 101.”
“I hardly think that’s necessary”
“Oh? Fine. Show me how you use your computer.” Jones flipped the power switch on the back of the machine.
“Now where exactly is that switch?” Ben asked. “I couldn’t find it before.”
“Here, I’ll put a yellow Post-it on it that says TURN ME ON.” The monitor was illuminated with a blue screen. “This is your menu. It tells you what programs the corporation has already stored in your hard disk. What do you want to do?”
“Oh…I don’t know. What are my choices?”
Jones rolled his eyes. “Sheesh.” He brought the cursor to the top of the screen. “How about word processing? Lawyers do a lot of writing, right?”
“I’ve heard of that. That sounds good.”
“Push W, and you’ve entered the word processing program, already installed on your hard disk. Now, you want to be able to store any documents you create. You can probably store them on the hard disk, but you should also keep an extra copy on diskette. Where do you keep your diskettes?”
“My what?”
Jones shook his head. “Lucky I came when I did. You’re in sad shape, Boss.” He rifled through Ben’s desk drawers, eventually finding a box full of preformatted diskettes. He removed one small, square plastic 3 x 5-inch disk. “This,” Jones said, “is a diskette.”
Ben stared at the object in his hand. “That’s it.”
“I know it is. That’s what I just told you. Ben, you’re not paying attention.”
“No, you misunderstand. That’s it—that’s what I saw but couldn’t remember. That’s what Hamel had in his hand when his body fell on top of me.”
“Boss, are you on any medication?”
Quickly, Ben filled Jones in on what had happened during the past few days—finding Hamel’s body in his office, then losing it, then finding it again in the alley behind his house.
“Boss, you’re becoming the Typhoid Mary of premeditated murder.”
“This is a major breakthrough,” Ben said, ignoring him. “Why was Hamel clutching a diskette? And what was on the diskette? Was someone trying to get it?”
“But the police searched the area after the body disappeared, right?”
“Right.”
“And there was no diskette?”
“Right.”
“So whoever took the body also took the diskette.”
“I suppose so. What kind of information can be stored on one of these, Jones?”
“Just about anything you want. Financial data, documents, lists, even entire publications.”
Ben snapped his fingers. “Didn’t you say documents could be saved on a computer’s hard disk, then transferred onto a diskette?”
“That’s the usual procedure. It’s not mandatory.”
“Then there’s a possibility that whatever was in Hamel’s hand is also stored on a computer somewhere.”
“True. But where?”
“Well, we did find Hamel in my office….”
Quickly, Jones punched a few buttons and brought up the document file on Ben’s word processing program. It was empty. Jones spent the next ten minutes punching buttons, bringing up files from other programs. “Sorry, Boss. There’s nothing here.”
“If it isn’t here, maybe it’s stored in the main office computer. That would make more sense anyway—easier access for Hamel—and the computer room is just across the hall from my office.” Ben snapped his fingers again. “Maybe Hamel was actually working in there. Then, when he heard Herb and Candice leaving, or when he heard Rob and me coming, he ran across the hall and hid in my office.”
“Well,” Jones said, wiggling his fingers, “shall I cross the hall and commence a search?”
“Not now. The computer room is well-staffed during the day. I don’t think they’ll let you sit down and start reading their confidential files. Besides, I don’t want to tip anyone off. Remember, my theory is that Hamel’s killer is someone in this corporation.”
“What a pleasant thought. Well, I don’t want to overstay my welcome….”
“Okay. I’ll call you later. Maybe we can arrange for a clandestine examination of the computer files. I’ll need your help, obviously.”
“You know where to call.” Jones flashed a smile and headed out the door.
Ben pondered this new information. It seemed to confirm his theory that the killer was someone closely tied to the Apollo Consortium. Someone who had killed one person and tried to kill a second, if the attempt on Crichton’s life was what he thought it was. Someone who in all likelihood would try to kill again, especially if he thought Ben was getting close.
Ben stood up and closed the door. Suddenly, his office seemed very small. The entire building seemed to be shrinking, as if the walls were slowly moving in on him. There he was, enclosed in a strange world filled with backstabbers, buttkissers—and someone who had killed one man and targeted a second.
And Ben could be next.
30
BEN DROVE HIS HONDA Accord down the dirt road and parked well behind the bleachers, where he hoped his car would be safe from errant foul balls—mostly his, in all likelihood.
Everyone else was already on the softball diamond in Johnson Park, at the corner of Sixty-first and Riverside. Apollo’s team was warming up. Each member was wearing an identical gray and red softball uniform with the Apollo logo on the back.
Christina tossed Ben a mitt and an official Apollo baseball cap. “Glad you could make it,” she said. “I was afraid we’d have to hire a ringer to take second base.”
“You’d have been better off,” Ben replied. “I’m awful. I don’t want to be here.”
“Don’t be such a grump. Show some esprit de corps.”
Herb passed Ben while practice-swinging three bats forcefully through the air. Chuck and Candice lined up beside Ben and Christina and tossed a ball back and forth. Doug was rustling about, lining up the bats in order of length. Ben wondered where he had stowed his computer. Shelly was there, too, although she was sitting on the bench, quiet as always.