Fatal Reaction

Tokyo,” I said. “I was just wondering whether you wouldn’t mind telling me what the two of you discussed.”
    “Nothing. I never called him.”
    “Are you sure? Perhaps it was a personal call?” I suggested.
    “I’m telling you we never spoke.”
    “That’s strange because the police have copies of Danny’s phone records and there was a call made from your number to Danny’s apartment the morning of his death.”
    “There must be some kind of error in the records then.”
    “Not likely. Perhaps you’ve just forgotten....”
    “I assure you I have an excellent memory,” he interjected huffily. “The last time I spoke to Danny was before he left for Japan.”
    “Do you mind telling me what the two of you talked about?” I knew there was no way he would tell me the truth, but there was something about the arrogance of his manner that made me reluctant to just let it go.
    “Certainly,” sniffed Childress with apparent satisfaction. “Danny promised me that as soon as he got back he would see to it that I was moved into a larger and more conveniently located office. A promise I have every intention of forcing this company to honor.”
    “Thank you very much for your time,” I said.
    “Is there anything else you wanted to know?”
    “No. But I’m sure the police will have their own questions.”
    “The police?”
    I did not answer him. Instead I turned on my heel and left his question hanging in the air.
     
    I spent the rest of the day immersed in matters Japanese. My counterparts at Takisawa were clamoring for Azor’s unaudited financials and the three-year budget projections I’d promised to send them last Friday. The foot-dragging on our part was deliberate. We wanted to honor their request to receive the information before they departed for the States, but I wanted to do it so close to their departure date that they wouldn’t have enough time to come back with another round of requests for information.
    I worked straight through the afternoon, interrupted only by a phone call from Elliott.
    “We got the fingerprint results back,” he reported.
    “The ones from the glass we took from the sink in Danny’s apartment or the ones from the coffee cup that Tom Galloway drank out of?”
    “Both.”
    “And?”
    “They don’t match.”
    “That figures.”
    “I knew you’d be disappointed.”
    “Have you talked to Joe recently?”
    “Not since the weekend. I called his house last night and his wife said he’s down in Georgia interviewing some woman who claims she was raped by Sarrek and managed to escape.”
    “Is the woman telling the truth?”
    “Joe thinks so. The only problem is she doesn’t want to talk to the cops. She’s afraid of what the media will do when they find out who she is.”
    “Can’t they protect her privacy?”
    “You mean like they did with the Central Park jogger?”
    “You have a point.”
    “Believe me, what the press will do to her will make her wish that Sarrek had finished the job.”
    “I went to see Dr. Gordon at the medical examiner’s office this morning. She’s come up with something,” I said and told him everything I’d learned so far about PAF as well as what Carl Woodruff and Michael Childress had said when I asked them about the phone calls.
    “So that explains the syringe cap in his apartment,” observed Elliott once I had finished.
    “I’d forgotten all about that.”
    “Whoever gave him the shot must have dropped the cap. He either forgot about it in the excitement or it rolled someplace where he couldn’t see it and had to leave it.”
    “I also think it means that whoever killed Danny either worked at Azor or knew someone who did.”
    “I thought you said the place where it was stored was kept unlocked.”
    “Yes. But the building itself is buttoned up tight. Stephen hires his security guards from Paranoids ‘R’ Us. There’s only one way in and out, and every employee’s ID is checked.”
    “At least that narrows it down some.”
    “Yeah, to one of the three hundred people who work here.”
    “Do you know whether employees are fingerprinted when they’re hired?”
    “No. They’re not drug tested either. Stephen doesn’t believe in Big Brother.”
    “If he’s serious about finding out what happened to Danny he’s going to have to let me start conducting interviews of his employees.”
    “Do you think the fingerprints on that glass belong to whoever killed Danny?”
    “I think there’s a good chance.