Vera Cummings, widow of
John Cummings, former CEO of Callifonte Inc., was a
graceful and gracious lady. Tall, slender, and
probably close to sixty, she retained her classic
beauty and was a perfect match to her classic
Kenilworth home.
In short, the woman had
money--lots of very old money.
"What can I do for
you, Miss Miller?" she asked pleasantly as we
sat in her chintz-filled living room.
"As you know, I'm
working on an MBA at Loyola. I was assigned to do a
study of a local manufacturing plant, and I chose to
study Callifonte Inc.," I lied.
"I've talked to
the people there now. I hoped you could give me a
better historical perspective of the firm," I
finished sweetly.
"Oh...I have so
many memories of that place," she said, casting
her eyes toward the floor. "You see, my father
founded the firm, so I'm very proud of its successes."
She returned her gaze
to mine, her eyes glittering with tears, which she
blinked back firmly.
"He started it
during the war, in 1942." She took a deep breath.
"My mother, you see, had the capital, and I
think my father was anxious to prove himself. He
worked for my grandfather, my mother's father.
“So when my father
asked my husband to head the Callifonte Inc. in 1974,
I was so proud." Her voice wavered, but she
quickly regained control.
"None of your
children work the company now?"
"We never had
children," she answered slowly.
"It was before the
day of modern medicine, and there weren't the options
there are today. But we did raise our nephew, John's
sister's son, after she died. He still works there."
She stared down at her
hands folded quietly in her lap.
"He does? What's
his name?"
"Joe, Joe
Flanders," she answered. "John was training
him to become head of the firm. Then, all this
corporate takeover madness began, and our company
fell out from under our control."
It took me a moment to
recover my poise. I mean this was twice the name of
my boss had dropped into my lap. Then, I scribbled
furiously on my legal pad for several minutes trying
to figure out what to try next. Finally, I gave up
and packed up my pad.
"Well, I thank
you," I said, standing up. "You've been
very helpful and very frank."
"I like being
helpful," she replied.
I slid my pen and pad
into my oversize purse as my stomach tied itself in
knots. Then, thanking her again, I left her standing
at her front door, smiling and waving at my departure.
*****
Driving toward the
western suburbs that afternoon, I swung my Honda into
the parking lot of the first ice cream parlor I found.
Locking my car door behind me, I entered the shop and
ordered a hot-fudge sundae.
It's a habit of mine. I
dislike lying. To punish myself I usually punish my
guilty conscience with forbidden food--washed down
with my favorite anti-acid.
*****
I spent the rest of the
hot July afternoon driving past the homes of people
with access to the bidding documents. Revenge could
be a powerful motive for trying to harm a company,
but money ranks high, too.
My canvass of employee
homes sent me on a drive through several northwest
Chicago suburbs. On the surface, everything checked
out. No one appeared to be living beyond his income--at
least not any more than most American's do.
I hoped Harry was
having better luck.
*****
Harry turned up at my
back door the next morning before the coffee had even
finished brewing. I swung the door open, excused
myself, and dashed to my bedroom, where I quickly
exchanged my scruffy bathrobe for a pair of jeans and
tank top.
When I returned from my
bedroom, Harry had helped himself to a cup of coffee
and had poured another cup for me.
I quickly filled him in
on my interview with Vera Cummings and the fact that
everyone that I'd checked appeared to be living
within their incomes. He agreed to poke around in
what bank records he could turn up on the suspects.
"Also," I
said, "contact the telephone company. Get a list
of all the calls made from administrative offices two
months before each bid submission. Surely, no one
would be stupid enough to call competing companies
from an inside phone. But, you never know."
"Ah, stupidity,"
he responded with a wide grin. "Every
detective's best friend. You may be on to something
there, kiddo."
"Forget it.
Flattery won't win you a raise. Rate's fixed to the
end of the case."
"You wound me,
Morgan. You really do."
"God, I've missed
you Harry," I said, popping him on the head with
my notepad.
*****
Judith Banks was red in
the face and nearly twenty mintues late when she
finally showed up at Luciani's restaurant. She
apologized saying traffic was "horrendous"
as she slid into my booth.
I tried to reassured
her by saying the restaurant had an excellent wine
list, of which I'd availed myself in her absence.
