Mind Switch (15 page)

What Fred said was, “I am sure I wouldn’t know, Miss.” What Fred thought was, what a nut case.

Fred frequently found contradictions in his life; he loved the smell of coffee but absolutely hated its taste. The aroma of a flavored pumpkin variety on the secretary’s desk seemed highly appealing. “Smells great,” he said. But tastes lousy, he thought.

The blonde said, “Yes, the local coffee shop always has a new flavor each morning, but it’s always too hot to drink. Oh, well, at least I don’t get sunburned from it.”

Fred thought, what a strange, ignorant woman.

Fred showed her his badge and told her that he wanted to see the person in charge. The blonde, seemingly unimpressed by his badge, asked if he had an appointment. Fred, taken aback by the receptionist’s indifferent attitude said, “Look miss, I don’t need one, this is a murder investigation. Now please get me someone in charge!”

She gave Fred a cold stare that seemed to last for an eternity and finally pushed one of the numerous switchboard buttons on her desk. Speaking directly into a speaker she said, “Mr. Schultz, a Lieutenant Harris, from the police department, is here to see you.” Then, greatly increasing the volume of her voice while staring directly at Fred, added, “And he doesn’t have an appointment.”

Putting down the phone, she said, “Mr. Schultz will be with you in about fifteen minutes. He asked that I show you around his company during the interim. Of course, I can’t show you any classified areas.”

Fred said that would be fine. Donna took him on an accelerated grand tour without identifying the purpose of the individual divisions he visited. He was astonished at the size of the organization. They returned to the lobby within the designated fifteen minutes and Donna immediately went back to her work, now oblivious to Fred’s existence.

Since there was no place to sit down in the forbidden lobby, Fred walked over to the wall on the right of the secretary’s desk and studied a massive painting. Fred never understood the mass appeal for this type of painting. In the abstract foreground there seemed to be a blue horse with a yellow garden rake protruding from its mouth. Or it could have been a blue dog with a fishing pole in its mouth. Clarity in the details was not what the painting would be noted for. In the background was what appeared to be city skyscrapers. The sky was pink with jet black lightning bolts running thru it. A brass plate identified the title of the painting as “Conditions.” Fred had no idea what it meant, what it was trying to say or what the motivation of its creator was. He suspected that not even the artist knew what the hell he was painting or why.

At that moment a large, burly man, wearing an Armani suit, but a tad small for his large 6’5” frame, entered the lobby. Fred suspected the minor misfit was both a recent occurrence and a result of his rapid ascent into the good life. Schultz’s suit was ebony gray, and in Fred’s estimation, in the thousand dollar plus range. His tie was virtually the same color and design, the composite image creating a heavy, gloomy, monochromatic mood. Fred felt this man might have been more suited as a local undertaker than the CEO of a large and most likely thriving business. He suspected Schultz’s attire was an attempt to reinforce his position of authority and dominance; although his size alone was certainly adequate to accomplish that task in and of itself. As the large man approached, Fred was drawn to his penetrating stare; his large blue eyes seemed as if they could melt hardened steel.

From the limited data that Fred had been able to collect prior to his visit, Schultz had experienced a meteoric rise in the corporate world to C.E.O. of what appeared, based on its trappings, to be a multi-million dollar business.
 

According to his bio, only five years ago Schultz had been a traveling salesman, doing extensive business overseas. Although the information on Schultz was sketchy at best, information on his business was virtually non-existent. The crisp, but hazy description of the company available for public scrutiny was ‘import-exporting.’ Even the product lines were not identified with any degree of clarity. Based on its nebulous description, Fred felt the company’s primary customers had to exist outside of the traditional commercial world. But where, he wondered?

When Fred showed Schultz his badge, he received the same non-responsive reaction as he had with Schultz’s secretary. Schultz said, “Okay, what can I do for you?” As a quick afterthought he added, “Make it quick, I have a meeting with an important customer in a few minutes!” He simultaneously looked at his jeweled Rolex watch as if to reinforce his importance, superiority and wealth, not necessarily in that order. Fred resented Schultz’s response, especially the implication that neither he nor his investigation was relevant in this large man’s world.

Not to be put off, and with the deepest baritone voice he could muster, Fred said, “I understand, but I am here with reference to a murder; and although I appreciate your busy schedule I have to obtain enough information to help me continue with my investigation.

“First of all,” he asked, “what is the business of your company”?

Schultz, moving closer to Fred while looking menacingly down at him with his ten inch advantage, replied, “Importing and exporting, but what has that got to do with anything?”

Fred, irritated at Schultz’s vagueness, continued with his line of questioning and said, “And what do you import and export?”

“Anything that makes money for the company. Now again, what would you like to know that would help in the murder case? You’ve consumed five minutes, now I can only allow you a couple more minutes.”

Fred could not believe this man’s arrogance, especially in light of the backdrop of a murder investigation. Although not really sure of his capacity to execute the strategy that was now evolving in his mind, Fred quickly concocted a bluff. Looking directly at Schultz he said, “Look, I can get a search warrant and bring all your business to a halt while my officers search your records to find out what you do, if that’s what you want. Now what is your preference, voluntary or mandatory?”

Schultz laughed and with a look of indifference said, “Well, you just do that. Now
—
are we finished?”

Schultz started to walk away. Fred intuitively felt this large man, although most likely supremely egoistic in his own right, also had to also be protected by some higher level of authority, probably at a level well beyond Fred’s municipal status. Fred had one remaining ploy but it would work only if Schultz was as egoistic as his persona indicated.

“Okay,” Fred said, “You are under arrest for obstructing the investigation of a murder case. Put your hands behind your back!”

