The Diamond Dust on Dragonfly Wings: A Jeffry Claxton Mystery Novel Page 5

  The elevator came, and I went up one floor. When I walked in the apartment, the first thing I thought of was going back to bed, but I went into the office and checked the answering machine instead. Sure enough, someone had called. Several times. The first five calls were George, at first excited, then pleading, and finally just plain pissed off. The sixth call was the one. I noted the time as I hit the playback button, 9:25 AM.

  The voice that came on was definitely not that of Weldon Marsh, but it was calling on his behalf. It urged me to contact Mr. Marsh at my earliest convenience, and left a number for me to do just that. All in a tone so sultry that it made me think of long black sequined gowns, with white gloves and diamonds. Maybe Sarah was right, I needed to get out more often.

  ~

  Chapter Two

  I

  called the number hoping to hear the voice again. “Good morning, Sandra speaking, how may I help you?” This voice was bright, even perky, but it wasn't sultry. Figures.

  “Good morning Sandra, Jeffry Claxton here.” There had been no mention of Marsh or Citecorp, so I threw my name on the water and waited for a bite. It didn't take long, maybe a heartbeat or two.

  "Thank you for calling, Mr. Claxton, please hold."

  Marsh was on before I could respond. His voice boomed over the line. "Claxton, good of you to call. I would like to arrange a meeting, as I believe we have some potential business to discuss. The whole thing is rather urgent, yes, quite urgent, so the sooner the better. I spoke with George Belnor a few minutes ago, and he told me that you had the gist of it. Would eleven thirty this morning be convenient for you? Hmm?" I indicated that it would. "Good, good, my office is on the thirtieth floor of the tower, downtown. Yes, I'll see you then." He broke the connection without waiting for any further input on my behalf. Bankers.

  That had taken all of two or three minutes, and now I had a meeting. It was beginning to look like I might land this job after all, but I wasn't getting too caught up in it yet. When I had made the deal, and gotten my retainer, I'd let myself take it seriously. In the meantime, I had work to do. I spent an hour or so doing my backlog of paperwork, including the drafting of an invoice made out to Hudson, Mercier and Lowe. Two thousand dollars for two days of consulting fees, and two hundred and eighty-nine dollars and twenty-seven cents miscellaneous costs. Minus the five hundred I had gotten up front. Not bad, but not good when it was the only two-day work in the past two weeks. I thought again about Citecorp. Maybe I was due for a change.

  My shoulder was pretty stiff, so I took a cab down to the bank tower, arriving early, just after eleven. The skies were getting darker again, and there was an ominous rumbling sound reverberating through the skyscraper canyons of mid-town.

  Getting through the ranks of secretaries took almost as long as the cab ride.

  Eventually I was ushered into the presence of greatness. Marsh’s' Personal Assistant, Miss Kuwabara, who was busy doing Personal Assistant things. I walked over to her desk and gave my name. She stopped what she was doing and looked my way.

  "Mr. Claxton, welcome. Mr. Marsh is finishing a meeting, and he'll be with you in a few moments. Please make yourself comfortable." She gestured in the direction of a little lounge area set up in the corner.

  "Would you care for some tea while you wait?"

  As soon as she had spoken I knew who she was. She was The Voice. I can always tell when a woman is truly beautiful. I get this quivering sensation deep down inside, and I had it now. Miss Kuwabara was Japanese, with long black hair that fell in a well-trained manner, half way down her back. Her suit was a charcoal pinstripe, with a conservative cut. I figured she must do her wardrobe shopping in Paris or Rome. I had no idea how old she was, and the way she looked it didn't matter. I tried to think of some witty comment, just to keep her talking, but the situation didn't provide for it, so I agreed to a cup of tea. I felt that any kind of interaction would be better than none. She hit the intercom and placed an order for tea for one. So much for my scheming.

