Terminal Value Part 7

Detective Baldwin's words rang in his head. "I'm not sure. And I don't really want to guess until his dad is notified."

"What was it? Suicide?"

"What? No!" He stopped in his tracks, taken aback by the comment. "No. He had no reason to do something like that." Dylan looked at the floor, then mumbled, "Some awful accident, somehow he electrocuted himself." Detective Baldwin's words echoed again through his mind, and he found himself wondering who he could trust.

"Oh my G.o.d." Rob closed his eyes. "It must have been awful for you to see him."

"You can't imagine," Dylan said softly.

He took Rob's arm and led him out of the building. A pink and grey sky began to appear in the east. The mist from the previous evening had disappeared, leaving only small puddles on the streets. The noise from heavy traffic on nearby Cambridge Street echoed in the day.

"I've got my car," said Rob. "I'll take you to yours."

"Thanks. The police are going to call Tony's dad, but I want to talk to him."

"Right."

"They're going to call Heather also, but I don't want her to hear it from them. I think you should call her, Rob."

"Me? Why?"

Dylan gave him a puzzled look and then glanced at his watch. "Given your relationship, you should be the one to-"

Rob cut him off with a terse answer: "No, Dylan, I shouldn't." He pulled into the Beacon Hill neighborhood and stopped at Tony's building in front of Dylan's car. He turned to Dylan. "Look, Heather and I are history. We agreed we wouldn't discuss it in public, but, given the situation, I'm telling you it wasn't a pretty break-up."

"Why?"

"Because-well, let's just say it was a mutual thing." Rob paused. "f.u.c.k it. The truth is she broke up with me and I didn't take it well. We're barely speaking outside of the office. So trust me, it should be you."

"Okay." He glanced at Rob's angry face. "Sorry."

"Yeah, me too. But that's water under the bridge compared to this, so-"

"Okay, I'll call her."

"I'll go to the office and call Art," Rob added.

"Fine. Thanks. Rob, I mean it. Thanks for everything."

Rob shook his head. "Okay, go. You look awful."

Dylan stopped for a moment in front of Tony's building before getting into his own car. Then he drove to his apartment, where exhaustion displaced shock and anger. He took a quick shower, wrapped himself in a robe, and retrieved his cell phone to call Heather. He knew he should let the police call her, considering she was his alibi, but he did not give a d.a.m.n. Heather should hear about this from a friend, not a stranger.

Grief rocked him as he stared at the phone. He sank down onto the sofa, and all at once the hold he had kept on his emotions and thoughts let go. Tony was dead. Tony had been murdered-any doubt he might have had of that had been removed by Detective Baldwin's reaction to his questions. But who-and why?

Tears washed down his cheeks, and he pressed back against the soft sofa as wave after wave of grief hit. He struggled to stifle the emotions that flowed over him-the memories, the fights, the laughter. The grief eventually ebbed, leaving him feeling numb and alone. He sucked in dry gulps of air, then sat up. He hit number three on his phone and retrieved Tony's archived message. Head throbbing, he listened again to his friend's last words to him: "Dylan! Hey, it's Tony. How come you're never there? Look, things are sort of crazy around here, y'know? I got sort of caught up in something big. Ha! So you're coming back to Boston tonight-right? Listen, stop by my place on your way home and I'll show you what I've found like I promised I would. And look, this is hush-hush, so don't tell anybody-okay? Heads are gonna roll when this gets out. Oh, and hey-I'll be online just after four for the IPO celebration. Promise!"

Dylan tossed the phone on the sofa. What the h.e.l.l? Yesterday he had a.s.sumed Tony was wrapped up in one of his projects, that he had wanted Dylan to stop by to show him the latest on his super smartphone, maybe even a prototype. But now. Now Tony was dead, and the words of his message took on a whole new meaning. Tony had wanted to talk to Dylan about something. Something hush-hush. Something big-but big enough to die for?

Dylan considered for a moment that the killer might be someone he knew. A shiver ran down his spine. Of course, there was no reason to think Tony's death had anything to do with MobiCelus or Mantric. What had Tony said about that guy he visited in New Jersey-the disaffected guy from Microsoft? Was it possible Tony had gotten into trouble with some shady characters? Dylan thought about it for a moment, but he knew his brain was in no shape for critical thinking.

He took a deep breath and picked up his phone again. He needed to call Tony's dad. But first. . . . Four. That was the shortcut to Heather's cell. She picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hey," she said, stifling a yawn. "Why are you calling at this hour?"

May 3, 5:00 p.m. Boston A chiming sound echoed through his mind, as if from a far-distant place. Dylan opened his eyes. He had nodded off on the sofa. The sound of his home computer repeated itself. He got up and staggered to his den on uneasy legs. He glanced at the clock. Five o'clock in the afternoon.

The icon identified Art as the caller to Dylan's computer. He cleared his throat and swallowed as he shook the mouse to activate the screen and clicked on the "answer" b.u.t.ton.

"h.e.l.lo."

"Dylan! My G.o.d! Are you all right?" Art's voice shouted through the speaker.

"I'm fine," he answered, his tongue thick with sleep.

"Rob is on the network from Boston."

"Hi Dylan," Rob said. "Is your video on?"

Dylan ran a hand through his hair, then tapped a couple of keys. Video images of Art and Rob materialized next to each other on the screen.

"I want you to know we'll do whatever you need us to do," said Art. "Anything. What about Tony's family?"

"Tony grew up here, and his mother's buried in Cambridge. I spoke with his father last night. He's in Florida. He's going to try to get a flight out today."

"We can fly Mr. Caruso up on a private jet," said Art.

"I think he'd appreciate that."

