“Yup.”
“Okay. It should happen tomorrow sometime. I’ll give you an hour’s notice.”
Roger grabbed a cab home. He went into the kitchen and made a peanut butter sandwich. Grabbing a coke from the fridge, he went into the den, selected Pulp Fiction from his DVD collection.
He figured an afternoon movie, a long nap, a curry take out, an evening movie, a huge night cap and a good night’s sleep were just what a good doctor would order to fix up his fidgets.
***
Shirley signalled to make a right hand turn at the next exit. She hated these big industrial parks. She looked at her watch, damn, a half hour wasted going around blocks. There were no unmarked cars available this morning and her old clunker was sputtering its protest at the workout. She pulled over, consulted the map, and swore. King Street was tucked between two side streets; she was only five minutes away.
She pulled up to one of the meters in front of the tall steel and glass structure. Donald Sutton has the penthouse suite; no doubt, it certainly fits the image of a multi-million dollar business man in charge of one of the largest manufacturing conglomerates in the Atlantic Provinces.
Checking the rear view mirror for any left-over crumbs on her lips from the sandwich she picked up at the drive through a few miles back, she grabbed her briefcase and passed through the front doors. She checked in with the lobby receptionist who directed her to take the elevators to the penthouse suite.
She stepped off the elevator into the waiting room that looked like something out of a movie set. It was a large rectangular shaped room filled with the Palm and Yucca plants that were growing up towards the skylight.
Seated behind a massive, black and white glass desk that was equipped with a computer, fax machine, printer, headphones and a switchboard the size of a small desk, sat a designer clad, beautiful young woman whose brilliant smile matched the cascading light beams. Assuring her that Mr. Sutton would soon be with her, she invited Shirley to be seated, offered coffee. Offer declined, she busied herself at the computer.
Donald Sutton emerged from his inner sanctum, introduced himself, and invited her into his office. A tall distinguished looking man dressed in a zillion dollar suit and handcrafted brogues; she followed him into another statement room, a statement of wealth and prestige, knocked up a notch of course. Once seated, the CEO wasted no time on small talk.
“I confess Cst. Proctor, I’ve been curious ever since your call. Why would you want to interview me? Surely you’re not on a fund raising drive for the police? Our PR department handles that sort of thing.”
“No, I’m not. We’re investigating the murders of a couple of people you know through your ex-wife. Jeffrey and Catherine Stone.”
“Yes, very sad news, I was in Western Europe when the news broke. Eleanor called to let me know. I don’t understand how I could help you with your investigations.”
She opened her notebook.
“I understand your company manufactures hydrogen cyanide.”
“Yes, that’s right. What does that have to do with the murder investigations?”
“We suspect there is a direct connection. Jeffrey Stone was poisoned by hydrogen cyanide.”
“How horrid. The poor man, he must have suffered terribly. Make no mistake, the hydrogen couldn’t have come from this facility. We have strict security in place.”
“Yes, Mr. Parsons filled me in on the details. Strange he didn’t mention it to you.”
“Not really, I delegate and don’t expect to be informed of everything unless it is something that can’t be handled. Obviously, you weren’t satisfied with the information you got but I can assure you our plant security is tight. Potentially dangerous substances are kept in a locked room that is only accessed by the scientists involved in production and research.”
“How many scientists do you employ?”
“Two. I trust them implicitly. They wouldn’t have had anything to do with Jeffrey’s death. They hadn’t even met him.”
“Is there anyone else who has access to this room?”
“I do, of course.”
“Have you ever taken anyone in the room on tour, Mr. Sutton, your wife perhaps?”
“Maybe. I think so, it was awhile ago now.”
“What about Mr. Parsons, does he bring tours through the building?”
“No, he doesn’t. I find it hard to believe he would invite anyone into such a secure room but you would have to ask him of course.”
“I’ve already have. I asked for a copy of the Visitors Log but he refused. I have a warrant for the log and will serve it to him when I leave your office.”
“Visitors Log? I didn’t realize one was being kept, but Jim’s a careful man, I shouldn’t be surprised. So, those tours, perhaps I have given more than I remember.”
“Rather something of a coincidence that both your ex-wife and Mr. Parson’s wife both worked closely with Jeffrey Stone and that you and Mr. Parsons both had access to hydrogen cyanide, the poison that killed him, don’t you think?”
Mr. Sutton sighed and rubbed his hands against his face.
“How well did you know Jeffrey & Catherine Stone?”
“We lost contact over the last two years, of course, but before that, Eleanor and I were very close with them. Surprising how divorce not only separates spouses but friends as well. Clearly they considered Eleanor to be their friend as I never heard a word from them over the years, not even a card at Christmas. Jeffrey worked hard and deserved his kudos but I wouldn’t give him any as a husband. He was forever chasing women, an obsession with him. Catherine was an excellent person, remained loyal to him despite his philandering. I respected her.”
“Were Eleanor and she close friends?”
“I wouldn’t say close, but they did see a lot of each other socially. Eleanor’s focus was on her career, certainly
