Next morning I called one of Sean’s friends who worked at Tior. Eric Burns worked in marketing and had been reasonably friendly when I called him two days ago. “Yeah, it’s weird here this morning,” he told me when I asked about Finn.
“What are they telling you?”
“Well, there was an email that Finn was found in one of the conference rooms, and the paramedics tried to revive him and couldn’t do it. The conference room was a mess—chairs all over the place, and the table on its side. But there was a second email that said no foul play, no one broke into the office, but because of the family they couldn’t give out any personal information about what happened. Except . . .” He let his voice trail off, like he wanted me to ask for more.
So I did. “Except what?”
“There’s a couple of IT guys here all night. I was talking to one of them who saw them take Finn away, and one of the paramedics told her it looked like a stroke. Which is weird. Why would that wreck the conference room?”
“Any idea what he was doing in the office?”
“He wasn’t one of the guys who work night shift, but lots of them stay late. But I don’t really know.”
Probably that was all I could expect. One last question: “Is Ross Holtz there today?”
“Ross? Yeah, I think I saw him getting coffee. Yeah, he and Finn used to hang around together, but I don’t know him very well. He works out in Skokie most of the time.”
Right. “Well, thanks. Have a good day there.”
“I’ll try. You too.”
Rachel was at her desk, working on a website design. “Well?”
I told her what Burns had told me. “So he wasn’t crushed by a filing cabinet plunging down on him, or shoved down an elevator shaft, or anything that looks like PK,” I finished. “But a stroke—Sean’s roommate had a stroke too. An aneurysm.”
“Interesting. I mean, tragic in its own way, but still.”
“Yeah. Probably no one will connect the two.”
“Except us, because we’re super-detectives.” She smirked.
I winked back. “That’s right. You ready to go downtown?”
“Give me 15 minutes.” Rachel turned back to her computer. “Just one or two things to polish up here.”
Fifteen minutes became half an hour, but eventually we made our way downtown to the Dearborn Street building where Sean had worked, and where I’d met Ross Holtz two days ago. We went in, looked at the tenants list, and took an elevator to the eighth floor.
Inside two glass doors with the blue TIOR logo, a receptionist smiled as we approached her desk. “Welcome to Tior, may I help you?”
“We’re here to see Ross Holtz.” I dropped my card on the wide desk in front of her.
She reached for her phone. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. We just need to speak with him.”
Her smile faded. “I’ll see if he’s available, Mr.—” Her eyes dropped to look at my card. “Jurgen? And Ms. . . .?” She peered at Rachel.
“Rachel.” Rachel smiled. “Just Rachel.”
The receptionist nodded, pressed some buttons, and spoke into her phone too quietly for us to hear. After a moment she said, “Please take a seat. Ross will be right out.”
The reception area had four chairs and a small couch, and a table with some Tior marketing materials. We waited, and five minutes later Holtz appeared from the inner office to glare at us. Mostly me.
“What—why are you here?” He looked at Rachel. Then back to me. Before I could answer, he held up one hand. “Wait. Come on.”
He led us back through a maze of cubicles, past one conference room door taped off and marked NO ADMITTANCE, which was probably where Finn had died. We went into a small conference room next door, with a round table and just four chairs, and a window that looked at the office building across the street.
Holtz closed the door and spun around on us, hands on his hips. “What’s going on? Are you here—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I let you in. I don’t have anything to say to you.” He glanced at Rachel. “Who are you?”
“She’s my—my associate.” I spent a moment thinking through my next words. “Look, Ross, I know that you and your friend Finn have some sort of psychokinesis. The ability to move things with your mind. You picked up my card from the street without touching it the other day, and Finn knocked me off a barstool without his hands.”
Holtz opened his mouth to call me crazy, but I kept going without taking a breath. “I was on the phone with Finn when he died last night. He had a stroke. Just like Sean DiTocco’s roommate had an aneurysm the same night Sean was thrown over his balcony by an invisible force."
“I had nothing to do with that!” He slammed a fist on the table. “If you’re saying I had something to do with Finn, you’re—you’re wrong. That’s all. I can have you kicked out.”
“What’s the point?” I held my hands up. “Ross, the police are never going to arrest anyone for using psychokinesis to kill Sean. Whatever happened—”
“I didn’t kill Sean!” His face was red, and for a moment I worried he might have a stroke too. “He was my friend! I’d never—do anything like that!”
I looked at Rachel. Sometime she can tell when people are lying.
