Barry Jones' Cold Dinner. John Schlarbaum
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“So the prospect of Mr. Jones vanishing of his own free will doesn’t surprise you?”
“Let me put it this way, Mr. Cassidy,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m from the old school that believes if you don’t find a body - you can’t confirm a death. Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule,” he was quick to add. “Like where enough circumstantial evidence exists that proves 99 out of 100 times that a person is dead. But in Barry’s case . . .”
“There’s no body.”
“Not only that, there’s no motive, no smoking gun, no evidence - circumstantial or otherwise - to indicate that Barry ever stopped breathing.”
“Not withstanding the fact he hasn’t been seen in seven years.”
McDonnell laughed. “The fact he hasn’t been seen around here is still not proof he’s joined the dearly departed, is it?”
I’m a big enough man to admit he had a point there.
“Were you two close friends, or merely colleagues?” I asked, trying a new tact to gain information.
“I guess you could term our relationship as friendly colleagues,” McDonnell said with an easy smile. “Barry and I both started working here at roughly the same time - both on the line. Then over the years we moved up the ranks. On the day he disappeared, he was the office manager and I was the plant manager.”
“So you two effectively ran the plant together?”
“The day-to-day duties. We didn’t make any of the executive decisions however.”
“Such as . . .?” I prompted.
“Such as product quotas, marketing strategies, pension fund investments . . .”
“All decisions you now make, isn’t that correct?”
It became immediately apparent by the change in his facial features he didn’t like that one.
“What exactly are you implying, Mr. Cassidy?”
“Just this,” I responded, suddenly feeling bullish for some reason. “Had Barry Jones continued to work here, what were the odds he would have eventually become head honcho?”
“Pretty slim,” the current head honcho replied. “Barry’s problem was even though he was well liked, he was effectively a suit. On the other hand, I was respected by not only the management in place at the time, but more importantly, by the line workers. You see, the company was planning some drastic changes to remain competitive and it was necessary that the union be on board.”
“And that’s where you came in.”
“Yes,” he beamed triumphantly, “but only after David Blume was felled by a stroke and forced to step down as CEO.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t poisoned?” I asked with just a twinge of sarcasm in my voice.
I’ll give the guy credit. He actually looked mildly amused by the question and not at all angered by its intended implication.
“If you’re done asking me relevant questions, I really do have work . . .”
“Just a couple more,” I interrupted, much to his chagrin. “In his capacity as office manager, did Mr. Jones have access to any company bank accounts or pension funds?”
“No.”
“After his disappearance were any audits done on his work?”
“There was a complete audit of the entire office, I recall.”
“And . . .?”
“Everything was in meticulous order - as one would expect from Barry.”
“You said he was liked by everyone here. Did that include the people who worked directly for him?”
“Of course. He was a talented, personable man who was, I believe, a fair boss to work with.”
“Was he banging his secretary?”
The brazen smile on McDonnell’s face disappeared.
Gotcha, you smug bastard, I thought.
“Barry Jones was a devoted family man, Mr. Cassidy,” McDonnell was finally able to say. “He would never cheat on his wife or embarrass himself in the eyes of his children.”
“So you’re saying that a married man who sleeps with his assistant - I mean, secretary,” I corrected myself, “is not a good family man? Is that right?”
He clenched his jaw so tightly I honestly thought it would smash into tiny pieces, like a crystal vase hitting a marble floor. His smile was now forced and the veins in his temples appeared ready to burst. And if looks could kill . . .
I was very pleased with myself.
“You don’t have to answer that, Mr. McDonnell,” I said as I stood. “You’ve been a great help.”
McDonnell willed himself out of his chair but did not offer the customary goodbye-glad-to-meet-you handshake.
“I don’t know what your angle is, Mr. Cassidy,” he said in a sharp, yet measured tone. “But if you ask me, when all is said and done, Barry Jones will still be missing.”
“I don’t doubt you for a second,” I replied cordially as I walked to the door. “But where we differ is that you’re the only one in this room who thinks I won’t find out why Barry Jones vanished in the first place.”
Upon exiting the office, I caught Betty and Darren exchange anxious glances. A moment later, as the elevator doors closed in front of me, I made a point to give them my best roguish smile and was on my way.
Or so they thought.
Thankful I was the only passenger in the car, the second it began its descent down the shaft, I pressed the STOP button, and the elevator came to an abrupt halt.
“Get me Cathy Jones on the phone, right now!” I heard McDonnell bark at his mistress.
“Is something the matter?”
“Not if I can help it!” a furious McDonnell yelled back. Then the door to the office was slammed shut and the only sound I could hear was the sexy multi-purposed Betty pushing numbers on her telephone. I took my finger off the STOP button and again
I was on my way.
Before leaving the building I stopped by the front desk and handed in my visitor’s pass.
“I can tell from the look on your face that you stirred up the bee’s hive, didn’t you?” the receptionist said with another one of her mischievous smiles.
I couldn’t help but return her grin. “My grandfather always said it was the only way to get to the honey.”
“He was right,” my co-conspirator said. “But don’t forget that just because you didn’t get stung this time, doesn’t mean there isn’t a pissed off bee out there just waiting to sting you in the ass. When the time’s right, of course,” she added.
“Of course,” I concurred.
I walked out to my van with mixed emotions. I hadn’t expected to uncover any new evidence about Barry Jones, so when none surfaced I wasn’t all that disappointed.
I already knew both the police and the paint company had done extensive investigations on Mr. Office Manager, and each concluded he was a great employee (although he had become a bit tardy during the ensuing seven year stretch). I thought it ironic that Jones received his highest accolades only after he stopped showing up for work.
I finally concluded there seemed to be no connection between the Master Paint Company and Jones’ disappearance. My only reservation was Darren McDonnell’s outburst following our meeting.
Was he simply informing the