Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions (10 page)

The thought of cremation suddenly seemed too cruel, too thoughtless. I was angry with Tom Connaught for plunking me into the situation, but did he do it to be cruel to me? Did he know he was going to die when he wrote that will? Somehow I doubted it. Tommy was always so full of life, so sure of himself. He exuded confidence, success. That confidence is what attracted me to him in the first place.

Tommy had said in his letter to me that he trusted me. Trusted me to look after it all. It felt like too much of a burden for me but my little voice of reason reminded me of our wedding vows. Ridiculous. We were divorced, but somehow those wedding vows, until death do us part, were coming back to haunt me.

I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, I told myself. So I thought back on the many obstacles I’d faced and the realization hit me that most of my so-called challenges were ones I knew I couldn’t fail at. The difficult ones I’d walked away from. The possibility of failure was what had been bothering me all along. And nothing I’d done in the past even came close to this. Failure could mean losses of millions of dollars and losses of hundreds of jobs. Once again reality reared its ugly head.

All the while I was worrying about myself, poor little me, and how Tommy’s death was going to affect
me
, I was putting off thinking about Tommy’s death. Typical Kate Monahan behaviour, I chided myself. Worry about yourself, to the exclusion of the suffering of others. Well, maybe I was being a
little
hard on myself, but I did admit reluctantly that I had given little thought to Tommy’s murder. Every time the subject crept into my head, I pushed it aside.

I had been a pro all my life at not allowing horrible mental pictures and dreadful thoughts into my brain. If I didn’t think about it, it
couldn’t
have happened. If I didn’t think about it, it
wouldn’t
happen. Denial with a capital D about past and future awful events. Hence my strong, superstitious belief in jinxing the pitcher - if I didn’t think about something awful, or God forbid, say something out loud about wicked things that could happen, then they wouldn’t happen.

What did I know about Tommy’s murder? That he was shot. Did I know where his body had been found? Did I know how many times he had been shot? Did I ask any of these questions of Detectives Bartlett and Shipley? I did not. And why didn’t I? Because I was too damned chicken to ask.

Detective Shipley was on a day off but Bartlett agreed to see me when I telephoned.

“What exactly can I help you with?” she asked me over her shoulder as I followed her into a small interview room. She had given me directions to the 20th Precinct on West 82nd Street, on the other side of Central Park from Tommy’s apartment.

We sat at a small, square table, the top of which was sticky and disgusting, so I put my hands in my lap and my purse on the floor. We faced each other across the table. The room smelled of dirty feet, body odour, and bad breath. I breathed in and out through my mouth, trying to avoid the old, stale smell.

“Well,” I hesitated. What exactly
did
I want? “Is there any news? Any breaks in your case?”

Bartlett stared straight at me and shook her head. “No.”

“No suspects? No ideas at all?”

“None that we’re prepared to talk about at this stage of our investigation.” She continued to stare at me and clearly wasn’t being very helpful.

“Can you tell me where you found his body?”

“In the loading dock area, behind the Van Buren Health Centre,” she said.

“Van Buren Health Centre? Is that a clinic?” I asked.

“No ma’am,” she stated. “The Van Buren is one of New York’s finest hospitals,” she told me proudly. “I believe it was founded with money from the Van Buren family, descendents of Martin Van Buren, the eighth President of the United States.”

Well, thanks for the history lesson.

“Where is it? I don’t know New York City very well,” I told her.

“At the corner of West 69th and West End Avenue. West of the American Museum of Natural History. Not far from here.”

The American Museum of Natural History was familiar. One of the many landmarks I had discovered earlier that day on my walk around Manhattan.

“What was he doing there?” I wondered out loud.

“We’re still trying to determine that,” she replied.

“Was he robbed?”

“No. All of his personal belongings appeared to be intact.”

I sat quietly for a moment, wondering if I wanted to ask the next logical questions. Cleve Johnston had told me that Tommy had been shot in the back of the head. But did I want more of the gory details?

