Читать книгу Armed and Famous - Jennifer Morey - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Sajal Kapoor whistled as he pushed his blue janitorial cart along the polished floor of a wide hallway at OneDefense Corporation. He’d grab himself a soda before heading up to the executive and management offices to finish up his night. He was more anxious than usual to leave. His wife worked part-time at a bank. Their schedules worked well for their son and daughter, ages ten and fourteen. Sajal took them to school in the mornings and his wife picked them up. But he was always eager to get home to see her. His wife and kids were his world. He was a simple man and, frankly, was glad there were people like the ones who ran this company. He preferred his undemanding job over that life. He put in his forty hours and went home. His weekends were devoted to his family, not work.

Things sure had turned out different than his dad had always taught him. Left out of those teachings was the reality that a man had to sacrifice a family life if he wanted to make a lot of money. That wasn’t something Sajal had the slightest desire to do.

His parents had moved to the United States before he was born and raised him to believe this was a country where dreams came true. This gun company wasn’t his idea of a dream, but it gave his family health insurance and a roof over all their heads. His wife’s income went for food and clothing, and his income covered the rest. They even managed to save a small amount each month.

Hearing Enrique and Jasper at the espresso machine, a smile perked up Sajal. Tuesday night at ten o’clock in Newport Beach, California just got a little brighter. Jasper always wore jean overalls. He was OneDefense’s senior electrician. Enrique was one of four handymen. Leaving his cart near the long cafeteria island, he went to the two.

“Sajal,” Enrique greeted in his Spanish accent.

“Good morning,” Sajal said with a slight Indian accent he’d gotten from his parents, who still spoke their native language frequently. They hadn’t mastered English as well as Sajal had. Growing up here was different than immigrating.

Jasper handed him an espresso. He took it with a nod of appreciation and sipped.

“We were just talking about Kirby Clark,” Jasper said. “I heard on the news this morning that there’s still no sign of Sabrina Tierney.”

The entire company had been abuzz over Kirby’s murder. And why wouldn’t they? It wasn’t every day a man was murdered at your place of employment.

First, a rumor had spread that Kirby and the head of HR had been having an affair, then he’d turned up dead and the woman had disappeared.

“You think she did it?” Jasper asked.

“I heard another woman who was seeing Mr. Clark showed up last Tuesday asking questions about Sabrina,” Enrique said. “The two didn’t know about each other. He was bangin’ them both. And you will not believe this...the other woman is married!” Enrique’s eyes popped wide open, and a big, white, toothy smile formed on his face. He was loving the gossip.

“Explains why he kept her a secret,” Jasper said.

Sajal wasn’t so sure all of this gossip was accurate. “Sabrina’s assistant said Sabrina and Kirby were just friends. They went to lunch and dinner a lot but didn’t sleep together.”

“That’s what they’d want you to believe.” Jasper finished his espresso. “I think Sabrina found out about the other woman and killed him.”

Sabrina Tierney had always been kind to Sajal. She’d worked long hours and had usually been in her office when he’d come by to empty her trash, one of the last things he did before leaving for the night. She’d hand him the trash can and ask him how his family was doing. She even remembered their names. It was rare when someone at that level acknowledged him so genuinely. No, that woman had a good heart. He didn’t care what the news said. She didn’t kill Kirby. He may not be the brightest man on Earth, but he had a good sense about people, and Sabrina had never given him a bad feeling.

“Have you ever met her dog?” Sajal asked.

Both Enrique and Jasper looked at him without answering, mystified over his question, in such contrast to the scandal.

“No owner of a dog like that could be a killer,” he continued. “She brought her in sometimes, when she worked real late.” Which had been often. “That dog would jump up on me and try to lick my face off. Always had a stuffed toy to show me, too.” He wondered what had happened to her and Sabrina.

“You really don’t think it was her?” Jasper asked.

Sajal shrugged. “I’m no detective, but it just doesn’t seem that way to me.”

After a bit, Jasper said, “You think you know people, and they end up getting arrested for murder. It happens.”

Enrique nodded. “Yeah. The quiet neighbor. Teachers molesting students. Priests.” He nodded again. “Yeah. Sabrina seems nice, but she could have murdered him.”

“Who else could it have been?” Jasper asked.

“The married woman,” Sajal said.

The two mulled that over.

“She was pretty upset when she came here,” Enrique said. “I didn’t hear her talking to Tristan, but I did see her leave. She was crying.” His accent drew out the last word.

“The news said the knife used to kill Kirby was found in a Dumpster near Sabrina’s house. Her prints were on it,” Jasper said.

“Of course they were,” Sajal argued. “It was her knife. It came from her kitchen. Anyone could have put it there.”

“Like the secret woman,” Enrique said.

Or someone else. Sajal thought there was more going on than any of them knew. If Kirby’s murder would ever be solved, he’d bet they’d all be surprised by the outcome. But it was nothing the three of them would solve over espresso. And Sajal had a wife to go home to.