"I don't see what
I can help you with, Morgan?" she asked after
she'd finally settled herself.
"Well, this
business is apparently a tangled affair." I let
the word affair hover in the air and waited for her
reaction. It arrived instantly.
She blanched, threw
down her fork, and raised her beautiful face
defiantly.
"I wondered when
this would come up. Look, I was a kid when I started
working for John Cummings, okay? I thought I loved
him. At least, that's the way it began."
"But it didn't
remain true love," I asked viciously. Her eyes
blinked twice. Then, she took a deep breath and
deflated like a week-old balloon as she exhaled.
"No. There's only
so many times a man can tell you he's going to
divorce his wife and whisk you off on his stallion
before you figure out it's just a game. By then..."
She shook her head.
"Look. I grew up
poor," she said, straightening her spine,
appearing suddenly much taller. "My mom and my
dad...well, I always thought they'd have been better
off divorced. So I didn't see myself as someone
trying to rob a husband.
“To me, I was
trying to comfort a misunderstood man. Then, when it
ended...well, I was proud of where I was. I liked my
salary. I liked what it bought me. I still do."
"You and Winthrop
aren't...."
"Do you really
think that little of me?"
I felt my face flush,
but my mind raced on. "
Well, what about
Cumming's suicide. How comfortable are you working
for a man who could be accused of driving your former
lover to suicide?"
"Look, I don't
feel comfortable about any of this. But I'm forty,
unmarried and have no children; this company is my
life. I'm not about to bleed it to death for any
reason. Any reason...is that clear?"
I sighed. The woman had
scored a point. "So of the other people who
could do this, do you have a personal favorite?"
"No. I can't
imagine any of our officers setting the company up
for this large a hit. You don't understand; we only
win if the company wins. It's that simple."
"Maybe for you,
but what about Joe Flanders. John Cummings was his
uncle. Could he and Vera Cummings have teamed up.
“If they couldn't
own the company, why not destroy it and get even with
the man who took it away from them to settle the
score. Mrs. Cummings lost a husband. Joe not only
lost an uncle, but he lost his chance to head the
firm."
"Actually, I don't
think Joe wanted to be CEO. I believe he was relieved
when Winthrop took over."
Maybe, I thought.
Still, head honcho is a title some people are willing
to kill for. I suspected Judith was dismissing its
appeal too lightly.
Then again, I had to
admit he looked like the kind of guy who could be
relieved if a challenger grabbed the prize ahead of
him. Hadn't I already summed him up just that way, I
wondered?
*****
By the time I got home,
Harry was back. He waved a large bundle of telephone
records at me as I climbed the steps to my front door.
We huddled around my
coffee table, where we checked the records, examining
every call made out of four different offices for a
two-month period before each bid submission.
"Here we go,"
I said to Harry, as I found the first call made to an
area code of one of the four competing companies.
"January, last year, five calls in two weeks to
area code, eight-one-four.
Check out the phone
number on my list for Barton Corporation."
Harry flipped through
my notes, "Barton Corp., Allentown,
Pennsylvania, area code, eight-one-four." He
raised his eyebrows high above the reading glasses
perched at the end of his nose, and his gaze met mine.
I grabbed my telephone
and dialed the phone number on my print out. "Barton
Corporation," an automated answering device
announced after the second ring.
"If you know your
party's four-digit extension, please enter it now."
I slammed the receiver
down in triumph and quickly raised my eyes to the
identifying telephone number printed at the top of
the page.
"Damn. It's Joe
Flanders' office number." I threw the sheet down
onto the coffee table.
"People can fool
us, kiddo. Let's see if the other calls were placed
from his office. We've only tracked a few calls to
Barton Corporation from his office, at this point."
I nodded. We can check,
I thought, but I knew the other calls would be there,
under the telephone number for Joe's office. Sure
enough, they were.
I picked up my phone
and dialed Winthrop's office.
"Morgan here,"
I said when Judith Banks answered the phone. "We
need to schedule some time with your boss. We've
turned up evidence here that we need to discuss."
She said we could see
Winthrop in forty-five minutes. As soon as I'd hung
up the telephone, I dashed into my bedroom to change
into one of my business suits.
They were a personal
pleasure to me, sporting labels that far exceeded the
price of those I could afford while a cop. That's
when it struck me, just after I'd slid one of my legs
into my suit skirt, that Joe wasn't the spy after all.
