Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions (9 page)

“What’re you going to do?” he asked me when I finished.

“I’m going back to the apartment.”

Jay held up his hand like a traffic cop.

“Stop it. Do you think you’re ready for this?” He put his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart and said, “Last time, you came this close,” his voice was getting louder. “This close to biting it. Leave it alone. Go home. The cops’ll do their job. They don’t need you. Go back to Toronto.” He was almost yelling now.

I just sat there and watched him and waited for him to cool down. He was remembering what had happened the last time I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. I had been attacked in my bed, knocked out cold with a gun butt, kidnapped and ended up having the tip of my ear shot off. You’d think I’d learned my lesson but something inside me kept me fighting. As a kid, my size made me a target for every bully in the neighbourhood and I became a fighter. Jay knew me because we grew up together.

“You can’t ask me to leave,” I said quietly.

“I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

That got my blood pressure up a few notches.

“Taking charge now? Telling me what to do? Let me tell you something. I’m
not
leaving New York.” I stood up. “But I am leaving this apartment, with or without you. I’m going back to Tommy’s place. Are you coming?”

He stared at me and shook his head. It wasn’t a negative shake of the head, it was an
I can’t believe this
type of shake.

In the taxi I held on to his arm for dear life, because I realized he was only worried about me.

This time I had a more thorough tour of Tommy’s apartment and I discovered the bathrooms and bedrooms off the hallway where I had been attacked. The master bedroom was about as large as one would expect after having seen the size of the other rooms. One corner held a StairMaster and rowing machine. The oversized, king-size bed seemed small in the large room. The decor and the room reeked of masculinity. The only feature that made the room cozy was the floor to ceiling, wall to wall built-in bookcase along one wall.

I walked along the length of the bookcase and looked at Tommy’s selection of reading material. Several shelves held leather-bound volumes which looked like they had never been touched. The shelves at eye-level held scores of more modern books. There were hundreds of paperback novels shelved in alphabetical order. Everything from Tom Clancy to Leon Uris with John Grisham nicely in the middle. The bottom shelves held technical manuals that came with computer programs, and engineering textbooks.

All the shelves were book-lined except one, higher up where I could see a space about a foot across. I jumped a little to see if there was anything in the space but couldn’t see a thing. Shit, I hate being short at times like this.

I felt Jay behind me, looking over my shoulder. “Perfect timing,” I said. “Can you see if there’s anything up there?” I craned my neck upwards.

Jay reached up and pulled out a small, five by seven picture frame. He handed it to me and said, “It’s a picture of you.”

I peered at it, trying to remember where it had been taken. I was sitting on top of a picnic table, with my feet on the bench and my arms resting on my knees, grinning at the camera. A rare photo of me smiling because normally I hate getting my picture taken. With a flash I remembered it had been taken on our honeymoon, at a dude ranch in Arizona. We had laughed at ourselves the whole time we were there. Complete idiots on horseback, trying to be cowboys. We had both grown up in the city and, for both of us, it had been our first time on horseback.

The honeymoon package included daily trail rides and the most vivid memory of my honeymoon was of a sore butt. As athletic as Tommy had been, he’d been no horseman. He just never got the hang of it and the memory made me smile.

Jay was wandering around the bedroom, opening closets and drawers. “Everything looks untouched Kate. In fact, it doesn’t even look like anyone lived here. Everything is so perfect. Except this room, at least it looks a little more normal.”

“I find it very eerie. Let’s tackle the computer,” I suggested.

Tommy’s computer was the latest and greatest in technology. Jay turned it on and sat down in front of the screen. When the machine was warmed up, Jay pointed at the screen.

“All the standard stuff. What should we look for?”

“I don’t know. Just check his files. Look at the Word and Excel stuff..”

Jay went to work with the mouse and surfed around in Tommy’s computer. I stood beside him and tried to follow what he was doing but he was moving around too quickly for me. My knowledge of computers extends to word processing legal documents and reading emails. After about three minutes he looked up at me and shrugged his shoulders.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?”

