Lewis and Wolfrom step out of the elevator and onto the gleaming golden hardwood floor. The word “MARKETING” has been spelled out with a range of ornate hand carved wooden letters affixed to a stark white wall behind the wide reception desk.
Crafted from darker shades of wood, the massive desk almost looks as though it’s growing into the space, dwarfing the tiny receptionist. She eyes them warily as they approach the desk. “Can I help you?”
Lewis raises an eyebrow and proffers her ID wallet. The receptionist accepts it, making a show of examining the badge before passing it back across the wide expanse of wood. Lewis tells her, “I see you’ve been expecting us. We’re here to see Neil Molony. If you can just point us …”
The woman shakes her head, no, but Lewis smiles and says, “That’s alright. I’m sure I’ll be able to find our way,” and heads for the exceptionally dark wood panel door.
The receptionist realizes there isn’t any way out of it, so she comes out from behind the desk. “I’ll take you back,” she says, slipping in front of Lewis, hurrying to get through the door ahead of them. Wolfrom and Lewis exchange glances as they follow along the elegantly appointed corridor. The corridor is lined with plain slab doors, differentiated by the objects affixed to their smooth surfaces rather than numbers.
Lewis notes a Kewpie doll, a tambourine, and a shimmery guitar-clutching frog interspersed with unlikely objects like gears and tire pumps framed and mounted on the walls. Stopping just short of the end of the hall, the receptionist knocks on a door distinguished from all the rest by the representation of a hand tooled cowboy boot. As she pushes open the door to admit them, Lewis realizes that the cowboy boot is actually a real leather boot that’s been sawn in half and somehow attached to the door. Glue maybe.
What a waste, she thinks, as she gets a whiff of rich leather as she steps inside. Old fashioned venetian blinds cover the window, admitting bright stripes of sunlight into the room. The contrasting shadow seems all the darker because the sunlight is so bright. A drafting table leans against one wall, a desk and several file cabinets against the other with a long desk in between.
The young man seated there looks up from the video game he’s playing. He’s hard to see in the harsh strips of light, so Lewis moves to the window and adjust the blinds. The young man watches her warily. Wolfrom pulls the door behind him closed and extends a hand with a badge.
“Mr. Molony, I’m Detective Wolfrom, and this is Detective Lewis. We have a few questions for you.” Molony nods, waving away the badge after a cursory glance, and Wolfrom perches on a corner of the desk. There are no other chairs in the room, so Lewis leans up against the cabinet beside the window.
“What can I do for you, officers?” asks Molony haughtily.
“You own a late model red Schwinn bicycle.”
Molony nods, not sure where this is going. “It’s more of a burgundy, but yes, It’s a 2009 Classic Seven Deluxe.” He looks at them and frowns. “What happened to it? It hasn’t been stolen, has it?”
“No,” Wolfrom tells him, folding his arms across his chest, “But it was spotted on the Christie campus.”
“At Christie?” Neil Molony goes very still. Then, “But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“It was seen there Mr. Molony. It’s a very distinctive bicycle.” Wolfrom watches him.
Neil splutters, “I never went there. That school is for losers. I went to UCLA. Even my bike wouldn’t be caught dead at a dive like Christie.”
Very softly, from behind, Lewis leans in and says into his ear, “It was used by a flasher, Neil.” Molony has almost forgotten she’s there, and nearly jumps out of his skin. Twisting around to face her, he insists “It wasn’t me. Wasn’t my bike. It had to be somebody else.”
Wolfrom asks in a neutral tone, “When were you in college Mr. Molony?”
Molony swivels back to face him. “Uh, oh about five, no six years ago.”
“And that prepared you for this job here, did it?”
“Uh, well, no, actually. I decided to help out here until I can find a suitable job in my field. This is really just a stop gap, just until I can put something better together.”
“And your job here is?”
“I pull press clippings and keep the publicity files.” Wolfrom nods, glancing around the spacious office. Although somewhat sterile, this office is far too grand for the job description. The guy is connected.
Again from behind Lewis asks, “What did you take?”
Without jumping this time, Molony swivels back to look at her. He’s starting to feel more confident now. “I majored in film. That’s where Spielberg and Lucas went too.”
Wolfrom looks suitably impressed. “Wow, I’ll bet that’s hard work to find.”
Neil haughtily explains “I’m an auteur, I don’t work for some schmuck doesn’t know from nothing. I intend to direct, which entails putting together a project and packaging. I’m not sure why you’re here, though. I do have work to do, you know.” Neil is trying for an imperious dismissal.
“Well,” says Lewis as she comes around the desk, crossing her arms authoritatively. “What we want is for you to come downtown for a line-up.”
Trying to hang onto imperious, “A line-up? That’s ridiculous!” he says, now visibly nervous. Clenching her jaw, Lewis pins him with her flinty-eyed stare. Neil tries to keep it up, but cracks. “Uh, when do you think we do this?”
“Right now.” Lewis holds Neil Molony’s eye, then he swallows and nods and Lewis turns and makes for the door. Molony glances nervously back up at Wolfrom, standing by the desk, immobile, waiting. Molony looks away, then stuffs the game machine into a desk drawer and gets to his feet.
Wolfrom keeps his gaze neutral as he watches the creep come around the desk. Wolfrom feels the thrill. This is a wrong guy all right. Now to find out if it’s the right wrong guy.
