A Murder in Silicon Valley
“So! How are you feeling? I’d be nervous as hell,” Jennifer remarked as she and Riley stepped into an apartment building as a member of the custodial staff held the door open, while Jennifer showed them her police badge.
“I’m ok. I definitely wish I could’ve finished training first,” Riley replied, retrieving a notepad and pen from his coat pocket as he and Jennifer approached the elevators, “Mark gave me a endless list of advice over the phone.”
“I bet,” Jennifer replied as she smiled, while pressing a button next to the elevators, “He sure as hell picked a great time to go on vacation.”
Riley chuckled as he shrugged his shoulders, while turning to a blank page in his notebook, “It’s not like he could’ve known that Larson would get sick and Samantha would need to take care of some things at home. We could cut him some slack.”
Jennifer winced quizzically, “And lose an opportunity to give him a hard time? Not a chance,” she concluded, glancing at Riley while wearing a deep smile, as the doors of one of the elevators parted in front of them.
Riley laughed, “To be sure,” he concluded, smiling and making inscriptions in his notebook as he followed Jennifer into the elevator. “So, what do we have?” he asked, shifting to a tone of greater sobriety.
“Thomas Kendall. 25 year old Software Engineer. Worked at Rankell Robotics. Overdosed on antidepressants as far as we can tell,” Jennifer relayed, in a neutrally sober voice, pressing a button for the fifth floor as the elevator doors closed.
The elevator fell silent for a moment, save for the scratching of Riley’s writing, “Did he live alone?”
“No, his girlfriend was staying with him. Kirsten Fourier. 23 years old. Works as a User Experience Designer at the New Vision Design Studio,” Jennifer replied, as the elevator came to a stop and the doors parted, “She found him when she came home from work, about an hour after he died according to the paramedics. She’s up there now, pretty shaken by the whole thing.”
Riley continued to take notes as he followed Jennifer from the elevator to the left, down the hallway, “Any word from anyone in the building who may have seen him beforehand?”
Jennifer shook her head as she slowed her pace, approaching unit 521, “Not that we’re aware of, no. No one has come forward.”
Riley nodded.
“Are you planning to get Kirsten’s statement first or would you prefer to check out the scene right away?” Jennifer asked, stopping next to the door of the apartment and resting her hand on the handle.
Riley paused for a moment, considering the choice, “I’d prefer to speak with her first,” he concluded.
“Sounds good,” Jennifer replied as she knocked on the door softly, before turning the handle a moment later.
Riley and Jennifer entered the apartment, stepping onto a floor mat, a closet adjacent. Riley followed Jennifer along the shallow hallway as the wall on their left gave way to a living room, within which a full-size replica of the Iron Throne at the end of the room, with mounds of books piled atop coffee tables on either side, demanded his attention. A moment later, his gaze was drawn to Kirsten, who slouched limply in the middle of a couch placed centrally in the room, beneath a collage of posters mounted on the wall behind her, illustrating characters from more Science Fiction and Fantasy franchises than could be listed in a single breath.
Kirsten’s teary gaze turned towards Riley, as her eyes began to desperately search his face for any evidence that this existence which she had stumbled into was nothing more than a facade.
“Kirsten,” Jennifer spoke softly, “I’d like you to meet Detective Riley Strauss. If you wouldn’t mind, he would like to ask you a couple questions.”
Kirsten’s head dropped limply as she began to stare blankly at the floor, before issuing a slow nod while briefly closing her eyes.
“Thank you Kirsten,” Riley replied, his attention focused on his notebook as he added notes, “Could you tell me what happened when you came home today?”
“Of course,” Kirsten replied, sniffling and adjusting her posture while padding one of her eyes with a facial tissue, “I got home around 6:30. I had to — ,” her voice broke. After a few moments, she shook her head as her sealed lips trembled. She raised a fist and pressed it against her mouth as tears welled in her eyes, “I had to stay late. We were overdue on a project and I… I should have been here,” she concluded, shaking her head, “I could have stopped him.” As she began to cry, Riley obsessed over his note taking. “He was stressed at work. He said so”, Kirsten continued, “The pills weren’t enough. Ever since he was demoted at work… it just… it hasn’t been the same.”
“Did you call it in right away?” Riley asked.
“I took his pulse, and checked his breathing… it took a few minutes before I could make the call,” Kirsten replied, eyeing the ground, lost in thought.
“I must beg your pardon Kirsten, I’m afraid I need to examine the crime scene, please excuse me,” Riley stated, dismissing himself and, moving past the kitchen alongside the living room at the end of the hallway, he approached the room wherein he could hear tempered voices engaged in somber discussion.
Riley entered the room, within which stood a paramedic speaking with a police officer, who was gesturing towards Thomas’ corpse, which lay sprawled on the carpet. Pills were scattered across the floor, the source of which, a bottle of antidepressants, lay sideways on the floor near the side of the bed. Half of a torn plastic seal, the size of which matched the size of the antidepressants bottle, sat on the floor near a garbage can. A chair, which should have been positioned near the desk in the room, had fallen on the ground, near Thomas’ left hand. Unlike his right hand, Thomas’ left hand was paler, seemingly covered in white powder. As Riley surveyed the room, he concluded that the source of the paling was a bag of climbing chalk, which appeared to have fallen onto a section of the carpet.
“Hey Lisa, Brian,” Riley greeted the officer and the paramedic, smiling while issuing a slight nod in their direction. “Anything interesting concerning the medical diagnosis?” he asked Brian, while inspecting Thomas’ corpse.
