Brandon Prince
The San Francisco's office is always busy. But after watching interns bustling around, my boss screaming into the phone, and my coworkers writing emails and reports at the speed of light, I realize this is the first time I've seen anything like this. I sneak into Gabi's office.
Absentmindedly tugging on her charcoal ponytail, Gabi nods at me and then goes straight back to her computer. Like everyone else, she is on her computer. She explains, "Chicago's office called. A man—haven't gotten his name yet—is missing. He set up an appointment, but never showed up. He's been missing for forty-seven hours. Why are you late?"
"My cat had an emergency. I already called Meyer"—he is a balding man who happens to be our boss—"ahead of time." I rub my eyes and yawn. I can already see it. It is going to be a long, long day ahead of me. Whatever this case is—it is big enough to put the entire office into panic.
"You better check in with Meyer." Her fingers consistently type. Occasionally, she pauses to read something. Her teeth plays with her bottom lip as she concentrates.
I move away from her door, slightly envious of her office. Gabi is an Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge (SAC) who has been working at the FBI for the last eleven years. She moved from the Baltimore office to here for a higher pay job and good health benefits. She is directly under Meyer and will succeed him if he ever decides to step down for an early retirement.
Walking briskly, I make my way into Meyer's office. He is still on the phone line; his face is glowing red from either a lack of caffeine or annoyance. He takes one thorough look at me and holds out a dark blue folder. I accept it and quickly skim through the words, absorbing what I can.
Only three days ago, Manuel Vargas tipped off Chicago's office. He came forward, claiming he had found a white-collar crime committed someone he knows. A meeting was set up, but he never showed up. His wife reported him missing after he missed his flight back to San Francisco. All calls to his cell phone remains unanswered. His last known location was at his own hotel. From the security footage, he never came out. His room is completely clean, as if he was never there.
"This is bad," I mutter. I drop the folder on his desk.
Meyer orders, "Get everyone in Conference Room 5b. Everyone needs to be briefed."
I nod. I immediately start gather everyone up. Those who are given already given assignments by Meyer stay behind at their desk. Those who are clueless and haven't been made aware of the situation are holding up in the large conference room. I sit near the head of the table, waiting for Meyer to end his call and brief us all.
We chatter lightly among each other.
I try not to fall asleep.
"Alright, this is a busy day. I don't have much time to deal with this," Meyer says, strolling in from the doorway. He clicks the projector on; someone turns off the lights.
A Hispanic man smiles on the white screen. His dark hair barely covers his bright eyes. His teeth glimmers brightly.
"This is Manuel Vargas," briefs Meyer, opening a folder and reading off of it. "He emigrated from Mexico thirty-six years ago, naturalized sixteen years after his arrival, and went to community college for his degree in enology. That is, a wine expert. A vintner. He was in Chicago when he contacted the FBI office there. They set up a meeting, but he never arrived. His wife reported him missing when he failed to arrive at SFO six hours ago. From what Chicago can see, he was missing about two days ago. Hotel's security footage doesn't see a thing."
"But why is—"
Meyer interrupts the agent standing in the back. "It gets even more complicated. Two hours ago, California Highway Patrol found a heavily burned body on Freeway 5. A John Doe. Possibly tortured. We are still getting more information, but my gut says it is him. Right now, we need to find all of the suspects in his possible murder. We need to create a timeline. We need someone to look through Vargas' finance history, investment portfolio—I don't care what. Don't let a single detail be missed over."
He takes a long pause. "I have a feeling that this case is big. We're not screwing this up."
***
It is confirmed. Dentals from John Doe matches Manuel Vargas. An autopsy will be fully done on the body for any possible evidence towards his killer.
A team is already searching through Vargas' finances. They seem to be a standard American family. Middle class, two children in public school, two pets, and a five bedrooms and three bathrooms house in Sonoma. There is nothing standing out on their tax returns of the previous five years.
Special Agent Tami Young, a twenty-six year old black woman, slinks up to my side. She drops a pile of printouts on the desk. She sighs and lets herself fall in the plastic chair next to me. "Brandon, how is your cat?"
"She is being supervised in the vet hospital," I answer, wincing. "Bells' legs suddenly became paralyzed last night. It was bad."
"How is Bells now?"
"They'll give me a call if anything..." I try again. "They'll give me a call if anything bad happens to her."
"I'll keep her in my prayers."
She stands up and adjusts her gray pencil skirt. "I can't find anything strange in the finances. What about"—she sits back down—"you? Anything weird?"
"As far as I can see," I say, "they are a happy family. But someone killed Manuel. But for what?"
"Brigham is looking through the employer. Vargas worked directly under a woman called Kalypso Queen, who is the Vice President of Capello Wine Company. Capello Wine Company is the subsidiary of—"
"Capello International," I finish. "It is a big corporation whose headquarters is located in New York City, right?"
