Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions (14 page)

chapter eighteen

I called the detectives in the morning and asked about Tommy’s things.

“I’m afraid I can’t release those at the moment,” Detective Shipley told me.

“Why?”

“Evidence.”

“Well, can you at least tell me what there was?”

“No.”

I sighed loudly through my nose. I was obviously getting nowhere.

“Okay. Let’s stop playing hide the weenie. Did you find an electronic organizer?”

“A what?”

“A small black case. You can electronically store phone numbers, appointments, things like that on it.”

“How big is it?”

“About four inches square.”

“Small enough to fit into a pocket?”

“Yes.”

“And you said it was black? Does it look like a Blackberry?”

“Yes,” I said emphatically.

“Nope.”

“Nope what? It’s not among his personal effects?”

“Nope.”

I hung up before some sarcastic remark crossed my lips about New York’s finest.

The stalker was in the middle row on the left side of the chapel. Trying to be inconspicuous. Breathing had returned to normal but only after enormous effort to concentrate and to hold the hatred back. The hatred had gone away when Tom Connaught was pronounced dead. But there were times in the last couple of days when the hatred came back and got close to the surface.
She
brought it back.
She
was responsible now.

The memorial service was held at the funeral home which wasn’t large enough to hold everyone who showed up. Employees, members of the board of directors, partners from the law firms, and dozens and dozens of other people who I didn’t recognize.

Hordes of people were milling around outside the entrance when I arrived in the back of Lou’s car. Both sides of the street were lined with limousines with their drivers standing smartly beside them. There were no parking spots available but that didn’t deter Lou who stopped in front of the funeral home, double parking the car. He quickly put the car in park and told me over his shoulder to wait until he opened the door for me. I suppose he didn’t want to be seen slacking off in front of his professional brethren and I wearily assured him that I was in no rush.

My body felt heavy and my mind was numb. Lou opened the door and offered his hand to help me out.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said quietly.

“You’re not coming in?”

“Only if it’s okay with you, Miss.”

“Of course it’s okay. This is a service for all of Tommy’s friends,” I assured him. He gave me a grateful smile and led me through the throng of milling people.

Two people immediately stepped forward and snapped my picture. I was dumbfounded.

“Excuse me?” I demanded of them. They both identified themselves as photographers for two of New York’s daily papers.

“And your purpose here would be what?”

One of them informed me that they were just doing their job. A press release had been sent out by Phoenix announcing the memorial service and they were there as a follow up to the murder.

A press release? I couldn’t believe it. I had asked Steve Holliday to handle the arrangements but I hadn’t figured on him inviting the media. I scanned the crowd and easily found him. He was looking slick as usual, trying to appear solemn, giving an interview to a television crew. I quickly pushed my way through the mass of people into the funeral home to avoid any more press. Men and women, all dressed in somber clothing lined the hallways and were talking in lowered voices. I spied Mr. Theodore Bradley standing with his hands clasped in front of him at the end of the hall and hurried towards him. Several people quietly greeted me as I passed and I shook their hands, recognizing none of them.

“Mr. Bradley,” I said, offering my hand. I felt out of breath, as if I had been running.

“Ms. Monahan. How are you today?” he asked.

“Fine, just fine.” I was getting nervous and my stomach was churning. I peeked into the massive room, amazed to see most of the chairs already full.

“Can we get started?” I urged him. He nodded and wandered off to round up the stragglers.

I timidly stepped through the double doors into the room and was immediately overcome. The beautifully carved coffin placed at the front of the room had a small spray of flowers centered on it. Beside it was a podium with a microphone. Unrecognizable, typically funereal music was playing softly in the background. The low murmur of voices surrounded me and I looked for a seat. Blood was pounding in my ears and my eyes were unfocussed.

I found an empty chair in the back row, way off to the side. I sat with my hands tucked under my thighs, staring at the coffin.
I will get through this,
I chanted to myself. I knew I wasn’t good at funerals, having attended one very recently for a close friend. Was anyone good at funerals, I wondered silently. The whole notion of public displays of mourning just didn’t sit right with me. As I watched the people pouring into the room, taking their seats, I wished I had stuck by my original plan to have a private service.

