Last Shot (Dev Haskell - Private Investigator, Book 6) by Mike Faricy
Authors: Mike Faricy
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employee, the golden child. What the hell happened?
Her termination had been personally handled by Gaston Driscoll via the phone which seemed a rather cold and heartless method for anyone to be subjected to. I noted an individual from the firm’s Human Resources’ department had also been present, on the conference call, a woman named Helen Olsen. I made a note. There were probably a few thousand Olsens in the phone book. If Helen was under fifty years old there was a strong possibility she wouldn’t even be listed in the phone book. I’d have to call her at Touchier and if she was still employed there, try to set up an appointment.
I flipped back a page and looked at the reason for termination, ‘poor performance’. It didn’t seem to add up.
Over the course of the afternoon I continued to wade through the file. At no time did there ever seem to be a major focus on Gaston Driscoll. If Desi looked to be a model employee, Driscoll was a sterling citizen. The little that was in the file mentioned he was a wounded Army veteran, highly regarded professionally, as well as socially. He sat on the boards of four separate non-profit organizations, as well as half-a-dozen corporations. Hell, the guy even volunteered monthly at his church to cook and serve food to the needy.
He’d testified in court and a portion of the transcripts had been incl uded in the file. Reading the transcripts Driscoll came across as reluctant to say anything negative about Desi. He’d been at the opposite end of the country when she’d ‘stolen’ the files. In the file transcripts, it was presented that it would not have been a difficult thing for Desi to obtain the files since she was aware Driscoll’s security access code was written on a card in his Rolodex.
It would not be a far leap to conclude that Desi waited until lily-white senior partner Gaston Driscoll was out of the office for a week, used his access code and stole the files. Of course that still left some serious questions. Why would Desi sign her own name? And when confronted, instead of denying the fact, why would Desi not only admit she took the files, but then provide the address of a vacant office suite as the location where she delivered them?
No where in Desi’s case file was there a hint of a sexual relationship between her and Gaston Driscoll. I understood Driscoll not wanting to bring it up, but you’d think Desi would have said something about it in her own defense, maybe mentioned the Ace of Spades tattoo she’d told me about. At least the tattoo was something that could be verified and suggested a more intimate knowledge of the guy than any other casual employee might have.
It was late in the afternoon. I had a few pages of notes and scribbles, some of which I could actually decipher. I replaced everything, closed the files and walked out to Madeline’s desk. She was nowhere to be found. Her thermos was still on the floor next to her desk. There was a container of aspirin with the lid torn off where last I saw her sleeping. I left the stack of files on her desk and took the elevator up to Aaron’s office on the fourth floor.
After asking to see him I waited for another ten minutes before he came out of the secure homicide area.
“You finished down there?” he asked, stating the obvious.
“Yeah, I got about all I can get from your files at this point. And that’s not much.”
He nodded like he understood. “Any conclusions?” he asked.
“Conclusions? No, not really. But maybe some suspicions.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I don’t know. Desi told me she was in a relationship for the better part of a year with Gaston Driscoll. He fires her a few weeks before the Federal Reserve robbery on the grounds of poor performance. Maybe she thought at the time he may have taken up with another woman and she was going to make life difficult for him.”
“There’s no mention of any of that in the case file or the court transcripts. Christ, the guy is Mr.
Her termination had been personally handled by Gaston Driscoll via the phone which seemed a rather cold and heartless method for anyone to be subjected to. I noted an individual from the firm’s Human Resources’ department had also been present, on the conference call, a woman named Helen Olsen. I made a note. There were probably a few thousand Olsens in the phone book. If Helen was under fifty years old there was a strong possibility she wouldn’t even be listed in the phone book. I’d have to call her at Touchier and if she was still employed there, try to set up an appointment.
I flipped back a page and looked at the reason for termination, ‘poor performance’. It didn’t seem to add up.
Over the course of the afternoon I continued to wade through the file. At no time did there ever seem to be a major focus on Gaston Driscoll. If Desi looked to be a model employee, Driscoll was a sterling citizen. The little that was in the file mentioned he was a wounded Army veteran, highly regarded professionally, as well as socially. He sat on the boards of four separate non-profit organizations, as well as half-a-dozen corporations. Hell, the guy even volunteered monthly at his church to cook and serve food to the needy.
He’d testified in court and a portion of the transcripts had been incl uded in the file. Reading the transcripts Driscoll came across as reluctant to say anything negative about Desi. He’d been at the opposite end of the country when she’d ‘stolen’ the files. In the file transcripts, it was presented that it would not have been a difficult thing for Desi to obtain the files since she was aware Driscoll’s security access code was written on a card in his Rolodex.
It would not be a far leap to conclude that Desi waited until lily-white senior partner Gaston Driscoll was out of the office for a week, used his access code and stole the files. Of course that still left some serious questions. Why would Desi sign her own name? And when confronted, instead of denying the fact, why would Desi not only admit she took the files, but then provide the address of a vacant office suite as the location where she delivered them?
No where in Desi’s case file was there a hint of a sexual relationship between her and Gaston Driscoll. I understood Driscoll not wanting to bring it up, but you’d think Desi would have said something about it in her own defense, maybe mentioned the Ace of Spades tattoo she’d told me about. At least the tattoo was something that could be verified and suggested a more intimate knowledge of the guy than any other casual employee might have.
It was late in the afternoon. I had a few pages of notes and scribbles, some of which I could actually decipher. I replaced everything, closed the files and walked out to Madeline’s desk. She was nowhere to be found. Her thermos was still on the floor next to her desk. There was a container of aspirin with the lid torn off where last I saw her sleeping. I left the stack of files on her desk and took the elevator up to Aaron’s office on the fourth floor.
After asking to see him I waited for another ten minutes before he came out of the secure homicide area.
“You finished down there?” he asked, stating the obvious.
“Yeah, I got about all I can get from your files at this point. And that’s not much.”
He nodded like he understood. “Any conclusions?” he asked.
“Conclusions? No, not really. But maybe some suspicions.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I don’t know. Desi told me she was in a relationship for the better part of a year with Gaston Driscoll. He fires her a few weeks before the Federal Reserve robbery on the grounds of poor performance. Maybe she thought at the time he may have taken up with another woman and she was going to make life difficult for him.”
“There’s no mention of any of that in the case file or the court transcripts. Christ, the guy is Mr.
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