“Nothing peculiar really: dilated pupils, chemical imbalance in the bloodstream. It all adds up to a textbook overdose,” Brian replied, gesturing with his hand while gripping a used pair of rubber gloves, towards Thomas’ corpse.
Riley crouched, lowering himself to the floor while eyeing Thomas’ abnormally pale left hand. “The climbing chalk is puzzling, don’t you think?” Thomas asked the duo.
“We figure that the bag of chalk was on the desk, and that near the end, he absentmindedly pressed his hand into the bag of chalk when he tried to lean on the desk, before he collapsed and knocked over the chair and the bag,” Lisa responded, “climbing is good wrist exercise, so it’s not that unusual for a programmer to have a bag of chalk in the first place.”
Riley nodded slowly as he added a couple notes to his notebook, before turning his attention to the bottle of antidepressants on the ground. The lower half of the plastic seal was still on the bottle. He lifted the bottle slightly using the tip of his pen. Eyeing the inside of the bottle, he counted the remaining pellets still inside. After replacing the bottle and removing his pen, he counted all the pellets he could see on the carpet.
“Brian, by your estimate, how many of these pellets would he have had to consume in order to overdose?” Riley inquired, as he jotted down more observations.
“Um, as a rough guess, maybe…” Brian paused while rubbing the palm of his free hand against his forehead, “I’d say about 20?”
Riley nodded, while a concerned look drifted across his face, “Curious. The torn seal suggests that the bottle was unopened, and based on the total amount of pills which should be in the bottle according to the label, it appears that he took at most 10 pellets,” he stated, making an accentuated addition to his notepad.
Brian and Lisa exchanged puzzled glances. “That’s odd,” Lisa finally said, shedding a look of scrutiny aimed at Thomas’ corpse.
Riley stood up from his crouched position, his eyes steadily traversing the room, swiftly darting while searching for further oddities. His wandering gaze settled on the desk, upon which sat various office utilities, including a notebook, some pens, looseleaf paper, a stapler, and a laptop computer connected to a power cable, displaying a login screen. A couple of spat, dense patches of climbing chalk were strewn across the surface of the desk.
Riley stepped over Thomas’ corpse and stood near the desk for further inspection. His attention centered on the laptop computer, “It’s interesting that the password field isn’t empty. Also, it looks like some of the keys are distinctly marked with climbing chalk, almost like powdered finger prints.”
“Maybe he tried to login in order to message someone at the last second?” Brian speculated, shrugging his shoulders.
“Perhaps…” Riley trailed off, while focusing on the keyboard, as his eyes widened while darting swiftly between the keyboard and the non-empty password field on the login screen. “The letters singled out by climbing chalk on the keyboard are e,d,r,u, and m,” Riley stated, “given that the length of the phrase in the password prompt is six characters, that makes for a suspiciously grievous explanation of the circumstances of his death.”
“How so?” Lisa inquired, bearing a bewildered look as she exchanged glances with Brian.
“It’s possible he was spelling ‘murder’,” Riley replied, “An awfully coincidental possibility at that.”
Lisa nodded slowly, “No kidding.”
“I’m afraid this may not be a write-off as anticipated,” Riley concluded, placing his notebook in his coat pocket while approaching the bedroom door, “We’ll need to check with the pharmacy, and my guess is that I’ll be paying a trip to Rankell Robotics.”
The dash-mounted cell phone in Riley’s nondescript Crown Victoria rang, as he drove through a street in the center of town. He pressed a button on his steering wheel to answer the call. “Hey Sean. Any word back from the pharmacy?” he asked, before looking over his shoulder and pressing his turn signal in preparation to change lanes.
“Hey Riley,” Sean’s voice buzzed through the stereo speakers of the car, “We did. A clerk serviced Thomas at the pharmacy the morning of the day that Thomas died. Turns out Thomas stopped by the pharmacy on his way to work and got a refill of his prescription. The bottle that the clerk gave Thomas was the first from a new box. The clerk swears that the seal of the box was unbroken. I’ve emailed you a copy of the transaction record.”
“Thank you,” Riley replied, pressing the brake with his left foot as he prepared to exit his lane and make a left turn across the opposite side of the road. He momentarily glanced at a summary of Sean’s email illustrating the transaction record from the pharmacy, as it briefly occupied his phone screen, “Did someone manage to reach the pharmaceutical manufacturer?”
“Indeed, the manufacturer traced that particular box using the box id number that the clerk gave us. All the tests they conducted on site during production showed that the drugs in that shipment were of appropriate concentration. They have detailed reports to back it up. Either way, the recipients of the other bottles from that box have not reported dosage issues, so it looks like Thomas’ bottle is distinct in that regard.”
Riley nodded, as he completed the left turn, arriving at the edge of a parking lot adjacent to a multi-story building, the entrance of which displayed the logos of several companies, including that of Rankell Robotics, “Understood. I’ll further the investigation at Rankell and phone in my progress as I learn more.”
“Sounds good,” Sean replied, his tone becoming somber, “Be careful over there. This whole thing feels off.”
“Indeed,” Riley agreed as he stopped at the gate barring entrance to the parking lot and presented his badge against the car window to an inquiring security guard, “Thanks for your help Sean. Talk to you soon.”
“Oh! One last thing,” Sean interjected as Riley’s rescinded his hand which had moved in preparation to end the call, “They’re starting analysis in the lab, and a technician noticed that there is minor evidence that the half of the torn plastic seal which is still on the bottle that we found in Thomas’ room was exposed to a strong heat source at some point. Areas of the plastic were melted onto the bottle. What’s more — and this is odd — the pills in the bottle are actually from another off-the-shelf antidepressants product sold at the pharmacy, which has a much higher dosage than that of Thomas’ prescription.”
