With Martin’s directions, Drake found his way to the first floor office of Risk Management amp; Corporate Security. The secretary in the small front office announced his presence, and soon a grim-faced man of fifty or so brushed past her and greeted Drake. Short and broad shouldered, the man had the piercing look of law enforcement in his eyes.
Sam Newman wore the uniform of corporate security, a blue blazer over gray slacks with a red tie set against his white shirt. He still looked like someone who could make an arrest in a biker’s bar without interference.
“Mr. Martin called and said you needed to talk to me. Come on in,” he said, holding open the door to his office.
Drake saw that he’d been right about Sam Newman’s background. The wall behind Sam’s cluttered desk was covered with pictures of citations received, plaques attesting to years of service and photos of his family and friends. The office was unpretentious, a place to work, not a monument to the man’s ego.
“Where’d you serve?” Drake asked.
“Palo Alto, twenty-six years. I’ve been here in God’s country for the last four. Thought I’d find a cushy security position for a few years, and slow down. Hasn’t quite worked out that way. How can I help you, Drake?”
“Mr. Martin’s told me some of it, but he’s not a security expert. I understand the security system failed around the time his secretary was murdered. That doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”
“You here to find a scapegoat, or find out what happened?” Sam asked.
Drake recognized the response. He interviewed too many police witnesses who wanted to know he was on their side before they told him what really happened.
“Sam, I’m here to help the company get through this, with as little damage as possible. If you screwed up and you’re responsible, then I guess you’re the goat. I’ll know sooner or later. If there’s another explanation, I need to know what it is sooner rather than later.”
Sam watched Drake’s eyes for a good ten seconds before making up his mind.
“I’m trying to quit smoking, but this doesn’t look like the week that’s going to happen. Care to take a walk with me out of this no smoking zone?”
When he walked by his secretary’s desk, Newman showed her his pack of Marlboros, eliciting a nod and a smile. Drake caught the smile and wondered if she covered for him for other things.
They walked out of the office and down the hall to an outside door with a security pad. Entering his security code, Newman led them out of the building and down an outside path to a bench beneath two white-flowering magnolia trees. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and looked out over the expanse of lawn.
“You ever work in the D.A.’s office?”
“Five years. Why?”
“How long did it take you before you could spot a felon on the street?”
“Not long.”
“Well, I know an ex-con when I see one, and three of the new security guards assigned here have been in prison, I’m sure of it. I checked their records and couldn’t find a thing. They all have adopted Muslim names, but suspiciously clean records. I know the look, I know the walk.”
“What does that have to do with Martin’s secretary?”
“Someone got into this building, and we’re supposed to have the best security system money can buy. It had to be an inside job. Somehow, this involves these ex-cons, or the company they work for,” Newman said.
“You’re not buying the theory that this was a burglary that ended in murder?”
“No way. Janice Lewellyn was a careful person. She didn’t like working at night and didn’t work late often. We talked about it. When she walked to her car, she always had her mace in hand. She would fight like a hellion if someone tried to rape her. If someone tried to rob her, she would let the thief take what he wanted. This had to be something else.”
“So how did the surveillance system get turned off? All the cameras, all the touch pads, everything went down at the same time. How’d that happen?” Drake asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “There are only two people who have the code to shut down the security system. I have it, in my safe. The guy from ISIS who installed the system has it.”
“Could a security guard obtain the code somehow?”
“I don’t think that’s possible, but I guess we’ll know soon enough. Detective Carson said they were going to polygraph all the ISIS security personnel assigned here. Hell, he’s even got me scheduled for first thing tomorrow.”
Newman didn’t appear to be worried about tomorrow’s polygraph.
“So if this is an inside job, you think somehow it involves one of these ISIS security guards? How did he know to turn off the security system, assuming he did, the night she was here? Did anyone know she was working that night?”
“According to Mr. Martin, the answer is no. She was leaving for Hawaii the next day. She probably was trying to make sure everything was done before she left. But no one would know she was coming back that night.”
“You honestly think the security company you hired, or one of its employees, is responsible for this? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Sam said. “What I know is that ex-cons are working where they shouldn’t be working, for a company that should know better than to hire them. You figure it out.”
“So why do you use this company, if you suspect them?”
“I didn’t hire them, Martin did. DHS pressured him to upgrade security. Martin thinks big is best. ISIS is the largest private security firm in the country, hell, maybe even in the world. Who am I to second guess his choice? Besides, I need this job. Everyone thinks twenty-five years and a pension earns you a cushy retirement. Don’t believe them,” Newman said.