Murder.com (18 page)

Mike was really laughing now. He
tried to compose himself. "Since when are you a detective?" He
actually seemed surprised and clearly amused by the prospect of me
traipsing around New York City, looking for clues and chatting up
potential witnesses. "All you need is a fedora and a trench
coat."

"Thanks." I decided to laugh along
with Mike.

"She's really grasping at straws
if she's trying to get you involved," Mike said. "Not that I blame
her. I hear her money is tied up."

How did he know that? I thought I
was the only one privy to that information, courtesy of Detective
Carrington's wild accusations. I was going to play dumb and see
where Mike led me.

"What do you mean?" I
asked.

"What I said. Her money is tied up
for the time being."

"How do you know that?"

"We're the beneficiary of Ted's
estate, in trust, until they solve Ted's murder."

"BMC?"

"Yup. It's all ours. Although we
can't touch it for twenty-five years."

"So, did you kill Ted?"

Mike burst out with laughter. His drink nearly
spilled, he was laughing so hard.

"Oh, Max! You're killing me." Once
his raucous belly laughs simmered to mere snickers, he continued,
"Now, why would I do something like that?"

I looked at him dead in the eyes.
"You just told me. The money."

Mike laughed in my face—literally.
He couldn't hold it in. "Money? Money! I have more money than I
could spend in three lifetimes! What the hell do I need Ted's money
for? Max, you're hilarious!"

I played off the question as a
mocking attempt by myself to play detective. Mike just kept
laughing. "I wouldn't quit my day job," he said. "Listen, I've got
a better idea for you than playing detective—we've got the BMC
holiday party coming up. I know this is last minute, but would you
and Imogen like to come?"

Were we becoming buddies?

"Sure," I said.

"Great." Mike lifted his glass and
proposed a toast. "To a successful New Year!"

"Hear, hear." We touched glasses
and I took a sip of my third scotch. I leaned back on the couch,
crossed my legs, and hoped he was right.

I was confused. Very confused. I
filled Imogen in on my meeting with Mike. She didn't buy it. She
felt that he was putting on a front. He was a cold, calculating,
manipulative bastard. Acting couldn't be that hard for him. He did
it every day. I explained to her that she didn't see him in person,
laughing in my face. He was very believable. She said I was
probably drunk. She was probably right.

Christmas was just days away, so I was in overdrive
trying to get the POP round of funding closed. Ginny was working
overtime with me at the office. She still had no clue about the
impending proposal, but I was still working on finalizing the
plans.

I was sitting in my office, reading over some
documents, when I received a call.

"Max?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I'm glad that I caught
you."

I was trying to figure out the voice on the other
end of the line.

"Oh, sorry. It's Seth
Cohen."

"Hi, Seth."

"I hope you don't mind me giving
you a ring. I had to talk to you."

"Sure. No problem. You still in
New York?"

"Yes, I'm still here. I'm actually
around the corner. Can I come by?"

"Sure, why not."

"OK, I'll be there in ten
minutes."

I hung up and called Imogen into my office. She
sauntered in, had a seat in the Aeron chair across from me, and
crossed her legs.

"What's up, boss?"

"Boss?"

"It's quite evident that I work
here now and that you're the boss."

"Well, that's quite a revelation,
my dear."

"Indeed. It's also clear that I am
not on the payroll."

"Another revelation?"

"Indeed."

"Well, Miss Whitehall, we'll have
to work on remedying that situation
posthaste
."

"What a benevolent boss you
are."

"I try." Imogen was still relaxed
in her chair. "Listen, I have a surprise for you."

"Don't tell me this is
it."

"What?"

"Are you going to pull out a
little black box and take a knee?"

"Not quite." Imogen looked half
dejected, masked by a smile. "Do you remember Seth
Cohen?"

"The guy from the party? I didn't
meet him, remember?"

"Right, of course. Anyway, he's
going to be here in ten minutes."

"And I should be excited,
why?"

"He's got something to tell me and
it might be interesting."

"Like what?"

"I have no idea. But it sounds
important."

"
Wunderbar
. I'm on pins and
needles."

We sat in my office for a few minutes waiting for
Seth. Sara, my administrative assistant, finally knocked on my
door.

"I have a Seth Cohen here for
you."

"Great. Send him in."

Seth walked into the office, shook
hands with me, turned to Ginny, and then back toward me. "Who is
this?"

"Oh, sorry. Seth, this is Imogen
Whitehall, a colleague of mine." Ginny extended her hand to
shake.

Seth shook the hand and then
asked, "So, you think I could talk to you alone?"

Why did everyone want to talk to me alone?

I explained that Imogen could
stay. Seth wasn't thrilled, but must have decided that Ginny was
OK. He looked nervous and sweaty, which was odd, because it was
thirty degrees outside and sixty-something degrees in my office. I
liked it chilly.

He sat next to Ginny in the other available Aeron
chair.

"I love these chairs. We have them
in our office as well."

Now that we'd established our love
of $1,200 chairs… "What's up, Seth?"

Cohen sat at the edge of his
chair, nervously wringing his hands, his brow perspiring, which he
wiped, his wrist sporting a gold watch. He leaned across my desk.
"Do you remember what I told you that night at the
party?"

"About BMC?"

"Yeah, about BMC."

"What about it?" Imogen
asked.

I nodded assent to Seth that he could speak openly
about BMC.

Seth turned to me and ignored Ginny completely.

"I really think I'm in danger,
Max. Real danger."

He was panicking.