Riley’s eyes narrowed as he drove past the raised gate into the parking lot, as he lifted two forefingers from his steering wheel to passively acknowledge the security guard who waved back in return. “Curious,” he stated, “Let me know if they come across anything else.”
“Will do,” Sean replied, “Talk to you later.”
Riley ended the call, as he approached an empty parking space and began to pull in.
Riley had been informed by administrative staff at the police station that Steven Rankell himself was apparently adamant to ensure that the full support and cooperation of everyone at Rankell during the investigation was ensured.
During his research, Riley had learned that the company had gone through numerous phases of different specializations, though ultimately the focus had settled on providing services for the maintenance and production of drones for shipping companies. Based on Steven Rankell’s cadence on stage, he was insistent that the prospects in this sector were rich with opportunity. The stipulation seemed to be accurate, given that, in the recent reports Riley had read, the corporate announcement of support for widely sought features was sweeping the investment community, allegedly resulting in numerous acquisition offers.
Riley turned his keys as the car rolled to a stop in the center of the parking stall. He stepped out of the car, before closing the door and approaching the entrance of the office building.
“Regardless, I hope I’ve made it clear that you will have our full support during your investigation,” Steven Rankell guaranteed Riley as they approached one of the many offices with transparent, glass walls in the Rankell Robotics office building. “If there’s anything you need, at all, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Steven added.
“Certainly,” Riley replied, a hint of wear discernible in the tone of his voice. “Kurt Friedman, I presume?” Riley asked, gesturing with his pen towards the visible interior of the office at which they had stopped.
“Yep, this is him,” Steven replied, “I’ll leave you to it then. Again, if there’s anything you need, please let me know.”
“Will do,” Riley replied, smiling thinly as he began turning towards the door of the office, “Thank you for your time.”
“Not a problem,” Steven replied, as he turned to walk away.
Riley reached for the door handle and paused. Resting his hand on the handle for some time, he watching Steven Rankell walk swiftly away. Riley couldn’t shake the feeling that Steven was hiding something, that the masquerade of elation was meant to distract his attention from the truth of the circumstances he was investigating.
Riley finally pushed the door open and stepped into the office, seeing Kurt standing a few feet from the door. Upon Riley’s entrance, Kurt extended his hand.
“Detective Strauss, I presume,” Kurt stated, smiling.
“Indeed,” Riley responded, returning the smile and accepting the handshake, “Do you have a few minutes to answer some questions Mr. Friedman?”
“Certainly,” Kurt responded, gesturing towards the seat in front of his desk as he returned to the seat behind the desk, “It’s terrible, what happened. I’ll do anything I can to help.”
“When did you start working at Rankell?” Riley asked.
“About a couple months ago,” Kurt responded, leaning back in his seat slightly, “I was hired to replace Thomas, actually. I worked for a competing company, and possessed a greater degree of experience than Thomas. So Steven, and others, believed I would be a better fit for the position.”
“That must have made things difficult,” Riley stated inquiringly, absorbing Kurt’s countenance during their conversation, “How did you approach the challenge of managing a former manager that you had replaced?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Kurt admitted, nodding, “I did my best to communicate my managerial intentions clearly, and ensure that my treatment of Thomas was equitable to that of the other developers on our team.”
“I see,” Riley responded, nodding while adding notes to his notepad, “given that you’ve likely borne witness to a lot of Thomas’ recent undertakings at work, is there anyone around the office that you would recommend I address to further the investigation?”
Kurt decisively shook his head, “if anyone at Rankell were to have taken Thomas’ life, I would be exceedingly surprised. I’m afraid I really haven’t a clue where I would suggest you investigate further.”
Riley nodded, while staring blankly at a corner of the office. “If I may, I’d like to see Thomas’ desk,” he requested, “If you’d be so kind as to lead the way?”
“Of course,” Kurt responded, standing from his seat and approaching the door of the office, as Riley stood and began to follow.
Riley and Kurt navigated through the office space towards another section of the building, the displacement of which from the location of Kurt’s office suggested a questionably inconvenient degree of distance between a developer and a manager.
“From what I understand, this is your first case,” Kurt stated, dryly.
“That’s correct,” Riley responded, slowing to match Kurt’s pace as they approached a particular desk.
“Thrown to the wolves already, hey?” Kurt asked as his lips curved into a smile, with no further trace of happiness visible across his face.
“You could say that,” Riley responded, smiling thinly as he and Kurt exchanged glances.
“Well, you’ve got to start somewhere,” Kurt stated thoughtfully, “I’m afraid I have a meeting to get to, if you have no further questions. Otherwise, best of luck.”
“By all means,” Riley replied, “Thank you for your help.”
“Anytime,” Kurt responded, turning and walking back towards his office.
Riley stood a few feet from Thomas’ desk, inquiringly studying the surroundings. A garbage bin sat a couple feet away, between Thomas’ desk and another. A pair of gym shoes were placed near Thomas’ chair. The shoes looked brand new, as though they had hardly been worn. Some notebooks were stacked in one of the overhead shelves. A variety of cables ran from the empty laptop docking unit which sat in the middle of the desk, between two large, desktop computer monitors. A couple of pens, and pads of sticky notes, were strewn across the surface of the desk, while a couple of sticky notes had been adhered to the desktop, neatly aligned, in the upper left corner.
