Chapter 8 – "Tech Times"
It was lunchtime before Tyler had a chance to tell Peter, Ned, and MJ what he'd found out and his plan for using that information. Peter had almost been late this morning; they barely made it to first period chemistry – with a new teacher who was no Mr. Robertson. It wasn't the first time Peter had cut it that close. Maybe it was because he lived in Queens, but Ned lived in Queens, too, and he was never late. Tyler shrugged. He guessed Peter just wasn't a morning person. That was something Peter had in common with Matt; Tyler had heard Foggy and Karen talking about Matt regularly showing up for work late.
When the lunch break finally came, they found a table in a corner of the lunchroom. Tyler didn't even unwrap his sandwich before he started talking. "Guys, I overheard something yesterday." He imagined his three friends giving him questioning looks. Without waiting for them to say anything, he went on, "Karen traced the payments on the bank statement. They come from a company called 'Cybertek.'"
"Never heard of it," Ned commented.
"Me neither," Tyler replied, "but Karen said it's part of Roxxon Corporation. It's the research part."
Ned tapped furiously on his laptop. When the tapping stopped, he said, "I got something!"
"What?" MJ asked.
"I googled Roxxon," Ned replied. "It looks like they're into all sorts of shady shit."
"Like what?" Peter asked.
"Listen to what this article says." Ned read from his screen. "'Roxxon is widely believed to be a front for the Japanese Mafia, the Yakuza, among other criminal organizations.' But no one's been able to prove it."
"If Mr. Robertson got mixed up with them, it could've gotten him killed," Peter said.
"Yeah," Tyler agreed grimly. "Matt also mentioned something called 'the Hand.' He thought the stuff in the baggie was something they used to bring dead people back to life."
"Holy shit," Ned breathed. He tapped on his keyboard again, then shook his head as he stared at the screen. "Nothing," he said. "Are you sure you heard the name right?"
Tyler nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. But Karen said they were wiped out when that building – Midland Circle – collapsed a few years ago. But maybe Roxxon got hold of a piece of that stuff."
"This is great information, Tyler," MJ said. Tyler beamed at her. "But how does it help us find the killer?"
"I have a plan for that," Tyler told her. "We go to Roxxon's offices and pretend to be writing an article on Mr. Robertson for the Tech Times – "
Peter interrupted him eagerly. "Like an obituary, you mean?"
Tyler nodded. "And we tell them we want to mention the research he was doing for them."
"But if it was something shady, won't they just deny it?" Ned asked.
"Yeah, that's the idea," Tyler explained. "Look at it like this. We know from the bank statements that he was working for them. If they deny it, that tells us it's something they don't want anyone to know about – like you said, something shady."
"Let's do it," Peter said decisively.
"When?" Tyler asked.
"Today, after school."
# # # #
That afternoon, Matt was in a cab, on his way back from court, when his phone announced, "Brett, Brett, Brett."
He answered the call. "Hey, Brett."
The detective's voice came out of the phone's speaker. "My office. Now."
The call ended. Smiling to himself, Matt tapped the partition and asked the driver to take him to the 15th Precinct instead of Nelson & Murdock. When he arrived at the police station a few minutes later, he bypassed the desk sergeant as usual and went straight to Mahoney's office.
Brett looked up and saw Matt standing in the doorway. "Get your ass in here, Murdock."
"Good afternoon to you, too, Detective." Matt stepped into the office. Brett hadn't invited him to sit, but he took a seat anyway and folded his cane.
"You want to tell me about this?" Brett demanded, gesturing toward four objects on his desk. Matt recognized them: the notebook, the bank statements, the laptop, and the baggie.
"You're gonna need to be a little more specific," Matt replied, putting on his most innocent expression (he hoped).
Brett gave an exasperated sigh. "A notebook," he said, picking it up, "that just happens to fit the description given by your client. And some other things. Found this morning, hidden in the desk in Dan Robertson's classroom."
"So my client was right, after all. Thanks for letting me know." Matt started to stand up.
"Just a damn minute," Brett snapped. "That's not why you're here."
Matt sat down again, raising his eyebrows quizzically.
"I wanna know where you got these things and when you planted them in Robertson's desk."
Matt gave the detective his best approximation of a shocked look. "As an officer of the court, I would never – "
"Don't give me that bullshit, Murdock. You waltz in here yesterday ago and tell me to look for evidence. When I do, the notebook and the other stuff just happen to turn up. I don't believe in magic. Where did you get this stuff and when did you plant it? I'm not gonna ask you again."
"I've never seen it before."
"Cut the crap, Murdock."
"No, I'm serious, Brett. I had nothing to do with this." Matt waved a hand in the general direction of Brett's desk. "If you're looking for someone to blame, don't look at me." He got to his feet and leaned across the desk, pointing at Brett. "You need to look at your own people. You know, the ones who did a piss-poor search the first time. The only thing I'm guilty of is believing my client. Who has been vindicated, by the way." He picked up his cane and unfolded it.
"Get out," Brett growled.
"With pleasure." Matt spun on his heel and strode out of the office, smirking.