Hitching my way, one
leg in and one leg out of my skirt, I headed to my
bedroom door, cracked it open, and yelled
instructions to Harry.
Later, I found him all
smiles and flashing me a thumbs up sign when I
returned to my living room.
*****
Entering Winthrop's
office, I placed my briefcase atop the mahogany
credenza on the room's left side. Then, I introduced
Harry to Winthrop and Judith and the four of us took
our seats.
Winthrop settled into
the oversize chair behind his highly polished desk
with Judith beside him. Harry and I took chairs on
the opposite side of the desk.
"This is fast
work, Morgan," Winthrop said with a smile of
satisfaction. Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief.
As I said, I liked my job--or more particularly its
perks.
"Thank you, sir.
It's what I'm hired to do," I replied with what
I hoped was a modest note in my voice. Judith looked
at me, smiled, and nodded.
I didn't dare look at
Harry. I was sure he'd laugh out loud if my eyes met
his.
Then, I recited our
moves for the last two days, listing the people we'd
interviewed, and the leads we'd followed up on.
Judith squirmed in her
seat, obviously dreading my summation of our luncheon
conversation, but when I reached that point, I
limited my comments to our mutual view of Joe
Flanders. I saw Judith visibly relax when I finished
my report.
"You don't think
it's Joe. But you know who it is, right?"
Winthrop asked.
"Well, it didn't
look good for Joe a little earlier today. That's
because all the calls to the competition originated
from Joe's office."
"All of them?"
I nodded as Winthrop
tensed behind his desk. "Well, if Joe didn't
place the calls, who did?"
"One of the
invisible people," I answered.
He pushed his eyebrows
together. Then, shot a glance at Judith, who simply
shrugged in reply.
"Mr. Winthrop,
when I asked for a list of all people who had access
to the final bids, you sent me four names. The first
thing I noticed was that Judith's name wasn't on that
list. But that made no sense.
“If a final bid is
going out of this office, I'm sure Judith has
something to do with formatting it, proofing it, or
handling whatever other duties would normally fall to
an executive assistant.
“Yet, you don't
tend to think of her when you consider who has access
to such vital information."
Judith started
squirming in her seat, so I continued quickly.
"So you see, Joe
is not the only one from his office who has access to
the final bid. His secretary, Liz Chambers, knows
every bit as much about what's in that document as he
does.
“Yet, we don't see
them--the secretaries and administrative aids.
They're invisible when we think in terms of access to
company secrets.
"I didn't even
think of Liz until I started getting dressed for this
meeting. Up to that point, I'd figured Joe did it,
even as out of character that seemed to me--and
Judith," I said, nodding my head in her
direction.
"But when I
stepped into my suit skirt, I suddenly realized who
in the company was living beyond their means. That's
when I remembered that Liz Chambers dresses
exceedingly well for a secretary.
“She also drives a
Jaguar in her off hours. Harry learned that through
the Department of Motor Vehicles. And her home
address is 1200 North Lake Shore Drive. I bet you
won't find another single secretary in the building.
"Mr. Winthrop, Liz
Chambers has been selling your bidding information
for her personal gain."
I sat back in my chair,
folded my arms across my chest, and cast a glance at
Judith. She nodded.
"That makes more
sense than it's being Joe," she agreed.
"Miss Miller...Morgan"
Winthrop said, "Thank you." Then, he
punched a button on his intercom.
"Hi Joe, could you
and Liz come to my office for a moment? We need to
chat."
*****
Life's funny sometimes.
Happy as I'd been to team up again with Harry, I
thought we'd head to Maria's and share a bottle of
wine. But as they say, always beware the other woman.
Turned out Bell and
Banks wanted to team up, and not as a law firm. Twice
I tried unsuccessfully to get Harry's attention away
from Judith, and twice I failed.
Finally, pointing out
I'd brought him and he had no way back to his
apartment unless he came with me, Judith popped up
and offered to drive him home.
So, I excused myself
and drove home alone. There, I let myself into the
apartment, changed into my favorite swimsuit, and
headed for the beach. As I say, life's funny
sometimes.
The End
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© Copyright, 1999 by M.
E. Fuller. All rights reserved.