She nodded. “It’s true, as far as I can tell. But when you mentioned psychokinesis—”
The door opened behind us. Into the conference room walked a big man in a suit that cost more than the book value of my Prius, with a balding head and a short, dark beard. “What’s going on here? Who are you?”
I stood up and fished out a card while Holtz glared. “Just asking some questions. I was talking to Martin Finlay last night when he—”
“We have nothing to say about that.” Behind him stood a tall man, younger and more athletic than me, in a gray uniform. Security. “I am Karl Tiormina. I’m the CEO here. I want you to stop bothering my employees and leave. Both of you.” His eyes raked over Rachel.
“That’s fine.” I looked at Holtz. “You’ve got my card. From the other day.”
“Ross, my office.” Holtz grimaced, and made his way slowly toward the door. Tior jerked a finger at the guard behind him. “Escort them out, Jesse.”
The guard crossed his arms, his face tight, and jerked his head toward the door.
I nodded, and led Rachel out.
In the hallway we looked at the glass door while waiting for the elevator. The guard, Jesse, looked back at us. Mostly Rachel. “That could have gone better. But it wasn’t a total waste.”
Rachel nodded, looking at Jesse. “When you mentioned psychokinesis, I felt a strong reaction.” She sighed. “God, I miss this. I mean, I love my new job, but questioning suspects and getting kicked out of offices? Those were the days. Plus, the guard? He thought I was hot.”
The elevator doors opened. “That makes me feel good 10 days before our wedding.”
Rachel punched my arm. “Don’t worry. You’re not getting out of it that easy.”
I smiled. “Let’s hope not.”
Back home I started digging into the background of Tior Pharma and its founder, Karl Tiormina. He’d been born in Greece, his parents emigrating to the U.S. when he was two. Raised in Texas, he went to college in California, founded a few startups, and ultimately took a top job at Eli Lilly in Indiana before leaving to form Tior Pharma in Skokie.
The company had scored big with a drug for bipolar disorder that also had some weight loss benefits. It also produced some antidepressant meds, some ADHD drugs, and one antipsychotic. Tior had fended off numerous lawsuits over the years, but that’s typical for any large company.
Tiormina himself was 56 and on his second wife, who’d apparently given up a promising career as a blond supermodel to become a trophy wife. I made sure Rachel didn’t see me checking out her pictures. He had a reputation in the industry for being brilliant but tough. Ex-employees praised him for his focus on products—“like a cyclops with a laser for his eye”—and lashed out at his management style—“You got a day off for a family funeral if it was your own.”
Rachel was on the far side of the office, working on her client’s website. “Did you pick up anything from that CEO?” I asked.
Her fingers paused over her keyboard. “Well, he was an asshole, but you didn’t have to be psychic to see that. He was worried, and angry at Holtz.”
“What about Holtz? Scared?”
“Pissed off. I don’t know if he was ready to talk to us, but he definitely doesn’t like that guy.”
Hmm. I wrote up some notes while I tried to think of my next move. Being a detective is mostly about asking questions—sometimes on the internet, but most of the time it comes down to people. The right people.
At the moment, the right person seemed to be Ross Holtz. If he’d talk to me.
I put off calling him. Not because I was nervous—you don’t get very far as a reporter or a P.I. by being shy about calling people—but to give him a chance to cool down and think things over.
So I switched over to some employment backgrounds checks I’d been putting off. Not exciting, but they’d help pay for the wedding reception.
In mid-afternoon, after lunch, while I was dealing with questions about the hors d'oeuvres, my phone buzzed. I let it go to voice mail, finished up the appetizer issue, and then checked my messages.
“Jurgen? It’s Ross Holtz. Call me, okay? There’s some stuff you need to know.”
I swiveled my chair around. “Holtz just called. You want to listen?”
“Oh yeah.” She scooted her chair over to my desk as I returned the call.
“Tom? Yeah.” Holtz had his voice low, a little raspy as if he was frazzled. “Look, I can’t talk now. Can you come out to my place tonight? I can explain—well, some of it. I just can’t do it here.”
I frowned. “You live in Skokie, right?” I saw Rachel roll her eyes.
“Yeah. There’s things I can show you, but not here.”
“Okay. What time?”
We agreed on 7:30 and hung up. Rachel grimaced. “We’re going out to Skokie? This is what I don’t miss about being your junior-assistant-detective.”
“Sorry. You don’t have to come.”
“Are you kidding? At this point I’m not letting you out of my sight before the ceremony.” She punched my arm.
“What about the honeymoon?”
“Only to get drinks.” She kissed me. “Let’s figure out dinner.”
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