Chapter 30
Amaya explains to us that DNA testing can take months, which is not what CSI would have you believe.
Things always seem to work faster on television. The accused can be left waiting in jail for evidence to be tested and for attorneys to investigate. I again realize how lucky I am to be on the outside. At least for now.
“Maybe I could—” Alex interrupts Amaya’s explanation of the process. Alex, unlike the rest of the world, doesn’t often have to wait. He is, I know, used to getting things quickly.
“No.” Amaya cuts him off. “All labs have a backlog right now. The ones we can use for this case are few and far between.” I can feel the tension between Amaya and Alex grow, and it’s not the sultry kind, like in a perfectly plotted rom-com.
It’s more like the tension in Rocky where you know someone will be punching the other by the end.
“Why don’t we try to speak to someone at Catalyst?
All those companies that paid New Frontier may have some information.
James was dating Catalyst’s CEO, Shirley Lee.
And James’s sister was working there. Shirley must know something.
Let’s talk to her and see what information we can learn.
It’s something to do as we wait for the results on the carton.
” I’m uncharacteristically assertive in order to convince myself everything is going to be all right.
—
Alex insists on coming along. Amaya tries to protest by claiming that a group of us coming to speak to someone at Catalyst is not effective and will only cause them to clam up.
I tell Amaya that while three is a crowd, I know Alex is tech savvy enough to have a proper conversation with Shirley.
Alex gives me a thumbs-up like he’s an old politician or someone who tells too many dad jokes.
Rule number infinity…no, ten of true crime podcasts: Don’t overwhelm the witness.
I can’t help but wonder if I’m making a mistake.
I envision it clearly. Go talk to Shirley, wait until she gives us critical case information, and secretly record it and use it. So far, nothing in the past few days has gone as planned.
—
We roll up to the Catalyst office like the Three Stooges.
Alex appears to have no clue what is going on, I look like I was dressed in Goodwill discards, and Amaya is just fully waking up from the nap she took in the car.
We enter by following someone in through the front door.
Unlike New Frontier, which is housed in a fancy office building, Catalyst’s building is much smaller with apparently no security.
I marvel at how easily we can get in. Isn’t this a multimillion-dollar company?
They’ve probably spent their money on things I don’t understand like NFTs and cryptocurrency.
I wait for some bro to pop out like a jump scare and explain it all to me.
A woman greets us as soon as we arrive off the elevator. This must be Shirley Lee. I recognize her from the newspaper.
“Hello, Ms. Perera, Ms. Fernando, and Mr. Feldman.”
While I know who she is, how does she know who we are?
She must register the shock because she says, “We have state-of-the-art facial recognition technology in our lobby. We know who you are.” So they do have security…you just can’t see it. “How can I help you?”
I’m momentarily creeped out by this technology before focusing on the task at hand.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say to Shirley. Her face crumples for just a second before forming itself back into a neutral expression, like her sadness was a figment of my imagination.
“Well, yes. It’s very sad. Thank you.” Shirley wraps her arms around herself. “Let’s talk in my office.”
We follow her to a modern, sparse room. In comparison to Shirley’s personal style, my room looks like it could be featured on the show Hoarders. There’s barely anything in here besides a sleek table, chairs, and a MacBook Pro.
As soon as we sit down, Amaya gets right into it. “Catalyst is working with New Frontier?” No more pleasantries.
“Yes, that’s well-known news,” Shirley responds.
“I suppose what is less well-known is that Catalyst paid for services from New Frontier to improve its energy efficiency, and it’s still waiting on most of those services,” Amaya says.
We don’t know for sure this is the case, but asserting it as fact and waiting for a denial seems like a good strategy.
Shirley’s lips turn into a sour frown.
“It’s not our fault that New Frontier is slow on delivering product.”
“You didn’t know your boyfriend’s company was taking money from you and not giving you anything in return?” Amaya says. She’s on fire.
“James hasn’t been my boyfriend for a little while,” Shirley responds more meekly than I anticipate.
“He hasn’t?” I can’t keep the surprise off my face. People break up all the time, but they’ve been described as being very in love.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but we broke up a few weeks ago.” The post-breakup “I’m trying not to cry at work or in public” face is evident on Shirley. Sending her strength, because haven’t we all been there? Sounds like James did the dumping.
“And he never told you that someone was stealing money from New Frontier?”
“Stealing money?” Shirley looks momentarily surprised.
I imagine someone like her isn’t easily taken off guard.
“I had no clue what was going on. Why would I pay New Frontier to steal money from me and the company I worked so hard to build? I paid New Frontier with the understanding that we’d get services in exchange.
We did get some initial documents…and minor services.
I was waiting. Things did feel off. I asked James repeatedly why things were so slow, but he was evasive and weird.
