The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,41
portfolio. “Charley will corroborate this story?”
“She can, yes.”
“And what about Steve?”
“He was connecting the video feeds to the security system. Which meant that he was either working in the crawlspace or in the van.”
Landon wrote something down in his notebook. “I’ll talk to him. He did the work, so I’m sure we can establish his alibi.”
Marisa nodded at Yvonne, who sent around a set of folders, each one labeled with a name—including mine. But before I could open it, Marisa rapped sharply on the table.
“Each of you has the case notes so far in front of you,” she said, making a little steeple with her fingers. “I’ve received three phone calls in the past fifteen minutes from reporters asking me to verify if Mark Beaumont has indeed hired Phoenix to investigate Eliza’s death. Which he has. “
Trey spoke up. “The police—”
“—are doing an excellent job, yes, but Mark feels it’s his duty to contribute. He’s giving a press conference in one hour, and we’re going to be there.”
I lifted the edge of my folder, tried to peek inside.
Marisa kept talking. “I don’t mind admitting that we are out of our league here. We specialize in protecting our clients from such crimes, not mopping up afterward. But this is what Mark wants.”
And, I thought, what Mark wants, Mark gets.
Trey’s eyes snapped up from his paperwork. “But I don’t do investigations.”
“You do now.”
“But—”
“No buts. They know you at the APD. You’re a hero down there, and we need that kind of connection right now.”
He looked back down at his notepad and said nothing, but his right hand toyed with his pen, tap-tap-tapping on the clean lined paper.
Marisa continued. “One more thing. Mark has requested that Janie Compton be included in any briefings that we offer him, as a special courtesy. Which is why Tai is here.”
I looked up from my folder. “What?”
“Janie has requested that you be involved in our investigation every step of the way, as her special liaison.”
“She did?”
“Yes, she did. If you’re interested.”
“Of course I am. Thank you.”
“You’re technically research now, which makes you Trey’s responsibility.”
Trey looked up at this. “What?”
Marisa smiled. “Her job is keeping Janie Compton happy. Your job is to make sure she does that.”
Trey exhaled slowly. Then he looked back down at his folder. I slid a glance Landon’s way. He had his jaw set so tight you could have chipped flint with it.
Marisa continued. “In fact, that leads me to my last and most important point. We are in the center ring now, people, the main attraction.” She looked at Landon. “As for Steve Simpson, I rehired him on your say-so. Any further failings from that camp and your head will roll. And for God’s sake, clean him up. If I see him in the halls, he’d better be wearing a suit and have real shoes on his feet.”
Marisa stood, laid her palms flat on the table. “Because you’d better understand something, all of you. Mess this one up, and I will have your balls for breakfast. Now get going. I look forward to reading the preliminary reports this afternoon.”
And then she gathered her materials, Yvonne opened the door, and the two of them exited stage left. Landon pulled out his cell phone and began a low, terse conversation, his eyes on me the whole time. Trey stared at his paperwork.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “but did you just become the boss of me?”
He underlined something with a highlighter. “It’s not a chain of command relationship. I’m more of a coordinator.”
“Does that mean you get to tell me what to do?”
“Yes.”
He stood up abruptly. I scooped up my folders and stood too, clipping my new ID rather clumsily to my sweater. It read LIAISON in neat block script.
“Does it mean I finally get to question suspects?”
“No.”
He cocked his head and frowned at me. Tucking his files under one arm, he reached out with both hands and straightened my ID badge one millimeter. His knuckle grazed my chin.
I kept my mouth shut. And I didn’t say what I was thinking, that regardless of his rule, if suspects presented themselves, I was going to question them. Even if those suspects were the Beaumonts themselves. And no pathetic, photoshopped, slipped-under-the-windshield threats were going to stop me.
Chapter 21
The corporate headquarters of Beaumont Enterprises rose like a steel beanstalk right at the corner of Ponce de Leon and Peachtree, only a few blocks from the Fox Theatre, which still carried the architectural echoes of its former life