Partners In Crime (2 page)

He had often observed this mass emotional
response during his many years on the job. An unexpected death
would trigger it for sure. Especially heart attacks. Never mind
that few had known or liked the dead one. Something about a sudden
death opened up their emotional faucets. It was a wonderful way to
spice up a dull routine.

He wandered into the center of his own
office before he realized that Miss Fullbright had already moved
in. Hanging plants dangled from the ceiling and brushed his head.
Well, he thought, she can certainly move quickly when she wants to.
In all other respects, Miss Fullbright took inordinately long to
reach a decision, weighing countless psychological pros and cons.
She had been chosen as T.S.'s successor by a number of partners,
who, tired of being outmaneuvered by the actions of a more
experienced Personnel Manager, hell bent on spending their money,
had decided that a friendly puppet government was in order. They
had certainly found their man in Miss Fullbright. She had been
raised to obey and was in her element at Sterling &
Sterling.

"T.S.!" Miss Fullbright was clearly startled
by his appearance. She sat on his custom radiator cover, looking
out over Wall Street. Rapidly moving clusters of people slogged
forward in the morning drizzle. An ideal view for venting
sorrow.

"Felicia." He was uncharacteristically
confused for a moment, his coat folded in his arms. What did one do
in such a situation?

"Oh, go ahead and hang it up," she grumbled
ungraciously, turning back to her appropriately depressing
view.

Felicia Fullbright was a tiny, slender
woman, naturally graceful but so uncaring of this grace that she
appeared, instead, to slink about and frequently made other people
nervous. Her shapely legs were spoiled by the clunky,
uncompromising conservatism of her shoes, a style that male
executives had snidely dubbed "power pumps." Her pretty
heart-shaped face and delicate, almost feline, features were
likewise marred by her very visible suspicions that others were out
to undermine her. He sometimes wondered where she had acquired this
stubborn defensiveness and why she had sacrificed her sleek
feminity to its power.

He hung his coat on his usual hook in the
rack, squeezing it in next to her bulky fur. No worry about animal
rights in Miss Fullbright's mind. She had earned her fur coat and
she was going to wear it well.

He sat on the edge of the sofa and waited.
He had no idea what to do next.

"You're looking very relaxed today," she
said, staring at his sweater and slacks.

"Well, I am retired." He straightened the
cuffs of his sweater and cleaned a small smudge off of his right
shoe. She was the last person he was going to apologize to.

"Glad you remember that." She was most
unattractive when she pouted. Miss Fullbright had never been very
good at hiding her feelings from T.S. It was as if she expected him
to ferret them out anyway, so what was the use? It was true that he
was abnormally gifted at reading other people's motives, but that
had been bred of his long years in Personnel. She took his skill,
however, as a personal assault on her dignity and frequently
resorted to being blunt with him and little more.

"Edgar insisted I come in and field the
press," he said. "I'm not sure why. I am sure that in every other
respect of the Personnel Manager job, he will want you to carry on
as planned."

"I'm sure." She slouched sullenly toward his
huge oak desk and sat down in the swivel chair. Her small frame was
dwarfed by it and when she tilted back, her feet lifted off the
floor. If she thought it made her seem imposing, she was mistaken.
She looked instead like a little girl who was playing in her
daddy's office.

"Felicia, I don't want this job anymore.
It's yours. I assure you I have no intention of hanging on." She
was startled into momentary speechlessness and he continued. "But I
can tell from Edgar's voice that it will do you absolutely no good
to protest this move. Particularly as your first act in office. It
would be unseemly for the Personnel Manager of Sterling &
Sterling to protest in such a manner. Especially a woman. The lady
doth protest too much, remember?"

"Yes, I see your point." The whining was
gone from her voice and her one saving grace, competency, had crept
back in.

He sighed. "Where shall I make camp?"

Her lovely brow furrowed and she pushed
impatiently at her impeccably razored short hair. "I hadn't thought
about that."

"How about in Sheila's area?" he suggested.
"There's an empty office there."