“Ms. Monahan,” Mr. Bradley breathed into my ear. I stared up at his blurred image, and realized my eyes were not just unfocussed, they were tear-filled.

“But you must sit at the front. We’ve saved seating there for you. As the only relative of the deceased, it’s only right,” he told me. He took my elbow and tried to help me to stand but my hands remained firmly stuck under my thighs.

“I can’t,” I whispered back at him.

“I’ll help,” I heard a familiar voice. It was Jay. Once again, I was overwhelmed, but this time with relief. The cavalry had arrived. My knight in shining armour. Jay sat in the chair beside me and knowingly, didn’t touch me. He knew when to respect my personal space and my tightly hidden hands gave him the clue.

“I’ll sit with you up front,” he soothingly told me. “Come on.” He stood up and I reluctantly followed suit. As we walked down the side aisle towards the front row the low, murmuring voices stopped all around me. You could hear the proverbial pin drop. We took our seats and waited for the proceedings to begin.

Cleve Johnston appeared before me at the podium and started talking. I didn’t hear a word he said, or what the other speakers had to say. I played one of my childhood games in my mind, and blocked it all out. Tried to envisage myself in a happy place, playing with my favourite toys. I used to do that when I had to get a needle, or the dentist was drilling my teeth. Only this time it didn’t work. All I could think about was Tommy and how much I was missing him. My one hundred and fifteen pound body felt about four hundred pounds heavier and I was feeling the tell-tale signs of an oncoming migraine behind my eyes.

I don’t know how long the service lasted and when I finally refocused on the ceremony, someone who I didn’t recognize was at the podium. He said his last words and the music started up again, louder this time. I felt Jay’s hand in mine, and wondered when he had taken it. I looked over at him and gave him a weak smile, which he returned. I glanced over my shoulder at the people and saw them standing, waiting.

“I think they’re waiting for you to leave,” Jay whispered in my ear.

There was no way I was walking out in front of all these unknown people, with their sympathetic faces.

“I just want to sit here for a while. Tell them to go.”

Jay motioned to Mr. Bradley who then took the podium and softly thanked everyone for attending. They started to leave but several people came forward to offer their sympathy. Every one of them felt the need to clasp my hand and murmur something soothing. The amazing thing was how few of these people I knew, and I sadly realized how much about Tommy I didn’t know. They were Tommy’s friends, and obviously feeling the loss as much as I.

I played the bereaved widow well, and my mother would have been proud of me. I didn’t snap at anyone or yell at them to get out of my face as I so dearly wanted to do. Jay stood on one side of me and my loyal soldier, Cleve Johnston, stood on guard on the other.

When the last of them had cleared the room I looked up into Jay’s friendly face and bawled like a baby.

“I want to go home,” I cried.

chapter nineteen

Wednesday and Thursday were hard, nose to the grindstone days. In the two days since the funeral I had been mentally busier than a Ph.D. student cramming for her thesis defense. But I was learning, and several times I found myself smiling when things made sense.

I dutifully read memos, reviewed reports, answered letters of condolence, signed documents, and generally amazed myself. Overall, I understood what I was reading, reviewing and approving. When I didn’t understand, I asked questions. Playing the role of CEO wasn’t as hard as I had anticipated, but I didn’t completely fool myself. In two days, I had barely made a decision, and the few I had made, were minor.

I lit a cigarette and swiveled my chair around to gaze at the skyline. My mind was exhausted but my body was restless. And hungry. I hadn’t walked anywhere in the last two days and had had absolutely no exercise. I was quickly becoming used to having Lou at my disposal and felt guilty about how the poor man was at my beck and call twenty-four hours a day.

I paged Lou and told him to go home and then tried to track down Jay. A night off from this place was more than appealing and I wanted to eat something other than room service. Jay sounded distracted when I finally reached him and he told me he had a late meeting. He’d call me tomorrow.

