brought them to Spears's fifteenth-floor office. There was no secretary in the reception area.
"I hope my assistant hasn't gone out to lunch yet," Spears said. He turned the large brass knob and pushed against the polished mahogany door, which swung open. "Ah, good. He must be here. Enter, my friends."
But as Frank and Joe stepped into the room, they froze. Spears was right about his assistant being there—but he wasn't going to be of much use. He was sprawled unconscious on the floor on a bed of papers!
Spears's eyes widened as he took in the wreckage — drawers had been pulled out of filing cabinets, shelves were ripped out of the walls, his desk was overturned. This hadn't been a search. Someone had simply trashed the office.
Spears gasped when he looked up and saw the wall above his desk. In thick, bold letters, the word beware had been scrawled in blood!
Chapter 8
JOE KNELT BESIDE the assistant, who was curled up next to a filing cabinet, his blond hair across his face. There didn't seem to be any cuts or bruises. Joe felt the young man's wrist. "He's got a pulse," he said, then gently shook the man.
"Wha - what's going on?" The assistant's eyes flickered open, and he jerked himself away from Joe. "Get your hands off me! I swear I'll call the police!"
"Easy, easy," Joe replied softly. "We're here to help. Mr. Spears is with us."
"Justin?" the man answered, still dazed. A look of relief washed over his face as he saw his boss.
"Are you okay, Bart?" Spears asked, and the man nodded. "What happened here?"
Bart's look of relief disappeared as he sat up and looked around the office. He put his hand to his forehead, obviously in pain, remembering what had happened.
"I — I don't know," he said. "There was a knock on the outer door, and it was two guys who said they were here to do the annual service on the copier. I let them in, and all of a sudden one of them came after me. So I backed away ... " He looked at the filing cabinet behind him and rubbed the back of his head. "I must have fallen against that."
As Joe helped Bart into a chair, Spears moved up close to inspect the wall that had been splattered with the word beware. "Some kind of red paint," he said, looking at the foot-high letters. "Someone is trying to scare me."
"Any idea who?" Frank asked.
Spears sank into the seat by his desk. "Well, no! I'm an accountant, not a — a boss of the underworld."
"You don't have any enemies? Anyone you've had a fight with?" Frank pressed.
"Wait a second!" Joe interjected. "What about that guy who was arguing with you outside the funeral home? What was his name again — Fleckman?"
Spears thought for a minute. "Norman Fleckman ... " he said, nodding his head. "He's a client of mine. I do his financial records. Actually, we haven't been on good terms lately."
"Bad enough for him to do this to you?"
Spears sighed. "Well, I'm really not supposed to reveal client information — "
"This could be a clue in a murder case, Mr. Spears," Joe prodded. "We're up against a wall, and an innocent person has become the prime suspect."
Frowning, Spears considered Joe's words. Finally he answered. "Well, I suppose under the circumstances ... " He shrugged once. "I may as well admit to you that I think Fleckman's business dealings are not always—shall we say, the most honest. He used to work with Simone at Thompson Welles, but then he branched off to form his own investment firm when some of the partners began complaining about his tactics." Spears gave a smile. "Simone could be very persuasive in his own quiet way, but Fleckman is much more—aggressive. In fact, so aggressive that he began stealing away some of Simone's clients.
"I can't prove it, but I think Fleckman got involved in a little bit of swindling. It seems, from what I've pieced together, that he'd carefully select his victims from among his elderly clients, people who didn't know the market, who depended on him to explain everything to them. He'd tell them
"I hope my assistant hasn't gone out to lunch yet," Spears said. He turned the large brass knob and pushed against the polished mahogany door, which swung open. "Ah, good. He must be here. Enter, my friends."
But as Frank and Joe stepped into the room, they froze. Spears was right about his assistant being there—but he wasn't going to be of much use. He was sprawled unconscious on the floor on a bed of papers!
Spears's eyes widened as he took in the wreckage — drawers had been pulled out of filing cabinets, shelves were ripped out of the walls, his desk was overturned. This hadn't been a search. Someone had simply trashed the office.
Spears gasped when he looked up and saw the wall above his desk. In thick, bold letters, the word beware had been scrawled in blood!
Chapter 8
JOE KNELT BESIDE the assistant, who was curled up next to a filing cabinet, his blond hair across his face. There didn't seem to be any cuts or bruises. Joe felt the young man's wrist. "He's got a pulse," he said, then gently shook the man.
"Wha - what's going on?" The assistant's eyes flickered open, and he jerked himself away from Joe. "Get your hands off me! I swear I'll call the police!"
"Easy, easy," Joe replied softly. "We're here to help. Mr. Spears is with us."
"Justin?" the man answered, still dazed. A look of relief washed over his face as he saw his boss.
"Are you okay, Bart?" Spears asked, and the man nodded. "What happened here?"
Bart's look of relief disappeared as he sat up and looked around the office. He put his hand to his forehead, obviously in pain, remembering what had happened.
"I — I don't know," he said. "There was a knock on the outer door, and it was two guys who said they were here to do the annual service on the copier. I let them in, and all of a sudden one of them came after me. So I backed away ... " He looked at the filing cabinet behind him and rubbed the back of his head. "I must have fallen against that."
As Joe helped Bart into a chair, Spears moved up close to inspect the wall that had been splattered with the word beware. "Some kind of red paint," he said, looking at the foot-high letters. "Someone is trying to scare me."
"Any idea who?" Frank asked.
Spears sank into the seat by his desk. "Well, no! I'm an accountant, not a — a boss of the underworld."
"You don't have any enemies? Anyone you've had a fight with?" Frank pressed.
"Wait a second!" Joe interjected. "What about that guy who was arguing with you outside the funeral home? What was his name again — Fleckman?"
Spears thought for a minute. "Norman Fleckman ... " he said, nodding his head. "He's a client of mine. I do his financial records. Actually, we haven't been on good terms lately."
"Bad enough for him to do this to you?"
Spears sighed. "Well, I'm really not supposed to reveal client information — "
"This could be a clue in a murder case, Mr. Spears," Joe prodded. "We're up against a wall, and an innocent person has become the prime suspect."
Frowning, Spears considered Joe's words. Finally he answered. "Well, I suppose under the circumstances ... " He shrugged once. "I may as well admit to you that I think Fleckman's business dealings are not always—shall we say, the most honest. He used to work with Simone at Thompson Welles, but then he branched off to form his own investment firm when some of the partners began complaining about his tactics." Spears gave a smile. "Simone could be very persuasive in his own quiet way, but Fleckman is much more—aggressive. In fact, so aggressive that he began stealing away some of Simone's clients.
"I can't prove it, but I think Fleckman got involved in a little bit of swindling. It seems, from what I've pieced together, that he'd carefully select his victims from among his elderly clients, people who didn't know the market, who depended on him to explain everything to them. He'd tell them