Читать книгу Stony Mesa Sagas - Chip Ward - Страница 15

Chapter 8

Elias Buchman and Otis agreed to meet at a local café for coffee. Otis was nervous and was on his second cup before Elias got there. He had never been in trouble aside from a few drunken encounters with things that were not there, like the time he braked for a phantom cow, spilled beer all over himself, and was rear-ended by Dunk Taylor’s patrol car. But those were the exceptions. He was once an eagle scout, a lifeguard, and he broke onto Stony Mesa’s political scene as the chief of the volunteer fire department. Heck, he didn’t even read mystery novels and preferred PBS science shows to the popular crime dramas. Being accused of a murder he did not commit was like landing in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language and didn’t know the terrain.

Buchman carried a manila file folder under his arm when he arrived at the café. Otis focused on it and prayed that his salvation lay within.

“So, what did you find out?”

“Sorry, Otis, but not much that will help you out of the jam you’re in. Bo didn’t have any real enemies. He wasn’t particularly liked but I couldn’t find anyone who would want to murder him.”

“What’s in the folder? You must’ve learned something.”

“I did.” He pushed the cream and sugar jars away and laid the documents in the folder across the table. Out of habit, he subtly peered over each shoulder and scanned the café for suspicious-looking people who might be spying but only found the usual mix of hungry tourists in walking shoes and ranchers with dirt on their boots. One boomer-aged couple in floppy hats and sunglasses wandered by in that semi-zombie state of tourists that sometimes follows serial over-gawking. A cowboy in the corner watched them with a bemused smirk hiding behind an unkempt handlebar mustache. Elias continued.

“For one thing, did you know that the name Bo is from Boris? His grandfather . . .”

“Cut to the chase, Elias, gimme the dirt. Someone out there had it in for him. Who?”

“Bo’s business lobbies and does consulting work on various management problems for various financial outfits—high rollers mostly, from back east.”

“Yeah, I know that. I looked him up, too. He’s written a bunch of corporate management guides that are used for training. How to lobby, how to negotiate and all that stuff.”

Elias thumbed through the pile of papers in front of him and pulled one page out and passed it to Otis. “That’s right. Here is what is not apparent. The real money is made by one division of his business that he never publicized. You might say he did his best to hide it. That operation is hired by corporations when they downsize or close an unprofitable business. Firing a bunch of people at once is risky and hard to do. There’s always the chance for hysteria, confrontations, or even sabotage. So the termination management consultants—that’s what they call themselves—go into a workplace or office and take care of the dirty work. The people who are being laid off are notified at their workstations individually by these hired guns. Their keys and computers are confiscated and they are escorted to a room where counselors stand by. Papers are presented that explain why they are losing their jobs, the terms of their being let go, resources that will be made available to them to deal with the crisis . . . they have all these brochures with titles like ‘Job transition as an opportunity for growth.’ If anyone freaks or becomes violent, these termination consultants are trained to deal with that. When the building is cleared, they change the locks and then secure all the computer files. Bo Hineyman found a way to profit from misery. After the financial meltdown in 2008 he couldn’t keep up with all the business that came his way.”

Otis was hopeful. “Well, if that’s the case, Bo Hineyman had lots of enemies, lots of serious enemies, I’d guess.”

“Not really. Bo never appeared at those places. He sat in his office in Miami and went to lunch with lobbyists and other venal cretins. The people who were fired never even saw his name.”

Otis’s face drooped. “What about his family? Maybe he has a crazy nephew, or a sibling or ex-wife who’s jealous. Something!”

“If that’s the case, I failed to find anyone. I’m sorry, Otis, but it’s not looking good. If I had access to his personal communication I might pick up on something but I don’t have that kind of power. But I did talk to one of Dunk Taylor’s deputies. The guy has a business on the side installing rain gutters and was over at my place two days ago. He’s not supposed to say anything but I buddied him up and after a second bottle of beer he became talkative. He said they went in and scoured Bo’s place and didn’t find a single incriminating fingerprint, a hair, a piece of fabric, footprint, nothing.”

“No shit, they won’t find my prints in there. I’ve never been in that log mansion he calls a cabin. Never.”

“They don’t have a case against you, Otis. It’s all very circumstantial. We just have to sit tight and hope that something else shows up.”

The two men stared at the table, not knowing what to do next. Buchman gathered his research and put it into the folder. “If I find anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Elias. I appreciate your effort on this. It feels good to just have someone on my side.”

“Grace made a casserole for you. She’s concerned about your health. She wants you to come over and get a massage, too. You gotta keep yourself well, Otis, despite the stress. Walk me out to the car and I’ll give you that casserole.”

Otis smiled. “Grace. What would we do without Grace?”