"Stephanie?" Art spoke to Stephanie Mathers on another line.

"I'll get right on it, Mr. Williams," said Stephanie. "Dylan, can you message me Mr. Caruso's phone number?"

"I'd like to call him myself," said Art. "Such a bright young man." He shook his head. "Such a shock."

"Yeah," Dylan mumbled.

"Did you reach Heather?" asked Rob.

Dylan nodded. "She's flying back tomorrow."

"How did she-?"

"She's hanging in there." Not for the world would he have described the anguish in Heather's voice when he had told her the news Tony was dead, or how he insisted there was nothing she could do in Boston at this time.

Art nodded. "I don't mean to pry, Dylan, but how-"

"I stopped by his place last night and found him."

"Rob says the police told you it was an accident."

Dylan thought he noted a flash of coldness in the comment. "Yeah." Heads are gonna roll when this gets out. He could not get Tony's words out of his mind. A queasy feeling a.s.sailed Dylan. Whose heads? He wondered if he was seeing guilt where it did not exist.

"This is such a tragedy," said Art. "Look, Dylan, I want you to take as much time off as you need-okay? Do you know anything about the funeral arrangements?"

"I really don't know anything about that yet."

"Of course not," said Art. "Look, we shouldn't be bothering you. I just wanted to say how sorry I am. This is a terrible tragedy, and, I've got to admit, I've never had to deal with something like this before."

"Neither have I."

"Well, I guess the best thing to do now is try to move forward and be as sensitive to people's needs as possible." He turned his attention to Stephanie. "If anyone who knew Tony well wants to take tomorrow off, you tell them that's fine."

"I think that's the right thing to do, Mr. Williams."

"All right. Thanks everyone. Take care, Dylan. I mean that."

Dylan clicked off. He stared at the dark plasma screen, then s.n.a.t.c.hed suddenly at the mouse. He hadn't checked his e-mail for a while. Maybe Tony had sent him something.

He accessed his e-mail account and ran his eyes down the list of e-mails. One short message from Tony read: 'file for your eyes only-will forward.'

Dylan reread the short, cryptic message. He scanned his e-mails for anything else from Tony, but nothing appeared with an attachment. That meant those files could be on his home computer, but with Tony, who was connected to half the planet by every known type of electronic communication, it could be anywhere. Still, the place to start was in his home.

He pulled Detective Baldwin's card out of his pocket and tapped in her number. She was not available, and Dylan left his number for her to call back-he said it was important.

Silence, broken only by the distant sound of late afternoon traffic two blocks away, drifted through the open window. Emptiness weighed on Dylan. He put his head in his hands and felt an overwhelming wave of sadness crash over him.

He thought of Heather. He had encouraged her to go through with her client meeting in L.A., argued that she could do nothing in Boston that day. She had tried to tell him how she felt, but he hadn't listened. Of course, it was different for him. Tony was his best friend. . . .Was.

Exhaustion enveloped him like a blanket. He staggered to his bedroom, dragged his clothes off, and climbed into bed.

May 3, 9:00 p.m. Boston The ringing sound startled him, and Dylan fumbled on his bedside table for his cell phone. He rolled over and looked out the window into a darkness yellowed by streetlights. Then he glanced at the screen of his phone: BPD.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"This is Detective Melanie Baldwin returning Mr. Dylan Johnson's call."

"This is Dylan." He sat up and shook his head, collecting his thoughts.

"How may I help you, Mr. Johnson?"

"I went back and listened to Tony's message to me yesterday." Dylan repeated the message, stressing the part about Tony having prepared a file for him. "I was hoping you would get me into Tony's apartment so I could try to find that file. It might give me a clue as to who-"

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson. Actually our computer people are in the process of securing all of Mr. Caruso's equipment. They will look them over and see if they can find this file he mentioned. We'll follow it up, rest a.s.sured."

"Good." Dylan paused and then added, "Look, he said the file was for me. Don't I have some right to see it or try to find it? Not to keep it from you, of course, just-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson. That's not the way it works. If there is a personal communication, you may be able to retrieve it in due course."

Dylan stared out the window. Not what he wanted to hear. "Okay."

"Thank you for understanding." Her deep voice was tinged with sympathy and an ounce of apology. "While I've got you on the line-"

"Yes?"

"Have you had a chance to think about Mr. Caruso's relationships with his co-workers?"

"A little." The sleep had helped. "He didn't have any enemies, if that's what you're thinking."

"Who were Mr. Caruso's closest friends?"

"Myself. Our other two partners, Heather Carter and Rob Townsend."

"We spoke to Ms. Carter and verified your statement as well as her being on the plane to Los Angeles. Do you know where Mr. Townsend was yesterday afternoon?"

"Rob was in the New York office. He returned last night."

"Anyone else Tony might have communicated with?"

Dylan thought for a moment. "There's Ivan Venko, he's the head of security. And Sandeep Nigam, he's Tony's boss. And Art Williams is the CEO of Mantric. Those are the people he would have interacted with at the company. I would not call them friends, more like business acquaintances."

"And where would these gentlemen have been found?"

"I think Sandeep may have been in the Boston office. Ivan and Art were in New York."

"Are you sure?"

"Our company went public yesterday, and they were at the NASDAQ in New York. And I saw Art myself."

"You saw him?"

"Well, technically I only saw and heard Art on a teleconference call."

"I see," she answered. "You saw him sitting in his New York office?"

"Yes, I did," he answered, but his mind rushed back to the conversation. He saw Art's face, but not the background. The computer conversation could have occurred from anywhere. He shook his head and removed the question that was forming. Art would have no reason for hurting Tony.

Chapter 11.