  I smiled my thanks and walked over to the lounge and took a seat. The waiting area was all chrome and glass, with a subdued grey background. It looked like it had been put in yesterday, including the carpet, which was also grey. I suppose that meant it was good quality decorating. Looking new at all times, I mean. Unless of course it actually had been put in yesterday. It didn’t smell freshly installed though, so…, I gave up amusing myself with the decor, and sat back to wait. A few minutes later an assistant to the Personal Assistant came through the door and headed my way, tea tray in hand. He looked like he had graduated last week, wearing the obligatory eager smile of a neophyte, along with his white shirt and tie. The tea came with lemon on the side, and in a real china cup. I guess that's how they take it on the thirtieth floor. Miss Kuwabara neither glanced in my direction, nor offered any words of encouragement while I waited. On my list of refreshing drinks, tea ranked in the bottom five percent.

  About eleven forty-five, Miss K. responded to a beep on her intercom, and informed me that Mr. Marsh was free now, and would I please go right in.

  I walked across the room. As I reached the door to the inner sanctum, it was flung wide and there, in all his glory, was Weldon Marsh.

  "Ah, good of you to come Claxton, enter, enter." He waved me inside all the while.

  I had thought that the outer office was swank, but this was ridiculous. There was wood paneling, leather upholstery, and ankle-deep carpeting everywhere you turned. A little overdone.

  "Have a seat Claxton, have a seat, let's get down to business. Care for a scotch and soda? I'm having one. Hellish day, hellish day. I don't know what's happening to the world."

  I hated scotch, but I agreed to join him. When in Rome…, Rome, that started me thinking about Miss K. again. Not exactly the opportune moment to be daydreaming. I brought myself back. Must be the damn pills.

  Marsh fixed drinks at the wet bar, handed one to me and sat down in the captain’s chair behind his oak desk. The desk was rather large. In a pinch, it could probably be used for landing light aircraft. No-one tasted their drinks. I got the feeling Marsh liked props. Maybe he was about to act.

  I started. "Mr. Marsh, George Belnor has given me very little background on this case, other than the fact that you feel a need for a security consultant. If I may say so, the death of one of your employees, whether under mysterious circumstances or not, can be handled in a very professional manner by the police. That’s not an area where I have an advantage. Murder, if it was murder… " Marsh interrupted me, quick as a wink.

  "It was, it was, murder I mean. No doubt, no doubt at all."

  I forged ahead. "Murder is a crime that requires the vast resources of modern day police organizations to properly investigate." Marsh squirmed a bit in his seat. "If, on the other hand, there are considerations which need to be addressed which are of a sensitive nature, and are not directly linked to the death of your employee, then I definitely can help you. That is the work which I do, and I do it very well."

  Marsh mulled this over for a second or two, then broke out in a grin. "Yes, yes, I see. Exactly. That's it exactly. Let me tell you what's bothering me Claxton, and then you can tell me what you think. Fair enough?" I agreed.

  "Fine then, fine. Well, where to start? Hmmm. I believe that someone is trying to sabotage a deal the bank has been working on for the past six months. The best deal I've ever had the pleasure of putting together in my entire career, I might add. Yes, indeed. We're talking about thirty-six years of banking now, Claxton. Thirty-six years. And this is the best one yet, and the biggest. The numbers would scare you, I'm sure. They scare me, and I put them together. Not singlehandedly of course, this is a team effort banking institution. But it was a small team, reporting to me directly, yes directly. Well, that's a mess now, I'm sure. John was my liaison man, and now he's gone." He paused and looked to me for some sign that I was following what he was saying.

  I waited a few moments, watching him watching me. He was about sixty, a
nd he looked like what he was. A successful banker. Three-piece suit, portly, greying at the temples, and used to wielding power. He broke eye contact first, and continued with his monologue.

  "Yes, well, John Dawson was the brightest young star in our organization. When I delegated a task to John, I considered it done. He never let me down, never. Until now that is." I wondered idly if getting knocked off before finishing an assigned task was grounds for dismissal with Mr. Weldon Marsh.

