Naked Tao (7 page)

“A witness to what?” I asked. 

Eric shrugged. “Exactly why were you fired?” 

“We argued over a client matter,” I said. “Afterwards, I went into his office to confront him, and like I told you, I found him hanging from his chandelier. John’s secretary saw me trying to revive him after I took him down, but that’s all I did,” I said. “This should be easy enough to clear up. By the way, why would the police share information about an open investigation with you?” 

Eric looked a little embarrassed, but answered, “The detective is one of our special friends.” 

None of this made any sense to me. Why would anybody want to murder John? What could possibly be the motive? I just spoke to him shortly before his death? It had to all be tied together somehow and my first instinct told me it was tied to Pathogen, but how and why? There were a lot of questions running through my mind, so I hadn’t registered Eric’s odd comment that the detective was a special friend. 

He must have seen the confusion on my face because Eric added, “We swing with him and his wife. They planned to be at the party tonight, but he was called in when they found John’s body.” 

“A police officer is involved in this kinky lifestyle?!” I asked incredulously. 

Eric narrowed his eyes. I don’t think he liked my judgmental tone of voice. “It’s all legal, Grant. We are all consenting adults.” 

I should have kept my mouth shut, but it had been one of those days. “So a pervert is investigating me for murder?” 

Eric’s face flushed bright pink. It does that when he is infuriated. “If you’re so damn innocent, my shady friend, then why the hell did you flee the scene and come here, and why are you spinning such a vague story about why John fired you shortly before he was murdered?” 

The truth of my predicament washed over me like a sulfur bath. I realized I was in a very awkward position. Withholding information about Pathogen’s activities could land me in jail.  Revealing it could get me disbarred. 

“You have some explaining to do, dude,” said Eric. “You’re in some deep shit and you need your friends. So I’d soften the righteous attitude if I were you.” 

Eric was right. I was in some deep shit. If I did tell anyone what the memos revealed, who would believe it and could I even trust the info in them? Pathogen’s public relations machine had successfully branded the company as a corporate angel devoted to relieving human suffering. Why did I automatically assume the documents were authentic? Because my gut told me they were and Ch’ing taught me long ago to always listen to my gut. It never lied. 

I would need solid proof and John had taken all of the evidence. Now he was dead and I didn’t have a clue how to get it back. What if that was what got him killed? If so, I might be next. 

Up until this point, loss had defined me. I wasn’t about to lose my freedom too.  I had made some bad decisions on this day, but opening up to my friend was not one of them. I told Eric everything and together we conspired to save my sorry ass.

“…strip away everything and start fresh, like a newborn.”- Padma

What a day. My biggest victory morphs into a nightmare and costs me my job. A miracle cure that will heal my mother appears, and is just as quickly taken away.  I’m served with divorce papers. My boss is dead and the police suspect me. My best friend turns out to be a sex freak. Ch’ing, who is a father to me, disappears without a word. Ginny appears after ten years and then disappears. Oh, and let’s not forget the small matter of needing to save the world from a villainous drug company. Have I left anything out? I couldn’t imagine it getting any worse, but of course it does. 

“This is a huge mess,” said Kinsey. “Grant, when did you last see Ginny?” 

“What difference does it make?” I growled. 

“Why do you say that?” asked Kinsey. 

“She left the party with another guy,” I answered. 

“Is that true?” asked Kinsey. “Can you say for certain that is true?” 

“I saw her talking to some guy,” I said. “I assume they left together.” 

Kinsey let out a disgusted growl. “I thought you were a Taoist,” she said. “Would Ch’ing let you get away with such sloppy thinking?” 

Ch’ing focuses on the facts.  He only considers data acquired directly from his senses and carves away any assumptions. One of his favorite internal arts is called Marrow Washing Chi Kung. While it has a physical component, the internal aspect of the practice contains the hidden secrets of the art. It is used to scrub the mind of self-deception. Ch’ing insists it is the shortest path to clarity. 

I could certainly use a little clarity at the moment. Kinsey was right. I needed to wait and see what had really happened to Ginny. In the meantime, it was time to do something positive, so I suggested we see if the stalker was still outside. 

We searched the street for any sign of Pony Tail. While there were several white vehicles parked out front, none of them were occupied. Eric grabbed Mr. Bear and his wife, but they only confirmed that the car had left. To be on the safe side we searched the house and yard for any sign of him. As expected, we did not find him. 

“Do you think something bad has happened to Ginny?” I asked. 

Kinsey didn’t answer. Instead she chewed on her lower lip. 

“Should we call the police?” I asked. 

