Ridley Pearson - The Body of David Hayes

Lou believed her sending the elevator up might distract the minimum-wage security team, whose job it was to monitor television screens in a darkened room somewhere in the building. Dressed now in her black cocktail dress, Liz climbed the stairs. The garage stairs deposited her into the main lobby. She still had to pass through security in order to reach the main bank of elevators.

Liz said hello to Dilly, the portly security man with whom she was friends. As she did so, she used Tony LaRossa’s ID card on the turnstile in front of the metal detector through which she would pass. Lou had no doubt that Pahwan Riz had cued security’s computers to watch for Liz’s entrance to the office building. It was even possible the security computer had been set for a special notification when Liz’s ID card entered the system. Lou’s gamble that Riz would not have given the same consideration to Tony LaRossa’s card paid off. The light turned green, the turnstile moved, and Liz passed her purse to Dilly while she stepped through the metal detector.

Dilly looked shell-shocked to see her. She stepped up to him, physically closer to the man than she’d ever been, and whispered clearly into his ear. “I know you’re supposed to report my arrival, Dilly. Believe me, I know all about it. And that’s a decision you will have to make. But if you do, what happened to Tony LaRossa will happen to me.” She kissed him on the cheek, took her purse, and walked away, not looking back.

The elevator typically required the use of an ID card to reach the restricted floors, including the twenty-fifth floor and I.T.’s data processing. For the sake of the reception, that requirement had been overcome by stationing a security guard as an elevator operator to shuttle guests. This came as an unexpected complication. Liz’s way around being seen by this security guard was to use the stairs once again, for one reached the stairs before the bank of elevators. She climbed twenty-five floors in less than ten minutes, her heart and lungs burning, her calves aching. Using Tony’s security card, she entered the floor at the end of a hall that had been taken over by the caterers. The roar of conversation and the smell of chicken satay greeted her. A moment later she was just another little black dress in a reception with dozens of invited guests.

Lou had taken it on faith that Hayes’s software would reach her. She felt less inclined to believe this, knowing David was under watch and believing that without his direct participation the transfer would not happen. But it was Lou’s show, and she played her role as directed. In her head an imaginary clock continued counting down the minutes to the corporate switchover.

Boldt called Gaynes on her cell phone and asked her location.

“Heading into the lobby from the shopping area.”

“They saw you enter. They put guys on it.”

“The mark?” Gaynes asked, meaning Liz.

“She’s in.”

“Oops,” Gaynes said. “Gotta go. Looks like I’m about to be caught.”

She disconnected the call before Boldt could remind her that if her cover as a staff waitress for the caterer failed, she should use her police credentials against the bank’s rent-a-cops, and that if confronted by Cretchkie or Riz she should pass blame back onto him, Boldt, who in turn would argue that it was his wife, and if he wanted to slip his detective inside the bank then it was his prerogative. It was in fact not his prerogative, but he could live with a brief dressing-down from Riz if it came to that.

He encouraged his cell phone to ring, awaiting confirmation that Liz had reached the twenty-fifth floor. Even if the empty-elevator ploy got security’s attention, Boldt expected no drastic action to be taken by the bank. No one in his right mind was going to shut down this merger reception as the couple approached their wedding bed.

Boldt put his head back against the headrest, understanding but not quite accepting that he had to wait it out like a director in the wings watching a play.

Then, when the phone did ring, it was only Heiman, reporting from On-Sat. “The Escalade’s moving south,” the voice said. “Heading through Fremont at the moment. If I had to guess,” Heiman said, “I’d say he’s still heading downtown.”

Having tended once again to her hair and lipstick, centering the strand of pearls she wore around her neck, Liz rounded the corner into the open area of the twenty-fifth floor and immediately spotted Phillip Crenshaw’s gray-white mane across the crowded room. She elected to steer clear for the time being. Phillip had been carefully briefed on all aspects of the embezzlement case, by Liz, the police, BCI, and the prosecuting attorney’s office. Liz didn’t want him seeing her and then making phone calls to check up on her. If they crossed paths, fine; she would tell him in private that she’d been run through what now appeared to be a ruse, but still had not taken possession of the software, nor had she been given the account number-all true.

It surprised her how well the data center transformed for the event. Her staff had done a terrific job. Several transit posters announcing the merger had been placed strategically to hide unsightly workstations. Helium balloons grouped in threes livened up the place. Champagne flowed as waiters and waitresses circulated. It appeared that most if not all of the forty to fifty invitees had shown up. Finger-food-sized crab cakes and cheesy hors d’oeuvres laced the air and enticed Liz’s empty stomach. She recognized any number of faces and said short hellos to various groups as she passed, making her way to the registration table manned by several of her staff. The overall mood was festive: canned jazz playing and champagne lifting voices into peals of laughter. A lot of money was being made off this merger, not the least of which went to the attorneys, a cabal of suits who hovered near the wine bar like a school of barracuda.

“Charlotte.” Liz smiled at the attractive young woman behind the welcome desk.

“There you are!” Charlotte bent over and reached below the table. She handed Liz a name tag that bore a small blue ribbon, a touch that Liz didn’t care for but something Phillip had insisted upon. The ribbon identified Liz as “co-hostess” and made her feel cheap, as if she were throwing a Pampered Chef party instead of a reception for a multibillion-dollar merger. “This came for you.”

Charlotte gave her a plain manila envelope. A plain white label bore her name and nothing more. It was the right size and shape and thickness for a computer disk.

“How’d you get this?”

“It was messengered to the lobby desk. Dilly sent it up.”

“When was this?”

Charlotte heard the concern in Liz’s voice and reflected it. “Just before we got going. A few minutes before eight. Why?”

Liz backpedaled, sorry she’d suggested there was any problem. “Oh, no reason.” She forced her face to soften. “It’s just in time. Thanks.” She glanced to her right, where the end of the room was sectioned off by polished steel beams and thick, unbreakable glass, and looked right at one of the twin AS/400s, a black, solid block of computer the size of a washing machine. Behind the server and out of view was a small desk holding a large flat-panel screen and a keyboard. The placement of this workstation intentionally screened the operator in order to prevent any eavesdropping or spying from without. The machine’s twin sister sat to the right in a small office of its own. This more private room was where most of the heavy lifting was done by programmers and maintenance. This was Liz’s destination. To reach it, she would have to pass through a palm-scanner, as well as an ID reader. She would be under the glare of the overhead lighting, visible to all. She would stick out, given that there was no activity at that far end of the large room. Her entrance to the space would alert security and, in turn, the surveillance team.