Splicer (18 page)

Kozak’s Captain, Alex Braintree, knew that Greg Otter in the big apple would be like a chicken bone caught in his lower bowel. It would hurt like hell and wouldn't go away for a long time.

Then the Chief of Police called to rag on him over the situation with GeneFab. He was feeling a lot of political squeeze. A lot. If you've got the perp, why do you need to tie up the sale of one of the countries hottest new companies – as if Kozak had done that single-handedly. All Koz had done was put in call. The media was acting like Canada was ready to go to war with their closest neighbor over the sale of a biotech start-up.

Koz used the opportunity to ask for more resources. He told the Chief
money doesn't put criminals in jail - cops and courts do
. In the end the Chief approved the expenditure. At least they were doing something. Otter was going to New York.

Braintree looked down at Otter's balding head. "Just tell me you have a plan. Tell me you're not going to go there and act out some childhood cop fantasy."

"Here's my plan. I'm going to go see
Lion King
and then get laid three times."

That earned Otter, the staff choice for "Father of the Year", a skeptical look from Braintree.

Otter stood and tucked in his shirt. "You used to have a sense of humor Alex, before you became an administrator. That was a
joke
."

"We're all a joke if you come back shooting blanks."

"I can't promise I'll come back with anything.  Life is like that,
don't cha know
."

"Otter, this is what life is like. You're a good cop. But the case you're involved with is a minefield and you're line dancing your ass across it with a goofy grin on your puss. Shape up and smell the napalm."

Otter pulled on his suit jacket with the patches on the elbows and pushed a small pile of dockets into his in-basket. "That idiomatic
Vietnam-speak
is really old, Alex."

"I need something from this trip. In return, you're getting the bridal suite tour courtesy of the Chief of Police's office. What are you going to do there?"

He flipped open his black notebook.  "Check out this X-Tech. Who are they. What are they up to?”

"Why not just call them?"

"We've tried.  They don't answer our calls. Besides, we need more than just a friendly conversation."

"And you two are convinced ..."

"According to the wife, Ludd didn't want to sell to X-Tech. Surprise. He's dead. The sale gets delayed and suddenly every politician in the country is on the phone. If we don't find something soon, that investigation will be pulled and
GeneFab
will disappear like knishes at a Bar Mitzvah."

"Call me dim but I don't get the connection."

"You're the guy in the hot seat. Every politician in town wants this thing to end, that's why you’re getting the squeeze from downtown."

"We have all the evidence we need to tag Redfield for the Ludd murder."

Otter shook his big head. "McEwan isn't going to play ball with you guys. She sees a set-up. I like catching crooks too. But I feel like a sap when I jump for the bait like I'm supposed to and end up missing the real assholes."

Braintree was taken aback by Otter's simple disclosure.  "Keep that opinion to yourself."

"Fine," was all that Otter said. Braintree sat back on his chair and crossed his arms.

"You've got three days."

Otter got up to leave.

"One more thing." Braintree said. "Like they say when you get off the plane. 
Have a nice trip ... and watch your ass
."

Otter lifted one bushy black eyebrow. "Sounds to me, Captain, like you've got to stop traveling on those cheap seat sales. Me? I'm going first class. They’re way more polite."

Otter was a small town boy who grew up in the Midwest in a town where the cattle outnumbered the residents. He wanted to be a cowboy, now he was a metro cop on assignment. New York stretched out before him like God's construction set.

He took a cab from Kennedy to the Regency West, checked his bags at the front desk and headed to X-Tech without even looking at his suite. The room was an after- thought to Otter, who would rather be home. New York only reminded him of Toronto - only bigger, older and dirtier.

The cab pulled up to the listed address on 105th Street, a dreary brownstone with a signal red front door and a brass doorplate. He paid the fare and looked around. There was redevelopment money in the air. This was a worn out older section of the city being taken over by budding entrepreneurs and laid-off middle managers trying to make it again post recession. He moved up the walk and pulled open the heavy steel door.

Once inside he smelled drywall paste and new paint. The new aluminum directory board listed X-Tech on the fourth floor. Passing on an ancient elevator, Otter took the stairs. The fourth floor was completely re-furbished. Hand finished lathe had been replaced with laser straight drywall painted to look like marble. Halogen lighting was ubiquitous. The trim was brushed steel. He pushed open a door labeled 412, which swung inward as if on hidden ball bearings. There was a chrome counter lit by three suspended pot lights. It looked like a young lawyers reception area. A tall woman in short blond hair and a baggy black silk suit stepped from behind a divider. She didn't smile and neither did Otter.

"Can I help you sir?" she asked.  She looked anxious to return to something behind the door frame.

"Detective Otter. With the Toronto City Police." He quickly flashed his ID at her. She kept her eyes on his. "I'm investigating a homicide and wondered if you could answer a few questions?"

"Did you say Detective Otter?"

"Inspector is fine."

"Inspector Otter. Are you certain you have the right office? I assure you that X-Tech does no business in your city ..."

"And your name?"

She stiffened. "Ford. Ann Ford."

"Ms. Ford? Can we sit down?  This may take a moment or two." She tried to cover her irritation but failed. She led him behind the counter to a workroom with a massive tabletop covered with computer paraphernalia and printouts. Piled high along the walls were colored boxes wrapped in shrink-wrap. Software. She directed him to a wire office chair that looked particularly uncomfortable. Otter sat in it gingerly, expecting it to collapse at any moment.  "Have you heard of a company called
GeneFab
?" he asked her.

"Who hasn't," she answered. There was just a touch of gray beginning to show in her short stylish hair. "This has to do with Ludd? I thought ..."