"I've had some close calls over
the past two days. Yesterday, as I was walking back to my hotel, a
black Town Car followed me, sped up, and almost killed
me."

"That happens all the time here.
This isn't San Fran." I was internally questioning if Seth had lost
his mind.

"It was like the car was stalking
me. Then it nearly ran me off the road. I had to jump into a pile
of trash to avoid getting hit. I'm scared shitless. And I think
Mike is behind it."

"Mike Miller?" Imogen
asked.

"Yes! Mike Miller! I've told him
to take a hike, that I'm not selling, and he threatened
me."

"What did he say?"

"He's not prepared to take 'no'
for an answer and that he'll own SCV by next year. One way or
another."

"SCV?" Imogen asked. A shocked
expression came across her face. She looked at me with her eyebrows
raised.

"Yes, Miss Whitehall, my company:
Silicon City Ventures. You know these people, Max. What do I
do?"

I was going to try to defuse this
situation. Sure, getting run off the sidewalk by a car didn't
happen every day here, but it did happen sometimes. People that
drove in New York City were nuts. I was going to chalk this up to
someone having a very vivid imagination.

"First, I'd get myself some good
attorneys. You can tie up any bid for the company in court
forever," I said.

"I'm not going to make it that
long! I think they're going to kill me!"

I had to be the voice of reason here. Seth was
coming to me for counsel, for reassurance.

"I don't think Mike is going to
kill you. I mean, we're talking about a busine—"

"How can you be so sure? Ted was
murdered, and from what I'm hearing, BMC stood to gain a lot by
killing him."

"Seth. Listen to yourself. You're
telling me that you think Mike Miller and the guys at BMC want to
kill you. A bunch of multimillionaires want to knock you off like
they're a bunch of gangsters. The BMC guys are bankers, not
killers."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm
telling you. I've already talked to the police. They told me to
grow a sac and told me that I'm delusional. There's nothing they
can do just because I think some car tried to run me over. But that
car did try to kill me!"

"I know it seems like that, but
this is New York. Cars almost hit pedestrians every
day."

"Yeah, well, I'm telling you, this
one followed me then tried to run me down
accidentally
."

"Listen, I think you should stop
talking to Mike for the next few days. When do you head
back?"

"After their holiday
party."

"Forget the holiday party. Stop
talking to Mike, get your ass on a plane, and head back to sunny
Cali."

"Maybe you're right. I need to get
out of here. I can deal with them from California. At least I'll be
safe there."

All this holiday party talk had Imogen confused. She
looked at me like I had ten heads. I had forgotten to tell her
about the party.

"In the meantime, I'll talk to
Mike about SCV and see what he has in mind. I'll also give him my
thoughts on what a bad investment it would be," I said, hoping that
would reassure Seth.

Seth appeared to be a little more
relaxed. "Thank you, Max. Thanks."

"My pleasure. Now you stay safe."
With those words, it was clear to everyone in the room that it was
time for Seth to leave. I tried to make him chuckle with my last
comment, but it didn't work. He was too worked up. He stood, shook
my hand, said good-bye to Ginny, and then walked out of the
office.

"Well, that certainly was a lot to
take in. Where do I start?" Imogen asked.

"With a drink."

As soon as Seth was out of the
office, Imogen turned to me. "Mike is the killer. He's a
psychopath." She fixed herself a scotch and soda.

I shut the door and walked over to
the bar to get myself a scotch. I wasn't going to let Imogen drink
alone. "It's certainly shaping up to look that way. Do you really
think Mike had someone try to kill Seth?"

"
I
do, Max. I really do.
And now that I know
Seth is the guy behind the SCV from the email, I'm doubly
sure."

"And what about Clarke? He was
mentioned in the email too."

"Exactly, he was mentioned. Mike
is the orchestrator of this reign of terror. We know two things for
sure. Kitty and Mike are an item, and one or both of them wanted
Ted dead."

"I'm not so sure Mike and Kitty
are a couple."

"We saw them leave BMC," she said,
and sat back down in the chair across from my desk, sipping her
drink.

"All we saw was two people leaving
BMC in Kitty's car."

"Dutch, you're not going to let
this guy pull the wool over your eyes, are you? He's a cold-blooded
killer."

As we were arguing the merits of
Mike in the role as Ted's killer, I received an email.

From: Delator

Subject: Ted Baxter

To: Max Slade

Sequor Sequi Secutus.

Delator

"Imogen, get over here and look at
this."

Ginny got up out of her chair and walked around the
desk. She bent over my shoulder so that she could get a good view
of my laptop.

"What the hell does that mean?" I
asked.

"It's Latin," Ginny responded.
"Let me see if I can figure it out." She paused and stared intently
at the screen, lost in deep thought.

"Google it," I said, impatiently
standing next to her.

"Give me one second."

"Just Google it! This isn't a
test!"

She read the email again and then
turned to me. "Mike's the bloody killer."

"Why do you say that?"

"
Sequor
Sequi Secutus
. Follow the
trail."

Maybe she was right.

The next day, my mind was
spinning. I needed to talk to someone. And, as much as I didn't
want to call John, I knew that I had to. For starters, I hadn't
spoken to him since I was almost locked up. And now, after my last
few encounters with Kitty, Mike, and now Seth Cohen, it was time
that I filled him in on some of my musings. I owed him that much.
He had helped me out of my cell when all seemed lost. He was the
one who was fighting the powers that be, namely Sergeant Williams,
all on a hunch. He was trusting his gut. Risking his career. For
me.