Chapter Thirteen
Caitlin spied her first robin, crazy perhaps and confused, but a definite harbinger of spring. That was the highpoint of the day.
She had endured two long meetings, held in the conference room since her office was getting a new door, lighting, and wall coverings. With the office turmoil, Rachel cautiously suggested Caitlin work at home for the next few days. A withering look answered that suggestion. Yesterday, she and Mike had fought about her coming into work at all for the next few days. Instead of compromising, she should have listened to him. Now she paid. Today had been pure hell.
During lunch, Caitlin observed the new closed building policy in action. Most workers accepted the temporary cafeteria addition and the catered deli food. They joked about tight-wad management springing for lunch.
“One bridge crossed with some success and not too much grumbling,” Caitlin mentioned to Tom Jaspers, the union rep, that afternoon when they met to discuss further methods of maintaining worker productivity while not allowing them to leave the building during a shift.
“Some of the guys are talking, Caitlin, about maybe cutting the lunch break to twenty minutes. The shift could end earlier then.”
“Could be a legal issue. Especially if you can’t get one hundred percent agreement from your membership. Fortunately, this state has no specific mandates. Another idea for using break time would be if the company were to put in gym equipment and get a fitness program in place? Would your people like that instead? That might even help our insurance costs.”
“But that’ll take time. Why couldn’t both be done? The idea’s great. You really think you can get Jantzen to spring for gym stuff and a fitness program?”
“Keeping a healthy and productive work force isn’t foolish and I’m sure he’d recognize the savings. Especially with a functioning in-house substance abuse support group up and running. We have options, Tom, but we must be creative in requesting them as well as insistent in getting the people who need the services to use them.” While she spoke, Caitlin jotted down reminders in her PDA.
“Most of the union’s behind you on this, Caitlin.” Tom grinned at her.
She chuckled at Tom’s comment. Usually she had to cajole the union membership, if not outright mentally bludgeon them, when she needed or wanted something.
“Quit laughin’ and be happy. That makes your job and my re-election a damn sight easier.”
“Thank goodness for the latter, Tom. You’re a farsighted and caring union rep.”
“Don’t let my membership hear you say that. They’ll kick my ass out for sure.” Tom held up big callused worker’s hands in mock terror.
“Can’t let that happen. Actually, I’ll let on I think you’re a real SOB.”
“Much better. Thanks.” He grinned his appreciation and leaned back into his chair.
“In my spare minutes this weekend—” She scanned a sheaf of papers placed before her, looking for the information she wished to discuss next.
Tom took the moment to interrupt. “Rachel told me you had an accident and not to be surprised if you looked a little…uhmmm…different.” Tom scrutinized her like he might inspect a balky machine.
She squirmed under his inspection. A paisley scarf skillfully draped around her neck hid her bandage and bruises. Unusually heavy makeup diminished the vibrant colors on her face, and tinted, oversized fashion eyeglasses completed her attempts at disguise but she knew she wasn’t fooling him.
“I assumed you had a car accident. Lookin’ at you, I’m not so sure.”
“Then don’t look too closely, Tom.” Her clipped tones left him no response, so he shrugged his shoulders and remained silent. “Now,” she began and tapped her nails against her yellow legal pad, “I’ve noticed some strange things happening in shipping and receiving.”
Tom leaned eagerly forward. “That’s what I wanted to hash out with you. Those guys down there are really pissed with their foreman, Pete Maze. In talking with them,” he wove his fingers through his military-cut hair, “hell, they got so many gripes and potential grievances, the only pattern I could find was discontent. They’re the only group seriously bitchin’ about a closed building during lunch. Said they need to get away.”
“Away from what?” Caitlin asked, while jotting down some of Tom’s comments.
“Got me. Everything’s crappy, according to them.”
“What’s intriguing, Tom, is this fact. In reviewing the past six months’ grievances, most come from that department. Amazing, how we never see the pattern until we have cause to look.”
“Well, that crew’s hell-bent on keeping the building open. Plus several other things. I think they’ll walk if you don’t keep them satisfied.”
Caitlin frowned at that comment. Wildcat strikes, unauthorized walkouts, and work stoppages helped no one solve problems. “Threats don’t make regulations. What do they want done? Have any idea?”
“I got the feeling they don’t know. Hell, sometimes I think the only requirement needed to be hired in that department is a strong back. Brains, not necessary, so don’t apply.”