“And tell them what…that the C.E.O. of a large corporation disappeared from a sex party,” said Kinsey.  “A sex party hosted by the principles of a security company entrusted with the safety of others. It will destroy our credibility, Grant. It might destroy our business.” 

“Sooner or later I will have to talk to them about John’s murder,” I said. “Maybe I could downplay the sex party stuff.” 

“Let’s wait until we know more,” suggested Kinsey. “In the meantime, let’s see what we can find out on our own. It’s time to see the rest of these guests off.” 

I nodded and added, “Eric, I’m sorry I called you a liar. You know…about the swinging thing. Discretion was the right thing under the circumstances. You owe it to Kinsey to keep a low profile about this strange lifestyle you’re into.” 

Eric slapped me on the back as we made our way to the truck. “Get some rest and we will sort this out tomorrow,” he said. “Are you headed home to the Highlands?” 

I nodded. 

“Be careful, Grant,” he said. “Are you good to drive?” 

“Yes, I’m good to drive,” I answered. “Eric, I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this. I feel like time’s running out for me. If John was murdered, then we need to find out who did it. If we don’t get some answers soon, I’m going to end up in jail.” 

“Then we’ll start with John’s secretary,” said Eric. “I’ll interview her myself.” 

I was dog tired, but the threat of jail time for a murder I didn’t commit was incentive to keep moving. Instead of heading home, I decided to return to the office to see if I could retrieve the documents I had given to John. My gut told me there was a connection between those documents and his death. I came to regret that decision. 

Law schools flood the market each year with fresh eager faces hoping to make a mark for themselves. A young lawyer works long hours to get a toe hold into the legal market. Being a lawyer may sound glamorous, but it’s a competitive profession where you have to get your hands dirty to get ahead of the rest of the pack.

Attorneys learn to criticize everything, including each other.  It creates a mindset that infiltrates our personal lives as well. It is not easy to sustain a relationship when you’re busy attacking others. Most young lawyers give up the practice once they get a taste of these harsh realities. 

The documents proving Pathogen’s duplicity was all I needed to remind me of the lie I was living. John had actually been right. This profession really wasn’t for me and I did want out. Before I quit though, there was something important I needed to do. I decided that I was going to bring Pathogen down because somebody had to do it, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out who that would be, if not me. 

Someone had given me the proof I needed to do it…but who left those documents in my office and why me? Someone could be playing me, but bringing Pathogen down was not only the right thing to do, it was a necessary thing to do, if I intended to survive the coming challenge. 

There was also a more personal reason to go after Pathogen. Their scientist mentioned the discovery of a miracle plant that cured any illness, restored optimal health and led to a long life. The motorcycle crash had left my mother with a severe brain injury. Maybe this miraculous plant could heal her too. 

It was a little after midnight when I pulled up to my office building. We were on the thirty second floor and ordinarily there would be a few lights still shining through the windows, but on this night the office was dark and ominous. 

I still had a key card to the building, but I wasn’t sure if it still worked. I had never been fired before and a part of me felt like a thief sneaking into someone’s home. The security camera pointing straight at my face didn’t help relieve the angst I was feeling. My hand shook slightly as I slid the card into the slot for the garage overhead. 

A wave of relief washed over me when the door began rising, but it turned to confusion when a car roared out and damn near side swiped me as soon as the door was high enough for it to pass through.  They were obviously in a hurry. It didn’t help my growing anxiety one bit, and I had to resist the temptation to just forget the whole thing and go home. 

The garage was mostly empty. A lone car was parked in an area where the lights were burned out.  It reminded me of a tombstone standing watch on a dark night. I was accustomed to leaving the building at a late hour, but being here under these circumstances was creepy. I managed to pull it together enough to slip the battered old truck into my assigned parking space. 

I never lock the truck. I figure no one would want to steal it…but I did lock it this time. Stuffing the keys into my pocket, I headed toward the elevator, but stopped when I thought I heard someone calling out from the direction of the tombstone. When I turned toward the sound, there was no one there.

I changed my mind about taking the elevator and chose the stairs instead. I wanted to keep moving and being trapped in a box hanging from a cable did not appeal to me at the moment. 

Since I was parked on lower level two, it was a thirty four story climb, but I had done it many times before as part of my training for mountain climbing trips out west. A busy lawyer has to find ways to incorporate fitness training into his daily routine, if he hopes to stay on his game. 

I hoped the physical exertion would help clear my spooked head. The smell of stale piss in the stairwell door did little to alleviate my anxiety. I noticed a puddle of fresh urine with a faint hint of steam still rising from it. Why do people piss in stairwells? I reconsidered the elevator, but couldn’t get past the uneasiness I felt about it, and began the ascent. 