Riley stepped forward to examine the contents of the sticky notes, most seemed to describe arbitrary topics which he assumed had pertained to software development activities. Others, however, contained names and phrases, some familiar to him, others unfamiliar. A particular note listed a date preceded by the word ‘due’, annotated with ‘Kurt’ beneath, in parentheses. Another note seemed to be a reminder to speak with ‘Teresa’ about something called ‘Hyperion’.
“Hi! Is there something I can help you find?” A middle aged woman asked as she approached a desk near Thomas’ desk, holding an empty plastic Tupperware container.
“Greetings, I’m afraid not, no, I’m merely looking around,” Riley responded, “Detective Riley Strauss,” he added offering a handshake.
“Ah! That makes more sense. I’m Claire, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Claire replied, shaking Riley’s hand. “I only wish it were under different circumstances,” she added, placing the Tupperware container on her desk, “I deeply lament Thomas’ death. He was an excellent coworker and a dear friend. We didn’t spend much time together outside of work, but we talked a lot over lunch ever since his desk was moved over here. It turned out he took a copywriting class at the University after I got my degree, and he had the same professor that I had for a few of my classes. We’d trade stories about the Professor’s odd mannerisms,” Claire chuckled, “I’d always tell him that at least he didn’t have to do his capstone project with the guy; that made my final semester a living hell.”
Riley wore a puzzled expression, “Do you work on the programming team that Thomas was a part of?”
“No, I work in the marketing department, this is our area, well mostly anyway,” Claire responded, making a limp gesture towards Thomas’ desk.
“Oh?” Riley stated inquisitively, “Did Thomas move his desk at some point?”
“No, not exactly,” Claire replied. She approached Riley, tightening the distance between them as she momentarily glanced around the area conspicuously, “I’m not sure how much you know, but are you aware of the nature of the situation Thomas faced here?”
“No,” Riley replied, “I mean not entirely. I know, after having spoken with his girlfriend, that he received a demotion a few months ago. Later I found out that Kurt had been hired to replace him, but after having spoken with Kurt, it doesn’t sound like that was the primary source of his anxiety.”
Claire snorted audibly, at a volume barely tempered enough to avoid raising the attention of those occupying desks a few feet from where she and Riley were standing. “I’d wager that asshole Friedman was the source of Thomas anxiety,” she stated.
Riley raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”
Claire nodded, again glancing around to verify the confidentiality of the discussion. “Overhearing their conversations was torture enough,” she continued, “that asshole spent the last couple months passive aggressively insulting Thomas’ work, mannerisms, and pretty much anything he was inclined to draw attention to. He would assign Thomas work due at a particular date, then, days before the date he had specified, starkly ask why the work was overdue. Thomas started writing down the dates when Kurt issued them, after which that particular harassment ceased, not that it took Kurt long to think of something else to harass him about.”
Riley unresponsively remained focused on his notebook, jotting down his thoughts while quietly trying to reconcile the image of Kurt’s disposition that he’d witnessed not minutes before, and that of the character Claire which was describing.
“Later on, I overheard him talking over the phone, and on occasion in person, with other programmers on the team about issues he was having with his access to certain projects,” Claire continued, “At one point he was talking with Teresa, another programmer on the team, and it sounded like he had been blatantly locked out of a source code ‘repository’, as he called it, for one of the projects that they were working on; ‘Hyperion’, I think, was what he called it.”
Riley nodded, remaining absorbed in his notes.
“He only sits over here because Kurt had him moved after alterations to the seating arrangement for the team were required,” Claire stated while raising her hands and sarcastically drawing quotations with the two foremost fingers of each hand, “that bastard deprived Thomas of anything and everything he would have enjoyed about coming to work.”
Riley paused for a moment, considering the details he’d just received.
“I thought things were going to get better,” Claire remarked, “At one point Gordon, our IT lead, came to Thomas’ desk and started to give him an earful. Apparently Thomas had managed to get access to the repository he had been restricted from, and Gordon wasn’t happy about it. This time though, he stood up for himself. Thomas told Gordon something about ‘knowing what he and Kurt were up to’. Gordon just walked off after that. I was relieved, but I guess I shouldn’t have been.”
“Do you know where Teresa sits?” Riley asked, “I’d be interested in speaking with her to follow up on the details you’ve mentioned.”
“For sure,” Claire replied, “I think she was coming into the kitchen just as I left. She’s probably still there now. I’ll walk you over.”
“Much appreciated,” Riley replied, following Claire towards the kitchen while still considering all the information he now knew.
They wound through sets of clustered desks before arriving at the kitchen, which consisted of 2 counters, one boasting a sink, with cupboards beneath and above. A toaster oven and coffee maker occupied a corner, alongside an assortment of ground coffee and tea. A fridge was positioned at the end of one of the counters, next to the sink, at which the lone occupant of the kitchen was cleaning a Tupperware container.
“Hey Teresa,” Claire greeted, as Teresa spun from the sink at an almost jarring speed.
“Hey Claire,” Teresa replied, as a warm smile drifted across her face. Her eyes shifted towards Riley. “I’m sorry I don’t believe we’ve met,” she stated, padding her hands on a dish cloth which hung from the handle of the fridge, “I’m Teresa.”
“A pleasure to meet you Teresa,” Riley responded, “I’m Detective Riley Strauss.”
Teresa’s smile faded noticeably, as though, having departed momentarily, she was now reacquainted with reality. “I see,” she said, nodding, “You’re hear to ask about Thomas?” she added, shifting towards the sink to resume cleaning.
