In Firm Pursuit (25 page)

B
radley eased himself off the floor and sat on top of the ottoman. “Hold on a minute,” he said apprehensively. “You never said this had anything to do with murder.”

I wanted to stick a sock in Special's mouth. “That's because I didn't want to get you guys that deeply involved,” I said apologetically. “And we don't really know that these documents have anything to do with murder. Or that anybody was even murdered.”

Trent made a T-formation with his hands. “Time out. Everything I just said is all conjecture.”

“But it makes sense,” Special said.

For once, I agreed with her. “But we still don't know exactly what project they pertain to,” I continued. “The plaintiff was complaining about overbilling on Micronics's GAP-7 Program.”

“Do you know anything about it?” Trent asked.

“It's a navigation system for a military aircraft.” I looked down at the page Trent had handed to me. “But there's no indication that this document has anything to do with that program.”

“Wait a minute.” Trent moved to the edge of his chair. “About five years ago Micronics won this huge contract
to build a super-advanced navigation system for an Air Force plane designed specifically for low flying in combat zones. It was going to have an extremely high-tech encryption system. The contract was worth hundreds of millions of dollars. All the big computer software companies submitted bids for it.”

“What's
encryption
mean?” Special asked.

“It's a process for encoding information,” Trent continued. “We all use some form of it every day. Like when you send an e-mail, or enter a computer password or punch in your pin number at an ATM machine. The product Micronics was working on, however, was about a thousand times more sophisticated.”

“You think these documents could pertain to that project?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Trent said. “I just remember that there was a lot of hype surrounding the bidding for the contract. I think Micronics's stock went up ten points the day the Air Force announced that the company had won the bid. If these papers do pertain to that project, I could definitely understand why somebody might want to keep any failing test results a secret.”

“But that seems pretty risky,” I said. “Why give the Air Force something you know won't work?”

“Actually, it may not be a risk at all,” Trent explained. “Even though these papers show five failing test scores, it just means that the component didn't meet some arbitrary threshold level, not that it won't work. It's like when you take your car in for a smog test. Just because the car doesn't meet the state's thres
hold requirements doesn't necessarily mean you're polluting the air.”

“But it still seems stupid to take that kind of risk,” I repeated.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Redoing just these five failed tests—which are only off by fractions—could involve tens of thousands of lines of software code, which could take months or even years to retest. There's tremendous pressure to deliver the project on time. If you don't, the government will definitely remember that the next time they have a contract to award. Then you have to tell them the precise nature of the problem. But you may not even know what's wrong or how to fix it. When it hits the newspapers that Micronics is having trouble with the project, the company's stock will almost surely plummet. So there's really a whole lot at stake.”

I nodded. Trent's theory definitely sounded plausible. “I know this is all just speculation,” I said, “but it's the best explanation we've come up with so far.”

Bradley held up a hand. “Just make sure you leave our names out of it.”

The room remained silent until the doorbell rang again.

“That's probably for me,” Trent said. He started to rise when Bradley waved him back to his seat. “I'll get it,” Bradley said.

“I guess we get to see what Barbie looks like,” Special muttered.

When Bradley walked back into the room, the smile returned to Special's face.

Standing behind him was a tall, brown-skinned man
who was almost as good-looking as Trent. He was wearing black jeans, cowboy boots and a tight-fitting Lycra shirt that showed off every protruding pec and bulging biceps God had so kindly bestowed upon him. He had to be a professional body builder.

Special leaned over to me. “If Trent refuses to take the bait, this brother wouldn't be a bad consolation prize,” she whispered. “Hell, I might even suggest we make it a threesome.”

“Hey, everybody, this is Curtis.” Trent rose to greet his friend. They embraced, then lightly pecked each other on the lips.

Special let out a loud gasp and simultaneously grabbed my knee in what was definitely a reflex move. Everyone pretended to ignore her outburst.

