Page 38 of Flash Freeze

She nodded. “Hasn’t anyone turned up something we can run with?”

Heads stayed buried in their work as nobody answered. I’ll have Paulson back tomorrow, Athena reminded herself.

“OK, Detective,” she said, pivoting to the thin man with the five o’clock shadow beside her. “Let’s take a ten-minute break to refresh, and I’ll meet you back in the interview room. Let’s see what our accountant can recall.” She needed the washroom and a drink. She wanted to text Flash, except she was on duty.

God, please keep her safe.

Chapter 18

Athena returned to her situation room to find Elyan Bach sitting by Agent Shoops, peering over her shoulder as she worked. Karen’s cheeks were flushed, her shoulders tight, and her fingers flew over the keyboard faster than Athena had ever seen. Bach pointed at her screen, murmuring something in a hush, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Detective,” she called suddenly, causing him to jump in his seat. “Flirt on your own time. We’ve a witness to interview.”

“Good work, agent,” he told Shoops as he rose, adjusting his tie. “See you later.”

Karen’s face deepened to crimson, but she never broke stride. “Thanks.”

“What?” Bach said innocently as he joined Athena in the hallway. “Did you know she can type ninety words per minute? And she makes connections and intuitive leaps just as fast.”

“She’s efficient. Now, stop distracting my agent.” Her heels clipped across the tiles, halting outside the interview room. She pivoted to Bach, scrutinizing him with her stare. “So. Did you make a coffee date?”

A befuddled expression crossed the hard-nosed detective’s features for an instant before he reined it in. He swallowed and straightened. “She likes to stop at Bean Theory on her way to work in the mornings. I said I’d like to try their brew, since it’s less expensive than Starbucks. No dates, but we could bump into each other tomorrow.”

Athena smirked at him and pushed open the door. A Black man in his mid-forties occupied the opposite chair, dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, and striped tie, glasses perched on his nose. A thin fellow, probably taller than Bach, he seemed neat, fastidious, and intelligent, all screaming “accountant.”

At their entrance, he lifted his chin. “When will I be able to get into my office to see what can be salvaged?”

“When the authorities deem it safe, Mr. Ellis. I’m Assistant Special Agent in Charge Bouvier, and this is HPD Detective Bach.” She glided into her seat, followed by Bach. “We’d like to talk about your work today.”

He nudged his glasses, ran a thumb down his nose, then folded his hands on the table impassively. “What would you like to know?”

“First, you should know that our tech team is having difficulty retrieving any of Gulf Allied’s financial records,” Bach said. “This is the twenty-first century. Why doesn’t your office have a cloud service?”

Tyson Ellis let out a withering sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Because Mr. Whitmore, our company CEO, still lives in the Dark Ages. I don’t think he’s implemented a single upgrade since 2012. Mr. Booker finally got so disgusted that he found a good sale and bought the office five modern computers and monitors two years ago. Our copy machine, held together by duct tape and luck, is a dinosaur. At least we have good internet service, or we wouldn’t be able to function at all.”

“Mr. Ellis, were all of your records kept on the office computer?” Athena asked.

He jutted up his chin and sniffed. “Certainly, you jest? I kept a leather-bound ledger with every transaction entered by hand. Mr. Whitmore doesn’t care for staring at computer screens. At the end of the fiscal year, I had to turn over the ledger to him for approval.”

Hope sprang in Athena’s chest. “Do you still have it?”

Lowering his gaze, Ellis wiped a hand across his mouth. “It was locked in a drawer in the accounting office adjacent to the main office. Probably burned to a crisp.”

Maybe the forensic team can salvage some pages, Athena thought.

“Then, for now,” Bach said, “we need to rely on your memory, which I trust is exceptional.”

Appearing uncomfortable, Ellis repositioned himself in his chair as his mouth drew into a frown. “I don’t like to guess.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Athena agreed. “However, other employees we’ve interviewed have mentioned seeing certain discrepancies in expenditures compared to profits.”

“Well, I can attest that the Houston Gulf Allied Chemicals plant was generating a profit,” he stated with confidence. “However, not as large a one as we would have liked. Expenses are on the rise. Diesel fuel for our delivery trucks, for example, has risen by nearly 30% over the past year. Ridiculous. And some repairs must be made, or production will halt.”

“Did the numbers you entered into your ledger ever seem too far off?” Bach asked. “Did they ever seem … suspicious?”

“You mean like, did I believe someone was skimming from the till?” His brows rose, and he let out a breath. “It’s not my place to levy accusations.”

Bingo, Athena thought. Booker’s trying to keep the plant afloat, and Whitmore is siphoning off funds for a vacation villa on the Riviera. She reconsidered. Unless it’s someone in the office. A spy for Lone Star? A disgruntled or indebted employee? Booker?