I took a deep breath and pressed on. “How many times was he shot? Did it look like he was able to fight off his attackers? Do you think he suffered?” I asked my last question in a whisper. The thought of Tommy suffering through the gawdawful pain of it all was too much to bear. I hung my head and took some deep breaths to calm myself down.

“Ms. Monahan, the Medical Examiner has indicated that death occurred because of one shot in the back of his head. Death would have been instantaneous. There was no sign of any fight, or struggle.”

My jaw had been clenched while she was telling me this and I tried to relax. If there was any relief in this fucking goddamn shit mess, it was relief that Tommy had not suffered.

“Do you have any idea why he was at the Van Buren Health Centre?” I asked.

“None, at this point,” Bartlett told me. “We understand from the people at Phoenix Technologies that he was supposed to be at the office, in meetings.”

“That’s right,” I agreed with her. “He was expected to be there the whole day in meetings of the board of directors. Mr. Connaught’s driver told me that he never showed up on Wednesday morning when he went to pick him up.”

She was nodding her head. “Yeah, we knew that. We can’t seem to account for his time from Tuesday evening when he left the office until late the next night when we found his body.”

“What time was the body found?” I asked.

“Late. Long after regular working hours, because the loading dock was closed. A nurse practitioner found the body. She was waiting for a delivery and was walking around, having a cigarette. In all the disruption of the police arriving and sealing off the area, we almost had a minor disaster on our hands. The locals were denied access to the area and a special delivery almost didn’t get through. It was a heart, being delivered from a hospital in Brooklyn, for an urgent transplant.”

She continued, “The Van Buren is known as a first-class transplant hospital and their research department is world renowned for their work on artificial organs. My great-uncle was one of the first recipients of a heart transplant back in the late sixties and he had it done at the Van Buren,” she told me by way of explanation. “The place is very special to our family.”

That’s nice, I thought to myself. I wondered if she was going to hit me up for a donation for a fundraising campaign.

“But what was he doing there?” I demanded rhetorically.

“No idea, ma’am. We’re still interviewing all the staff who were on duty that night. So far, we haven’t found anyone who knew Mr. Connaught, or knew why he might be at the hospital.”

I left after a few more minutes. My talk with Detective Bartlett left me with more questions and feeling more frustrated than when I had arrived.

chapter fourteen

Five days later I still had no answers. I had lots of questions though about my capabilities as an executive. By Thursday, I was up to my neck in the business.

My watch and the tense muscles in my neck told me it was quitting time. I swiveled around in my chair and took in the nighttime view of Manhattan. With the hours I’d been putting in at the office, it was the only view I was getting of the city.

I made a weak attempt at tidying up my desk (never one of my stronger points) and gave up in disgust. Carrie would look after it in the morning. She was a God-send and a mind-reader. Every morning the desk was miraculously neat and within a half an hour of my working at it, chaos would reign.

On Monday morning, I’d reported to the office with a gung-ho attitude. The weekend had been spent mentally whipping myself into shape for the tasks at hand. I’d decided a positive attitude would get me through the hurdles. So far, it had only managed to make me tired.

My first order of business on Monday morning was to get better acquainted with Carrie. No one had to tell me how important and essential a good secretary was. I had to find out just how good she was.

“I’m not sure where to start,” I told her. I pointed at the pile of reading material I’d left on the desk on Friday night. “Probably, I’ll just continue to plow through these.”

“That’s good. But…,” she hesitated and stopped.

“What?”

“Why not just learn as you go? Mr. Connaught’s in-basket is full of work that needs attention, and he had several appointments already booked for this week. You should probably not cancel all of those.”

Why didn’t I think of that?

“Good idea. Walk me through what’s here.”

She pointed out what was urgent, what could wait and what I should ignore. She was bright and organized. Tommy’s first meeting that morning was with his executive team, followed by a session with the research and development boys and girls.

“Everyone assumes the meetings are canceled,” Carrie said.

“Well
un
-cancel them. I’ve got to meet everyone at some time. Now’s as good a time as any. Tell me about these meetings. Are they regularly scheduled? Or can I expect problems?”