It could have been the tequila, but the climb seemed unusually difficult.  I had to stop several times to rest. It might have been my imagination, but I thought it sounded like there was someone climbing below me. Each time I stopped the steps below continued like an extended echo before coming to an abrupt stop.  Someone seemed to be following me and trying to avoid discovery. 

The thought of someone stalking me was creepy enough, but under the circumstances it was nerve wracking. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I figured it all might be connected to John’s death. I had a few questions I wanted to ask this stalker, so I devised a strategy to catch whoever it was. 

After climbing four more flights of stairs, I opened the door leading to the twenty-fifth floor, but didn’t step through the threshold. Instead, I quietly crept further up the stairs until I was out of view and waited. I expected the stalker to rush up the stairs, but that didn’t happen. In fact, nothing happened at all. 

It’s possible that my follower didn’t take the bait, but I convinced myself instead that the whole thing was nothing but my imagination. Chiding myself for getting spooked over nothing, I finished the climb and slipped into my old office.  I obviously should have trusted my instincts. 

The office foyer is intended to impress. The marble flooring is polished to a high sheen. Matching Doric columns and a fresco of the Parthenon is calculated to give the impression that Socrates resides within its walls. To me, it’s a little over the top. The first time I stepped into the place I half expected to see everyone dressed in togas and sandals. 

Ordinarily, there are number of young attorneys working late on projects dumped on them at the last minute and a night shift of clerical staff working diligently to meet the next day’s deadlines, but not on this night. On this night, the offices were all empty. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t a soul working. Everyone was probably sent home in deference to John’s death. The place felt like a mausoleum. 

This is the home office of Biggs, Scranton & Pulver, a multi-state firm with over 250 attorneys. The firm services large corporations with deep pockets. Pathogen has the deepest and tends to keep the firm very busy. John was right about one thing, losing Pathogen’s business would definitely hurt the firm. Cut backs would follow and more than one attorney would lose his job. 

I was about to engage in some serious conflict with my client and all conflict is warfare. It’s just matter of scale. Collateral damage is the unintended consequence of war. Many of the people who worked at the firm were friends. They had mortgages and families to feed. I wasn’t sure what they would do if I exposed Pathogen and they lost their jobs.  It was a sobering thought, and a premature one. My first order of business would be to make sure those documents were authentic. 

Since John was found dead in his office, it’s possible the documents were still in there somewhere. Although he may have destroyed them, it’s unlikely he’d had time to remove them before his death. I headed straight to his office and found crime scene tape barring entry. It turned out to be a good thing, because John’s office door would have been locked otherwise. 

I squeezed past the yellow tape and wormed my way into the crime scene. Even though the place appeared to be empty, something told me to close the door behind me. Rather than turn the lights on, I used the flashlight app on my phone. I’m not sure what I expected to see, but it wasn’t this. I assumed the killer was connected to Pathogen and expected the place to be torn apart, but John’s office looked intact except for the obvious mess indicating a crime scene, complete with mangled chandelier and chalk outline of dead body. I thought they only did that in the movies. 

Maybe John wasn’t murdered and maybe the evidence I had handed over to him was still here. There was a stack of files on the corner of his desk that I quickly rifled through. None of them had to do with Pathogen. There was nothing else on the desk.  I scanned the rest of the room for any signs of the documents, but saw none.  The desk drawers were locked. Unless I was willing to force them open, there was nothing left for me to do in this room.  I just couldn’t see myself breaking into John’s desk. 

I was turning to leave when I felt something under my shoe. As bent to pick up a wadded piece of paper, the door knob turned and the office door slowly opened. Panicked, I slipped the paper into my pocket and squatted behind the desk for cover. 

My mind was racing for a cover story, but I couldn’t think of a plausible excuse for violating the integrity of the crime scene.  I don’t know whether it’s true or not, but everybody knows a criminal returns to the scene of the crime. If I was caught here, it would make me look very guilty. 

I waited breathlessly for the lights to come on, but they didn’t. The only light in the room came from a full moon shining through the window. Now that my eyes had adjusted, it seemed way too bright at the moment.  I risked peeking around the edge of the desk and caught a glimpse of a blond ponytail just as the door shut again. There’s no way that can be the same guy Ginny was talking to at the party.  If so, then what was he doing here? 

I crept over to the door and listened for a few minutes, before I decided I could risk opening it and taking a peek. The hall was empty and I slipped out. I didn’t want to push my luck and thought about leaving, but I needed to do a quick check of my office.