Music Box Dancer Ch. 02

The audience gasped in indignation. Miriam Walters and Bettina were wide-eyed with shock. Paulina was beyond anger.

"That is the most dishonest and racist thing I have ever heard." Paulina said loudly. "And I'll have nothing more to do with you." With that, she got up and began walking off the stage. Miriam Walters got up and walked off, as well, both ladies receiving a standing ovation of applause from the audience.

"So you're afraid to answer my question?" Keller shouted after them.

"You've crossed the line, Dr. Keller." said Bettina, who gave a signal that instructed the TV crew to shut down the panelists' microphones. "On behalf of KXTC, I apologize to our viewers for that offensive question, as well as this entire debate. I hope we'll be able to have the candidates back for another debate, and with a more reasonable selection of questions..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Sir, data breach." said a voice on the phone. "Lloyd Feingold's personal computer."

"Okay, thank you." said Mitt Willis. "Listen, I want you to lock down the building. All employees out. Security around the perimeter, but no one inside. This is a 'Code Red', and I'll handle it." The voice on the other end acknowledged his orders, and disconnected.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lloyd Feingold's office in the City was modern, gray and black, stark, and all sharp lines and symmetry. Dame Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot would have approved.

Behind his desk was a credenza, with drawers for files. Above it was a couple of mirrors, so he could check his appearance before going to Board meetings and the like. Pot lights in the ceiling above cast limited light. On the credenza was a square box of polished wood, a duplicate of the one Mitt Bain Willis had brought to serenade the Iron Crowbar. Both had been gifts of a high-level member of the Intelligence Community in Washington, D.C.

He was almost done. He'd recorded a staggering amount of data. But it was slow, because he was making a second hard drive full of data.

"What are you doing, Lloyd?"

The voice made Feingold jump out of his skin. Coming into the room was Mitt Bain Willis, in a well-fitting suit as always.

"What are you doing here, Mitt?" replied Feingold.

"We have a report of a cyber-security breach." said Mitt. "Coming from this office. With all the damage the Guardians of Justice have done, we've been monitoring access to our classified core of data documents. Why are you accessing them, Lloyd?"

"Because I'm tired of being asked questions by Congress that I don't have the answers to," said Feingold, "and then not being able to get any answers myself." He began slowly opening the drawer to his desk, where a revolver was sitting.

"Don't bother." said Mitt, drawing a .22WMR auto pistol, silencer attached, from under his suit jacket. "Keep your hands where I can see them. Stand up."

Lloyd rose to his feet, then stepped to his left, to the side of the desk. "What the hell is this, Mitt?"

"I told you to leave all the issues to me." said Willis. "But you just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you. You had to stick your nose where it didn't belong. Are you the Guardians of Justice, Lloyd?"

"No." said Lloyd, rising to his feet to face Willis. "But I'm beginning to wonder if they're not onto something... something regarding this company... something regarding you."

"And that's why you were transmitting information to the FBI." said Willis.

"The FBI is not the Guardians of Justice, either." said Feingold.

"Ah, so you're a whistleblower." said Mitt, his voice turning dark, though remaining smooth. "Like Larry Wheeler."

"Did you kill him?" asked Feingold.

"Yes." said Willis. "I had to kill Larry Wheeler because he made a mistake. And now it's time to erase another mistake."

*FWUP!* *FWUP!*

Two bullets drove into Feingold's chest, one ripping through his heart, the other liquidating his aorta. Feingold collapsed straight down, then toppled onto his chest.

Mitt Bain Willis came up and put the pistol to Feingold's ear and pulled the trigger, hearing a *SPLAT!*. The coup de grâce had not been needed, but Mitt Willis wanted to make sure.

He put on latex gloves, then took cloth bag out of the pocket inside the suit and unfolded it. The computer, hard drive, revolver, and Feingold's cellphone and wallet went into it. Then Willis left. 'Cleaners' would be called in.

Part 10 - The Crime Scene

11:30pm, Friday, June 22d. Jack Muscone, Jerome Davis, and I came into the office of Lloyd Feingold. Jerome was here as an FBI Consultant, and I'd logged in as the SBI Reserve Inspector.

