Killjoy Read online

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. An honor, really. You wanted to see me? My, it’s warm in here. Would you mind if I removed my jacket?”

  She was rambling but couldn’t seem to stop. The remark about the temperature had gotten his attention, though. Thank God, the rumors were right. Carter did have his own thermostat and liked to keep his office just below freezing. It was like an Alaskan tomb. Avery was surprised she couldn’t see her breath when she exhaled. That’s when she realized she wasn’t breathing.

  Calm down, she told herself. Take a deep breath.

  Carter enthusiastically nodded. He didn’t mention the heel that had dropped on top of a stack of files on his desk. “I thought it was warm, but my assistant keeps telling me it’s cold in here. Let me just turn down the thermostat a notch.”

  She didn’t wait for him to give her permission to sit. The second he turned his back, she snatched the heel off the files—which she noticed were labeled with her name and the names of the other members of the pen—and then fell into the chair. Her panty hose were in a wad around her knees. She frantically unbuttoned her jacket, removed it, and draped it over her lap.

  Her arms and shoulders were covered in goose bumps seconds later.

  Suck it up, she thought. It was going to be okay. Once he sat down behind his desk, she could slowly work the hose down her legs and get rid of them. Carter would never be the wiser.

  It was a great plan, and it would have worked if Carter had cooperated, but he didn’t return to his chair. He walked over to her side, then leaned back to sit on the edge of his desk. She wasn’t short by Margo’s standards, but she still had to tilt her head back in order to look into his eyes. There seemed to be a twinkle, which she thought was quite odd, unless, of course, he enjoyed firing people. God, maybe that rumor was true too.

  “I noticed you were limping. How did you hurt your knee?” he asked. He bent down to pick up the barrette that had fallen to the floor.

  “An accident,” she said, taking the barrette and dropping it in her lap.

  She could tell from the quizzical look in his eyes she hadn’t given him a satisfactory answer.

  “An elderly lady . . . quite elderly, as a matter of fact, driving a rather large vehicle, didn’t see me when I was walking toward my car in my parking garage. I had to jump out of the way so she wouldn’t hit me. I ended up on top of a Mercedes, and I think that’s when I broke my heel and bruised my knee.” Then, before he could make a comment about the unfortunate incident, she plunged on. “Actually, I only loosened the heel then. It broke off in the elevator as the doors were closing on my head.” He was staring at her as though she had just turned into a babbling fool. “Sir, it hasn’t been a good morning.”

  “Then I’d brace myself if I were you,” he said, his voice suddenly grim. “It’s going to get worse.”

  Her shoulders slumped. Carter finally went behind his desk and sat down. She seized the opportunity. Slipping her hands under her jacket and skirt, she worked the panty hose down her legs. It was awkward but doable, and, other than appearing to be squirming in the hot seat, she managed the feat. While he opened her file and began to read the notes he or someone else had compiled against her, she grabbed the hose and wadded them into a ball. She had her shoes back on by the time he looked up at her again.

  “I received a call from Mike Andrews,” he began. There it was again, that grim, you’re-gonna-get-your-ass-fired tone of voice.

  Her stomach felt as though it had just dropped to her ankles. “Yes, sir?”

  “I believe you know him?”

  “Yes, sir. Not well,” she hastened to add. “I found his number and called him before I left the office.”

  “And during that phone call you convinced him to deploy a SWAT team to First National Bank on . . .” He looked down again, searching the file for the location.

  She rattled off the address, adding, “The branch is near the state line.”

  He leaned back, crossed his arms, and said, “Tell me what you know about these robberies.”

  She took a deep breath and tried to relax. She was on safe ground now, in control. Since she had typed all the agents’ reports into the computer and looked at the bank tapes, she’d learned, and pretty much memorized, every little detail.

  “The robbers call themselves the Politicians,” she said. “There are three of them.”

  “Continue,” he urged.

  “There have been three robberies in the past three months. The men, all wearing white clothes, entered the first bank, First National Bank and Trust on Twelfth Street, on March fifteenth, exactly three minutes after the bank had opened for business. The men used guns to subdue the personnel and one customer, but they didn’t fire those weapons. The man shouting the orders held a knife against the security guard’s neck. When the other two were running toward the door, the leader stabbed the guard, dropped the knife, and then left. The guard had done nothing to provoke the man. There was absolutely no reason to kill him.”

  “No, there wasn’t,” Carter agreed.

  “The second robbery took place on April thirteenth at the Bank of America in Maryland. A bank manager, a woman, was killed during that robbery. The leader was on his way out the door. He suddenly turned around and fired point-blank. Once again, there didn’t seem to be a reason, because the personnel had been desperately trying to cooperate.”

  “And the third robbery?”

  “That one took place on May fifteenth at Goldman’s Bank and Trust in Maryland,” she said. “As you know, the violence escalated. Two people were killed, and a third was left for dead but has miraculously recovered.”

  “Okay, you’ve got your facts down,” he said. “Now, tell me. What made you think a little branch of the First National Bank in Virginia would be the next target?”