“I guess you guys don't need me anymore,” Trent said. “Nice meeting you, Vernetta. Special. Hope everything works out okay for you two.”

Trent placed his arm around Curtis's waist and the two of them walked out of the room.

A
s soon as we said our goodbyes and Bradley closed the front door of his condo, Special let me have it.

“How in the hell could you just sit there and let me hit on that boy when you knew his ass was gay?” she yelled. “You're supposed to have my back!”

I was laughing so hard I had to bend over to hold my stomach. “I didn't know he was gay,” I said, barely able to get the words out. “I thought The Abbey might be a gay bar. But I wasn't certain.”

“You didn't have to be one-hundred-percent sure. Two percent would be good enough for me.” Special hurled a look to kill my way. “I don't know why I didn't figure it out the minute he mentioned West Hollywood. I guess because he was so damn fine I couldn't bring myself to even consider the possibility that he might be gay.”

Special stalked off ahead of me and I had to jog to catch up with her. I was still laughing so hard tears were streaming down my cheeks.

“I thought I was going to pee on myself when that fine ass Trent put his lips on that man.” Special cupped her forehead. “My gaydar needs to go into the repair shop for a serious overhaul.”

As we climbed into my SUV, I faked a cough to keep from bursting out laughing again. “Let's just forget about it, okay?”

“Easy for you to say,” Special steamed. “You weren't the one looking like a fool in there.”

I put the key in the ignition and pulled off. “I'm not sure what I should do next,” I said, returning to my problem. “I'll bet anything Trent's theory is right. And I also bet Carruthers found out about those failed ATPs and somebody killed her because of it.”

“I'm glad to hear you finally admit that I was right,” Special said with satisfaction. “I told you that woman was murdered. Does Randle's lawsuit mention anything about the ATPs?”

“Not a word. I doubt he knows a thing about them. If he had, Reggie would've put it in the complaint. Or at least Randle would've mentioned them during his deposition. It wouldn't make sense not to.”

“But from everything you've told me, Randle might've actually been set up,” Special said. “So if it wasn't over the ATPs, then what?”

“I wish I knew.”

We rode the rest of the way lost in our own silent thoughts. About twenty minutes later, I turned off Slauson Boulevard onto Buckingham Drive. “Hey, why're you turning here?” Special said.

“This is the street you live on, isn't it?”

“I'm not ready to go back home yet,” Special moaned.

“Girl, you know I love you to death, but it's been almost a week since the break-in. I think it's time for you to get
reacquainted with your apartment. Your place is all cleaned up now and your landlord even installed a new security system. If you don't go back home soon, you might develop a phobia about living alone.”

Special rolled her eyes.

“Why don't you call your detective friend with the foot fetish?” I said. “He'd probably be willing to station his big body on guard duty right outside your door tonight. Or better yet, invite him in and let him paint your toenails again.”

“My car's at your house,” Special complained. “How am I going to get to work in the morning?”

“You still carpool with your neighbor sometimes, don't you? She can either take you to work or drop you by my house in the morning to get your car. If she can't, call me in the morning and I'll come get you.”

“But all of my clothes are at your house.”

“Don't even try it. You took half of your clothes back home after we cleaned up your place, remember?”

I pulled up in front of Special's apartment building but kept the engine running.

Special did not open the door. “This is cold-blooded. I'm scared to stay by myself.”

“You want me to take you to your parents' house then?”

Special threw open the door and sulked up the walkway.

Before she reached the lobby door, I rolled down the passenger window, leaned over and called after her.

“Hey, I forgot to tell you. Jefferson wants you to meet his cousin, Darnell. He just moved here from New York.”

Special stopped and did a theatrical, model-like turn, then took her time striding back to the car.

“I'm only going to stop being mad at you long enough to get the 4-1-1 on Jefferson's cousin,” she said. “So spill it.”

“He's thirty-eight, tall and athletic, and very, very fine. On top of that, he's dark chocolate just like you like 'em.”