“Well, I should get going. My wife said she’d wait up for me tonight. I don’t want to be late.”

“Ah,” Enrique teased. “Sajal’s gonna get lucky tonight.” His accent accentuated lucky tonight. It sometimes annoyed Sajal.

Jasper said nothing, his face turning somber. He’d recently finalized his divorce, and he wasn’t the one who’d wanted it. His wife had declared she’d grown beyond what their relationship could give her. Jasper hadn’t known until after she’d served him that she’d met another man. He was devastated. Sajal was concerned his friend and coworker wouldn’t be able to overcome it and move on.

Enrique, on the other hand, had yet to be married. “Someday you’ll understand.” Sajal finished his espresso and threw out the small cup. Then he gave Jasper a pat on his shoulder. “Try to distract yourself with your work. If you’re going to think of her, think of the good times and don’t regret.”

Jasper’s sorrow lifted just a little. “You always know what to say, Sajal.” He checked his cell phone. “Too bad it isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

Turning, Sajal went to his cart. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Have fun tonight,” Enrique said, drawing out tonight.

Without responding, he kept his annoyance to himself and left the cafeteria. He pushed his cart toward the executive and management offices. He cleaned those last since the executives and managers were always the last to leave at night.

Thinking of Maeve, Sajal finished the executive offices and headed for the storage closet down the hall for more supplies. He’d clean the managers’ offices and then he’d be finished. A man passed him in the hall as he unlocked the door. Sajal glanced at him, but the man paid him no heed. Tension deepened otherwise shallow wrinkles on his brow and around his mouth. He was perhaps in his early fifties. His strides were long and purposeful. He wasn’t a tall man. Average. In pretty good shape, with only a slight protrusion in the stomach area. He had green eyes and fine, medium brown hair that had yet to go gray.

The man reached Tristan Coulter’s office and pushed the door open without knocking.

“We need to talk.” The man intended to close the door behind him, Sajal thought, but it stopped an inch or so from doing so completely.

Any other office, Sajal would have moved on out of respect for privacy. But this was Tristan’s office, the very one visited by Kirby’s secret lover. Sajal wasn’t one to give in to gossip, but he found himself curious nonetheless. He dallied in the supply closet, which was directly across the hall from Tristan’s office. He didn’t understand Tristan’s job. As account manager, he was part of customer service and had a team of representatives who reported to him.

“The chief came to see me this afternoon,” the visitor said.

Sajal heard Tristan’s chair move as though he leaned back against it. He didn’t know what kind of man Tristan was, but he’d heard rumors that he had a bad temper, that most of those who reported to him didn’t like him and even feared him.

“Have a seat, Archer. Calm down and tell me what’s got you in such a lather.”

“Don’t patronize me. It’s easy for you to sit behind that desk and tell me to calm down. This whole thing is blowing up, and I want nothing more to do with it.”

“Sit down, Archer.”

“You son of a—”

“Sit down!” Tristan shouted.

Archer must have gone to sit down. Sajal leaned to peer through the open supply-closet door. The windows on each side of the door to Tristan’s office had blinds on the inside that were closed. He could see a sliver of the back of Archer’s head through the barely open office door. He had gone to sit in front of Tristan’s desk. Sajal couldn’t see Tristan. His chair was blocked by the door.

“He suspects something,” Archer said. “He asked me why I was so convinced Sabrina Tierney killed Kirby when the crime scene suggests there were more than two people involved. Fibers were found that aren’t linked to either Kirby or Sabrina. He knows there was a third person there, Tristan. I can’t keep insisting Sabrina Tierney is my primary suspect. Nobody will believe me.”

Tristan remained silent for a beat or two. “What fibers were found?”

“Clothing. A green cotton fiber.”

Tristan didn’t say anything at first. “That doesn’t mean anything. Fibers alone can’t convict someone. You have to be able to prove someone committed the crime. Let the chief speculate. Tell him you’ll look into it.”

“I did. But he asked why I hadn’t yet.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I missed it. He looked at me funny and told me to report to him after I finished checking it out.”

“So check it out. It won’t lead anywhere.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you won’t let it lead anywhere.” Tristan paused. “Right?”

Archer now paused.

Sajal heard Tristan move. Archer stood from the chair, and Sajal saw Tristan’s hand go to his back.

“You worry too much,” Tristan said. “This will all work out. You’ll see.”

“I should have never listened to you.”

“You had no other choice. You did the right thing, Archer. Now, go home and relax. Tomorrow you can check into the fiber and report it to the chief. He’ll forget all about it then, and all of this will be a thing of the past.” He guided Archer to the door.

Sajal turned his back and pretended to be busy in the supply closet. He put some window cleaner into his cart. When he emerged from the closet, Archer was gone, and Tristan stood in his now-open doorway, slightly graying hair belying his sixty years. He was in shape and looked younger than he was. Sajal only knew his age because one of the administrative assistants had told him.