Caitlin sat forward. Steepled her fingers under her chin. “Muscles, and not much brain power?”
“Yeah, you seen those guys?”
Caitlin shook her head. “No. I haven’t had reason to.”
“Good, stay away from them. At least on their territory. Bunch of bulked-up brutes. There are a couple guys down there who got the women in the shop jumping out of their skins. Only reason they won’t write-up a report is because they’re scared shitless.” Tom again looked at the scarf around Caitlin’s neck.
She averted her eyes at his gaze. Her mind digested this information. She’d definitely check it out. “By law, the company must maintain a safe environment for its employees, Tom.”
“I know that, but seems to me, you’re off the hook if the employees can’t or won’t bring their problems to you.”
Another can of worms. Oh for those glorious days when safety shoes and insurance were the hot issues of contention. “Only partially true, Tom. Any of these guys on your negotiating committee?”
“None. And neither of us would want them. They’re muscle heads.”
“Then why do we keep them on payroll?” Flabbergasted over learning something new, Caitlin sat in her quiet conference room, not far removed from the factory department under discussion. “In fact, who hired them, and when?” Damn it, could Kirby have caused this fiasco, too?
“Don’t know, but they’ve been here less than a year. An’ you’ve had lots of other issues to deal with. Situation’s really heated up in the past few months. Part of that time you were gone.”
Caitlin groaned. She should never have taken that trip—to unwind and relax the doctor had said. Only now she had more problems facing her. In what stratosphere was her blood pressure now? Her throbbing head prompted a thought. When did she take her last blood pressure pills? Damn, too much was happening and she was losing control. Debbie would skin her alive when she went in for a BP check.
“I’ll check this out, Tom. Thanks for the heads up. Anything else we need to go over before meeting Wednesday?”
He shook his head. “I think you’ve got enough shit to handle for now.”
“Well, I appreciate your support.” When she stood, dizziness washed through her. She wobbled and grabbed the edge of her transplanted desk for support.
“You all right?”
She nodded. “I must be hungry. Could you give Rachel the list of your negotiating team members and she’ll have ours by tomorrow morning. We meet again, nine o’clock Wednesday at the Prairie View Inn, second floor conference room. That’s still agreeable?”
“Yep.”
Caitlin extended her hand to Tom. In unison, “See you Wednesday,” and he left the disordered conference room, stuffed with furniture from her office. She buzzed Debbie and cautioned herself not to be sick on the conference room table.
When she sat down, another wave of dizziness and nausea assaulted her, taunted her weakness. It coincided with her first harassing call of the day. She noted the time and switched her calls to the operator.
Twenty minutes later, Debbie had scolded and finger-waggled her, Rachel clucked over her lack of self-monitoring, and Mike scowled at her when he burst into her office as Debbie finished checking Caitlin’s blood pressure. At 170 over 100, it added to her headache, dizziness and nausea from her concussion. It made her a perfect candidate for stroke. She’d forgotten to take her blood pressure medication in the last few days, a fact Debbie immediately reported to Caitlin’s doctor.
Refusing to wait for the doctor’s orders or condemnation, Caitlin set Rachel to work gathering and checking files on the shipping department and its personnel.
Mike’s ears perked at that order. “What about the shipping department?” Since Debbie remained in the room, Caitlin filled him in, leaving out much detail.
“Strange coincidence, Cait. I’ve had several run-ins with that department’s foreman since I’ve been here. The set-up down there’s outdated, though we have computers used for inventory. Considering how modern everything else is in this plant, I’m surprised more hasn’t been done in that department. Even the workers seem like throwbacks.”
Debbie cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Caitlin, but I’ve also pulled together some interesting data concerning the shipping department. Not so much about what’s happened to them but what they’ve caused to happen to others.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Caitlin pushed down another wave of nausea.
“At first I didn’t see any clear pattern. Then when I started to do monthly compiling and listened to some of the women from the shop, who begged me not to document what they reported, well...” Debbie shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t breach privacy issues without permission.”
“Well, you didn’t report it, but you did document it.” Caitlin marveled at the woman’s ethics.
“Yes, and since you brought up the topic, I didn’t breach any confidences.”
“And we’ll try to keep it that way, Debbie,” Mike interjected. “Let’s carry on with what we know right now, and not ask to see documentation unless absolutely necessary. How about filling us in, in a general way, without giving names. Then maybe I can figure out the problem with Pete Maze and his Neanderthal group.”