“Yes,” Riley replied.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must return to work,” Claire interjected, “If you need anything else, you know where to find me,” she added, turning to Riley.
Riley issued a nod of acknowledgement, “Thank you Claire.”
She smiled meekly and exited the kitchen. Teresa had silently begun to clean the Tupperware container once again, scrubbing the bottom face with a sponge covered in lather.
“So, is there anything you’d like to know specifically?” Teresa asked shifting her attention for a fraction of a second between the Tupperware and Riley.
Riley paused, spending a moment in consideration, “Could you tell me how you met Thomas?”
Teresa nodded, as she began scrubbing the inside of the container. “We met when he interviewed me for a role on the team, when he was lead, that is,” she replied, her voice suggesting fondness of the memory. “Things were different then,” she continued, “a stronger sense of community if you ask me.”
“And then Kurt replaced him?” Riley asked.
Teresa nodded as she exhaled through her nose sharply, her focus wholly concentrated on the container, as she began to scrub the bottom again. “He had more experience than Thomas, at least, that’s what everyone thought.”
“You didn’t?” Riley asked curiously.
“I did at first,” Teresa replied, “then I saw how he managed things. I got the distinct impression he was using aggression as a means to cover up his lack of expertise, to hide the fact that ultimately he didn’t deserve the appointment to management that he got. His treatment of Thomas was the strongest indicator.” She turned away from the sink to face Riley directly, her left hand covered in lather as it hung loosely by her side over the kitchen floor. “Why would someone exceptional enough to replace, in my opinion, one of the best managers alive — ” she stopped herself short of the thought, shifting her eyes to the ground, “Why would someone worthy of that need to intimidate people? Why would that same person take their most talented developer, our former manager, and stick him in a corner away from the team, and exercise every opportunity they had to make his life a living hell?”
Riley remained absorbed in his notes, nodding slightly.
“Then, on top of all of that, he threw more politics into the mix,” Teresa continued, still scrubbing the same container, which at this point looked as clean as it could ever be, “He started some secret project which apparently only the privileged were worthy of.”
“Indeed,” Riley responded, “Claire mentioned that Thomas didn’t have access to a project named ‘Hyperion’, which I’m assuming is the same project.”
“Ya,” Teresa shook her head, finally placing the sponge on the counter and beginning to rinse the container, “Thomas asked for my help at one point. He wanted to know if there was anything I could do to grant him access to the repository.”
“Was there?” Riley prompted.
Teresa shook her head, “Only someone with the appropriate permissions in the IT department could have done that.” She abruptly strode past Riley, nearly brushing her shoulder against his. She approached the toaster oven and tugged at the dial used to power the oven, evidently ensuring that the oven was not powered on. She repeatedly twisted the motionless knob for several seconds. “Incidentally, despite fruitless efforts in approaching our IT lead in the past, he did get someone in IT to grant him access. As far as I know, one night he was working late, trying to debug a problem which necessitated access to the restricted repository,” she stated as she traversed the kitchen towards the fridge, and upon reaching it began to use the fullest extent of her body weight to press on the handle of the fridge door multiple times, ensuring it was closed, “He got frustrated and called someone besides the IT lead and asked for access, and after he spent a few minutes venting, they finally granted it to him.”
“Why would Gordon have been opposed to granting Thomas access to the repository?”
“Beats me,” Teresa stated, “You’d have to ask him.”
“I think I will,” Riley acknowledged, relieving his notebook of his attention and facing Teresa once again, “Could you point me in the right direction?”
Teresa had moved to the sink and began washing her hands with dish soap, an activity which hardly seemed necessary given that she’d spent the majority of the last five minutes with her hands covered in soap. “For sure,” she replied turning around to face the workspace and nodding in a direction, “They sit across the office, over there. My apologies,” she added, glancing at her watch, “I’d walk you over but I need to get back to my desk right away.”
“Understood,” Riley replied, beginning to turn in order to leave the kitchen, “Thank you Teresa.”
Teresa nodded as she stared at her hands, “No problem.”
Riley navigated through the office, pausing once to gather his bearings before resuming his approach towards a set of desks walled off with multiple server racks. Amidst the largely deserted area, Riley observed a single, centrally located, occupied desk. “Excuse me… Robert,” Riley requested, approaching the desk and its occupant as he cocked his head to read the name tag which sat on the desk, “Do you know where I might find Gordon?”
Robert, who Riley had now noticed was considerably older than most of those he’d seen in the office, sat preoccupied with his numerous computer monitors, rapidly shifting his attention between Riley and several mutating graphs displayed on the monitors. “He sits right here,” he finally replied, nodding his head towards the desk next to his own, “He and a few of the others left the office for lunch, they should be back soon.”
Riley nodded, aimlessly turning to inspect the surroundings.
Robert gave pause to his work and began to scrutinizingly stare at Riley, “Is there something I can help you with in the meantime?” he asked, shifting away from his desk slightly.
Riley withdrew his inspection of another desk in the area, “Not especially, I don’t want to distract you. I’m detective Riley Strauss. I’m here to ask some questions, and gather more insight into what things were like around here for Thomas,” he stated.
“Ah!” the occupant replied, “I understand. Please pardon my distraction,” he requested. “I’m Robert. Robert Schneider,” he added.
“It’s not a problem,” Riley replied, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He paused, glancing around the area again. “Did you know Thomas at all? Spend any time interacting with him?”
“Very briefly,” Robert replied, nodding and rubbing an open palm across his forehead, while he removed his glasses with his other hand. “One night he contacted me. Mind you, we hadn’t met each other beforehand,” he clarified. “I’ve been here for some time, people have come and gone, and I don’t always get to meet everyone.”