Sterling & Sterling had advertised
recently for an employee benefits assistant. In the meantime, there
was a perfectly good office in the back going begging, where there
was less of a chance that people would know he'd returned. Besides,
if anyone knew what was going on, it would be Sheila.

"How about by Sheila?" Miss Fullbright
echoed. She smiled as she looked up. "Now that's a good idea.
You'll be in the back." She considered her words and colored
slightly. Her dignity was most important to her. "What I meant to
say was, it's a discreet location. Let me call her now."

When it came to intercoms, computers and all
the gadgets of a modern office, Miss Fullbright was a well-oiled
cobra. She used them perfunctorily and ruthlessly. Punch, punch and
she was ready to move on to the next task.

"She's on her way. Poor child. Her mother
discovered the body, you know."

"Yes, I heard."

"Awful, isn't it?" Her tone belied her
words. "I can't imagine the impact on employees. It might be a real
trauma." She leaned forward and gazed at him in expectation. "What
do you think, T.S.? Should I call in a psychologist and offer
special grief counseling? Perhaps I should take an Employee Pulse?"
This was the name she had given to the endless series of surveys
she delighted in passing out to all employees. Usually on important
subjects, like whether the cafeteria should continue to include
raisins in the rice pudding.

T.S. rose as Sheila entered the office.
"Actually, Felicia, I think the best thing would be to let this
matter ride its course unchecked." He headed gratefully for the
door and stopped for a parting shot. "Besides, if you ask me, the
employees seem to be enjoying this." He winked and left his baffled
successor staring after him.

"So," he said, comfortably seated in
Sheila's office. "The torch has passed."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes and
reached for a fresh tissue, blew her nose lustily and tossed it
into the trash can across the room with the accuracy of a Boston
Celtic. "Working for that woman is going to be a real pain in the
ass."

"Now, now Sheila. She's very well trained
and experienced in the field." He had never sat in Sheila's visitor
chair before. It was a huge wood and leather contraption, as
oversized as she was, and ostensibly designed to put distraught
employees at ease as they poured out their troubles to the "medical
benefits lady." T.S. sank deep into the leather, suspecting that it
was more likely designed to prevent anyone from escaping.

"She's a whiner," Sheila replied as if that
ended the discussion. The phone rang and she ignored it. "I can't
take any more calls," she explained. "Margaret will have to cover."
She sighed and rubbed at her temples. "How are Brenda and Eddie?"
Because she had cats of her own, Sheila never failed to ask after
his own.

"They're fine. Slim as ever." In truth, they
were nearly as big as seals. "Tell me about this morning," T.S.
asked when she remained silent. He wanted to know what he was
walking into before he delivered himself upon the sacrificial altar
of Edgar Hale and the NYPD. He could count on Sheila for an
accurate picture of events.

Impeccably raised in a New York middle-class
Irish home, Sheila had entered the department as a receptionist at
the front desk five years ago, attracting a steady stream of male
employees on obvious reconnaissance. She looked like an otherwise
fierce Amazon cursed with unruly, perpetually childish blonde hair.
She towered above the other women in the department—and many of the
men. But her imposing physical presence was at odds with her
sympathetic and often shy demeanor, a contradiction that made her
spectacular smile that much more effective. In fact, she
unconsciously disarmed nearly everyone she met. This, combined with
her unfailing politeness to applicant after applicant, no matter
how scruffy, had done wonders for the Sterling & Sterling
image.

If Sheila had a fault, it was excessive
empathy for her fellow men and women and an overactive imagination
when it came to their suffering. Probably her Catholic school
upbringing. As a result, she was terrible at turning people down
for jobs, but this trait had made her the ideal choice for a vacant
employee benefits job. She had quickly established herself as die
perfect person to approach when your wife was ailing or your child
had succumbed to drugs or you had to get a second opinion on a
hemorrhoid operation. She would never take your troubles
lightly—your sorrows were her sorrows.