Debbie told them of minor injuries sustained under questionable circumstances. She spoke of several fight-related traumas and a higher incidence of drug problems among that group. She concluded with several harassing incidents to female factory workers, a couple sexual assaults, and some violence which the women labeled domestic, but Debbie had her radar up on those.
No one would press charges or say who caused these situations. As the nurse finished relating her story, Caitlin thought she heard footsteps outside in the hall. She motioned to Mike to check. He saw no one out of place, just Kirby Metz coming from the direction of the infirmary.
“Where’s Debbie?” Kirby asked from the doorway. “I have a vile headache. Probably from remaining in this environment all day.” He peeked inside. “Oh, there you are.” Uninvited, he walked into the conference room. “The infirmary has no staff. How many times have I reiterated to you that qualified personnel must be there to tend to workers’ needs?” He lashed into Debbie once he breached the doorway.
Mike’s face turned splotchy at the man’s arrogance. He remained silent. She gave him points for that, as Kirby’s boss, Caitlin fought her volcanic reaction to his manner and tone, but it was difficult. “I called Debbie here. She did not abandon her post. You knew where to find her since you arrived here. However, a more relevant question is why aren’t you at the Coop-Plus meeting I told you to attend? That began fifteen minutes ago.”
Kirby harrumphed, shot daggers at Debbie, and grumbled about his headache. Caitlin reached into her purse and threw him a sample packet of aspirin. “Take two—with water—and get to that meeting. Double time it. I’ll be checking.”
“I guess none of you are best buddies, right?” Mike observed as Kirby left. Their erupting laughing broke the tension. A few moments later, Debbie left with Mike, who was headed for the shipping room—again.
Caitlin attacked contract preparation the rest of the afternoon. When Vince Bertoli arrived, she mentioned getting another harassing call. “I’ve routed all my calls through the switchboard now.”
“It doesn’t solve the problem, though.”
“No, but at least he’ll quit for the day if he can’t get through.” Before he took off for the infirmary to see Debbie, Caitlin told him about Tom Jaspers’ concerns, along with Mike and Debbie’s. His eyes narrowed, becoming black as onyx as he jotted things into his notebook.
“Is that notebook just for effect, or do you really review it?”
“I review it sometimes and rely on it always.”
“By the way, have your evidence guys released my car yet?”
“Not yet, Caitlin, probably tomorrow. Contact a tow truck to take it where you want it serviced. The car can’t be driven, so you’ll need to have them send a flat bed. All the tires were slashed so you’ll need a new set.”
“Darn, they were brand new.”
“Tires can be replaced. You can’t.” Vince slapped shut his notebook. “You’re lucky.”
“If you can’t find Horace, have Rachel page him for you.” After returning Vince’s wave, she sat further back in her chair, leaned her head against the high back, and shut her eyes. Exhaustion ripped through her.
Rachel wasn’t staying with her tonight. The way she felt right now, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Forgetting her medications played havoc with her carefully controlled blood pressure. “Of course, you ninny, nothing else happening around you could affect the dumb thing,” she snapped at herself as the phone rang. She punched the button, wishing her body would not let her down as it seemed to be doing.
The first call contained no words, just heavy breathing and a loud, somewhat familiar, noise in the background. She hung up immediately and looked at her watch—three o’clock. Why hadn’t that call been routed to the switchboard? A quick call to the switchboard told her some internal lines did not switch over to them.
Fifteen minutes later, Rachel was filling Caitlin in on her schedule for the next morning when the phone rang again. On autopilot, she depressed the speaker phone option. Different sounds, heavy breathing.
Then a raspy, guttural voice threatened, “Saturday night...you was lucky, bitch. Next time...” Cutting him off, Caitlin hit the disconnect button, goose bumps rising on goose bumps. Sweat trickled down her spine when inside her the ice could halt global warming. Rachel rushed to her.
“That was...the man.” Her color drained away beneath her heavy makeup. “Those calls are coming from an internal line.”
“Oh, my God. I’m getting Vince…and Horace, right now.” Rachel flew from the room, leaving Caitlin alone—frightened and dazed. Outside the rising tempo of a shift changing and another beginning indicated a division in the work day—three sixteen in the afternoon.
Get control. He wasn’t in her office. Staring at nothing, Caitlin sat unmoving. Visions and memories of her attacker tumbled in and out of her mind. Every breath became a struggle for air.