  His stare was unnerving. She glanced down at her lap while she gathered her thoughts and then looked up again. She knew how she had arrived at the conclusion, but explaining it to the head of in-house operations was going to be difficult.

  “I guess you could say it’s all in how I look at things. It was all there . . . most of it anyway, in the file.”

  “No one else saw it in the file,” he pointed out. “They hit different banks with the three robberies, but you convinced Andrews that they were going to hit another branch of First National again.”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “It’s . . . remarkable how you talked him into it.”

  “Not really,” she said, hoping Andrews hadn’t told Carter every word she’d said.

  “You used my name.”

  She inwardly cringed. “Yes, sir. I did.”

  “You told Andrews the order came from me. Is that correct, Delaney?”

  Here it comes, she thought. The you’re-getting-your-ass-fired part. “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s get back to the facts, shall we? Here’s what I want to know. The Politicians had struck on March fifteenth, April thirteenth, then May fifteenth. We didn’t know why they were hitting on those specific days, but you did, didn’t you? That’s what you told Andrews,” he reminded her. “But you didn’t go into an explanation.”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “There’s time now. How did you arrive at your conclusion?”

  “Shakespeare, sir,” she answered.

  “Shakespeare?”

  “Yes, sir. The robberies all followed the same pattern, almost like a ritual of some kind. I got a printout of the first bank’s records for the week prior to the robbery. I did the same with the other two banks. I thought something might show up that would link them,” she said.

  She paused to shake her head. “I had reams and reams of printouts all over the office, and I did find something a little curious. Fortunately, I had the discs from the banks, and I was able to cross-check with the computer.”

  Carter rubbed his jaw, distracting her. She could see a hint of impatience in his eyes. “Sir, bear with me another minute. Now, the first bank was r
obbed on March fifteenth. Does that date trigger anything in your mind?”

  Before he could answer, she plunged ahead. “The ides of March? Julius Caesar?”

  He nodded.

  “That must have been in the back of my mind last night while I was reading all the printouts, and I noticed an ATM withdrawal was made by a man named Nate Cassius. I still hadn’t quite put it together,” she admitted. “But I realized, if I was right, and I was hoping to heaven I was, that the leader of the Politicians was leaving us clues. Maybe he was playing some twisted game. Maybe he was waiting to see how long it would take us to catch on.”

  She had his full attention now. “Continue,” he said.

  “As I mentioned before, the dates frustrated me until I did my research. I looked up the Roman calendar and found that when the Romans were calculating the length of the months, they also figured the date of the ides. We know from Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar that the ides of March falls on the fifteenth. But not all the months. Some fall on the thirteenth. So, using that logic, I went back over the ATM withdrawals the week prior to the second and third robberies, and guess what I found?”

  “Did Nate Cassius make a withdrawal from those banks?”

  “No, sir,” she answered. “But a William Brutus did in one bank, and Mario Casca did in the other . . . and the withdrawals happened just two days before the robberies. I think they were sizing up the layout of the banks.”

  “Go on,” he said, leaning forward now.

  “I didn’t put it together until the last minute. I had to pull up the transaction records for all of the banks in the tri-state area from the eleventh on.”

  “Because the other two withdrawals were made exactly two days before the actual robberies.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I spent most of the night cross-checking with the data I had in the computer for the eleventh, and by gosh, there it was. Mr. John Ligarius had made a withdrawal from that little branch of First National at three-forty-five in the morning. All of these names—Cassius, Brutus, Casca, Ligarius—they were conspirators against Caesar. I didn’t have time to run a check on the people who owned these cards, but I did find out that the cards were issued from banks in Arlington. It added up. Ligarius made a withdrawal from The First National Bank. So, The First National Bank was the next target.

  “I thought that time was critical, and my superior, Mr. Douglas, wasn’t available. He had already left to catch a four-hour flight, and it wasn’t possible for me to talk to him. I used initiative,” she stressed. “And I would rather have been wrong and lose my job than keep silent and find out after the fact that I was right. Sir, my conclusions and subsequent actions will be in the report I’m typing up, and when you read it, you will note that I take full responsibility for my actions. My coworkers had nothing to do with my decision to call Andrews. But in my defense,” she hastened to add, “I, like the others in my department, have a master’s degree, and we’re all very good at what we do. We aren’t simply typists transferring agents’ notes into the database. We analyze the information we’re given.”

  “So does the computer program.”

  “Yes, but the computer doesn’t have heart or instincts. We do. And, sir, now that we’re on the subject of job descriptions, I would like to mention that the minimum wage has gone up, but our salaries have not.”

  He blinked. “Are you hitting me up for a raise?”

  She winced. Maybe she had said too much, but at least if she was going to lose her job, Lou and Mel and Margo might benefit. She felt a sudden burst of anger because she and her coworkers were so undervalued. She folded her arms and looked directly into his eyes. “As I’ve reviewed the facts for you, I’ve become more convinced than ever that I was right. I had no other choice than to notify Andrews, and he wouldn’t move until I used your name. I know I overstepped my authority, but there simply was no time and I had to—”

  “They got them, Avery.”

