Broken Build: Silicon Valley Romantic Suspense Page 3

  “No windows from the lab?”

  “Nope.”

  The detective fished cards from his pocket. “If you two remember anything, give me a call. Your name, miss?”

  “Jen Jones.” She took a card. “Do you know who died?”

  Detective Mathews glanced at the broken beer bottles strewn in the corner. “A young man. No ID. Muscular guy, it would have taken someone pretty large to overpower him.”

  Jen swallowed heavily and hoped the detective missed it. He leveled his eyes at Bruce.

  Bruce swept his palms up. “Like I said, I didn’t recognize him.”

  Mathews made a noncommittal hum.

  Rey hung around with muscle heads. What if he met up with them and things got ugly? Jen noticed the detective staring at her. She shrugged. “Sorry.”

  The detective snapped his notebook and scanned the other onlookers. “I’ll be in touch with your company to verify your statements. Thank you for your time.”

  He moved toward a knot of Asian women. They restrained a distraught one who cried, “Is it my brother? He didn’t come home last night. Someone left his GPS on the doorstep, but his car’s gone.”

  Jen clasped her hand over her neck. Vera Custodio, Rey’s sister, handed the detective a GPS unit. “His last destination was this cross street.”

  Rey? Oh, my God. Rey’s dead! Jen’s knees weakened, and a wave of pressure slammed her gut.

  Bruce touched Jen’s elbow. “Ready to go? My pickup’s on the street. They cordoned off the lot.”

  “Sure, let me get my iPad.” Jen backed into the building, her gaze trained on Vera who was being led to the body. Cold sweat swept her with dizziness, and she bumped into a telephone table.

  “Whoa, there, are you all right?” Bruce grabbed her arm.

  “Sure… fine.” The room circled and Jen could barely catch her breath.

  Bruce stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. “I saw him before they covered him. He was smashed across the middle, guts spilling out. Dude had some serious muscle and an awesome tribal tattoo from his shoulders down to the fingertips.”

  Nausea folded Jen like a jackknife. She slumped onto the lobby sofa, tucking her head between her knees.

  Oh, Rey. What the hell happened? She shuddered from the spear of fear in her gut. They could have killed her too. And the code? Had they killed Rey so they could grab the code from her?

  “Cute sister,” Bruce said, peering at the distraught woman through the window. “Jen? You’re not going to get sick in my truck are you?”

  “I’m fine. Give me a few minutes.” She almost pulled off the hot, stifling scarf, but loosened it instead.

  “I’ll bring you a bottle of water.” Bruce pulled out his badge and accessed the double doors leading to the workplaces.

  Outside, the ambulance departed silently. A female police officer comforted Vera. Jen blinked through tears. Rodrigo’s death was no accident, and now Rey had been murdered. And other than the murderer, Jen had been the last person to see him alive. The sinking feeling started from the top of her head and slithered to the soles of her feet.

  The killers knew Rey, and now they knew her too.

  Chapter 3

  Dave pushed away from the monitor. “Lisa,” he called his assistant. “I thought you filtered my email.”

  She stepped through the door. “I installed a spam filter and set all the rules. You mean she got through?”

  “She set up another Gmail account. Go through my inbox and flag only those messages I need to see. Who’s my next appointment?”

  Lisa adjusted her glasses over her high-bridged nose while smacking bubblegum. “San José Police Detective Mathews.”

  “Wait, wait. Why didn’t you get rid of him? I told you I know nothing about the guy who was run over.”

  She rolled her eyes. “He wants to talk to you about the surveillance tapes.”

  “Send him to Eddie, he’s Chief of Security. I have a VC pitch this afternoon.”

  “He’s right outside.” Lisa lowered her voice. “He only wants a few words.”

  Dave switched off his monitor. The day’s irritation kept mounting. The venture capitalists had been skeptical, and he needed cash or he’d have to close the doors.

  “Send him in.”

  A tall African-American man strode through the door, flipped his badge, and offered his hand. “Detective Mathews.”

  The handshake was firm and solid. Dave motioned to a leather-backed chair.