"You've heard about a buy-out bid by your company to buy
GeneFab
?"

She laughed. "You can't be serious. Buy GeneFab? I only wish. Seriously, we're a small company and I am aware of all transactions, Mr. Otter. Especially one like that."

"That's strange, Ms. Ford, because it appears to be common knowledge in my jurisdiction that X-Tech is the buyer. It's in all the media."

She pursed her lips together and raised two heavy eyebrows. "How would that happen, inspector?  Perhaps this X-Tech in Canada is someone else using our company name without our permission?"

"May I ask what X-Tech does?"

"We make it policy not to discuss that. It's a highly competitive world out there ..." She hesitated. "But we also make it a policy to assist the police whenever we can, even foreign ones. We export and import technology. It's really that simple."

"You're importers then." He wrote in his notebook.

"Mr. Otter, our biggest job really is translation. We buy software programs from India for example, re-package and translate them into English, or vice-versa."

"And who owns it?"

"The company? My father."

"Your father’s name?"

"Henry Ford."

Otter looked up from his notebook.  "Not one of
the
Henry Fords."

"Not even a distant relation unfortunately."

"And where can I find your father?"

"In Mumbai." She said this with such finality that Otter flipped the cover of his notebook closed.

"Ms. Ford, it isn't normal practice for Toronto Homicide to initiate fishing expeditions to New York City. Normally we would just give the local cops a call and have them help us out. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

She shook her head.

"I'm not leaving this room until I get some answers." She stiffened again. "Somebody was killed and X-Tech is involved. This is not a social call."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"I suggest you call Mr. Ford."

She raised her eyebrows again. "It's midnight in India, Mr. Otter."

"Great. It shouldn't be hard to find him then.
"

Ms. Ford stared at the cop who was wiggling into his chair. She touched the keyboard at her right, pulled down a menu of addresses and numbers.  She slid the computer mouse across an aluminum pad.

"I'm calling him," she said.  "It will probably take a few minutes." She clicked the mouse and sat back, crossing her arms.

Otter nodded towards the software stacked up against the walls. "Where are your employees today?" he asked. Ann Ford smiled.

"In Pakistan. Mexico. India. And a few in Sri Lanka."  Otter squinted at her. "This business ... well, a lot of business today, is global. We go where the labor is plentiful."

"Meaning cheap?" said the cop.

"Our people make two to three times the national average in every country we operate in. That brings up their standard of living, helps them to send their children to good schools, and gives them excellent medical and dental benefits. And they're hard workers, Mr. Otter - appreciative, dedicated, hard-working. When was the last time you heard that?"  Otter didn't answer.

"I thought you were going to call your father," he finally said.

"The computer is," she said flatly. "It's dialing the number. When it gets through ..." As if on cue, the computer chirped loudly three times. She picked up the handset.

"Dad? Sorry to wake you. I hope you had your cell phone near the bed. Good. Listen, I have an Inspector Otter here from the Toronto Police." She stopped for a few seconds, listening. She began to look worried. "He wants information about something called GeneFab." She nodded several times. "You never told me." For the first time Otter saw the veneer of professionalism slip from Ann Fords expression to be replaced by the simple look of a concerned daughter.  After a few moments she hung up. Otter leapt to his feet.

"I told you I'm not leaving Ms. Ford. And obstruction of justice is a serious charge."

She shook her head. "Mr. Otter, I'm speechless. Uhh ... this is like finding out your father used to be one of the Beatles or something equally outlandish. My father says he needs a few minutes to catch his bearings. He'll call back. But first he's calling someone here in the city who he thinks will be able to answer your questions." Otter sat back down. "I don't know the details, but my father has been instrumental over the years in helping our government establish trade links with third world countries. Trades of technology for manufactured goods. Or trades for political prisoners. Even diplomatic favors."

Otter grimaced. This wasn't getting any simpler. "What does this have to do with our conversation?" he asked.

"Apparently you're right about X-Tech and this
GeneFab
. As crazy as that sounds. You’ve got to understand that I knew nothing about it. My father says it was a simple favor for our government and he had no reason to worry me with the details." He could tell she didn't like that rationale. It obviously rankled her.

"He says that you will be contacted by the State Department later today. He will cooperate with you
as far as he can
. He asked me to emphasize that. Tell me where you are staying and when he calls me back, I'll relay the message."

Otter thought for a moment. She waited then responded tersely. "Where are we going to go, Mr. Otter? Catch the next flight to Mexico City? Hide out in Bhopal?"

He stood. He told her the name and address of his hotel. "I'll be back with a Swat Team if I don't get some answers."

"You'll get answers, Mr. Otter. More than you bargained for, I'd guess. Sorry. Goodbye" She was already half out of the room.

Now what?
thought Otter.
Head back for a beer and a shower and wait for the phone to ring?
He left the office and did the circuit of the fourth floor. More Techs on the directory listing - InfoTek, Technology 2000. A temporary office help agency. An accountant. He clumped down the steps to the front entrance and walked out into the street. He may have to tail Ms. Ford. But first he'd run a bio on her father. This should be fun, checking out an arrest record on Henry Ford. His cab was still waiting. He jumped in the back and told the driver to take him to the nearest police station. The cab pulled out into the light mid-morning traffic, traveled two blocks and pulled over.

"That was quick,” joked Otter. "You could have driven twenty blocks and I wouldn't have known ..."

Both rear doors opened. A thick-necked black man in an expensive suit climbed in from the right - from the left, a red-faced blond with a crew cut and dark glasses. Neither of them looked at Otter. They closed the doors and the cab quickly pulled back into the traffic.