Riley nodded while taking notes, “Was there something he needed when he reached out to you?”
“Ya,” Robert replied, “he wanted me to grant him access to a restricted repository. He was pretty adamant about it too. I didn’t understand everything he was saying to be honest. He almost sounded exasperated. He kept saying something about needing access to solve some bug or something. I thought he probably didn’t have access for a reason. It didn’t seem like this was his first attempt at circumventing the restrictions. I felt compelled though, since it sounded like he was having a rough time, and he was very insistent. I figured, in the worse case, we could just take away his access later.”
Riley nodded slightly, still absorbed in his notes.
“The day after,” Robert continued, “I was partially expecting to get an earful from Gordon. I came when I usually do, but Gordon came in earlier than me that day, which was a first. He wasn’t at his desk when I came in though. A few minutes later he came back to his desk and we talked about it, but he didn’t seem to think I was at fault, so I guess it worked out.” Robert paused, glancing at the ground near his outstretched legs and feet as he slouched in his chair, “I feel bad that this is all I can tell you. I wish I could’ve gotten to know him better before he died. We get too absorbed in all of this, you know,” he stated, lazily waving his arm in a gesture towards the expanse of the office behind Riley, “It’s amazing, isn’t it? How we can be so near to so many people, and yet be so far apart.”
Riley showed no acknowledgement of the consideration, as he finished a point he was adding to his notes, before reviewing the contents of the page.
A collection of gleeful voices emerged from the workspace of the office, approaching the IT area. Riley turned to witness the group approach the desks which surrounded him and Robert. The foremost member of the group approached the desk which Robert had indicated earlier, still laughing after an exchange with another member of the group, before he glanced at Riley before his gaze flattened.
“Is there something we can do for you?” Gordon asked, placing a brown paper bag and it’s contents atop his desk while removing his sweater.
“Hi Gordon, I’m Detective Riley Strauss,” Riley replied, “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Gordon paused, glancing at a fixed position on the floor across the room, as he sat as his desk. “By all means,” he replied.
“Thank you,” Riley began, “Did you know Thomas very well?”
Gordon shook his head mildly, “Not very well, but we interacted from time to time. We had an exchange not too long before he died, I’ll admit,” he clarified, redirecting his gaze and focusing directly on Riley will issuing a decisive nod, “He had requested access to a restricted repository to do some debugging at one point. I’d worked closely with Kurt, his team lead, to form a shortlist of developers who would have access to the repository. I told Thomas, on numerous occasions, that the list was fixed. One night he managed to leverage another member of my team to grant him access however,” he added, without glancing at Robert, who had begun to rub a palm against his forehead, “I felt that his circumvention of the intended protocol warranted disciplinary repercussions, so I spoke with him about it.”
Riley nodded silently while taking notes.
Gordon glanced at Robert, who now had his head in his hands. “Everything ok?” he asked Robert.
Robert shook his head slowly, without removing his palms, “I left mine at home,” he replied.
Gordon gently pushed his chair towards one of the drawers of his desk. Opening the drawer, he retrieved a bottle of antidepressants, the same kind as those found in Thomas’ apartment, Riley noticed, as Gordon handed the bottle to Robert, “Here, borrow some of mine.”
Robert spent a couple moments continuing to rub his face in his palms without acknowledging the offer, before finally taking the antidepressants from Gordon’s extended hand, and beginning to pour some pills into his left palm after removing the lid.
“The point being, Detective Strauss,” Gordon continued, “While I had my misgivings regarding Thomas’ conduct, I can assure you that your investigation is best served elsewhere.”
Robert returned the bottle with an outstretched hand, issuing a nod of gracious acceptance. The serial number, shown on the back of the bottle, faced Riley as the bottle changed hands. Riley paused for a moment, his pen ceasing to move over his notebook, as his gaze was fixed upon the bottle. Riley glanced back at his notes, staring blankly, as Gordon moved to replace the bottle into the drawer of his desk.
Several moments passed as Riley continued to stare vacantly at his notes, noticeably lost in thought.
“Detective?” Gordon finally interrupted, sitting up in his chair and leaning forward, “Are there any further questions? I apologize,” he expressed blandly, “but myself and my team have a significant amount of work to do.”
Riley stirred and faced Gordon, “Absolutely, my apologies, I believe I have everything I need. Please excuse me,” he requested, closing his notebook and turning to leave the area.
“Hey Sean,” Riley spoke into his cell phone as he exited through the doors of the office building, “Could you contact the lab and get the serial number from the bottle which we found in Thomas’ apartment?”
“Hey Riley,” Sean replied over the phone, “I guess,” he acknowledged skeptically, “Let me call them up.”
“Thank you,” Riley stated, approaching his car from across the parking lot, turning around momentarily, as he walked, to observe the entrance of the office building.
“Hey Riley, I’ve got the number here,” Sean stated moments later, before he began to read out the number.
Riley nodded decisively, “As I suspected. That number doesn’t match the serial number which was on Thomas’ receipt from the pharmacy,” he pointed out as he continued to approach his car, “You can check for yourself.”
“I’ll be damned, Riley,” Sean stated in a bewildered voice a few moments later, as Riley reached his car and opened the door, beginning to step inside, “They’re not the same. We’ll contact the pharmacy again to see if we can get a record of who purchased the bottle we found in Thomas’ apartment. How did you clue into that?”
“The IT lead at Rankell has a bottle in his desk right now which has the serial number that we saw on Thomas’ receipt,” Riley stated.