Sheila began dabbing at her eyes, as if the
memory of the discovery might trigger a new round of tears. "It's
very upsetting," she almost whimpered. "Mr. Cheswick got me my
first job here, you know." Sheila's mother had been Robert
Cheswick's secretary for nearly thirty-five years and the partner
had referred Sheila to Personnel as a favor.

"Oh, hogwash, Sheila!" T.S. could not help
replying. "Your first job paid nothing. How grateful can you
be?"

She sniffed and mumbled. "The benefits were
good."

"Not for Cheswick they weren't. Now get a
hold of yourself. Tell me what happened."

She blew her nose dramatically, paused as if
to collect herself, and launched into narration. "Mom found him
early this morning. Very, very dead. It was not like the movies at
all." She gazed at him blankly. "It was really rather ugly." She
sighed and fiddled with her letter opener, flipping it from hand to
hand and stabbing idly at her desk pad. She stopped suddenly,
stared at the opener and, appalled, threw it down with an
involuntary shudder.

"We rode in together on the subway as usual.
Mom likes us to spend that time together. It gives her a chance to
keep nosing into my life." She waited until he nodded his head
sympathetically, then continued. "Anyway, because we were late, she
was in no mood to talk. Acted like it had been my fault or
something. She makes such a big fuss if we're even two minutes
behind schedule. He really has her trained." She shook her head.
"Had her trained. I don't know what will become of Mom now."

"Another partner will snap her right up.
She's really an excellent secretary."

"Yes. She would be." Sheila reached for a
tissue as if she expected her self-control to foil her momentarily.
"I walked her to her desk because the bank is deserted that early.
Sometimes it can get creepy down there. That marble really
echoes."

T.S. knew what she meant. He was convinced
it was deliberately planned so that even the most confident senior
executives would find their resolve reduced to mush from the
conspicuousness of their every footstep as they walked the long
marble hall to the Partners' Room.

"I was in a really good mood, you know. I'd
had such a good time at your retirement party and then I'd gone out
to a bar later and… well, I had a good time." She colored slightly
and continued. "I was sort of whistling as I walked down the hall.
No one else was there, of course. I was thinking about maybe
cutting my hair like…"

"About Mr. Cheswick?" he interrupted
tactfully before she could get started.

"Well, I was halfway down the hall when I
heard Mom scream. And I mean scream. She let fly with this shriek
that grew and grew and just hung there. I was so scared I dropped
my shopping bag and these oranges I'd brought to work with me
rolled everywhere. I'm on another diet, you know. This time I mean
it."

He nodded. She was given to gaining weight
quickly. Just the same, he did want her to get to the point.

"I went running back as fast as I could."
She held out one nicely shaped leg for him to see. "Of course,
these stupid heels make it impossible, but just the same I went
flying through the swinging doors into the Partners' Room and there
he was. Dead as can be. Slumped backwards in his chair. And that
stupid old-fashioned chair had tilted back on its swivel and my
mother had a hand on the arm of it while she screamed, so it was
jostling up and down. He was jerking like some kind of puppet. I
just can't tell you." She was too absorbed in the morbid details to
consider crying, he noticed. "His face had this wide grin just
frozen on it. Ugh. And Mom would not quit screaming. I had to grab
her by the shoulders and shake her until her glasses fell off. I
practically had to slap my own mother."

She paused and looked at T.S. to see the
impact of this terrible statement.

"Perhaps you should have."

“
Well, I didn't.'' She
picked up the letter opener and stared at it speculatively. "I
thought it was a heart attack. I mean, you know those old guys. You
expect them to die of heart attacks. All they think of is making
money all day long. They deserve to die of heart attacks. But it
wasn't a heart attack, I can tell you that.'' She stared T.S. right
in the eye and paused for effect. "It was a knife. A long, thin
knife with a weird ivory handle. Sticking right out of his rib cage
just above the heart. I know." She emphasized these last words and
leaned forward. "I'm CPR trained. It was right above the heart and
angling down. Someone knew just where to stick it."

He had no idea what one replied to such a
statement and merely nodded.