  Mathews remained standing. “This won’t take long. Did you know your security camera lens was cracked and had condensation inside?”

  Dave shrugged. “I lease this building. The company before the dot com bust put it in. So what did you find?”

  The detective leaned forward. “Know anyone with a white Camry or Lexus?”

  “Sure,” Dave replied. “Very common car. Did you get the plates?”

  “Your camera is suboptimal. Didn’t capture the actual incident, just a car speeding out of the lot. Might want to give your security guys a call about upgrading.”

  Dave glanced at his wrist, wishing he still wore a watch. “I’d say it was a drug deal gone bad. My insurance company informs me we’re not liable. The lights were working, and there were no hazards in the lot.”

  Mathews opened a folder and pulled out a picture. “Know this guy?”

  It was the studio portrait of a soldier in front of the American flag. Dave studied it. Filipino or Malaysian, a cropped haircut and a thick neck, dark-skinned. Cold black eyes. He shrugged. “Tough dude. Don’t think he works here.”

  Detective Mathews paced across the room and stopped in front of the desk. “We’ve found a connection between one of your employees and the victim. There was a text message from him to her.”

  “Who?”

  “Jennifer Jones. Know anything about her?” He poised his pen over his notepad.

  Dave shook his head slowly. “Nope. Must be one of the recent hires. Check with HR.”

  Mathews walked toward the door. “Will do. What would ‘break the build’ mean to you?”

  A steam of annoyance hissed through Dave’s nostrils. “What does that have to do with the accident?”

  “Answer the question.” The detective’s eyes narrowed.

  “The build refers to pulling all the pieces of software into a single package that can be downloaded and installed on a computer system. Any break in the steps from compile, link, package, install to basic test failures is a broken build.”

  “So why would the victim refer to a broken build?”

  Dave loosened the collar of his shirt. “Maybe he was talking about breaking into the building. A coincidence.”

  Mathews stopped at the door and turned. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  * * *

  Jen picked up her desk phone on the first ring. The caller ID showed Owen Williams, her lawyer.

  “You were supposed to meet me at the police station half an hour ago.” Owen’s staccato voice barked through the line.

  “Sorry, I got busy.” Jen chewed on a pencil and tossed it against her cubicle wall.

  “Don’t you want your purse back? He’s holding onto it until he speaks to you. Does this have anything to do with the guy who died in your company parking lot?”

  Jen twisted a strand of hair. Nobody knew she had gone out with Rey that night. He was alive when he dropped her off at the office. And she couldn’t afford to let the police dig deeper. Not if she wanted her past to stay hidden. She inhaled deeply.

  “Jen, you still there?” Owen’s voice called. “Meet me at the station. Say, five minutes.”

  Jen stared at her laptop. “Sure.”

  She scrolled through her email and tapped an instant message to Praveena, the lead software developer.

  Jen: Code checked in?

  Praveena: 20 min

  Jen: I gotta go, can u kick the build?

  Praveena: Sure, np

  Jen: thx

  N
ow, why did Rey have to turn up dead? They’d been so careful, no electronic trails. Communicating by postal letters and chance meetings at the gym where she worked out—until he stupidly showed up at her apartment and forced her to go on a date. Jen swallowed a surge of acid and grabbed her keys. Better to say nothing.

  The drive to the police station was short and straightforward. Jen followed Owen between two large and imposing date palms into the lobby. Minutes later, they were seated in Detective Mathews’ office.

  Mathews gestured to Jen’s purse sitting on his clean desk. “Here’s your purse.”

  She took it and opened it.

  “Anything missing?” The detective swept his bloodshot gaze over her and steepled his long fingers. “Kind of a warm day for a turtleneck.”

  “Detective,” Owen said, “did you call us to chat about her clothes and the contents of her purse?”

  Detective Mathews held up his hand to silence him.

  Jen flipped through her wallet. “The credit cards are here and so is my license.”

  The photo of Rodrigo was gone, but she couldn’t remember if she’d replaced it when she last changed wallets. She shut the wallet quickly and fumbled through the rest of the purse. Her cell phone was also missing.