In the room was a CSI team, as well as City Police Detectives E.J. Jefferson, who was a broad-shouldered, well-built black man with a bald head and glasses, and Tony Long, who was short, slight, and white with a mustache and goatee. Long had been involved in the SPS Delivery murders (Author's note: 'Delivery In The Rear'.), while E.J. had worked for the TCPD before coming to the hustle and bustle of the City (Author's note: 'Dark Side of the Force'. Also, 'The Credit Card Caper'.).

"Hey, Boss." E.J. said to me. "You got here just in time. They're about to take the body out."

"Hey, E.J. Hi, Tony." I said. I introduced Jerome to them. "Yes, let us have a quick look, and then you can take him out of here. I quickly examined the body, finding little of relevance. "So he was standing right about here, was shot, and crumpled to the floor?"

"Looks like it, Commander." said Tony Long. "We didn't move the body, except to turn it over to examine his front side. Two bullets right to the heart, it appears, and a third to the earhole."

"So he stepped out from behind the desk to face whoever came in." I said, looking around. I looked at the mirrors on the wall behind the credenza, and could see the back of the desk and back of the wooden box on the credenza. "What is that box?"

"It's a music box, Commander." said E.J. "We dusted it for prints; only Mr. Feingold's on it.

"You opened it?" I asked.

"One of the Crime Lab techs did." said E.J. I put on latex gloves and opened the box. Frank Mills's Music Box Dancer began playing as a ballerina twirled on a rotating stand.

"Was this here all the time?" I asked. "It's sitting catty-corner to the credenza itself."

"We don't know, sir." said Tony Long.

"Please find out." I said. "Ask his assistant when you interview him or her. Ask the cleaning staff. It's important to ascertain if it was already here, or left here by the killer. In the meantime, I would like to ask you to let me and my FBI friend Mr. Muscone bag it as evidence and keep it as such."

"Sure, sir." said Tony Long. "Just provide us a receipt." I took out an evidence bag, put the music box in it, and signed the bag as well as the paperwork, giving a receipt to Long. Jack had countersigned it.

"Who called it in?" I asked.

"The FBI, sir." said Long.

"When the connection was cut off," explained Jack Muscone, "Agent Cardigan immediately called the City Police to check on Mr. Feingold's status. The security people tried to stop them, but reinforcements arrived, as did FBI agents. Cardigan thinks they got here just in time to stop people dressed like janitors from wiping this crime scene out. We found some large rolling carts with cleaning supplies and a body bag in a side hallway."

"Fast action." I said. "Outstanding." I did not mention that this event had been anticipated, and Special Agent In Charge Cardigan had had assets ready, just in case. Unfortunately, 'just in case' happened.

"Was there anything on the desk?" I asked. "A computer, for instance?"

"No sir." said Long. "Nothing at all. There's a wire connection to the company ethernet, but no computer in the room at all."

"Ask his assistant if he had a desktop, and also if he carried a laptop with him. Also, I would appreciate any video your techs took of the room." I said.

"We'll send it to you, and to Agent Muscone." said E.J.

"Let me ask this." said Muscone. "I have reason to believe Mr. Feingold was collecting data onto an external drives or perhaps a jump drive. Anything like that found?"

"No sir." said E.J. "No strange wires leading to a hidden drive or server, either. So, Commander, any idea who did this?'

"Before I answer..." I said. "What do the company videos show regarding who came in and left tonight?"

"We went to obtain that," said Tony Long, "and the security office demanded a warrant. We tried to interview the guards on duty, and the head of Security demanded we get a warrant as well as allow the company to provide them lawyers first. We've got people at Court now, trying to get those warrants, with the dead body as probable cause, but it's 'no go' on that, so far."

"And what does that tell you, E.J.?" I asked as I continued to study the mirrors, using my Police iPhone to record from in front of my chest.

"Uh... they're being overly cautious with regard to their rights?" E.J. tried. He knew my methods; he should have done better than that.

"You know my methods, E.J." I said. Use them. Mr. Davis, what do you think?"

"The Head of Security has been given instructions." said Jerome. "And the lack of cooperation in the face of their CEO being murdered suggests a guilty conscience." I chuckled.

