The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,25
Needs Assessment with a focus on Physical Security Analysis and Premise Liability (including independent analysis and coordination of vendors). He also conducted CEO training in Executive Protection Services, including threat assessment and special event security.
It was a catalog of competence, undeniably reassuring. I looked from his photograph to the man himself, all neat hair and smooth hands and small weapons proficiency. But Trey looked confused.
“How is my Phoenix profile linked to the Beaumonts?”
“Through the Blue Knights Mardi Gras Ball. See?”
He peered at the list of supporters and saw his name there. This did not please him. “That should have been Landon. He usually works directly with the Beaumonts. He was unable to attend, however, so Mark asked for me. Marisa says he finds me utterly fascinating. Her words.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Trey was every inch the elegant bad ass. And with bodyguards being the new cutting edge fashion accessory, having one as spiffy as Trey was a coup indeed. There was no way Landon could match his appeal, no matter what Air Force training he had.
I licked at the foam on the inside of the plastic lid. Coffee made me want a cigarette. My fingers twitched, but there was nothing to hold, nothing to steady the physical urge.
I pushed my chair back. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to take a look around.”
“I have the schematics back—”
“Trey! Can we just go for a walk? Please?”
He took one final sip of his tea, placed the cup precisely in front of him. “Of course.”
***
We walked. The sunshine had warmed the day up, so I took off my jacket and tied it around my waist. Just past the laundry facilities, we saw Eliza’s unit—the yellow police tape gave it away. Trey looked over his shoulder at the parking lot. A patrol car sat there, a cop behind the wheel, paying us very close attention.
“There’s probably someone inside too,” Trey said. “Crime scene investigators.”
I knew he was right. This was turning into a high profile crime, with lots of media attention. But right now, the complex was quiet. The only other people we saw were tenants; they talked amongst themselves, moving quickly from car to building. No one went near Eliza’s apartment, which was a ground-floor unit, on the corner near the perimeter wall.
“So you did the security plan for this place?”
“I’m still planning it, yes.”
“Nice work.”
“Acceptable, but hardly up to standard.”
I looked around. Besides the gated entrance, I saw a ten-foot concrete wall around the perimeter of the property, nicely disguised with hedges and such, but a wall nonetheless. And I knew from the ad copy that there were security cameras too. Short of providing a bodyguard-slash-butler for each apartment, I didn’t see anything that seemed “hardly up to standard” security-wise.
When I told Trey this, he shook his head. “The wall is easily breached from the exterior, and the plants disguising it on both sides provide a means, and a good cover, for anyone attempting to do so. The camera films around the clock, but in many areas, the lighting isn’t adequate for clear images. I also explained that a twenty-four-hour manned presence at the gate was the only way to guarantee the kind of limits they wanted on entrance and exit procedures.”
“What you’re saying is that the Beaumonts went for what looks secure, not what is secure.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
I noticed the security camera that he was talking about when we passed the swimming pool. The area was deserted except for a deeply-tanned woman stretched out in a lounge chair, engrossed in a magazine. She directed a suspicious look our way over the top of her Cosmo. The pool was empty too, its blue surface so flat it seemed fake.
“Do you miss being a cop?” I said.
Trey kept his eyes straight ahead. “I think so. Mostly I miss the…I’m looking for a word. Multi-syllabic, starts with C.”
“Camaraderie?”
“Camaraderie. I miss that, I think. It’s hard to tell. Everything’s different now.”
“You mean after the accident?”
He nodded. We were standing outside the Beau Elan main office, right at the center of the complex. It was closed and dark, which was a disappointment. I put my face to the window, peered inside.
Trey started walking again. He was a good fifteen feet ahead of me, already clearing the corner, when the office door opened and a man stepped out. He looked scruffy and annoyed and carried a toilet brush in one hand.