  “The jerks stole my cash and my cell phone. Where did you find this?”

  “At the crime scene.”

  Jen jolted upright. “What?”

  The detective cracked his knuckles and leaned closer. “Suppose you tell me why your purse was there.”

  “Wait,” Owen said. “She lost her purse Friday night.”

  Jen shook her head. “I thought I left it at Starbucks, but maybe someone stole it.”

  The detective rubbed his goatee, his deep brown eyes unwavering. “Did you report it missing?”

  “The employees at Starbucks. I went back to ask if anyone turned it in.”

  Mathews pushed her cell phone across the table. “Here’s your cell. You have quite a few missed calls.”

  “Sure, thanks.” Jen palmed the phone.

  The detective came around the desk and stared down at her. “Can you explain why the deceased, Rey Custodio, left a text message on your phone?”

  Cold sweat ringed Jen’s face, and she resisted the urge to look at her phone.

  “Wait a second,” Owen said. “You can’t look through her text messages without a search warrant.”

  The detective grinned. “The message was staring at me when I opened the phone to check who owned it. Of course, now that she’s connected to the deceased, I’ve put in a court order for all her text messages and call logs.”

  Owen held up his hand. “She’s not a suspect, is she?”

  The detective crossed his arms. “The victim dies in the parking lot where she works. She was in the building at the time of death, admittedly rebooting the servers. Her job description, according to her employer, is Build Engineer. And the victim texts her, ‘Bitch, you broke the build.’”

  “Circumstantial,” Owen replied.

  Broke the build? Why would Rey accuse her when she hadn’t even given him the code? Had Rey stolen her purse and dropped it when he was killed? But he wouldn’t have texted her, knowing she didn’t have her cell.

  Mathews sat on the edge of his desk. “Let’s go back to Saturday night. You told me you entered the building around nine, nine-thirty?”

  “Yes.” She’d stick to the basics and not give anything away.

  Mathews tapped on his desk and pulled a printout from a manila folder. “The badge log says nine thirteen. Why didn’t you tell me you reentered the building shortly after eleven?”

  “Wait,” Owen cut in. “She doesn’t have to answer the questions.”

  “If she’s innocent, she has nothing to fear.” Mathews’ gaze bore into Jen. “So, I’m asking you now. Did you see Rey Custodio when you came out of the building around eleven?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Jen gave him a level stare, but her gut churned as if a starved squirrel clawed inside.

  “Did you see anything? His car, anyone in the parking lot, a passerby? Hear anything?”

  Yeah, only Rey’s murderers. Just stick to the basics. Don’t give him anything he doesn’t need, especially the memory stick. Jen steadied her voice by loosening her jaw, throat and shoulders, a remnant of voice lessons from her delinquent father. “A white car drove by.”

  “Make, model? Did you get a plate?”

  “No, maybe a Toyota or Honda? I didn’t get a good look.”

  “Fair enough. What were you doing outside the building?”

  Jen focused on the detective’s salt and pepper goatee. “Looking for a cab—”

  “Are we finished here?” Owen maneuvered himself between them. “Because I need a few words with my client, and since she’s not a suspect, she’s free to go.”

  Mathews stretched and looked Jen up and down. “Definitely a person of interest.”

  * * *

  Jen wobbled on shaky legs down the steps of the police station with Owen nipping at her heels like a belligerent Boston terrier.

  “If you want to be my client, you better tell me everything. You’re lucky he doesn’t have enough to arrest you.”

  Jen lengthened her stride, but Owen grabbed her arm, wheeling her to face him. “Haven’t we been friends long enough?” he said. “Wasn’t I one of the few kids to sit with you in the lunch room?”

  She stopped in front of his car, itching to flick through her text messages. Why hadn’t she claimed she needed to use the restroom instead of dashing out of the police station? Didn’t Rey agree not to call or text her? How did he even get her number?

  Owen swung the car door open. “Have lunch with me and let’s go over everything.”

  Jen climbed into the seat. “Why is everything going wrong? I had nothing to do with this.”