"Yes, doesn't it though?" I replied. "So to answer your question about who did this, E.J., I'd suggest we consider this to be an insider job... by someone from within BigAgraFoods Corporation. And I will not be stunned if the security tapes are either wiped clean or substituted with tapes showing nothing at all."

*BRING!* *BRING!* *BRING!* *BRING!*

It was my personal iPhone. I answered.

"This is Senator Nunn." said the voice. "I'm in my City office. Can you come over before you go back home?"

"Uh, it's late, Senator." I said. "And I'm investigating a murder, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, I know." said Nunn. "And that's what I want to talk to you about. When you're done with the crime scene, Commander. Please. I'd appreciate it."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, June 23d, 2:30am. We took Jack to the Federal Building. That was a convenient cover, as Jerome and I went to another floor of the building, where Senator Nunn's City office was located.

"Thank you for coming." said Nunn after I introduced Jerome. "I've heard good thinks about your work, Detective Davis. And you're the son of a retired Navy man, is that not right?"

"Yes sir." said Jerome.

"Good, good." said Nunn. He poured us each a cup of coffee in mugs with the Seal of the U.S. Senate on them. "Here, have some coffee. And keep the mugs as a gift from the taxpayers for your trouble in coming here tonight. So, what happened?"

"Lloyd Feingold is dead." I said. "Shot dead in his own office. He was transmitting data to the FBI when he was apparently discovered. The killer or killers got his computer, and apparently the hard drive and jump drives he was copying files to."

"Damn." whispered Nunn. "Did the FBI get anything?"

"They got some data through a linkup to Feingold's computer." I said. "But Feingold was getting the core stuff, and he was apparently stopped in time."

Nunn nodded. "Detective Davis, nothing personal, but can I speak with the Commander alone for a moment?"

"Senator," I interjected, "you may speak in front of Detective Davis as if you were speaking privately to me. I trust him completely, and so should you... and, of course, I'm going to tell him whatever you say to me, anyway."

"Sure." said Nunn. "No offense intended, but what I'm about to say is very sensitive... Commander, I let this FBI operation take place the way it did partially to see if any moles exposed themselves... and now Feingold is dead. My disappointment with the FBI's performance cannot be overstated. Do you trust these FBI Agents?"

"Yes sir." I said. "I trust Jack Muscone and his Team. I've put my life, my wife's life, and my children's lives in his or their hands more than once, and I would do so again. The rest of them... well, I'm a lot more careful."

Nunn nodded. "Any idea who killed Feingold?"

"Yes." I said. "I can't prove it... yet... but I think only one person could direct security to turn off all the cameras, as well as have them throw due process in our faces before we can even talk to them. And that one person happens to be the same guy that was bird-dogging Feingold all this time."

"Mittens." said Nunn.

I nodded. "Mittens." I replied. "I'm hoping that Feingold found a way to preserve something for us. We can only hope, sir. We can only hope..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"So, Jerome," I said as we went to my Police SUV, "have you ever wanted to drive the Commander's Police SUV?"

"Sure, sir." said Jerome. "How fast can I take it?"

"As fast as you like." I said. "Just burn the blue lights if you exceed the speed limits." Jerome had the blue LED lightbar on before we'd even pulled out of the garage.

As he drove back, I was in the shotgun seat. Thinking. The music box, in its evidence bag, was in the backseat; Muscone had signed it over to me and Jerome. Every fiber of my being, including the damaged-and-repaired ones in my back, told me that this music box was of the most extreme importance...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

7:00am, Saturday, June 23d. I was sitting at my desk, having done all the paperwork for this case, including my SBI paperwork. I'd sent Jerome home to get some sleep. I was thinking about the case when my eyelids fluttered...

"Oh, Commmannndderrrr..."

I opened my eyes, seeing Angela Harlan, gloriously naked, standing on the other side of my desk. "Dance for me, Commmanderr... dance for me." she said tauntingly.

My Police iPhone rang. "I believe that is for you, my darling Commander." Angela whispered, her voice seeming to fill my head. I pressed the button to take the call on speaker.

The music of Frank Mills's Music Box Dancer began playing. Taunting me. Angela was no longer in front of me, leaving me alone with the music. I sat numbly as the notes of the piano music played on...

Finis. ... pour le moment...

This saga will continue in upcoming stories...