“Holy shit,” Sean remarked, “Are you on your way back?”
“Ya,” Riley replied as he started the car, “I’ll be there shortly. I’ll tell you more once I’m back.”
“Sounds good,” Sean replied, “See you soon.”
Riley stood with with his arms folded over with stomach, staring through the two-way mirror into the interrogation room, within which sat a single table with two chairs, one empty, the other occupied by Gordon Clark.
Jennifer approached the mirror, beside Riley. “That’s quite the catch you made,” she stated, “Sean filled me in on the details. I guess all that’s left is to draw up the paperwork.”
“I suppose so,” Riley replied hesitantly, continuing to stare at Gordon.
“How so?” Jennifer inquired, “you don’t think he did it?”
Riley paused for a moment. “No,” he replied as he turned to face Jennifer, before making his way to the entrance of the interrogation room.
A police officer held the door for Riley as he entered the room, before closing it behind him. Riley approached the empty chair across from Gordon, holding his notebook in one hand, and his pen in another. Gordon nervously stared at Riley as he assumed his seat and began to flip through his notebook.
“I don’t suppose you want to admit to all of this and save us the trouble?” Riley asked, glancing up from his notes.
Gordon paused, before glancing away from Riley. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Riley took a deep breath and set his notepad down on the table, centering his attention on Gordon. “The bottle of pills in your desk bore the serial number of the bottle of pills which Thomas Kendall purchased on the morning of his murder. Furthermore, the bottle of pills which was found in Thomas’ apartment next to his corpse has the serial number of a bottle that you purchased. Given the recently aggressive disposition you adopted towards him, the investigative department,” he stated, gesturing lazily towards the door of the room, “is considering you a prominent suspect in the murder of Thomas Kendall.”
Gordon paled as he continued to stare blankly at an empty corner of the room. After several moments, he finally turned to face Riley. “I did not kill him,” he stated, decisively and hurriedly. “I mean it. I swear. You don’t know the truth. Someone stole my pills a few days before he was killed. I had to get a premature refill of my prescription. Talk to the pharmacy, they’ll back it up. I have no idea how my replacement bottle in got swapped with Thomas’ bottle…”
Riley leaned back in his seat. “Why would I believe you?” he asked.
Gordon shook his head viscerally. “How would I have killed him?! I wouldn’t know the first thing about fabricating excessively strong pills.”
Riley shrugged, “I’m not convinced. You can choose to cooperate, or choose to make things difficult, but sooner or later we’re going to find what we need to really seal the deal on this whole thing. If we find that something on our own, it just makes you look all the more guilty.”
Gordon rubbed his palm across his forehead as he sat back in his chair, before staring blankly at the ceiling for several seconds. “There’s more going on at the office than what you learned about today,” he stated, “that hidden repository, the one Thomas didn’t have access to, he didn’t have access to it because Kurt — ” he stopped himself short of his point, taking a deep breath while staring at his hands, “Kurt thought that Thomas would clue into what was going on; Thomas was considerably more prudent than most of the other programmers on the team.”
“What was it that Kurt didn’t want Thomas to find out?” Riley asked, still slouching in his chair.
“The repository,” Gordon hesitated, “It contains code that Kurt stole from his former employer, from our chief competitor. Kurt was sure Riley would notice, so he locked him out of it. Kurt treated Thomas like shit in general because Thomas was more experienced than he was. Kurt was hired into a management position prematurely to compensate him for the IP he stole. Treating Thomas like shit also gave Kurt an excuse to keep the repository from him. I was pulled into the process because they needed someone to actively regulate access to the repository, but I can’t control everything. That one night, Thomas managed to talk Robert into giving him access, and later on, after he spent some time looking at the code, he knew what we were up to.”
Riley sat undisturbed, staring blankly at the table separating him and Gordon.
“BUT,” Gordon held up a finger, centering his intense focus on Riley, “I. Did. Not. Kill him. I swear. I never would have considered such a thing.”
The room fell silent for a few moments, as both participants sat preoccupied with their thoughts.
Riley abruptly arose, and exited the room, without saying a word.
“Did Rankell respond to the request?” Riley asked Sean, as he retrieved a mug and beginning to pour from a steaming coffee pot which sat on the counter beside them both.
“Yep,” Sean replied, standing with one hand on his waist and the other holding a cup of coffee, “They’re retrieving a list of the prominent company shareholders as we speak.”
Riley nodded, taking a sip from his steaming cup.
“So you don’t think it was him?” Sean asked.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Riley shook his head, “He doesn’t strike me as a good liar, and if what he says is to be believed, there’s substance to the suspicion that someone else was involved.”
Sean stared at the floor, considering the possibility.
“Plus,” Riley added, “what would his motive be? Sure, he has an incentive for the company to be successful, but it’s a remarkable jump between a passive desire for your company to succeed and the willingness to take someone’s life.”
“So who do you think could have killed Thomas?” Sean asked, centering his attention on Riley.
Riley paused, “I’m uncertain. I want to get a better sense of who would directly profit from a spike in the value of the company, the kind of spike that the company is currently experiencing as a result of those recent announcements of support for breakthrough features in their products, which as it happens are based off of the stolen IP.”
Sean nodded and began to speak before being interrupted by the ringing of both his and Riley’s phones. Riley hurriedly opened his, while Sean followed suit.
“Damn,” Riley stated, after having spent a moment scrolling through the list of shareholders sent in an email from Rankell Robotics.
“Someone catch your eye?” Sean asked.