Breathe deep—slowly. You’re safe. Exhale—slowly. He can’t touch you here.
The phone rang again. Slow down, girl, outsmart him.
She depressed the record button along with the speaker button. “Caitlin Donnelly.” Her muscles tensed. She leaned forward, fighting to control her voice, her breathing.
“You’re one cool bitch, ain’t cha?” the voice rasped.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as his filth spewed forth. She focused on the blinking record button. She couldn’t halt the tears and refused to stop the recording feature. After eons of degradation, where the maniac outlined various options he was considering for her fate, he hung up.
The dumb jerk never wondered why she didn’t hang up. Was this how she fought him?
Three-thirty in the afternoon. Was that all the time that had elapsed?
Moments later, Mike found her slumped over in her chair. Vince followed not far behind him. The guttural voice on the tape filled the room. Moving to her side, Mike pulled her into his arms. She didn’t object even if this was work.
“Caitlin, this is asking a lot, but would you replay the tape?” Vince looked pleased with the existence of the tape, his first real lead.
Mike’s arm remained draped over her shoulder. Feeling secure with that, she pushed the rewind button.
“Are you willing now to let us put a tracer on this line?” Vince asked, once the tape concluded.
She bristled faster than a porcupine sensing danger at his request. “My reasons for refusing last week are still the same. Even after what’s just happened.”
“But the situation’s escalated. We can set up a system that would eliminate tracing any business calls you might get.”
“I’ll think about it tonight and give you an answer in the morning. The calls seem to come in the late afternoon—during the shift change. From the different background noises, I think this last one was from outside. I just don’t know how it got through the switchboard. The others came from inside.”
“You’re probably right. Our analysis experts will likely confirm your suspicions. I’d like to replay it again.”
“Fine, but I’m not listening. I’ll head over to Rachel’s office while you’re doing your thing.”
****
“She’s exhausted and scared out of her wits.” Mike looked at the phone. Daring it to ring when he was here.
“Shows damned good sense on her part, Mike. This thing’s escalating. Smart thinking on her part, to record him.” Vince depressed the button and started the message.
With each word, Mike’s temper flared, his dismay and fury rose, then ebbed, and swelled back up in greater measure. He stood rigid toward the last, his hands balled into fists which he pounded, one into the other. The message clicked off. “Son-of-a bitching bastard.”
Vince removed the tape and put it into an evidence bag and inserted another blank tape in its place. “Not the worst I’ve ever heard, but close.”
“Damn it, Bertoli! How can you be so, so…”
“I’m not. But I can’t accomplish anything if I don’t keep a cool head. You should know that yourself, Rafferty.”
He jumped at Vince’s words. “What’re you implying?”
“Not a thing. Just seems logical that a man in your position can’t be losing his head over difficult situations. Caitlin isn’t. You shouldn’t be.”
“Dammit, it’s eating her alive.” Shoulders slumping, he cradled his forehead in his hands.
“And your going off half-cocked isn’t going to help her, more likely will only hurt her. And, your chances with her.”
“What does that mean?”
“Look, I know Caitlin and I’m beginning to understand you. She’ll never fall for anyone she can’t fully respect. You should know that, Mike. How you handle this could make or break you with her. And my take on that is…how the two of you end up is important to you.”
“What are you? A cop or a therapist?” Mike raised his head from his hands.
Vince almost smiled at the last comment. “Sometimes both. By the way, where were you when these calls came in?”
Fury smoldered in Mike’s eyes. “Are you accusing me of that filth?”
“No, eliminating you. Tell me where you were. I can verify it and rule you out. I know what happened in Georgia, Mike.”
His fight evaporated. He slumped his bulk further into the conference chair. “I went postal then. For the first and the last time. If you know about Georgia, you should know that.”
“I do, but someday you’ll have to tell Caitlin about it. That’s why I’m asking you where you were.”
“Okay, okay…” Mike laced his blunt fingers through his hair, a few strands falling onto his forehead. He sounded like a penitent child. That wouldn’t grease his way with Vince. “I was talking with Horace, the security guard, and Dan Hall, the night supervisor. They’ll vouch for me.” He glared at Vince, not so much angry at the detective, but at himself and his foolish mistake in Georgia. Would it never stop sneaking back on him?
“I will talk to them. You know I have to; can’t show favoritism.”