“Oh,” Sajal said. “Mr. Coulter. Working late tonight?”

“How long have you been in there?” Tristan asked.

Sajal shrugged. “Not long. Just restocking for tomorrow.”

Tristan merely studied him, picking him apart. Sajal could feel him wondering if he’d heard any of the conversation between him and Archer.

“Did you see the man that was just here?”

“I heard someone leave your office, but I didn’t see anyone, no. Is there a problem?”

“No.” Tristan’s lined mouth turned down in false nonchalance. “No problem.”

Sajal pushed his cart down the hall, eager to get away. “Have a nice evening, sir.”

“You, too.... I didn’t catch your name.”

Sajal stopped, his heart jumping into apprehensive beats. “Sajal Kapoor, sir.”

“Mr. Kapoor. You have a good evening, as well.”

Sajal smiled. “Thank you. I will.” He was certain this would be the one and only time Tristan Coulter would remember a low-level employee’s name.

* * *

Sajal shut the door after arriving home and saw his wife come to greet him. “How was your day?” Maeve asked, kissing him when he leaned down. She usually waited up for him. She had the day off tomorrow so he didn’t feel too badly about keeping her up past her bedtime.

“Strange.” Straightening, he looked into her brown eyes and noticed that she’d done her hair and wore one of her favorite sundresses that smoothed her slightly overweight frame. “You look beautiful.”

She beamed, her subtly crooked teeth flashing. “What was strange about today?” She turned and led him into the kitchen.

He didn’t really want to talk about it. “Let me get comfortable.”

“Meet you in here.”

It smelled wonderful. He walked down the hall of their three-bedroom ranch and called, “Where are the kids?”

“At Mom’s for the night. She’s taking them to school in the morning.”

They really had the night to themselves, then. Sajal changed into shorts and a Yosemite National Park T-shirt and went into the kitchen where his wife was stirring spaghetti sauce. She made it with sausage and lots of tomatoes, just the way they both loved it. Spaghetti was the first dinner they’d had together. He’d taken her to a local place, not a chain. And when she’d ordered spaghetti, he’d known he’d met his soul mate.

He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her behind her ear.

After she giggled softly, she asked, “What was strange about today?”

Sighing, still not wanting to talk about it but compelled to share with his wife, he answered, “I heard a conversation that disturbed me today.”

As her mouth opened to probe, he shushed her and held his finger up, pressing it to her lips. He saw her eyes register his concern.

“Sajal.” She swatted his hand away.

Now her brow lowered, and those lovely eyes admonished. She knew something was amiss. He almost smiled. Worry kept it at bay. He loved her so much. Strong, beautiful woman.

“My darling.” He kissed her cheek.

She pushed his chest. “You tell me now!”

He stepped back, adoring her, calmed by her. “I love you even when you’re mad.”

She poked him with her finger, not hard enough to hurt, just demanding.

“I heard Tristan talking tonight to a man I don’t know. It was about Kirby Clark’s murder.”

Her hand flattened on his chest. “You’re worried. What did they say? Tell me all.”

He didn’t want to.

“Sajal...”

He sighed again, this time with more reluctance. “Maeve. It is work.”

“Work? The CEO was murdered, Sajal. Now, you tell me what you heard.”

He contemplated refusing. Would he put her in danger if he did as she asked?

“Sajal...?”

He knew that tone. There was no getting around answering her. “I heard Tristan talking in his office tonight.” His wife turned the burner to simmer. The water for the noodles was just beginning to boil, and the smell of baking French bread began to fill the house. “A man came to see him. He called him Archer. They talked about Kirby Clark’s murder, about evidence Archer was concerned would come to light.”

“Evidence?” Maeve put noodles into the water.

“Fiber evidence. Archer must be a detective because he mentioned his chief.”

“And this Archer person is hiding evidence?” Maeve faced him, grave confusion and worry filling her eyes. “What does Tristan have to do with it? Why is he involved?”

“That I don’t know. He was supporting Archer, who seemed afraid he’d be caught.”

“Why? Does he know who killed Kirby?”

“Oh, I definitely think he does.”

“Do you think it was Tristan?”

The way Tristan had spoken made Sajal say no. He was supportive of Archer. But then, Tristan was known for his ruthless ways, his fearlessness. In business, he was successful. He’d probably worked his way up to the executive ranks.

“What were you doing outside his office?” she asked.

“I was in one of the supply closets. It was across the hall.”

“Did they see you?”

“Tristan did. He asked how long I’d been there. I pretended not to be aware that he and Archer had talked.”

His wife’s eyes searched his face. She was worried. He didn’t like seeing her that way. “Did he believe you?”

Sajal replayed the exchange in his mind and had to answer honestly. “I don’t know.”