Orientation to Murder: Kat Voyzey Mysteries, #2

Orientation to Murder

A Kat Voyzey Mystery, Book 2

Cheri Baker

Published by Adventurous Ink, Seattle

Find all of Cheri’s books, her mailing list, and more at cheribaker.com.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First edition. July 15, 2016.

978-0-9910811-3-4

Copyright © 2016 Cheri Baker

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Adventurous Ink. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

Book design by Patrick Baker

Cover art by The Book Brander

For my parents.

Chapter One

MY KNEES HURT WHERE THEY pressed into the concrete. Resisting the urge to wipe grit off my palms, I inched ahead on all fours, feeling my way in the darkness. One hand forward. The other hand forward. My right knee dipped into something cold and wet and I flinched.

The door in front of me was cracked open almost a centimeter and this was enough to provide a thin sliver of light and a view of the hallway outside. I moved up as far as I could without nudging the door open and revealing my hiding spot. The combined smells of bleach and garbage were making my stomach turn, but there was a heavenly current of clean air if only I could get my nostrils close enough to the opening. And even though I knew better, even though I’d gotten myself into this situation of my own accord, a single thought kept rising in my mind.

This isn’t in my job description.

Why couldn’t the hospital install a few surveillance cameras? After all, last October an employee had been murdered in the medical records department in this very building. Would a few cameras be too much to ask?

Apparently, yes. According to my boss, Angela, the queen of mean, the cameras were cheap, but the personnel to install and run them were far too expensive. It was more economical for me to be creative and she was confident that if I applied myself I could find a solution to our little problem. She’d said that, then she’d given me one of those glares that burned through me like a laser. And as usual, I didn’t argue because she’s my superior and I have the spine of a jellyfish.

Thinking about Angela made me roll my eyes. An HR director should never roll her eyes at the boss, of course; that would be highly inappropriate. But for the moment, in the dark of the janitor’s closet, no one could see me. I wondered if I could reserve the closet like a conference room. It could become my fortress of solitude, a place where I could tape annoying people’s photos to a punching bag and let loose, blasting Eye of the Tiger on my phone and letting the F-bombs fly. Fuckity fuck fuck. I mouthed the words but didn’t say them out loud.

Inappropriate, Kat. You’re being inappropriate.

My pocket vibrated. I scooted back from the door and pulled out my cell phone. The small screen provided just enough illumination to reveal a bucket of dirty mop water to my left. Gross.

R U WATCHING?

My fingers tapped out a quick reply. Yes, I was watching.

TARGET IS MOVING

I smiled and tucked the phone away. According to Donny G’s Guide to Private Investigating, one of the most important aspect of a stakeout is relaxed alertness. That, and remembering to pee ahead of time to avoid missing the moment you’ve been waiting for because you need to empty your bladder. He’d even suggested bringing an empty bottle, so you can relieve yourself without leaving your blind. That’s PI talk for a hiding spot. The stinking mop closet was my blind. And I’d peed forty minutes prior before getting inside. I was nothing if not prepared and I wasn’t about to whiz into a half-empty Windex bottle no matter how desperate I got. I have standards.

Joe, our lead custodian, was taking this sting operation very seriously. Not that I blamed him. The bathroom bandit had been wreaking havoc in one of our unisex bathrooms for well over a month, and our janitorial staff had taken the brunt of his or her wrath. That’s right, his or her. As a fair-minded human resources professional, I believe that men and women can be equally disgusting.

The floor felt sticky and gross. But I wasn’t going to let this chance pass us by. Be creative, Angela had said. I’d show her creativity! Even if I was ruining my knees in the process.

Today, if we were lucky, we’d finally catch the Bathroom Bandit in the act. Assuming I didn’t pass out from the fumes first. I learned forward again, placed my palms on what I hoped was a clean patch of floor, and repositioned my left eye at the crack in the doorway.

Denim clad legs strolled past. Designer jeans hung crisply above a pair of bright red Converse sneakers. Our suspect entered the room opposite my blind, and closed the deadbolt with a loud click.

I rose to my feet carefully and went out into the hallway, shutting the closet door behind me as quietly as possible. After an hour in the dark, the overhead lights made my eyes sting, but I saw Joe step around the corner to my left, about ten feet away. I followed his gaze down to my knees where my panty hose were stained with gray blotches. I walked over so we wouldn’t be heard talking.

Sorry, Kat. I should have cleaned the floor in there. Joe tugged on the straps of his dark blue coveralls.

Don’t worry about it. It’ll wash out. It probably wouldn’t, but I didn’t want him to feel bad.

Did you see him go in? Joe asked quietly.

Yes. I mimicked his low tones, not wanting to spook our prey. Let’s get in position.

We walked back toward the bathroom door. Joe stopped before we reached it, and I stationed myself at the midpoint between the bathroom and the entrance to the billing office on the other side. The Bathroom Bandit was bracketed. Of course, it might not be them, but Joe had plotted the incidents on a calendar, breaking the code, establishing probabilities. He was smart that way.

