The outer office was still bright and silent. No sign of elevator noise. I could sit on my hands and wait, I thought, or I could see what useful information might lie out in the open. First I noted down Martha Tracy’s home telephone number from a typed list of names and numbers inside the lid of a metal desk-top file. I also found a glossy brochure describing Scarp Estates, a new subdivision planned for the top of the escarpment that runs through the peninsula like a spine, with Niagara Falls which tumbles over it supplying hydroelectric power for the expanding industries of the area. From the brochure it was plain that Scarp Enterprises was dabbling in some of that industrial expansion along with the real estate development. Nice going, I thought. But the brochure didn’t say anything about somebody dying in order to keep it running so smoothly.
I could hear the security man let himself into the outer office, and so I leaned back and lit a cigarette.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, putting his time clock down on the edge of a white metal desk.
“I’m Behan of the Beacon. You’re Glassock?”
“Yeah.”
“You found the body?” He just stood there like someone had given him the prize in the box of Cracker-jacks.
“Yeah.”
“My editor thinks that there’s a lot of this story that didn’t get in today’s paper. He wants me to try a new angle, human interest stuff: TOM GREENOCK FINDS CORPSE. How’s that for a headline?”
“Glassock.”
“Even better. HARDWORKING TOM GLASSOCK STUMBLES ON BODY OF CORPORATE GIANT. How’m I doing?” I hated to take advantage of the poor geezer, but everybody’s got to make a living. So, I strung him a little. I wasn’t stealing his watch. “What I want you to give me is the whole story in your own words.” I picked up a green pad with a spiral binding from Martha Tracy’s “Pending” basket and licked the end of my pencil.
“You going to write down what I say? Put it in the paper?”
“That’s right,” I said giving him my Pulitzer Prize smile.
“Well, now, I don’t know about that. I got a family to think of. It’s as good as my job if I blab to everybody.”
“Well, Tom, the Beacon isn’t everybody.”
“True, but …”
“Tell you what. Anything you say is off the record, I’ll forget I ever heard it. You’ve got my word on that.”
“Well, I guess it’s all right, or they wouldn’t have sent you. What do you want to know?”
“Why don’t you just walk through it and show me the way it was?”
“Right. Well, I came in that door over there,” he indicated the main door leading from the two elevators.
“That was about this time yesterday? A little after five?” He bent his head and studied his leather-bound clock for a minute. I could see the pink of his scalp through his gray hair.
“Later than that. I was on my first round, but this is a big building. I have to answer for the whole twelve floors, keeps me hopping. It must have been same time as usual, that’s five forty-five.”
“Is that the time on yesterday’s card?”
“Well, yesterday, it was a little later. It was five fifty-seven, they told me. That’s a little off my regular time but not by much.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No. These places are built with thick concrete floors. I couldn’t have heard anything unless I was on this floor somewheres. Well, sir, I came through this aisle as usual and saw that Mr. Yates’ door was open.”
“Were the other office doors open?”
“Most of ’em. And I saw that Mr. Yates’ door was open.”
“But you just said …”
“I know. Well, it was open, that’s all. And I looked in and there he was.”
“Could you show me?”
“Sure.” He brought out a bunch of keys and studied them closely. “This should be it,” he said and it was.
Chester Yates’ office, which I now took in for the first time in detail, told the world what Chester wanted it to know about him. He had a corner office with light coming in through windows on two walls. Through the sheer floor-length curtains I could see north to the lake and follow the coast around in a gentle arc until it disappeared in the haze. His desk was a wide expanse of immaculate white, without a paper on it to suggest that these surroundings had a hold on whoever sat behind it. The walls were industrial wallboard, whose covering suggested wood panelling. The wall that Chester faced as he signed his name on the dotted line all day was a busy place. He had one of those credenza things which covered his files, over which a three-tiered bookshelf caught my eye. The chair behind the desk was the same sort of orange that the green broadloom was. The kind of colour that doesn’t exist outside an interior decorator’s mind. I took a closer look at this handsome object. It was a swivel chair, and from now on when it swivelled would swivel over a dark brown stain on the rug.
“They’ll never get that out,” Glassock muttered, shaking his head. “They’ll just have to junk it. That’s where I found him, right there in that chair. Sitting up he was, with his head bent over the top, like he expected the dentist to look at his teeth. The gun was on the floor where he’d dropped it.”
“Was everything in the room the way it is now, except for the body?”
“Yes, I think so.” I saw Glassock’s eye go to the book cases. “Yes, it was just like this.”
“Why did you look over there? Is something different?”
“Well, yes, there is,” he smirked. “It’s the bar.”
“Bar? All I see is a bookcase.” Glassock’s smirk opened up to reveal a mouthful of teeth that were aggressively false. He went over to the bookshelves and transformed them.
“He had it specially made. It’s got a sink and fridge, and like you see, it’s well-stocked.”
“And you say it was open last night?”
“Yeah. I could smell it too. There was the odour of drink in the air. That’s one of those off-the-record things we agreed about.”
“You mean you didn’t mention this yesterday?”
“Bad enough him killing himself like that. No sense adding insult to injury I always say.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. Tell me, was there a glass on the desk, or on the credenza? A glass with a half-finished drink in it?”
“Let me see …” He walked over to the bar, stroked his chin and pulled at his earlobe. “He always kept his empty glasses on this tray. Kept them lined up in two rows the way they are now.” I counted six highball glasses. They were dry and clean. I backed up and pulled at my earlobe too. Glassock watched me as I looked from the desk to the bar, from the bar to the door, and from the door to Glassock.
“Did you ever talk to Mr. Yates?”