He nodded. “I never touched Anne, Vince. She just wanted things to look that way. She’s a vicious woman when she doesn’t get her way. She kept pushing until finally, I lost my temper. I yelled, but nothing more.”
“Don’t lose it this time or you may lose more than your temper.”
Mike thought of Beth and Brendan. That’s who he lost there. Here—well, he wouldn’t lose Caitlin. If he was lucky enough to get her.
Light footsteps outside the door caught their attention at the same time. They glanced up. Through the door window, they saw a very angry looking Kirby Metz, heading outside, judging by his direction. A moment later, Caitlin and Rachel returned. Caitlin had her arms filled with file folders while Rachel carried a computer printout.
“No rest for the wicked.” Caitlin stuffed the folders into her briefcase, tugging at locks to close the lid.
“Caitlin, Rachel, sit a minute. I need to talk to you.” At Vince’s request, the two women sat. Caitlin docile about the detective’s request, Rachel not.
Mike inched his chair closer to where Caitlin sat. What was the Bertoli up to now? Hadn’t Cait endured enough for one day?
“This tape reflects a sick mind. But you know that, don’t you, Caitlin?”
She nodded. “I realized that on Saturday night.”
“I’d like to propose that Rachel and Mike, if they’re willing, stay with you for the duration. As a precaution. If I was very concerned about your safety at home, I’d never let Rachel near your place, Caitlin. Or you either, for that matter. As for Mike, he can take care of himself. He offers further insurance in the house. In case anything should happen.” Vince held up his hand to ward off any questions. “I also don’t want you to be alone wherever you are here at work, or anywhere for that matter. Always make sure people are around you. Check out your environment.”
Caitlin sighed. “If they agree, and I wouldn’t blame either of them for refusing, then I’m fine with the plan. Work might be a bit more difficult, though.”
Mike’s jaw dropped, astounded at Caitlin’s reply. His quick glance at Rachel showed him she was flabbergasted, too. Last night, when he and Rachel had proposed a similar suggestion, Caitlin fought the plan with a thousand reasons.
“Good, Caitlin.” Vince patted her shoulder. “From the looks of those two, they can’t believe you’re showing such good sense.”
“They haven’t agreed to your plan though,” Caitlin hedged.
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Rachel chimed in, looking at Vince, then her boss.
“I’ll do whatever’s best for Caitlin.” Mike’s eyes never left Caitlin’s. A smile, something he had not seen on her face in the past few days lurked near the corners of her tempting mouth.
“Good, then I’d propose you both leave soon. Rachel, I’d like to talk with you. In private. Before you go.” Not waiting for Rachel to respond, Vince took her arm with an authoritative air and led her to the door. “I suggest you think of this arrangement as long-term, at least a week. I’m not expecting fast miracles here.” They left Caitlin and Mike, alone amidst a briefcase and computer printouts.
“You heard him, Cait. Let’s hang it up for the day. We can stop by my place so I can pick up some clothes. Maybe a bottle of good scotch. Rachel’s right. Your cupboards are really bare.”
“You complaining already?”
“Not a chance. No rescinding the invitation. I’m sticking to you like peanut butter on bread until this matter’s settled—no matter how empty your cupboards or liquor cabinet.” He helped Caitlin into her coat.
“Thanks, Mike. For the light touch.”
“Damn, I forgot to lock my office door. Seeing your bulging briefcase, I should get mine, too. Stay put, Cait. I’ll be right back.” He dashed out the door.
When Mike returned, out of breath, he found Horace talking with Caitlin. “Glad you’re here. Watch that side door tonight. The new system’s not fully up and working yet. I saw the damn thing unlatched and open just now.”
“Uhmmm.” Horace fingered his gray bearded chin. “Strange. I was there not ten minutes ago and locked it. I’ll check it right away.”
The guard made to leave when Caitlin interrupted him. “First see Detective Bertoli, Horace. The door can wait and Detective Bertoli will leave soon.”
“Right, well, g’night.” He saluted with a jaunty wave and headed down the corridor.
“Ready, Cait?” As an answer, she grabbed the computer printout and briefcase. Mike promptly lifted the bulky printout from her. “You get the doors.”
She laughed at his remark. “My chivalrous knight.”
Her chuckle delighted him like a mellow Beaujolais created pleasant laughter against his palate. All right, she was exhausted, but she could still manage some humor. What a lady.