  "Well, that didn't sound right did it? No, not at all, not at all, poor John. The point I am trying to make, Claxton, is that there seems to be a problem with the Crassberg files. Yes, a definite problem. There are certain files missing from the system, and these files were the sole responsibility of John Dawson. This problem is one that is going to get worse by the day, as we approach the deadline for the submission of the contracts. The Crassberg group is expecting us to appear in seventeen days, in order to seal the deal, as it were. Yes, seal the deal. So, we can't very well show up unprepared can we? No, of course not. The missing papers are the sensitive part of the issue at hand. Yes, indeed. These papers are the reason I have asked you to come in today. We must try to recover them. Try as hard as we can, yes. I am not in a position to duplicate the information that they hold, due to the time factor involved, and without that information, the Crassberg deal may not happen at all! Imagine, Claxton, the best work I've ever done, and all to no avail. Well, do you think you can help me? Is this the kind of thing you're so good at? Hmmm?"

  He sat and watched me again, but this time I knew he wouldn't blink first. My mind was racing furiously. There were more questions than answers being presented here, but it was an opportunity that hadn't come my way before. This sounded bigger than what I had tackled in the past, but bigger was what I had wanted, I noticed that Marsh was squinting as he was watching me, but I don't think that counts as blinking. I made a mental note that Weldon Marsh probably wore contact lenses. What powers of observation.

  I blinked first. "Mr. Marsh, I think this is exactly the kind of thing I'm good at. There are qualifiers to my accepting the job, though, I…”

  Marsh jumped in before I could continue. "Fine, good, I had hoped you would accept, yes. My PA, Miss Kuwabara has a prepared contract waiting for your approval. It includes a non-disclosure agreement, and will provide you with full access to any information you feel may be helpful to a speedy resolution of the issue, yes. Also, she is empowered to act on my behalf in the signing of any relevant documents between Citecorp and Claxton Investigations. My PA is privy to all aspects of the Crassberg deal, and will have no trouble answering any questions for you. I hope that addresses your concerns, such as they might be. If so, can we say that you're on board with Citecorp, hmmm?" "Oh, in addition, there is a cheque prepared for you, in the amount of five thousand dollars, by way of a retainer."

  Marsh smiled widely, leaned over the desk and proffered his hand for shaking.

  He had anticipated me quite nicely, thank you, and I began to see why he was the one with the office on the thirtieth floor. There was nothing I could say but yes or no. I said yes.

  "Fair enough, Claxton. Yes, indeed. Well, it sounds right to me, I must say. Looking forward to hearing from you then."

  He was still smiling as we shook hands, but I could see that he had already dismissed me in his mind, and was on to the next item from his daily agenda. I headed for the outer office to see Miss K.

  I walked out of Marsh's office with a bit of aggression running through my system. I wanted the job, but I wasn't sure that it was on the level. There were too many questions left unanswered, but that was what Personal Assistants were for, right?

  Miss K. glanced my way with all the affection of a barracuda who wasn't hungry just now. Then she flashed a smile. "I hope you've come to an agreement with The Man, we sure need someone like you right now. If you have, I have got the papers drawn up, if you'd care to sit down for a moment and go over it with me.”

  I ignored the little voice in my head that was telling me to say something impressive, anything at all, and sat down at her desk in my very best confident manner.

  "Miss Kuwabara, let me make something clear to you right from the start, OK? I'm not someone you've dealt with before, and I'm not going to follow a pattern you can understand or anticipate. What I will require from you is honest cooperation, and straight answers to seemingly strange questions. I will want you to be available at all times to direct my inquiries to the right person, and to pass my reports along to Marsh as I make them. If you are to be the liaison person, as Marsh indicated, then that is what I will expect from your side of the deal. Is that going to be acceptable to you?"