Then he broke up with me out of the blue. ”
“And?” There’s more to this story.
Shirley doesn’t say anything.
“We can always send a hot tip about your company not improving its environmental standards to The Wall Street Journal…” Alex threatens. I don’t think Alex has ever read The Wall Street Journal, let alone met anyone there. Come to think of it, when was the last the time I even saw Alex read?
I see a flash of anger in Shirley’s eyes, similar to how I look when I’m really hungry, before she composes herself once again.
“I don’t like being threatened. If you do it again, I will find a way to ruin you.
” Her tone is harsh, scary even. “Ultimately, my company isn’t guilty of any wrongdoing, but I don’t need this type of publicity right now.
If you promise not to break this story, I will tell you what I know. ”
I nod my head, surprised she thinks we three hooligans are capable of breaking any story.
“I wanted to know why James was acting weird. Brett wanted to know too. We had a lot of long discussions about James. We cared for him. We were worried about him. I started to suspect James was hiding something, and I think he broke up with me so I wouldn’t get implicated in his wrongdoing.
Brett and I…well…we began to date at that point… ”
Messy. Dating her ex-boyfriend’s business partner…Trust me, I get the appeal. Brett is fine and I admire her chutzpah, but what a move!
“Do you think James was the one stealing from his own company?” I ask.
Shirley shuts her eyes tightly and tenses. “James had something to tell me just a few days before he died—maybe he was coming clean about this?”
“Brett must have at least known!” I interject.
“I don’t think so. He does the publicity—the flashy marketing—he’s not the brains side of the business. He doesn’t deal with the money. He’s not…very smart.”
“He went to Yale,” I retort.
“Legacy admissions and money will get you far,” Shirley counters.
Ouch. Clearly Shirley isn’t with Brett for his keen intellect.
I think about his dazzling good looks and his apparent charm.
If he were single and asked me out, it would be hard to say no…
I guess until we had a conversation of substance.
Try as I might, I’m a sucker for a man with brains.
“Maybe James was just over it? He used to hate companies like New Frontier. He was a member of that radical group, Green World. And he started to go back to some of those meetings in the weeks before he died—”
I interrupt Shirley. “Wait, James was involved in Green World again?” This feels contradictory to what his sister, Darla, had told me. So who is lying?
“Insane environmental actions were what he loved for so long. Maybe he decided to tank his own company by stealing all the money from it and giving it to Green World. Your guess is as good as mine,” Shirley offers.
I’m about to tell her that this explanation doesn’t feel right, when Alex speaks up.
“Makes sense to me,” Alex says while nodding his head. “James stealing money to give back to his favorite organization.”
Everything about this case feels like my head is swirling in a dense fog, one that won’t clear anytime soon.
—
“James stole the money.” Alex won’t drop it, but maybe he is right.
I’m always assuming the victims are completely blameless individuals.
On TV, podcasts, and everywhere else, there is a clear-cut black-and-white duality between victim and perpetrator.
Why was James acting strangely before his death?
Why did he break up with Shirley so suddenly?
“I guess it makes sense. James even had his sister working for Catalyst. Maybe they were in on it together. Abandoning the environmental stuff and going for the money,” Amaya says. “James’s sister was his woman on the inside. Maybe that’s why she was hiding out on Staten Island.”
“It doesn’t seem like James,” I say. “He turned from die-hard environmentalist to a guy that was taking money from the very companies he hated and then not actually making them more sustainable? Just stealing from them? It doesn’t really make sense.”
“You didn’t even know him,” Alex replies.
“Maybe James and his sister needed the money for something. Desperate people do desperate things,” Amaya offers, as if she’s seen it all too often.
I think of what I would have done to save my brother.
I’d have entered into an arranged marriage with a rich, icky old dude if I thought it could have changed his circumstances.
“And what better people to take money from than the companies that are destroying the environment?”
“Then who killed him?” Alex asks.
This is the million-dollar question.
I am exhausted. My feet hurt, and my body feels physically heavy, as if trying to walk around and keep it upright will take all the effort I can possibly muster. I wish something, anything about this case was straightforward.
We exit Catalyst into a large crowd of people.
It seems there are always large crowds in this part of Manhattan.
This particular group is dressed in costumes and reminds me Halloween is tomorrow.
Some of them are tourists; I can tell from the way the Marvel characters walk slowly and every few seconds stop to look up at the skyscrapers, seemingly oblivious to the downpour we are all about to be caught in.
I spot a man wearing a Boston Red Sox hat and sunglasses meandering away from the group of tourists.
Odd attire, given the darkening sky and how terrible a hat it is to wear in a city with two perfectly good baseball teams. The Red Sox man is no longer aimlessly walking about and has instead picked up his pace.
He is heading toward us, and that’s when I see something shining and sharp in his hand.