He laughed. “Sure. Be my guest. But there’s nothing on here but the programs.”

“No files of his own?” I asked.

“Nope. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Nothing but what it takes to run the computer. There are no document files, no spreadsheet files, no databases, no nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, nothing that sticks out. Maybe the stuff is hidden. But to find it would take some time and someone a lot more technical than I am.”

I started opening desk drawers, not sure what I was looking for. The top drawer of the desk held pens, pencils, paper clips and a few balls of dust. The second and third drawers were empty and the bottom drawer, larger than the other three, was full of hanging file folders. I eagerly thumbed through them looking for something, anything that would give me a clue to what Tommy did at this desk. They were all empty too.

“Nothing. I wonder if Tommy even worked here.”

“Tell me again what it is you’re looking for,” Jay said.

“I don’t know.”

I was at a loss now as to why I had started this exercise. I wandered the length of the room to the living area and plopped down in one of the oversized chairs. The few table lamps that were lit threw soft light around the room and my eyes took it all in. I had seen rooms like this in decorator magazines - several groups of beautifully upholstered furniture strategically placed to allow for conversation, matching tables with fragile lamps, oriental and silk carpets strewn casually about. Rooms like this I had only ever dreamed about and the realization hit me that I now owned this one.

I picked up a long, sleek remote control from the table beside me and looked around for the television it belonged to, but there was no evidence of anything electronic, so I held the remote at arm’s length and pushed the red power button. A very large section of the wall in front of me started sliding open and I laughed out loud.

I quickly got out of the chair and walked towards the opening. The soft light coming from behind the wall was tantalizing and the colours coming from it shimmered. I placed my hand on the cool glass and stared at the hundreds of quickly darting fish. I couldn’t recall ever having seen such a large aquarium.

“It’s awesome,” I heard Jay say behind me.

I nodded my head in agreement and was suddenly overcome with the responsibility. On average I could keep a goldfish alive for ten days. The tank held hundreds of fish, so I figured I had at least several months before I annihilated them all. I put my face up against the glass and whispered to the fish, “Start saying your prayers, boys.”

chapter thirteen

The next morning I was full of nervous energy with nowhere to channel it. I paced the hotel suite, drinking cup after cup of strong coffee. My mind whirled with everything that needed to be done, and in the back of my mind were all sorts of unanswered questions. Questions that I had no hope of finding answers to. I knew what needed to be done - arranging Tommy’s funeral, gaining a true understanding of things at Phoenix Technologies, meeting with the lawyers to settle the estate. The sheer volume of things that needed my attention made me nauseous. And then there were the questions. Questions that Jay had told me the night before would be answered in time.

“The police will handle it,” he’d said several times.

“But what if they’re looking in the wrong places?” I’d protested.

“What’s the right place then, Kate?”

This had gone back and forth, with no resolution whatsoever. I’d just confused myself even more.

“Concentrate on the things that’re important, right now,” Jay had said.

“Tommy’s death is important. How he died is important to me.”

“I know it is. And I’m not trying to trivialize it. But face it Kate, how much did you know about him? What did you know of his life, here in New York? His friends? His co-workers?”

I shrugged my shoulders in response.

“So you’re starting with nothing. You might have stumbled on something already and not know it. You have nothing to compare with. Leave it to the police. Concentrate your efforts on what’s important now.”

I had reluctantly agreed but now in the light of day, the questions, and the elusive answers plagued me. So I got myself busy and tackled the tasks at hand.

The funeral director reminded me of Rudolph Valentino. His black hair was slicked back and the odour of Brylcreem, reminiscent of my father’s favourite brand, wafted from his head. A perfectly trimmed, pencil-thin mustache adorned his upper lip and it made his solicitous smile seem supercilious. He was dressed in a jet-black suit with a gray silk tie and the overall effect was one of Hollywood. If I were the costume designer in a Mel Brooks movie parodying funerals, this is exactly how I’d dress the funeral director. To round out the effect, his voice was one octave higher than it should have been.