  Cool as a cucumber she looked me in the eye and said, "That is exactly what I had expected of someone in your position. I know it will be difficult, under the circumstances, and I will do everything I can to make your job run smoothly. A positive result is in the bank's best interest, as well as Mr. Marsh's. If I may also point out the obvious, whatever is in Mr. Marsh's best interest is in my best interest as well. I think we can work very well together, providing of course, that you agree to sign the prepared contract." With that she produced the document in question with a decided flourish, and elegantly leaned back in her chair. A fait accompli, I suppose. So much for being inscrutable.

  I smiled a somewhat subdued smile, and began reading the contract. It was just as Marsh had said it would be. I agreed to keep my mouth shut about anything and everything I learned while I was perusing the case, which was more than understandable, it was routine, and I would have access to anything and everything that I thought would make a difference to the resolution of the whole affair. The part about daily reports I took with the same grain of salt I always took it with. In my line, you could do it sometimes, and sometimes you couldn't.

  I took out my trusty Cross pen and signed across the bottom of the document with a flourish of my own, and handed the papers across to Miss K., who added her signature, smoothly and with no hesitation at all. She reached into a side drawer of her desk and retrieved an envelope with no markings, silently handing it across the space between us. Interesting, in that I had never been handed a sizable amount of money without comment before, that I could recall. I had made the leap of intuition called for, and assumed that this was the five thousand Marsh had spoken of.

  We looked at each other. Intently. Again, I blinked first. "Well, I would like to stay and chat, but I have work to do. If you give me your home number, your answering service number, and if you have a private line here, that as well, I will be in contact with you by 10:00 PM this evening, to follow up on the case. By that time, I will have a solid idea of the approach I want to take, as well as a boatload of questions. One thing before I go, does the bank's main computer system stay on-line all night long?"

  It seemed that I had finally managed to catch Miss K. at least a few degrees off center, and she hesitated slightly before giving me what I wanted. And the bank's computers were never inaccessible.

  I tucked the list of Miss K.'s phone Numbers into the breast pocket of my jacket and took my leave. I had a lot of work to do as soon as I could get it done, and there were a dozen major questions running through my mind, that had to be sorted and put into some kind of comprehensive format.

  I emerged from the tower of glass and steel, into the lunchtime crowd. They were running through the rain, making their usual stops for food, drink, and the occasional assignation. Life goes on.

  It took a few minutes to get a cab, and that's all it took to get soaked. I had been so encouraged by my sunbeam this morning, that I hadn't believed it would rain. Why it should stop now, after three solid weeks, I don't know. The cab ride was uneventful, and my building was where I had left it. I paid the fare and went up to my apartment.

  Twenty minutes later I was dried off, changed and sitting at my desk. Now all I had to do was spring into action. I felt that it would take a hardline approach for this job. I wasn't going to forget that there
was a murder tied up in this one. I turned on my system and got busy laying it out in black and white. I always felt better when I had the information laid out in my own format, and I could print it up any way I chose.

  When I finally had everything that I knew about the affair set out in front of me, I began to wonder if I had overreached myself. The bottom line was I had signed without knowing the amount of money involved in the Crassberg deal, although I felt it had to be ludicrous, I had signed without knowing whether or not the murder of John Dawson was directly related to the case, I had signed without knowing the source of the missing information, which couldn't be replaced for some reason, and all because I wanted to be on the hot-list. Big league for a change. Or maybe I had signed because Miss K. had dared me to, subliminally. I began to think I had better watch out for Miss K.

  Around about 4:30 PM, I gave her a call. She wasn't in the office. I called her home number, and received a voice-mail message indicating that she would get back to me, if I was deemed important enough. This was probably call-forwarded to the office system, as hardly anyone I knew of went to the trouble of installing voice-mail in their home. I left a message to the effect that it was critical I speak to her ASAP, and promptly went out to celebrate. I was letting it get to me and I didn't seem to mind. I had just landed the biggest client of my career and it would look pretty good on my client list. I was like the kids in "The Night Before Christmas", with visions of secretaries and partners dancing in my head. I get so emotional.

  Friday night, what to do? I decided to celebrate my breaking into the big time with a night of chess at Doc Verley’s place.