I looked down at my watch. Five-fifteen. In another couple hours the office would be empty. One thing I’d learned dating Richard was that if lawyers were going to work late, they were damn well going to charge their clients for a steak dinner while doing it. After eight the offices would be deserted. And Jasmine’s computer unmanned.
I ducked into the Starbucks and ordered a mocha frappuccino, which I took to a seat by a window with a good view of Richard’s building. I hadn’t been there two minutes when Jasmine exited the building, her Prada boots calling to me as she walked the two blocks to the garage. I sipped my drink and waited, watching one law clerk after another leave the building. Althea came out a few minutes later, a patchwork bag with a picture of a cat on it slung over her shoulder as she made her way to the Metro Rail. Finally Donaldson left the building, getting into his Mercedes and pulling away from the curb just as it was beginning to get dark.
I forced myself to wait another half hour, just in case an important file or brief had been left behind. The after dinner crowd began to arrive, filling the coffee house with hand-holding couples. I ordered another frappuccino, watching the theater goers and homeless converge on the downtown streets. After my butt became numb and my pupils were fully dilated from caffeine overload, I finally grabbed my purse and made my way back across the street to the offices.
The building was eerily quiet as I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. I knew the doors stood unlocked for the cleaning crew, but the only noise I heard as I got off the elevator was the steady hum of abandoned computers.
Slowly, I pushed through the frosted doors of Dewy, Cheatum and Howe, my limbs buzzing with nervous energy. Not to mention two grande frappuccinos. I tiptoed through the dark office, the plush carpet swallowing up the sound of my heels as the light from Jasmine’s idle monitor guided my way.
I quickly tiptoed to Jasmine’s desk, slipping behind the mahogany behemoth. Luckily, like everyone else, she kept her computer on when she left for the day. She’d logged out of the system, but I entered her back in easily enough with Richard’s password. Briefs. How original. I did a mental eye roll.
Once in, I wasn’t really sure what to look for. I knew I wouldn’t be lucky enough to find a file marked “Swiss bank account number” but I was at a loss for where to look. I’ll admit, I’m not a computer genius. I can do AOL and iTunes, but beyond that I’m kind of clueless. I began opening random files, hoping to stumble upon something useful. I could feel the clock ticking behind me and I knew it was only a matter of time before a man with a vacuum came in and asked what I was doing here.
I opened her Internet Explorer and checked her online history. Yestheyrefake dot com, a plastic surgery site came up. No big surprise. I clicked around a little more and stumbled across a pay per play cybersex site. Livelovelyladies dot com. Ugh. At least Jasmine was keeping busy at work.
I’d almost given up, deciding Ramirez was right, I was grasping at straws, when I noticed a group of files that were numbered instead of named. I’d seen files like this on Richard’s computer before. Usually these numbers indicated a case number, and contained Richard’s typed trial notes. I clicked, opening the files one by one. As expected, most held snippets of information about witnesses, motions, and various legal citings. But as I went down the list, opening file after file, I ran across one that was blank. I looked closely at the numbers of the other files. They all had six. This one had ten. I felt my adrenalin kick in. Did Swiss bank accounts have ten numbers? I grabbed a post-it note from Jasmine’s desk, jotting down the number. Ramirez was so going to eat crow over this.
I was so completely wrapped up in my own total genius at suspecting Jasmine, that I didn’t even hear it until it was too late.
The sound of a gun cocking.
I froze, pen hovering over the post-it, hoping maybe it was just my overactive imagination.
“Bravo, Sherlock.”
Nope. My imagination didn’t say that.
Quickly I spun around to find myself looking straight down the barrel of a.22. I willed myself not to pee in my pants as I raised my eyes to meet… Althea?
Huh?
“Althea, what are you doing here?” Which in hindsight was an abysmally stupid question considering the gun leveled at my head pretty well explained what she was doing here.
“You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? Nosey bitch.” Gone was the meek frump. In her place a crazed pair of hazel eyes blazed behind her thick lenses. The gun in her hand was surprisingly steady, the confidence in her stance unnerving.
I swallowed the sudden lump of fear in my throat. The realization of my own error hitting me with the force of a low heeled loafer in the gut. I should have known Jasmine couldn’t pull off a scheme like this. Jasmine had the brain of a turnip. Althea, on the other hand, I now realized was smarter than I’d given her credit for.
“This isn’t Jasmine’s file, is it?” I asked, pointing to the blank page on the screen. “It’s yours. You’re the one who took the money. And,” I added, amazed at how level my voice sounded, even as my legs had turned into Jell-o, “ you’re the one that broke into my apartment.”
Althea did a slow smile, her lips drawing back to bare a set of slightly crooked teeth. “And here I’d figured you for just another blonde bimbo in heels.”
I looked down at the gun aimed for my chest and swallowed. “Is that the gun that killed Greenway?” I asked.
Althea smiled again. Only it didn’t reach to her wild eyes, still leveled at me with a barely contained energy. “Greenway was an egotistical idiot,” she spat out.
“Is that why you killed him?” Okay, I was asking more out of fear of being killed than curiosity. Honestly, I could care less what Crazy Lady with Gun thought about Greenway. What I cared about was stalling for time until the cleaning crew came by.
“He deserved to die. Any man that makes love to a women like he did then leaves them deserves to die.”
“Greenway had an affair with you?” I think my voice betrayed my disbelief. I was having a hard time picturing Althea in a leopard print thong.
Althea narrowed her eyes, her unplucked brows drawing together. “What, you don’t think Greenway would be interested in someone like me? You think he’s too good for me? Who would ever love dowdy little Althea?” Her voice was rising, growing into a shrill screech. I took a step backward, coming up against Jasmine’s desk chair.
“No, no. I-I’m sure you were just his type.”
Althea let out a short bark of laughter. “Of course I was his type. I had a pulse. The man thought that just because he had a penis, women should fall at his feet. That he could charm the pants off anything. One night I forgot my purse and came back to the office after everyone had gone. Devon was here, in Mr. Howe’s office. He asked me to come in and help him get into Richard’s system. I said I shouldn’t do it. Then he told me how clever I was. How I was much too smart to be a junior clerk. How pretty I was, how sweet. I gave him the code and he seduced me, right there on Mr. Howe’s desk.”
I cringed. That explained the condom wrapper.
Althea’s eyes were growing wider as she talked, glazing over and unblinking like someone with a high fever. Only the gun stayed steadily pointed at me. I took another step back, sliding my hand in my purse, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Lipstick, cash, tampon. Shit.