“Let me express my condolences, Miss…”, he glanced down at the clipboard he held, “Monahan.”

I had arrived unannounced, determined to get this task off my list of things to do. If I thought of it as a task, a job, then I could get through this. I had repeatedly told myself just that on the cab ride over.

He led me to his office where he sat upright and placed his hands on the desk in front of him. The nameplate on his desk read Mr. Theodore Bradley, Director.

“How may we help you?” he offered.

Which seemed like a pretty stupid opening line if you asked me, and I wondered how he’d react if I asked him where the swimwear department was.

“Well, Mr. Bradley, I think that’s pretty obvious. I need to make funeral arrangements. For Mr. Connaught.”

“Yes, yes. What type of arrangements did you have in mind?”

“Cremation.”

His eyebrows shot up and he looked at me with a big old question mark on his face.

“Yes?” I prompted him.

He mumbled something to himself and fussed with the papers on his desk. “When would you like to have the service?”

“No service.”

This time the question mark on his face was accompanied by a little squeal from somewhere at the back of his throat. I didn’t feel I had to explain.

“Just let me know how soon you can arrange for the cremation.”

“But…” he sputtered.

“Do you make it a habit to question your client’s wishes?” I shot at him.

He cleared his throat and shook his head.

“It’s just…”

“Just what?” I helped him.

“A man of Mr. Connaught’s stature. Well-known in the business community. I just thought… Normally, a service…” He was truly floundering now.

“I don’t believe it says anywhere I need to justify my wishes.”

I stared hard at him, daring him to question me. He didn’t respond. Glad we were past the simpering, condolence stage of the proceedings, I told him where I could be reached.

His weak voice reached me as I was pulling on the office door. I turned around to him.

“The body is ready for viewing,” he told me. “Do you wish some time alone with Mr. Connaught?”

No answer came from me and I turned and walked swiftly down the long hall. View the body? My pace quickened as I felt the bile rising in my throat. I burst through the double doors, sucking in the fresh air and started walking.

That afternoon, I walked until my feet were numb. My eyes didn’t take in much of the scenery and most of the time I had no idea where I was. Some landmarks were familiar, but Manhattan was just a blur that day.

Most of the time I tried to ignore the thoughts tumbling around in my head. Kept pushing them to the back. Decisions I knew had to be made. Typically, I’m a doer, not a thinker. I’m told what to do and I do what I’m told. When it comes to my work, I’ve always had someone there dictating what needs to be done. And I’m good at taking a task and seeing it through to the end. If I’m told to organize a shareholders’ meeting for two hundred and fifty people, that’s all I need to be told. Leave it up to Kate, and it’ll get done. That’s why I’ve always considered myself a professional support person.

I now found myself in a situation where I alone was going to be making the decisions, but I needed someone to tell me what decisions to make. As Jay had reminded me the other night, I’ve always bragged that I could do better than most of the idiots I’d worked for. So now I had my chance. But did I want it? Did I want to be the head of a multi-million dollar high-tech company? Did I want to be responsible for hundreds of employees? Did I want to be beholden to public shareholders?

And did I want to live in New York? Frankly, the city scared me. I knew no-one. No friends, no relatives. Could I leave everything I had in Toronto? At that thought, I snorted. And what exactly would you be leaving behind, I asked myself.

A few friends, a rundown apartment and a car that on its best days started only when I cursed at it. My only close girlfriend had died earlier that year. My parents didn’t even live in the same city. So, I told myself, there wasn’t much to leave behind in Toronto. And the only thing I had in New York, right now, was Jay. My best friend, my love, my family. How long his job would keep him in New York was something I didn’t want to think about.

I could sell my interest in Phoenix Technologies and run away. Run away from it all. The thought was appealing, make no mistake about it. But what would Tommy think? Did I care? He was dead and I was about to set his body on fire.