Page 82 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Overtime

chair, where Labelle Gramercy regarded her with the same basilisk
stare she had given me. Leah Rackette’s eyes were not easily read
behind thick glasses and mascara, but she couldn’t keep the grimace
off her face nor her body language from expressing outrage. Leah
dressed younger than the lieutenant, and made herself up as best she
could, but she clearly sensed the presence of a more vital spirit.
“Labelle Gramercy, metropolitan police. I’m investigating the
death of Vincent D. Kates. Mr. Taper and I would like you to
participate in a little deception we are going to perform here today in
order to gain information without disrupting your operations.”
“Oh. Tell me more.” I could see Leah taking the bait. I had lost,
and quickly joined the other side.
“Leah, we are going to pretend Lieutenant Gramercy—we might
as well call her Labelle, as everyone else is on a first-name basis here,
like it or not—is a new employee. I will take her around MIS so she
can talk to people without stirring up the whole building. I do
appreciate you not coming here in uniform, by the way, Lieutenant.”
She looked at me quizzically. I realized my gaffe: that was her
uniform.
“Anyway,” I hastily continued, “she will need to study everything
we have on file about Kates: all the usual employee data—
performance reviews, attendance, payroll history—and, in this case,
we are justified in accessing medical records, as well. You know the
old archives, before we computerized. Can you round up every piece
of paper we can muster concerning that man and his TimeWarper
career?”
“Okay. You will have to give me the key to the filing cabinet.”
“Right.” I unlocked my own security drawer and took out the key.
“Let’s keep this confidential until Labelle has finished her work.”
She nodded perfunctorily and left, closing the door behind her, an
all-too-willing co-conspirator. I had a feeling this would cost me later,
possibly the next time she needed a day off for ‘personal business.’ I
rubbed my forehead, anticipating a headache.
Lieutenant Gramercy watched me lock the drawer. “Who else has
keys to those archives?”
I had to think. “Nobody below the level of vice president.”

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