Riley nodded slowly, staring blankly at an empty corner in the room. Moments later he put his half-full coffee mug on the counter. “I think I know who we need to bring in,” he stated, “We just need to double check something with the pharmacy. If I’m right, I think we’ve closed this thing.”
Riley entered the interrogation room, as an officer stepped into the room and held the door for him. As before, the room was occupied with a single table, and two chairs on either side. This time however, Robert Schneider occupied the seat across the table.
Riley sat in the chair opposite Robert, devoid of his notebook and pen.
“Riley?” Robert asked, “is there something more I can do to help the investigation? I’m afraid, as I said at the office, there’s little I can tell you,” he added with a shrug, “I only interacted with Thomas that one night when he asked for access to the hidden repository.”
Riley took a deep breath. “Allow me to communicate our understanding of the situation, Robert,” he said, “Thomas wasn’t the only one who found out that certain employees at Rankell had conspired to steal, hide, and use stolen IP from one of your competitors. That night, you found out as well. You started to take a deeper look at what was going on, and you became aware of the scheme.”
Robert sat perturbed and motionless, continuing to stare at Riley.
“We also know,” Riley continued, “that unlike Gordon, you hold a sizable quantity of stock at Rankell, because you were there from the beginning.”
Robert’s attention had now diverted towards the center of the table between him and Riley.
“You were one of the few software engineers who were with the company when it began,” Riley stated, “You played a critical role in building the product from the ground up, despite the fact that they had their reservations about hiring you in the first place; the ageism that is prevalent in this industry is no secret,” Riley added, diverting his attention to the table, “You didn’t have the political capital to prevent the inevitable turnover which occurred once the product became established and they were able to attract the talent that they wanted in the first place. You were replaced, and given a role in Internal Systems.”
Robert removed his glasses, and began rubbing his eyes.
“A couple of years past,” Riley continued, “you were unable to achieve any real career development within the company due to the aforementioned reasons. Then you learned the purpose of a hidden repository which was being maintained within the software department: the creation of features using stolen IP from a prominent competitor, brought to the company by a former employee of that competitor, Kurt Friedman.”
Robert had shifted in his seat during Riley’s explanation, and began to rest his head on his palm with his forearm pressed against the table, staring vacantly at the empty tabletop, holding his glasses in his other hand.
“You realized that as a result of the activities, you’d likely receive a significant portion of the profits acquired during the highly probable sale of the company,” Riley stated, “The only caveat was Thomas. He knew, and he likely wasn’t going to keep the whole scheme quiet, and even if he didn’t, he’d probably want a portion of the profits; either compromising your earnings or lessening them. Furthermore, if he had ultimately decided to take the information to the authorities, you would need to look for a new job, and as we’ve already established, the market would be difficult for someone in your position.”
Robert gently shook his head.
“You decided it wasn’t worth the risk to permit Thomas’ involvement, in any case,” Riley continued, “You stole Gordon’s antidepressants earlier in the week, and replaced the contents of the bottle with your own antidepressants, which, according to the pharmacy, are significantly stronger than Thomas’ dosage, and you re-sealed the bottle. The day Thomas died you replaced the antidepressants in his bag with the bottle that you tampered with. Furthermore, you swapped the replacement bottle which Gordon obtained with the bottle you stole from Thomas.”
Gordon started slouching in his chair, with his hands in his lap, beginning to fidget with his glasses.
“Of course,” Riley added, “all of this business would have undoubtedly placed a great deal of stress on you, especially for someone with such a strong prescription, effectively ensuring a premature retrieval of your missing pills under the guise of some excuse, and indeed, the pharmacy confirmed that shortly after Thomas’ death, you requested a premature refill of your prescription.”
The room fell silent for what felt like an eternity to Riley.
“The evidence speaks for itself, Robert,” Riley stated, “You are of course, free to do what you will, but I would strongly advise you to cooperate at this point; any hesitance of admission on your behalf would be most unwise.”
Riley arose and began to approach the door.
“I had no choice,” Robert stated, still staring into his hands, “I have nowhere to go. No family to turn to. If I lost this job, I’d have ended up on the street.” He shook his head, “I can’t stand by what I did, but…”
Riley stopped in front of the door, listening to Robert without turning around.
The room fell silent again, before Riley finally opened the door and exited the room.
“How’s the paperwork?” Jennifer asked, approaching Riley’s desk, the wooden surface of which was hardly visible amidst a flurry of documents.
Riley glanced up from a document he was filling in, “Godawful,” he stated wryly.
Jennifer laughed, looking from side to side around the workspace of the police station as her smile faded, “Are you going to be ok? It’s not the easiest thing in the world, to send someone away.”
Riley leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at his desk before issuing a nod, “I’ll be ok. A job is a job, I’m trying to not let it get to me.”
Jennifer nodded, “That’s about all you can do, in truth.” She abruptly tapped the top of his desk with her knuckles, “You coming out for bowling tonight?”
Riley smiled, “I have to. There is no justice in this world as long as you retain that winning streak of yours.”
Jennifer grinned mischievously as she turned to walk away, “Challenge accepted, see you there.”
Riley smiled at his desktop for a moment. As his smile faded he set his pen down on top of the document which had consumed his attention, and turned towards his desktop computer. Maximizing his minimized browser, which illustrated the profile of one of Robert’s family members, he stared at the screen. Resting his elbows on his desk, he rubbed his palms together, before clasping and leaning on them with his chin, glancing between the phone on his desk and the phone number in the profile on the screen.
This story is part of the Murder Room project on Chalkboard.