# # # #
The New York offices of Roxxon Corporation were located in a 50-story building on Avenue of the Americas in the Forties.
"Whoa!" Peter said, craning his neck to look up at the glass and steel structure.
"C'mon, let's go," Tyler said.
Revolving doors opened into a glass and marble lobby, two stories high. Large stainless steel letters spelled out "ROXXON CORPORATION" on the wall behind a marble-topped reception desk. Three men, dressed in black with the company's logo on their jackets, were in position behind the desk. The quartet of teenagers approached them.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Ned whispered to Tyler, who waved him off.
Tyler's sighted guide, MJ, stopped in front of the desk. "We're at the reception desk," she informed him in a low voice.
Tyler nodded, let go of her arm, and stepped forward. "Hello," he said.
The three men behind the desk looked at the teenagers, then exchanged amused looks. One of them snickered, then asked, "And what can we do for you, boys – and girl?"
"We're from Midtown Tech," Tyler replied. "One of our teachers, Daniel Robertson, died recently, and we're writing his obituary for the school newspaper. We'd like to speak with someone in your company about the research he was doing for you."
One of the men, who seemed to be in charge, said, "Can I see some ID?"
The students fumbled in their backpacks. Eventually, all of them located their student IDs and held them out. He took the laminated cards from them and wrote something on a pad in front of him. Then returned the IDs and said, "Wait over there." He waved a hand in the direction of the elevators. The teenagers complied and waited while the men talked among themselves. They kept their voices low, but Peter heard them.
"I don't like this."
"They're just kids, they don't know anything."
"They're here, they must know something."
"Let's get rid of them."
The man in charge shook his head. "No. We have our orders. If anyone shows up asking about Robertson, we notify Hale." He picked up a phone and punched in some numbers, then spoke, too softly for Peter to pick up what he was saying. When he hung up the phone, he beckoned to the students and called out, "Hey! C'mere!"
They approached the desk again.
"Someone from the Press Office will be here shortly to escort you upstairs. You can wait by the elevators."
They mumbled their thanks and made their way to the elevators.
Presently, a dark-haired woman dressed in a navy blue skirt suit and wearing impossibly high stiletto heels emerged from the elevator. The badge clipped to her lapel identified her as "Gina Alvarez, Assistant Director, Corporate Communications." She ushered the students into the elevator, which lifted them to her ninth-floor office.
When MJ and Ned were seated in the two visitors' chairs, with Peter and Tyler standing behind them, Ms. Alvarez peered across her desk at them and asked, "So what can I do for you?"
Tyler answered her. "We're reporters for the Tech Times. That's the student newspaper at Midtown Tech. We're writing an obituary for Mr. Robertson – that's the teacher who was . . . who died recently. Maybe you heard about that."
"Yes, I did. My condolences."
"Thank you. We heard he was doing work for your company, you know, research, and wanted to mention it in the article as one of his accomplishments."
"Let me check." Ms. Alvarez tapped on the keyboard of her laptop for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was cold. "We have no record of a Daniel Robertson doing any work for this company. You must be mistaken."
"But we have proof!" MJ blurted out. When Ms. Alvarez glared at her through narrowed eyes, she realized her mistake. Too late.
"What d'you mean, proof?" the woman demanded.
"Um, I mean, uh, not actual, you know, um, evidence . . . ," MJ stammered.
Tyler mind raced. He had to help MJ, but how? He finally came up with the answer. He said, "What she's trying to say is, I, uh, I overheard Mr. Robertson talking to one of the other teachers about the work he was doing for you."
"Who was the other teacher?"
"I don't know. I didn't recognize his voice."
"Well, you must've heard wrong," Ms. Alvarez asserted. "If he was doing research, it wasn't for us."
"I'm not wrong," Tyler declared.
"Even if he was doing research for us – which he wasn't," Ms. Alvarez said, "the work would've been confidential. If you write about this, you'll be in big trouble – legally."
"Good thing I know a couple of good lawyers," Tyler quipped.
"You need to leave. Now. Or do I have to call security?"
"No, no, we're going," Peter replied.
As the four students hurried out of the office, Ms. Alvarez picked up her phone and punched in a number.
No one said anything until they were on the sidewalk outside the building. MJ was the first to speak. "What a liar!"
Peter shrugged. "It's her job, I guess."
"Yeah, well, she's not very good at it," Tyler observed.
"So what do we do now?" Ned asked.
Peter shook his head. "I don't know. We know Mr. Robertson was working for them. She just confirmed that."
"And they definitely don't want us to know," Ned added.
MJ completed the thought. "So it must be something shady."
Tyler frowned. "I got a bad feeling about this," he said.
"Me, too," MJ agreed. "And they know who we are. We showed that man at the desk our IDs."
"Yeah," Peter said, "and he wrote down all our names."
"Maybe we should talk to Matt and Foggy," Tyler suggested.
"No!" Peter exclaimed, "You can't! Matt told me to stay out of it, to leave everything to him. We can't tell him what we've been doing. He'll be pissed."
"Peter's right," Ned said.
"If you say so," Tyler said reluctantly. He took hold of MJ's arm. "C'mon, let's get outta here."