Клео Коул - Decaffeinated Corpse

Many of our agents are bilingual and are culturally, nationality, and gender diverse. All must clear a thorough background check prior to employment. In addition to military and law enforcement sectors, WPI recruits talent from private service industries such as accounting, computer information systems, and...

I flipped to another leaf of the brochure, where the company bragged about its protective services division, providing security and bodyguards for global corporations and diplomats. Their client list was extensive, and in very small print. I squinted as I scanned the list, pretending that I hadn’t finally reached the age when I needed to borrow Madame’s reading glasses...

Ensor Pharmaceuticals, Gaylord Group, J.P. Madison Associates, Lamelle-Fressineau, Paratech Global, Snap Cola Enterprises, Komiyama Industries, TerraGreen International, XanTell Corporation...

My gaze returned to one of the company names. “Terra-Green...”

“What did you say, Clare?”

I pointed to the brochure. “TerraGreen International,” I whispered, “they’re a client of this office’s protective services division, and Ellie’s husband works for them.”

Madame’s eyebrows rose. “You’re sure?”

I nodded. “About two or three years after Ellie and Ric broke up, she was still dropping by the Blend. I remember she’d gone through a stint interning at the TerraGreen labs on Long Island. That’s how she first met her husband, Jerry Lassiter. He was an executive with the company.”

“Did you say labs? What sort of company is this TerraGreen?”

“They make fertilizers and plant foods. Back then, I think Ellie was working on some sort of project to genetically engineer crops.”

Madame frowned in thought for a moment. “Ellie was an intern and her husband was an executive when they first met? Is that what you said?”

“Yes.”

“Then there must have been quite a few years between them.”

“He’s at least fifteen years her senior.”

Madame sighed. “It seems we have a classic recipe here. Older, rich husband provides a young Ellie with security and stability, but years later, she begins yearning for the adventure and passion she lost. Enter old flame Ric...”

“But is Jerry Lassiter having his wife followed to document infidelity?” I whispered. “Or is there more to it?”

“What more could there be?”

“Ric was mugged last night. I doubt a professional investigator got involved with something like that.”

“So you think Jerry Lassiter did the deed himself?”

“Or he hired someone to do it. Yes, that’s what I think. What I can’t do is prove it. I’m not even sure of his real motive.”

“Real motive?”

“Don’t you see? He could be after Ric’s hybrid cutting... or he could be out to make it look like someone else is after it, so if harm comes to Ric the police will look for another suspect.”

“Oh, yes. I see. If Jerry Lassiter is afraid of losing his wife to Ric, maybe his solution is to lose Ric first?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, my dear, as far as proving it, we need to start right here with this agency. TerraGreen may be on its client list, but that doesn’t prove Jerry Lassiter hired them to tail his wife.”

“I know, and that’s why we’re going to dump your ‘lost keys’ approach.”

“We are?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“I think we should—”

The front door opened just then and I stopped talking. A well-dressed gentleman boldly strode up to the receptionist as if he owned the place. When I caught sight of his face, I realized he did.

Tapping Madame on the shoulder, I pointed to the section of the brochure that displayed the photo and bio of the man standing right in front of us.

Anil Kapoor’s twenty-five-year career spans work for the Drug Enforcement Administration, which led to his work in that agency’s office in Marseille, France; Rabat, Morocco; and Brussels, Belgium, where he served as the technical advisor on U.S. drug intelligence and investigative matters. From there, he moved to the worldwide International Criminal Police Organization more commonly known as Interpol. There he worked for twelve years as the Director of the Criminal Intelligence Directorate, the number-two position in the organization, subordinate only to the secretary general.

Now retired from his official work, he runs the New York branch of WPI. Located near the United Nations and the diplomatic office for which his office often consults, he has assembled a New York team with extensive experience in criminal investigations and intelligence collection from around the world.

Mr. Kapoor’s education and studies include: Princeton University, Bachelor of Arts degree in Sociology and Business; D.E.A. Executive Management and Financial Investigations; Harvard University, graduate course on National and Internal Security; USDA Graduate School Performance Audits.

An attractive man in his fifties, Kapoor looked much like his photo, with the exception of his jet-black hair, which now displayed noticeable strands of silver-gray. He had a full face, olive complexion, and East Indian features. Well under six feet, he had a paunchy physique, but he wore his clothes beautifully: a London tailored suit, a fine charcoal overcoat draped over his arm, a slim attaché case in his hand. Like Madame, he presented himself with a confident air of dignified elegance.

As he spoke to the receptionist, Madame leaned toward me. “Clare,” she whispered. “What do you want us to do?”

“Just go along with me,” I whispered in reply. Then I silently pointed to the brochure and Anil Kapoor’s bio. Madame began to read it over.

“Ladies?” the receptionist called after Mr. Kapoor left the waiting room and headed towards the agency’s offices. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, we don’t.” I rose from the couch and moved toward her desk. “This company was recommended to us... and we were in the neighborhood today, visiting friends at the French Embassy, so we thought we might just drop in and ask a few questions...”

I ran out of words, but Madame was ready—

“ Oui, oui ...” she said, summoning her old French accent. “We’re a bit uncertain about the whole process, comprenez-vous ? But of course if no one is available to talk to us about your company, we can call for an appointment, une certaine autre heure, oui ? I believe there’s another agency the deputy secretary recommended...” Madame made a show of looking through her Prada bag. She glanced at me. “Do you have that other agency’s card, my dear, or do I?”

The receptionist quickly spoke up. “I’m sure you won’t have to leave before seeing someone. Just give us another few minutes, and I’ll ask if Mr. Kapoor’s available. If not, I’m sure a member of his staff will answer all of your questions.”

“ Merci ,” Madame replied.

“Your names please?” the receptionist asked.

Five minutes later, the young woman was escorting us into a corner office. The decor in here was markedly different from the bland waiting room. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls with leather-bound volumes. A thick Persian rug of sapphire, jade, and ruby covered a parquet floor, and the large room was dominated by a substantial desk of dense wood lacquered a shiny black.

Behind a sleek flat-panel computer monitor sat Anil Kapoor. He rose when we entered, his hand moving to smooth his pearl colored tie.

“May I present Madame Marie LaSalle and her daughter, Vanessa LaSalle,” the receptionist announced.

“Madame, mademoiselle,” Mr. Kapoor said. He extended his hand and we all politely shook. Then the receptionist backed out of the room and her boss gestured to the two mahogany chairs in front of his desk.