Page 87 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case
P. 87
Overtime
upstairs. “It does identify the probable murder weapon: this
building.”
I digested that absurd conclusion in silence as I escorted her out
of HR into the first floor lobby. We were about to enter an elevator
when a couple of office workers hustled through the entrance (only
one of them had to use an ID card to open the door, I noted) and
made a dash for our car. I intended to hold the doors open for them,
but Labelle stopped me before I could take a step in that direction.
“Hold it, Mr. Taper. You dropped one of your folders.”
I turned my head to look back, and as I did so, somehow the
employee orientation packet, which I had picked up as a prop to lend
a touch of authenticity to our tour and which had been firmly in my
grasp, had fallen to the carpeted floor about ten feet behind me. I
retrieved it, beginning to wonder how that had happened, and turned
around in time to see the elevator doors closing on the late arrivals.
Labelle immediately punched the call button and we had the next car
to ourselves.
As soon as the elevator started moving, she pushed the stop
button and pulled out something like a Swiss Army knife from inside
her jacket. Before I could say anything she had removed the panel
above the floor buttons and was studying the wires within.
“Lieutenant, is this necessary? I could have the building engineer
show you the blueprints for every aspect of this structure, and all the
inspection reports since it was opened three years ago.”
“Thanks, I’ve already seen them. I just wanted to verify that any
tampering with the programmed controls outside the software would
leave traces. That is indeed the case: you can see the seals left by the
last inspector.”
I couldn’t see anything in the shadowy mass of disemboweled
wiring she was handling rather casually. A safety bell rang, and a
guard’s voice came over the intercom: “Are you all right in there?”
“Oh. So sorry,” chirped Ms. Gramercy, unconvincingly imitating a
feather-brained high-school dropout. “I must have leaned on this
little red button when I was putting on my lipstick.” And she pulled
the button back.
Our ascent resumed and concluded without further incident. “I
will simply point to the spot where I found Kates,” I whispered as we
stepped out into the entry hall on the fifth floor. I indicated the
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