“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Mary, peering closer. “How the hell did you know that was there.”
“These pens are unusually thick and heavy. You know, phallic imagery and all that. The bigger the, um, pen, the bigger the... well, you get the idea.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Right, I forgot. It all comes down to dick measuring in the end.”
“Exactly. So I wondered why this particular fountain pen is as light as a feather quill.” He held it between thumb and forefinger, letting it dangle.
“Okay, I get the picture; it’s a decoy pen. He was smart enough to keep a backup of all his data and hide it. So let’s see what’s on that thing.”
“Oh, so now you want my help?” said Leopold, grinning.
“Just shut up and go find a computer.”
The USB drive was stuffed full of text documents, slide shows, and spreadsheets. Having requisitioned one of the hotel’s many business suites, Leopold locked the door and punched a handful of search terms into the computer while Mary stood behind his chair, peering in. The hard drives whirred and spat out a few dozen relevant hits. He opened up a few files, scrolling through them with mounting disinterest, before finding something that caught his eye.
“Here, take a look at this.” Leopold tilted the screen toward Mary.
“It’s a bunch of numbers. Is this supposed to mean something to me?”
“These are tracking lists for a number of client accounts. Automated software can keep track of any number of stock prices, and these ones appear to be particularly important. See here,” he traced his finger over the monitor, “Gordon kept these separate.”“So?”
“So, this is how it looks if I put all the data in a graph.” He clicked a few buttons and a line chart appeared.
“Wow, someone took a beating,” Mary said.
“Quite. It’s the same for all the others.”
“They all bottomed out at roughly the same time. What would cause such a dramatic dive in value?”
“It could be any number of factors,” said Leopold. “What’s more important is why Gordon was keeping track of these accounts specifically. He’s got historical data going back months.”
“Maybe he knew what was going to happen. He could have made a fortune selling the stock short.”
Leopold raised an eyebrow.
“What? Just because I’m a cop, I can’t know about stuff like that?”
“I didn’t say anything.” He smiled. “You’re right, though; if someone knew the value of a company’s shares was going to take a nosedive, he could make a killing.”
“Probably not the most appropriate choice of words, considering the circumstances.”
“We need to figure out who else had access to these accounts,” he said, ignoring her. “Someone at the bank must have noticed what was going on. It can’t be a coincidence that all these clients lost money in the same month.”
“You’re saying this is a cover-up?”
“It’s the most logical assumption.”
“Maybe we should go have a word with Teddy’s boss,” said Mary, making her way to the door. “You coming?”
“It’s after midnight,” said Leopold. “The managers go home in the evenings. The only people in the office at this time are low-level analysts. I doubt they’ll be much help.”
“Then go home,” she said. “We’ll drop by unannounced in the morning. Might surprise him enough to give something away.” She left the room, closing the door behind her.
Leopold sighed and shut down the computer, pulling out the micro drive before getting up and heading for the door. Outside, the hallway was silent, any traces of the earlier commotion long gone, and the only sound accompanying Leopold as he walked to the elevators was the hum of the air conditioning. His mind whirred, poring over the facts of the case, trying to find a connection. The alcohol dulled his senses, reminding him he needed sleep. The answers would come soon enough, he assured himself. They always did.
Thirty floors below, the city marched on, oblivious.
Leopold got home a little after two thirty. One of the local bars, an upscale joint a few blocks from his apartment, was open late and Leopold had taken advantage. The staff knew him by name and had made his usual table ready. A few hits of bourbon had finished the night on a high note, and, with no further insights forthcoming, Leopold had resigned himself to a decent night’s sleep and a fifty-fifty chance of a hangover.
His penthouse apartment was dark. The elevator opened up into the hallway, prompting the motion sensors to turn on the lights. It took a few seconds until a soft glow illuminated the ante room, then the living room and kitchen. Leopold tossed his jacket onto the coat rack and wandered through, heading for the armchair in front of the fireplace.
There was movement somewhere behind him and Leopold turned, a little too slow. A shadow moved fast, its shape blurred in the low light. Before he could move, the shadow was on him, blocking his path.
“What the hell?” Leopold stumbled, tripping over something on the floor. The main lights came on and he covered his eyes, squinting against the glare.
“It’s late.” The figure came into focus.
“Jerome? What are you doing up?”
“I’d ask you the same.”
Leopold blinked hard and put down his hands. They were balled into fists.
“Were you planning on using those?” Jerome said, apparently amused.
“I get by.”
“You missed training this morning.”
“I was up early.”
“How am I supposed to protect you if I don’t know where you are?”
Leopold walked toward the armchair. “You’re my bodyguard, not my nanny. It’s your job to figure this stuff out.” He dropped into the chair, feeling the soft leather envelope him. Sleep was near.
“That’s not how it works.” Jerome stalked over, crossing the room in two giant steps. He stood next to the fireplace and gazed down at his employer. “I’ll chain you to the bed if I have to.” At six feet seven inches tall and with the body of a pro wrestler, not many people argued with Jerome. His coal-black skin only intensified the look—clad in a finely tailored Armani suit and dark shirt, the bodyguard blended with the shadows perfectly.
“I’m touched,” said Leopold. “Listen, I’ll need you to take me downtown later this morning. I have an appointment at Needham. We’ll have company.”
“The cop again?”
Leopold looked up. “You have a problem with Detective Jordan?”
“Not at all,” said Jerome, a faint smile on his lips. “Though I’m guessing she might have a problem with you.”
“She’ll learn to live with it.”
“It’s late. You need to sleep.”
“Then stop talking and leave me to it.”
The bodyguard nodded and stepped away, leaving the room as silently as he had entered. Leopold took a moment to savor the emptiness of the room before leaning back in the armchair and closing his eyes. Within minutes, sleep was upon him, wrapping him tight like a soft blanket. Then the dreams came.
Leopold awoke early, just as the sun’s rays broke through the litter of high-rises outside his window, and blinked hard. With a quiet groan, he forced himself out of the armchair and wandered over to his bedroom’s bathroom, where he disrobed and threw himself into the shower.
Once dressed, he found Jerome waiting for him in the kitchen, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand. The bodyguard slid the drink across the polished marble countertop and Leopold caught it. He sipped, grateful for the caffeine boost.
“Assuming you’re ready, I’ve asked for the car to be brought around,” said Jerome. “We’ll pick up Detective Jordan on the way.”
Leopold smiled. “I don’t see that happening, somehow. Mary left a message saying to meet us at Needham’s.”