“Mr. Connaught had regular meetings with his teams. And I’m pretty sure they don’t wait for the meetings to bring up the problems. He kept in touch with them, regularly.”

“Who normally attends?”

“For the executive team meeting, there would be Russell Freeson, the Chief Financial Officer, Sandra Melnick, the Vice President, Operations, Steve Holliday, Vice President, Communications, Mark Hall, Vice President of Sales, and Nat Scott, the Vice President of Research and Development. For the R and D meeting, the heads of each of the projects as well as the Vice President will be there.”

“Big crowds?”

“No. Lately, the R and D meetings have been getting smaller.”

“Why’s that?”

Carrie shrugged her shoulders. “Less research and development?”

“Any other appointments scheduled for today?”

She shook her head. “No, but Steve Holliday wants to see you.”

Steve was one of the Vice Presidents and I remembered being introduced to him at the board meeting the other night.

“Remind me who he is.”

“Vice President, Communications. He does the PR stuff. Talks to the analysts. Shareholder relations.”

Now I remembered. I had silently nicknamed him
Slick
when we were introduced. Tall, young, balding, more than okay-looking and dressed like a model right off the pages of GQ.

“Did he say what he wanted to meet with me about?”

“Something about damage control,” she said and shrugged her shoulders. “He was pretty vague.”

“Okay, set it up. I could do with something nice to look at this morning.” I grinned at Carrie as I said it and she gave me back a knowing look.

Steve didn’t disappoint either of us. When Carrie opened the office door to announce him, she gave me a sly wink. I took a moment to take in the effect of Steve Holliday and I must admit, he was like a cool drink on a hot summer day. I don’t know the price of men’s clothing, but if I had to guess, I’d say his suit cost him more than I pay in taxes every year. The colour was perfect on him and one that most men wouldn’t wear because they wouldn’t have had the guts. Kind of a toss-up between dark blue and dark green and it hung on his body like it had been painted there. And Steve had the body for showing off a great suit. He must have been about six three because he was taller than Jay and bigger. Bigger in the shoulders, bigger in the legs, bigger in the arms.

He cleared his throat to get my attention and I blushed. I had been staring a tad too long and got caught. My hand shot out quickly and we shook.

Steve shook my hand and with his left hand steered me into one of the guest chairs in front of the desk. He took the seat next to me, inched the chair closer, crossed his legs and leaned his long arm on the back of my chair. I was dumbfounded and a little claustrophobic. His aftershave was overpowering and he was so close to me I could count the hairs in his ears.
Slick and smooth
.

“Kate,” he purred at me, “so good of you to see me. And so soon after your loss. You’re a trooper. Yessir. I remember Tom telling me how tough you were. And he was right. Yessir.”

When he referred to Tommy as Tom, I knew he wasn’t part of the inner sanctum. Anyone close to my ex-husband called him Tommy.

My eyes wandered up to Steve’s balding head. What hair he had left on the top of his head was cropped short and the sides were cut professionally and looked good.

But his purring was getting to me. He was droning on about how wonderful it was that I was able to do this, how he was going to make it right, right for the company, right for the press and right for the shareholders. When I felt his hand touch my back and his fingers lightly caressing it, I’d had enough. Our knees touched when I stood up and I felt I finally had the advantage because I could look down on him. My hands tugged down on my suit jacket and I gave him my ice look.

“Are you quite finished?” I said in my best Mary Poppins voice.

“Uhm, yes. I guess so.”

“Good.” I walked around the desk and sat in my chair. “Have you had a female boss before Mr. Holliday?”

He shook his head.

“And it shows. Patronizing doesn’t work with me. Neither does unwanted body contact.” He paled a little at that comment.

“Ever had a sexual harassment suit slapped on you?”

“God, no!” he blurted out.

Now I had him where I wanted him. I stood up and put my hands on the desk in front of me and leaned across at him. My voice was menacing. A number of my friends, secretaries, receptionists, law clerks and young female lawyers had been put in these awkward situations and most times were too timid about their jobs to do anything about it. This asshole probably knew I was a secretary and wanted to find out just how timid I was.