Troubleshooter

Chapter 25 - Could I Be in Trouble?

           

PAUL AND Sam Lornsen were in their second set of interviews at Strom Defense, going through the motions with three other executives. Paul was antsy and a little nervous. Brady had not shown up this morning before making his investigation trips to the management's homes. Brady could handle himself in any situation, but he also knew the rules of the game to check in now and then to let the team know where he was.

Paul's phone vibrated and he gave it a glance. The number wasn't in his address book but he recognized the main number. Her Majesty's Security Service. McAllister with some information on Strom Defense? He let it go to voicemail to conclude his meeting.

A minute later he received an SMS, this time from General McAllister's mobile phone. "Now!" Paul glanced at it again. "Excuse me, something came up in the head office."

He left the meeting, went into an empty meeting room on the opposite side of the corridor and returned the call.

They met half way between Docklands and Westminster, close to Tower Bridge. Paul stepped out of his cab and saw McAllister sitting on a bench on the river promenade. Flocks of tourists were walking by, cameras clicking away at the sights of the Bridge and the Tower itself. The weather was dry, but Paul could feel the early December chill through his coat.

General McAllister looked at Paul as he sat beside him. "Christian Brady is dead."

"Shit."

"My reaction exactly."

Paul felt dizzy. He didn't know what to feel in the first place. This was a case about glorified accounting malpractice; no one would be killed over that. Or was it? Sadness, anger, disappointment, and emptiness all washed over him in a single emotional tsunami. Paul reached out a hand to steady himself rather than swaying in his seat.

"How did he die?" he asked.

"You tell me, Paul."

That stopped Paul. He had not told McAllister about Brady's involvement when they had met last night. Good old "need to know" was instilled into both of them. And their talk had been about Strom Defense and not the investigation itself. McAllister had to know from a different connection. Did someone find one of Brady's office bugs?

"Am I in trouble if I tell you?"

"That depends on what you tell me." General McAllister looked at the muddy water of the river running by. "Listen, I am here because Brady was on the flag-list. What I know is that he was not working for us this time. Richards crosschecked with MI6 and other local suspects. He had planned to work for our US-cousins from next Monday on. So, theoretically speaking, Brady had time for a private assignment right now, and you are currently privately investigating Strom Defense. So, maybe you needed a little help?"

"You think his death is related to this work?"

McAllister nodded. "Pretty certain. He was found dead in the house of a Mrs. Tess Herbert."

Paul whistled. "Doh!" He still felt as if a layer of sticky honey blocked his mind. What was Brady doing in the house of Tess Herbert? Nothing made sense.

"We had interviewed her yesterday, Brady included." That part would come out anyway as soon as the police was showed photos around or asked Mrs. Herbert.

"Why did he visit her again?"

"He did not visit her again. The interview was at her office."

"So there was no follow-up, nothing open that could have triggered a personal visit to Ms. Herbert?" McAllister inquired.

"I am perplexed as you are." Paul was telling the truth, but a gnarling suspicion started to form in the back of his head. "What is Ms. Herbert's story?"

"Metro Police gave us insight into the interim results. Ms. Herbert came home and found Brady dead in her living room. Someone already had called the police, male voice, claimed that he heard gunshots coming from her house. So the police already arrived at the time when Ms. Herbert was seen running out of her house." McAllister was silent for a minute. "We found a fitting gun, a .22 under a cushion on the living room sofa. When the crime scene team searched the house routinely, they discovered five hundred thousand British Pounds in a sports bag, hidden in the bottom drawer of her dressing chest."

"Follow the money," Paul sighted.

"Beg your pardon?"

"We are looking for a lot of money that went missing at Strom Defense."

"Well, five hundred thousand Pounds are a lot of money. Seems you have solved the case, or better the late Mr. Brady."

"Forget about the five hundred thousand. We are looking for one hundred million dollars."

"Ouch," McAllister said. "Way to go."

"We had the top management team of Strom Defense pegged as prime suspects."

"Did they know that you were investigating the missing money, or did you have a cover?"

"Undercover. But with only limited solidity. We teamed up with the auditor who discovered the missing money and told everyone that a potential acquisition was ahead. Idea was to shake them up and make them do something stupid."

"As stupid as killing someone of your team?" McAllister asked.

Paul shook his head. "That was out of the left field. The cover was not the best, but what we could come up with on short notice. I just received the marching order on Monday."

"And is Tess Herbert a suspect?"

"You tell me, General! The plan was to stir the pot. We start stirring, and after one night one of my team is found dead in her house. Sounds suspicious to me!"

"But if indeed she is the embezzler of a hundred million dollars and she killed Brady to hide her tracks, why would she be stupid enough to kill him in her living room, leaving the gun and so much money lying around?"

Paul waved a hand. "There is a difference between a hundred million dollars stolen with a signature and killing a person with a gun. White-collar crime czars are usually civilized cowards. And you know that."

Both men were contemplating.

"Do you need access to the crime scene or the material?" General McAllister asked.

"Ideally to both. If you could pave the way for me to have a look at the scene, I might have some insight. And please forward me any report that comes your way."

"Give Richards ten minutes to arrange it." McAllister told Paul the address of the crime scene and got up. "Clean up your mess, Paul."

Paul was left sitting alone. And what a mess that was.

"Jesus, Brady! What made you run a solo-mission last night?" Paul said to the passing ghost of his old friend.