BLACK in the Box by Russell Blake

up to Glenlivet, my friend.”
    “You do have a way with words, you sly fox. Still dressing like the losingest pimp in Compton?”
    “Sylvia’s trying to get me to let her dress me, but I haven’t changed my stripes yet.”
    “Like water on stone. They win every time.”
    Black was framing a glib response when the door opened and Mary appeared. “Call me when you have something, would you? I’ll be around.”
    “Right now, you mean? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
    “Afraid not.”
    “Sounding more like a case of Chivas now.”
    “We can negotiate later.” Black hung up and stood. “Mary Allenston, I’m Black. Nice to meet you,” he said.
    “Right. Mr. Jacobs told me you’d be here. I’ll help you however I can,” she said, shaking his hand.
    Mary seemed jittery, like she was amped on more than just the excitement of meeting him. Black figured it was a fair bet that she was on something to make it through the night – something stronger than coffee. But he wasn’t there to judge her personal habits, which were none of his concern.
    Black did his best to put her at ease. “It’s a terrible tragedy, isn’t it?” he asked as she pulled a chair toward the desk and sat.
    “Oh, horrible. He was such a nice young man. So polite. Very dependable. I only knew him for a short time, but…”
    “It must have everyone on edge.”
    “Of course it does. There’s a murderer among us. Wouldn’t that set your teeth to grating?”
    Black reminded himself that nobody but he knew about Bethany’s impending arrest. “No doubt about it. It must have traumatized the girl that found him, too.”
    “I’m sure. She was barely coherent. Talk about traumatic. Can you imagine?”
    “What can you tell me about her?”
    “Bethany? Oh, she’s a lovely girl. Hard worker; cute. I have nothing bad to say about her,” Mary said, but her eyes darted to the side for a split second.
    “She’s a supervisor?”
    “That’s right.” Mary nodded. “Customer relations.”
    Black took her through a description of what that meant, hoping she’d grow calmer with the familiar subject, but it didn’t work. She did her best, but was obviously uncomfortable with the questions. After ten minutes of largely fruitless inquiry on the backgrounds of the employees, about all of whom Mary spoke glowingly, he switched gears. “Who was the last person to see Alec alive?”
    Mary cleared her throat. “I already answered all these questions with the police, Mr. Black.”
    “Yes, I’m sure it’s tiring to repeat them again, but it’s part of the process. If you’d entertain me a little longer, I’d really appreciate it.”
    That seemed to appease her. “Henry was the last to see him before the attack.”
    “Henry Heung.” Black looked at the list of names. “The security guard.”
    “His title is security supervisor. He gets touchy if you call him a guard,” Mary corrected.
    “I see.” Black looked at his watch. “Think he’d be in yet?”
    “Oh, probably. He’s one of those that always shows up early, you know?”
    “Sure. Where does he hang out?”
    “Mostly in the back, near the loading area. He’s got an office there.”
    Black stood just as his phone vibrated. He checked the screen.
    Sylvia.
    Mary gave him an impatient look, and he slid the cell back into his jacket pocket, making a mental note to call her back when he was done with Mary and Henry. He expected her to be furious, but now wasn’t the time for an extended phone battle.
    “Sorry. Can you show me where that is?” Black asked.
    “Sure. You want to go right now?”
    “Yes. Lead the way.”
    Mary walked like a much older woman, and Black had a sudden surge of sympathy for her. She’d been interrogated by the police for hours, had probably been unable to sleep from worry over who’d killed Alec, and now was being subjected to Black’s third degree.
    “Long one last night, huh?”
    She threw him a dark look over her shoulder as they walked down one