The offices were dark and deserted when I left and the cavernous lobby was inhabited by a sole security guard. He reminded me it was 8:45 p.m. when I signed the exit register.

“Is there somewhere close by where I can get something decent to eat?” I asked him.

“Good food, or fancy food?”

I smiled. “Good food. I hate that fancy stuff. Never seems to be enough on the plate, and half the time it looks too pretty to eat,” I joked with him.

He nodded knowingly. “My fancy pants son-in-law took me to one of those places and the prices made me sick. And the food didn’t help either.” He stood up and pointed out the front of the building. “Just out front, turn left and about half way up the next block is a favourite place for you young folks. Called TJ’s. Food’s good.”

TJ’s was packed. At first I couldn’t quite decide if it was the music or the conversation that was the most deafening. My ears quickly adjusted to the din and I heard the hostess asking me in an exasperated tone of voice if I wanted a table. The hostess with an attitude showed me to my table by leading me through the morass of bodies like she was a guided missile, where she quickly slapped the plastic coated menu on the table and took off. I wondered if she had taken her training in Paris.

I gazed around the restaurant and found it too much to take in. Television sets hung from the ceiling every six feet and each one appeared to be tuned to a different channel. There didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to the decor. Some of the memorabilia hanging from the walls was from the fifties, some of it had a nautical theme, the bar area was festooned with ferns, giving it a seventies,
Looking for Mr. Goodbar
feel, clusters of tables were dotted around the floor and booths lined the walls. Frank Sinatra finished belting out
My Way
and was quickly followed by a hard hitting Bob Seger tune, the title of which escaped me.

A waiter appeared and took my order. My senses slowly adjusted to the place and I relaxed and sipped my Diet Coke. A table on the far side of the restaurant erupted into loud laughter. I glanced over at the table and recognized the group as Phoenix employees. Nat Scott’s employees. One of them greeted me later just as I was wrestling with a particularly single-minded piece of melted mozzarella which was stuck between my teeth, refusing to let go from its warm bed of French onion soup. I pulled at the cheese with my fingers, as daintily as I could, and looked up at my visitor. It was the handsome god in a wheelchair and I fished around my memory banks for his name.

“Ms. Monahan, what a surprise,” he was saying in that yummy voice of his.

“Mr. Tucker,” I replied, remembering his name just in time.

“Please, call me Ben.”

“Please, call me Kate,” I repeated, trance-like. I pushed my food back and got a grip on myself.

“You should join us.” He pointed at my dinner. “When you’re finished your meal.”

“Thanks. I might. How are things going anyway?”

He smiled. I melted, again.

“In the R and D department. I meant how are things in R and D?”

He wheeled himself around and said to me, over his shoulder, “Join us after you eat, and we’ll fill you in.”

I finished my meal and signaled for the check, meaning to make a quick exit. I had no intention of joining Ben and his table mates, and wanted to make an unobtrusive departure but as soon as I stood up from my booth and gathered my briefcase and jacket, I saw waving arms across the room. Now I had no excuse. And just what was acceptable behaviour as CEO of these employees, I glumly wondered as I plastered a smile on my face and headed towards their table.

Everyone at the table shifted around and someone grabbed a chair for me and placed it at the head of the table. I sat down and smiled stupidly. I quickly did a mental run down and surprised myself by remembering everyone. Rick Williams, the small, nerdy engineer with thick glasses sat on my left, beside him was Belinda Moffat. Her hair still looked like it needed a wash but that didn’t seem to be bothering Rick, who was practically sitting in her lap. I wondered if the two of them were an item. My other clue was the moon-eyed look Rick was giving Belinda.

Dan Thornton and Ben Tucker sat on the other side of the table.

“Where are Derek and Natalie?” I asked.

“Derek couldn’t get a pass, and Nat never joins us,” Dan informed me.

“A pass?” I asked.

“He’s married. More often than not, he runs home to the wife. And Natalie, she’s too busy with her work,” Dan informed me.

I smiled at everyone again, feeling like a third wheel. They all stared at me, with weak smiles. Great, I thought, I’ve just ruined their evening.