  He tapped her shoulder. “I was reading the detective’s face. He was hoping to trip you up. Luckily I stopped him. Let me see your phone.”

  Jen stuffed it under her thigh. “Please, can I look at them first?”

  Owen started the engine. “Fine, tell me when the message from Rey was placed.”

  Jen flipped her phone open. The text message stared at her from the screen. Bitch, you broke the build.

  “11:47 pm,” Jen said. “But I was in the building then.”

  “And you didn’t even have your phone. So, why did he text you?” They drove several blocks in silence. Jen bit her tongue. What could she say? Did Owen know that she and Rey were acquainted with each other? He had been away at college and law school the last seven years, but he could have heard some gossip. She’d better watch her answers.

  He turned the car into the parking lot of a diner. “Ever been to the Hoot?”

  Jen could care less where they ate. During the drive, she had checked the rest of her messages, texts from her sister, Christy, a few from Praveena and her boss, Greta. “What I can’t figure out is why Rey texted me.”

  Owen held the car door open for her. “Maybe it wasn’t him. I think it’s whoever had your purse and found your phone. But how did they know you were a build engineer?”

  Jen shrugged. “Maybe they saw some old messages. How would I know?”

  She followed Owen into the almost deserted diner, and they sat in a corner booth. Stale sawdust covered the darkened section near a linoleum dance floor, and the stench of beer mixed with bacon grease permeated the plastic surroundings. A sharp-eyed waitress slapped menus on their table and poured coffee for Owen.

  “She want any?” The waitress lifted an eyebrow at Jen.

  Jen waved her hand. “Water, please.”

  Owen opened the menu. “Best grits and gravy this side of the Mississippi. Care for some catfish and hushpuppies or jambalaya?”

  “Salad, I’m not that hungry.”

  Owen winked at the waitress. “I’ll have the usual.”

  The waitress flipped her order book shut without asking Jen for her choice of dressing.

&nbs
p; Owen grabbed Jen’s hands across the table. “Hey, I know you’re scared and nervous. Let’s go through the timeline of your actions starting from when you lost your purse.”

  Jen withdrew her hands from his sweaty palms and fiddled with a napkin. “I stopped by Starbucks with Praveena and Lester to go over branching strategy for the Black Friday build. I usually tuck my purse in my backpack when leaving work, so I don’t know exactly when I lost it. Praveena bought my latte because she owed me for restarting the builds so many times.”

  “You didn’t notice your phone missing?”

  “No, at first I thought I’d left it at home, but when I went home, I couldn’t find it, so I figured I left it in my purse.” She balled up the napkin. “Did the detective say exactly where he found it?”

  Owen sipped his coffee and made a face. “He didn’t, but I’ll call him.”

  The waitress returned with a glass of water and handed it to Jen. “Anything else I can get you?”

  Owen tucked a napkin into his collar. “Oh, sorry I didn’t introduce you. Patty, this is Jen Jones, my client. Jen’s father’s got a gig coming up in December.”

  Patty perched a hand on her hip. “Len Jones, Cajun Crawdogs?”

  Jen looked at the ketchup stain on the waitress’ apron. “I’m not into his kind of music.”

  “Well I’ll be darned, an uppity daughter.” Patty’s mouth curved with a barely disguised smirk, and she tucked a strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear.

  Jen picked at the chipped nail polish over her cuticles while Owen and Patty chatted about the upcoming Swamp Thug dance contest. It was just like her father to not let her know he’d be in town unless he needed a couch to crash on.

  Another couple sat at a booth close to the bar, and Patty left to take their order. Jen excused herself to visit the bathroom. The sound of Owen blowing and slurping his coffee scratched her nerves the wrong way.

  When she returned, Owen was perusing a local event flyer. He tapped the table. “Talk to me. What happened Saturday? Who dropped you off at work?”

  Jen wiped the water ring off the plastic menu. “I’d rather not say.”

  Owen tapped on the menu. “I went by your place and your car was in the carport, but you weren’t around. I heard a dog whining behind the door. It doesn’t take a detective to surmise you might have gone out with someone.”