She was nodding her head and smiling. “Sounds like a nice draft pick. What does he do?”

“He's an investment banker for Morgan Stanley. He's transferring here to head up their Century City office.”

“Okay,” Special said, still smiling with delight, “you're completely forgiven for kicking me out of your house. When you planning to hook us up?”

“It's been a while since Jefferson had a home-cooked meal, so I was thinking about planning a cozy dinner for the four of us. Jefferson's project should be slowing down in another month or so.”

“A month? Girl, I don't wanna wait that long. This is L.A. He could be engaged and married by then. You know how desperate the women are in this city. I need to move in for the kill. Immediately.”

“Let me talk to Jefferson and find out when he's coming home again,” I said.

“No need,” Special replied. “We don't need any chaperones. Just give him my number.” She paused. “Scratch that. Why don't you get me his number? I'll call him up and welcome him to L.A.
Special
style.”

I
was sitting at my desk the next morning, trying to figure out what to do about the information from Trent, when Rich Ferris called. My intuition told me it was no coincidence.

“Ms. Henderson, good morning.” He sounded just as phony as he always did. “I'm calling for an update on the Randle case.”

“Everything's pretty much on target,” I said. This was the first time I had spoken to the HR exec since I'd been reassigned to the case. Making small talk with Ferris was always awkward. Like trying to slow dance wearing ankle weights.

“Have you had an opportunity to speak with Mr. Ellis about settling the case?” he asked. His tone was cautiously polite.

“No, not yet. As you know, we filed a motion to amend Micronics's answer to add the after-acquired evidence defense. If the motion's granted, Randle's potential damages could be significantly reduced. Reggie Jenkins wasn't very happy about it. To be honest, he went a little berserk. Anyway, I'm very hopeful that he'll be interested in talking settlement once he cools off.”

“Well, exactly when do you think that will be?” Ferris asked sternly.

“The filing deadline for their opposition brief is just a few days away. I told them I would take the motion off calendar if they wanted to discuss settlement. I expect to hear from them any day now. They're probably just waiting until the last minute.”

“Let's hope so,” Ferris said.

He apparently had no more questions but seemed reluctant to end the conversation.

“Well…please keep me informed.” Ferris sounded overly polite, but in a forced way.

“I sure will.”

“Anything else happening on the case?” Now his tone was casual, as if he were chatting with an old friend.

“Not that I'm aware of. Is there something going on that I should know about?” I asked.

“Uh, no. Not that I can think of,” Ferris stammered. “I just want to make sure we're communicating about every phase of the case.”

You're fishing. You want to know if I know about those documents Karen Carruthers had in her car.
“You know everything I know,” I replied.

After a few more seconds of silence, I decided to test the waters. “It was really too bad about Ms. Carruthers.”

“Yes,” Ferris said. “What a horrible accident.” There was a nervous edge in his voice.

Accident, my ass.
“What exactly happened to her?” I asked.

“As I understand it, she lost control of her car and drove off the road. Mulholland can be pretty treacherous.”

“What was she doing up there? Didn't she live in Long Beach?”

“I'm not exactly sure,” Ferris said.

“Was something wrong with her car?”

“I have no idea.”

“It's just so unfortunate,” I said.

I could hear Ferris twisting about in his chair. I was just sorry that I wasn't there to watch him squirm.

“If this case ends up going to trial,” I said, “the jury isn't going to like the fact that Randle won't have a chance to confront his accuser.”

“If you do your job and get the case settled, it'll never get to a jury.” His statement sounded very much like a threat.

“I'll do my best,” I said, maintaining my cool. “Is there anything else?”

Ferris mumbled something under his breath, then said a brusque goodbye.

Although I felt I had the upper hand now, I also felt a tinge of trepidation. What if Ferris knew that I had a copy of those documents? Whatever they were. Would somebody be ransacking
my
house next?

I closed my eyes and inhaled. I was convinced that Ferris was somehow mixed up in all of this. I only wished I knew how.