"Yep," she confirms. "What do you think?"
I shrug. "I can already see many suspects, but until there is strong evidence, I better not say anything. How is your daughter?"
"She's at daycare. I think she has a crush on one of her playmates."
"Young love," I joke.
Tami snorts. "I'll lock her in her room for twenty-eight years if that happens."
"What is this?" Meyer says, not bothering to look up as he walks in the small conference room I claimed as my own. "I don't think this is gossiping hours, ladies."
"We're catching up on the case," I explain.
"I don't care. If neither of you have nothing better to do, then go look to the Vargas' home and see if you can find anything suspicious."
"Without a warrant, sir?" Tami bites her lips.
Meyer informs, "Manuel's wife agrees to let you have full access. You don't need a warrant for that if she allows you to search."
***
Wearing blue-colored gloves, we search through Manuel's private office in his home. It is on the second floor. A window provides a lovely view of the pool below and nearby neighbors' backyards. Tami is on the computer, looking through his files. I'm manually opening books and seeing if he has anything hidden between its pages. But there is nothing.
Everything is clean.
"We'll take the computer," says Tami, shutting it off and unplugging its output. "Maybe Brigham might be able to find something on it that I have missed."
Brigham is the resident geek at the office. An avid gamer and absolute know-it-all, he is the one everyone goes to whenever they have a computer emergency. He is young—only twenty-four years old. Brigham never likes going outdoors and prefers to hole up in his own office.
With the computer in tow, Tami walks off to the black SUV parked on the driveway. I watch her go, and then turn to one of Manuel's kids. He plays chess with himself, the board on the table. He dashes back and forth from each side, challenging himself.
"Hey," I say. "Chess, wow. Who is wining?"
"Me," he answers, his lack of front teeth displayed proudly. This one must be the older child, who is seven years old and in elementary school. His name is Isaac.
"And who is losing?"
"Me."
I chuckle. "I think you'll make a brilliant chessmaster. What do you think about your dad? What does he do?"
"He's a vintner," correctly answers Isaac. "Who are you?"
"I'm Brandon." I smile. "Can you tell me about your dad?"
He blinks, as if the answer eludes him. Then he shakes his head. "I don't know. Dad is never around. He never plays with me like Mom does."
"Does your dad have any friends?"
"Kalypso," he says immediately, a grin returning to his face. "She's Dad's boss. She sometimes yells at Dad, but she always gives me candy from her bag."
I blink, absorbing this information. Kalypso Queen, the employer, was here. She might had gotten in an argument with Manuel, which puts her on the suspect list.
I ask, "What can you tell me about Kalypso?"
"She plays chess with me," he eagerly informs. "She always lets me win and goes too easy on me. She always has my favorite chocolate bar with her and she lets me play with her phone. She is so nice. I wish I have her as my mom." Then he pales. "Hi, Mom."
I turn around. Manuel's wife, Valentina, frowns with great displeasure. Her baggy t-shirt is frayed around the edges, and she looks tired.
"Isaac." She adds, much more softly. "Go to your room."
Isaac quickly runs upstairs.
"Hi, Ms. Vargas. I'm Brandon from—"
"I know who you are." She sighs. Her accent is strong, and I nearly have to decipher her words. "Are you sure that he is...?"
"Dental records say he is."
Her eyes are red, but she doesn't shed a single tear. She accepts it, as if knowing it all along. In a low, unsteady voice, she inquires, "What do you want me to do?"
"His body is undergoing an autopsy." I stare right into her eyes, noting every behavior and movement. "Right now, you are going to let everyone know that he is missing. Don't tell anyone that he is dead. Just missing. His body is currently labeled as a John Doe, but I assure you that we will find his murderer."
She slowly breathes out.
"Ms. Vargas," I whisper. "I need to know if there is anyone who wishes to hurt your husband. Does he have any enemies? Anyone who hates him?"
"I don't know," she cries, no tears fleeing from her eyes. "Lo siento. I don't know. He isn't around. He travels a lot for his work. When he is home, he is always so tired."
"What can you tell me about Kalypso Queen?"
"He hates her. A lot," she answers in a heartbeat. "They always argue with each other. Waking up the children at night! Horrible, horrible." Then she adds, very resentfully, "But Isaac loves her very much and Martina talks about her all the time. Kalypso this, Kalypso that."
"Thank you," I say.
I walk to the SUV.
Tami is in the driver's seat, and she tilts her head. "What is with the long face?"
"No long face." I close the passenger door. "Kalypso Queen. I talked with the wife. She said that Kalypso Queen and Manuel Vargas had arguments so loud that they woke up the children. She might be worth looking into."
"You think?" Tami starts the car.