  She stopped short and then said, “Excuse me, sir?”

  “I said Andrews and his men got them.”

  She didn’t know why she was so shocked by the news, but she was. “All of them?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Andrews and his team were waiting, and at precisely three minutes after ten, the three men stormed the bank.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Thank heavens.”

  Carter nodded. “They were wearing white. Did you figure out the significance of the color?”

  “Sure. The Roman senators wore white robes.”

  “The three men are being interrogated now, but I imagine you have already figured out what their game was.”

  “They probably consider themselves anarchists trying to bring down the government. They’ll tell you they’re trying to kill Caesar and probably even hail themselves as martyrs for the cause, but you know what? When you cut through all the phony baloney, it’s the same old same old. Greed was the real motivator. They were trying to be clever about it. That’s all.”

  She was smiling, feeling quite pleased with herself, when a sudden thought occurred to her. “Sir, you said my morning was going to get worse,” she reminded him. “What did you mean?”

  “There’s going to be a press conference in . . .” He paused to glance at the clock. “. . . ten minutes, and you’re the star attraction. I understand you have an aversion to being in the spotlight. I don’t like press conferences either, but we do what we have to do.”

  Avery could feel the panic building. “Mike Andrews and his team should do the press conference. They apprehended the suspects. I was simply doing my job.”

  “Are you being modest, or—”

  She leaned forward as she interrupted him. “Sir, I’d rather have a root canal.”

  He caught himself before he smiled, but the twinkle had returned to his eyes. “So this aversion is deep-rooted then?”

  “Yes, sir. It is.” She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood, but she couldn’t get rid of her growing apprehension. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why is my file on your desk? I did follow procedure . . . as best I could,” she pointed out. “And if you didn’t plan to fire me . . .”

  “I wanted to familiarize myself with your department,” he said as he picked up the file.

  “May I ask why?”

  “You’re getting a new superior.”

  She didn’t like hearing that. She and the others got along well with Douglas, and change was difficult.

  “Is Mr. Douglas retiring, then? He’s been talking about it for as long as I’ve been here.”

  “Yes,” Carter answered.

  Bummer, she thought. “May I ask who my new boss is?”

  He glanced up from the folder in his hand. “Me,” he answered. He let her absorb the information before continuing. “The four of you will be moved into my department.”

  She perked up. “We’re getting new office space?”

  Her excitement was quickly squelched. “No, you’ll stay where you are, but starting Monday morning, you’ll report directly to me.”

  She tried to look happy. “So, we’ll be running up and down four flights of stairs every time we need to talk to you?” She knew she sounded like a whiner, but it was too late to take the words back.

  “We do have elevators, and most of our employees are able to ride them without getting their heads caught between the doors.”

  The sarcasm didn’t faze her. “Yes, sir. May I ask if we’ll be getting raises? We’re all way past due for our evaluations.”

  “Your evaluation is taking place right now.”

  “Oh.” She wished he’d mentioned that fact starting out. “How am I doing?”

  “This is the interview portion of the evaluation, and during an interview I ask the questions, and you answer them. That’s pretty much how it works.”

  He opened her file and began to read. He started with the personal statement she’d
written when she’d applied, then scanned her background information.

  “You lived with your grandmother, Lola Delaney, until the age of eleven.”

  “That’s correct.”

  She watched him flip through the pages, obviously checking facts and dates. She wanted to ask him why he felt the need to go over her history, but she knew that if she did, she’d sound defensive and maybe even antagonistic, and so she gripped her hands together and kept quiet. Carter was her new superior, and she wanted to start off on the right foot.

  “Lola Delaney was murdered on the night of . . .”

  “February fourteenth,” she said without emotion. “Valentine’s Day.”

  He glanced up. “You saw it happen.”

  “Yes.”

  He began to peruse the notes once again. “Dale Skarrett, the man who killed your grandmother, was already a wanted man. There was a warrant for his arrest in connection with a jewelry heist where the storeowner was murdered, and over four million in uncut stones were stolen. The diamonds weren’t recovered, and Skarrett was never formally charged.”

  Avery nodded. “The evidence against him was circumstantial, and it’s doubtful they would have gotten a conviction.”

  “True,” Carter agreed. “Jill Delaney was also wanted for questioning in connection with the robbery.”

  “Yes.”

  “She wasn’t at the house the night your grandmother was murdered.”

  “No, but I’m sure she sent Skarrett to kidnap me.”

  “But you didn’t cooperate.”

  Her stomach began to tighten. “No, I didn’t.”

  “No one knew what had happened until the next morning, and by the time the police arrived, Skarrett was long gone and you were in critical condition.”

  “He thought I was dead,” she interjected.

  “You were airlifted to Children’s Hospital in Jacksonville. One month later, when you had recovered from your injuries—a remarkable feat given the extent of the damage—your aunt Carolyn took you to her home in Bel Air, California.” He leaned back in his chair. “That’s where Skarrett came after you again, didn’t he?”