Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(53)
“Can I help you?” The woman asked the question as if Josie might be lost.
“I’m Josie Gray. I have an eight o’clock appointment with Mr. Beckwith.”
“Yes. Ms. Gray. Please follow me.”
Josie followed the woman down a hallway, past a glass-walled conference room dominated by a table and at least twenty leather swivel chairs. A woman in a catering uniform was placing pitchers of ice water and glasses on the table from a rolling cart. Just beyond the conference room was a closed office door. The name plate on the door read JULIAN BECKWITH CEO.
The woman knocked and then turned to Josie. “One moment, please.” She turned back to the door and opened it slowly, as if not sure what she might find. Evidently satisfied with what she saw, she pushed the door open further and said, “Ms. Gray is here to see you.”
The woman gave Josie what looked to be an apologetic smile and stepped back to allow her entrance.
The corner office had a stunning view of the business district, which stretched across El Paso and up into the Juarez Mountains into Mexico. It also had a bar and a media center with two camel-colored leather couches.
Beckwith was sitting at his desk. A phone headset was wrapped around his ear and he talked while studying information on two different monitors and absently scrolling through a cell phone with his thumb. He wore a tasteful shirt and sweater vest that fit his slim build perfectly. His brown hair was neatly combed and parted to the side, his face smooth and shiny. She stood in front of his desk beside two guest chairs and waited to be acknowledged. He gave Josie the impression of a well-groomed boarding school student who hadn’t quite mastered the social norms of adulthood.
He held up a paper Starbucks cup to Josie as if toasting her. Using his pinkie finger, he pushed the headset microphone down and slightly away from his mouth and said, “Sit down. You can help me rip these morons a new arse.” He gave her a thumbs-up and smiled conspiratorially. She was surprised at his British accent and wondered what would motivate a British twenty-something financial genius to settle in West Texas. “It’s the curse of the intelligent, listening to the incompetent,” he whispered. He didn’t actually appear angry despite his harsh words. A game player, she thought.
Josie sat down in one of the chairs and listened to Beckwith complain to someone on the other end about the poor judgment of someone named Edgewood. He finally hung up and flung his headset onto the desk. He turned to face Josie.
“Good morning, Mr. Beckwith. I’m Josie Gray, chief of police in Artemis.”
He shoved his chair away from his desk with a flourish and stood, looking out the window. “I know who you are. Population two thousand four hundred and ninety-seven at last count. You operate a three-officer department. And, most importantly, you are Dillon Reese’s girlfriend.”
Josie reached into her pocket to retrieve her identification card, uncomfortable with his description of her. She felt too old to be just a girlfriend, but what else was there to describe her relation to Dillon? She held the card out for him to view. He stared at it for a moment, then finally walked to her and took it from her.
“I appreciate you talking with me on such short notice. I assume you’ve heard what happened to your accountant, Mr. Reese.”
“One of my accountants. Plural.”
Josie cocked her head, acknowledging his correction. “Mr. Reese has been kidnapped and his secretary was murdered.” Beckwith’s expression did not change. He simply nodded once. “The kidnappers have demanded a nine-million-dollar ransom.”
“From whom?”
“They contacted me.”
“Why you?”
“We don’t know the reason. We have very little information from the kidnappers other than the ransom demand. One working theory is that he was kidnapped for information. The kidnappers stole the computers in the office. Dillon has access to your accounts. Possibly the kidnappers took him for access to you. Is that a possibility?”
“I own a private equity fund. I have access to millions. But he couldn’t get to my money without my consent. He’s an advisor of sorts—smart, honest, or he wouldn’t be mine. But no one touches my money. No one.”
“Is that typical?” Josie asked.
“I’ve no doubt there are people who turn their fortunes over to their brokers and want nothing to do with it. Speedy way to lose the millions, I think.”
“Have you received contact from anyone in the past few weeks that’s concerned you?”
He laughed openly. “I’m an investor. I buy up trash and spin it into gold. Right?”
She nodded once.
“When you buy up shit companies you have to get rid of the shit. Right? Flush it down the Rio. People get fired. Sometimes lots of people. El Paso Times referred to me, fondly I think, as the most hated man in Texas.” He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Also the most eligible bachelor. A nice combo, don’t you think?” He raised his left hand and wiggled his fingers. “And yet, here I remain. Working my arse off with no time to collect the benefits.”
“I’m not sure what your answer has to do with my question.”
“More to the point then, almost everyone I work with concerns me at some point. I buy up businesses that are falling apart. People are vulnerable and angry and they see me as both savior and saboteur.”