For the first time, Schultz revealed a fissure in his armor. He most likely knew that two minutes after arriving at the police station, with a call to his attorney, he would be released. But at the same time Fred felt Schultz’s ego could not tolerate the possibility of his being handcuffed and physically removed from the company in front of his staff.

“Look,” Schultz said, with the first evidence of a non-belligerent tone, “you must understand that what our company does falls into the category of national security. And as much as I would like to, I can’t go into specific detail as to the nature of our business. Perhaps I can give you a broad summary of our activities. Would that suffice?”

Fred, recognizing that he had now obtained an upper hand, said, “OK, let’s start there and I will determine if that’s adequate. Now let’s sit down in your office to make this more comfortable for the both of us.” As Fred spoke, he realized the baritone voice he had mustered to attempt to create an atmosphere of bravado had morphed back into his Mayberry RFD voice. He thought, almost out loud, I’ll have to control that.

Schultz paused and then meekly walked Fred toward a large office, seeming not to notice the change in Fred’s voice modulation. Schultz passed a card through an entry lock and then introduced some numbers into a security panel to the left of the door. He pressed a final entry key and the office door opened automatically.

As Fred entered the office he noted that the door was metal and at least four inches thick. That’s very strange reinforcement for an internal office door, Fred thought. Noticing residual screw holes next to the existing hinges, Fred reasoned that the door had recently been replaced. Hmm, probably to replace a less sturdy version, Fred surmised.

The office was obviously the property of a rich and important man. It was well appointed; rosewood panels, aged with patina, graced its interior. A large ornate desk and a matching conference table were positioned at one end of the room. At the other end was a large safe. No pictures were displayed on any of the walls. Either this guy had no family or they were beyond the limits of his organizational life, Fred thought. Also, something conspicuous by its absence was the lack of a window of any nature. Three internal locks had been installed on the inside of the door. Schultz locked them all after he entered.

Schultz sat down behind his desk and told Fred to take a seat at the conference table. Fred observed the large name plate in the front of the desk with the word “President” on it. What an ego trip this guy is on, Fred thought.

Schultz began, carefully selecting his words, “First of all, our primary business is with the Federal Government. We conduct research for them,” and then he paused, “It’s in a,—a, very specific area.” Schultz grew silent.

Fred, seeking to continue to capitalize on the small advantage he now held said, “Look, my cranium is hardly filled with overflowing information with what you just told me. I think you can provide me with some degree of substance beyond the fact that you work for the feds.”

“Okay,” Schultz meekly responded, “you must have read that both our government and the Soviets have historically used weapons against each other much broader than just the standard military armament that is universally known.” He continued, “It goes into the area of what the average American would call paranormal.”

Fred said, “You mean such as remote viewing?” That was the single paranormal area that Fred had read about in the media. He recalled that it had been reported that both the Russians and Americans had employed such efforts during the cold war. In fact, he remembered as far back as the late 70’s a downed Russian bomber had been located in Africa using that technique. Fred recognized the fact that the research was now public knowledge meant that the subject had likely been declassified.

“Yes,” Schultz responded, somewhat surprised at Fred’s knowledge, “that is but one of our areas of expertise.”

“But beyond that,” he continued, but then stopped in mid-sentence transfixed at the light fixture above the conference table. A large hanging ceiling light had begun to sway violently, casting surrealistic moving shadows over all areas of the room. Schultz was mesmerized by the unconventional movement of the fixture. But it seemed to be more than that; Fred saw the pure fear that eclipsed Schultz’s face.

Fred pulled away from his seat just as the fixture fell at an accelerating speed that seemed to defy the law of gravity and crashed hard against the rosewood table, hurling sharp splinters of glass throughout the office. Schultz was temporarily frozen as he received the bulk of the flying glass in his face. Blood dripped onto the desk blotter creating a mosaic pattern of deep green and maroon. After he gained his breath, Schultz screamed and grabbed his face forcing glass splinters even deeper into his skin.

The meeting was over.

Schultz had an aide take him to the hospital but not before he ensured that Fred was escorted from his office and the building as well.

Outside the building, Fred examined himself for any hidden injuries. It appeared that Schultz was the only casualty. For once Fred felt he was lucky—but he thought, was it really luck?

He had learned very little in his initial meeting with Schultz. All he knew was that which he suspected, that the firm was funded and guided by some federal agency with highly clandestine motives. Fred decided to wait until the next day and check into the condition of Schultz. Certainly another meeting was in order. Although he rationalized that the falling light fixture was strange, it certainly was not necessarily out of the ordinary. Those things happen all the time he thought, anywhere and anytime. Although comforted by this rationale, at the same time he did not relish going back to Schultz’ office for another meeting anytime soon.

Chapter 30

After his meeting with Schultz, Fred decided not to return to his office, and headed directly home. Maureen was occupied with a playful tug of war with Molly as he entered. It appeared to Fred that the three pounder was winning. He told Maureen about the falling light fixture, and asked what she thought of it. She didn’t answer immediately, but upon reflection she attributed it to either faulty building construction or the increased traffic in the area causing a constant vibration in the buildings. “It was likely,” she stated, “that the light’s anchor screws simply came loose over time. It just happened that you were in the office at the time.”

She said, “Hell, that fixture might have come loose several times in the past as well!” That rational explanation on its surface certainly made sense and reinforced his own thoughts, but deep down he knew better. Certainly the reaction on Schultz’s face at the time reflected more than just pain. It was the look of pure terror.

He also revealed to Maureen, with deep despair, his disappointment at not being able to obtain the identity of the killer at the downtown movie theater.