We waited. Joe reached up to scratch his chin beneath his graying beard and smiled in what looked like self-satisfaction. Come to think of it, he did remind me a bit of my cat, Milo. Gray fur. Likes chin scratches. Complicated relationship with the vacuum cleaner. I didn’t bring it up.

It took a full ten minutes for Terry to come out of the bathroom. He opened the door slowly, a serene smile playing across his lips. He froze when he saw us, unconcealed panic in his eyes. After a moment, he shut the bathroom door, nodded with forced casualness, and then walked back toward the billing department, his head down.

We had him.

BACK IN MY OFFICE, TERRY’S manager was begging me to do her job for her. Can’t you fire him for me? Pretty please? Tell me your price. Chocolate? Mochas? Cold hard cash?

Pam knew my weaknesses, but I couldn’t let her off the hook entirely. Terry was her employee, and she was the one who had to fire him. I wasn’t entirely heartless, however. Besides, I kind of wanted to hear the guy’s explanation. Over the last few months, The Bathroom Bandit had captured my imagination. I’d spent hours online, trying to determine what would drive a person to such acts.

We’ll do it together, I offered. Bring him here to my office and I’ll do most of the talking.

Thank you she said, leaning back in my guest chair. I handed her a copy of the termination letter to sign and I went out into the lobby to find Jocelyn. She was sitting at the front desk preparing employee files for our latest batch of new hires. The waiting area was empty, but I could hear muffled voices coming through the conference room door where new employee orientation was taking place. Erin, our trainer, liked to call it NEO. Like the guy from the movie The Matrix.

We’re doing a term in about ten minutes, I said in a low voice. Can you walk Terry McDonnell through his packet when we’re done?

Sure, I’ll run a copy of his file. Janet stood up to leave and then hesitated before stepping closer to whisper in my ear. Your panty hose are messed up.

Right. Pam went to get Terry, and I darted behind my desk to shimmy my dirty hosiery down my legs. I swept my hands over my shins, hoping that my leg hair wasn’t too bushy.

It was bushy.

I cursed silently and ransacked my desk drawer for a wet-nap to wipe off my dirty knees. This was my ex’s fault, because if he hadn’t dumped me I’d still be shaving my legs on the regular. Who cared if I shaved my legs now? No one, that’s who. Unless you counted Terry, who might take umbrage to being fired by a woolly mammoth.

What was I forgetting?

On top of my bookcase there was a box of Kleenex next to my red plush Catbert. I pulled the tissues down and placed them on the corner of my desk. Crying was an occupational hazard in my line of work, and I liked to be prepared. Would The Bathroom Bandit cry? Deflect? Whip it out and make a mess on my desk? I wondered if I should have had one of our security guys come hang out. Nah. It was going to be fine.

There was a soft knock a few minutes later.

Come in, I said.

Pam held the door open for Terry, so he could precede her. She gestured toward one of my guest chairs and waited for him to sit before closing the door and taking the seat next to his. Terry’s bright blue ball cap was pulled down low, covering his eyes and making it impossible to make eye contact. He was a young guy. Sporty looking. Cute, if you didn’t know what he did for fun. For a few moments we avoided looking at one another, creating a triangle of awkwardness.

Pam looked at me and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Thanks for coming in, Terry, I said, plowing forward. Sometimes the only way out was through, and this was one of those times. Do you know why we asked you here?

He shook his head in the negative.

The silence stretched out too long. I caught Pam’s eye and she winked at me. Above her solemn expression her eyes were full of mirth.

Damn it, Pam!

Keep it professional, I reminded myself. Just the facts.

Six weeks ago, the custodial staff reported that someone had been smearing fecal matter and urine on the walls of the second floor restroom, near the billing department. When the problem continued, they began watching the area to see if they could figure out who was causing these… extraordinary messes.

Extraordinary messes. I was proud of that phrase. I’d worked real hard on it. It sounded so much more elegant than demanding why he’d drawn smiley faces in his own excrement. Joe had said they looked very cheery. Other than the smell. Hadn’t the guy ever heard of Sharpies? If you’re gonna vandalize something, do it properly.

I paused and gave Terry a chance to weigh in, but he didn’t budge. All I could see was the tilted-down brim of his cap and his neatly manicured hands resting in his lap.

The lead custodian believed he knew who was responsible, and I agreed to spend time with him watching the restroom. At nine a.m. this morning he and I met to verify that the bathroom was clean. At 9:43 you entered the restroom, and when you left, well, we found the mess you left behind. No one else had entered that room.

Terry, is there anything you want to say? Pam asked, her voice gentle.

He made a tiny negating motion.

Very well. Today will be your last day at Holy Heart Medical Center, I said. Your benefits will remain effective through the end of the month. Our HR assistant, Jocelyn, has a packet of information for you to review, including instructions on how to access your retirement accounts, and how you can extend your health benefits after your paid benefits expire. Please give Jocelyn your name badge on the way out, and call me later today or tomorrow if you have any questions.

I walked Terry out to the front desk, and introduced him to Jocelyn. She offered him a genuine smile, and shook his hand before sitting him down to walk him through his termination packet.

Back inside my office Pam was