unbuttoned his collar.
Brown asked, “Are we done taking pictures.”
The officers nodded.
“Get that thing off the ledge for us.” Brown directed the assisting officers to bring the arm closer. The two officers, wearing protective coveralls and gloves, reached out and grabbed the arm. It was tied down to a brick so that it would stay on the ledge and not be blown away. They carefully lifted the arm, bringing it into the room. They placed it on a black bag on the desk.
Brown took a closer look scanning his eyes across the flesh of the severed stiff forearm hoping to find clues. He felt a bit sick from the rotting smell but stomached it very well. Maggots were starting to form.
Finch needed more information and asked, “What time are you on shift?”
Petit responded, “The office opens at nine, but a few people like to get in early, so I get here at eight in the morning.”
Brown jumped in, “What are your normal duties?”
“I usually hang out by the elevators. I walk the aisles once every 20 to 30 minutes. I take lunch at 11:30 or 12, a 15 minute break at 2:30 and I leave at 5:00, once everyone is gone. Sometimes people stay, but I leave at 5. Overtime has to be approved.”
“Have you or anyone worked overtime this week?” Finch asked.
“I didn’t, but I’m not sure if others did.”
“What usually happens on the floor? Was anyone acting strangely?”
“Well, I never go into private offices unless asked to. That arm could have been out there for a week and I wouldn’t know. And I haven’t seen anyone doing anything out of the ordinary.”
“Does another guard come in after you?” Finch asked.
“No. This place is cheap. They wouldn’t pay another person to walk the floor when no one is here. This level gets locked up at 8:00. No one gets in; no one gets out unless you have security clearance.”
Brown asked, “Who has security clearance here?”
Petit answered, “I don’t know exactly who. I would think head of security and the big wigs around here. Anyone from the board may have it, but I’m not 100% sure.”
“How did you find the arm?” Finch asked as she filled in the online worksheet.
“I didn’t find it. I got a call from one of our window washers, Eddie Cons. He was completely terrified and hysterical.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was throwing up when I got here. So I sent him home, but he is on call and willing to speak.”
“Let’s get back to this arm here. How do you know it is Robert Benson’s arm for sure?” Brown wanted to get his questions answered.
Petit walked closer and pointed. “That middle finger. See how it’s short? I remember him giving a speech about eight months ago to the employees here. And he told us a story about a butterfly that was caught in his dorm window back when he was at Harvard. He opened the window to free it and the window slammed back down on his finger cutting it off at the tip. I’m not sure if he was making a point about helping the helpless, or getting burned by those you help.”
“Was there a ring here? Look at that tan line. Did he wear a ring?” Brown asked good questions and always made good observations.
“Harvard ring. Class of 97. It slipped off once and my buddy, Jake, found it. That cheap bastard gave him 10 bucks for finding it. It was a $5000 ring!” He covered his mouth with the paper towel in his hand. “Sorry. This is kind of hard.”
“It’s ok. Get some air.” Brown sent Petit out of the room.
In the meantime Finch sent a text to Chief Downy. “HERE. EVERYTHING IS GOING WELL. UPDATING FILES ON THE CLOUD NOW.” She went back to her notes and was impressed with the way Brown handled the guard. Finch nodded as she took notes:
ROBERT BENSON: COO CHAPEL & CASE
MISSING TWO WEEKS
SPEECH 8 MONTHS EARLIER
SHORT MIDDLE FINGER: CUT IN WINDOW
HARVARD RING MISSING
CLASS OF ‘87
Some things may have seemed irrelevant, but she wrote everything that could possibly lead to a motive:
SAM PETIT:
Brown asked, “Are we done taking pictures.”
The officers nodded.
“Get that thing off the ledge for us.” Brown directed the assisting officers to bring the arm closer. The two officers, wearing protective coveralls and gloves, reached out and grabbed the arm. It was tied down to a brick so that it would stay on the ledge and not be blown away. They carefully lifted the arm, bringing it into the room. They placed it on a black bag on the desk.
Brown took a closer look scanning his eyes across the flesh of the severed stiff forearm hoping to find clues. He felt a bit sick from the rotting smell but stomached it very well. Maggots were starting to form.
Finch needed more information and asked, “What time are you on shift?”
Petit responded, “The office opens at nine, but a few people like to get in early, so I get here at eight in the morning.”
Brown jumped in, “What are your normal duties?”
“I usually hang out by the elevators. I walk the aisles once every 20 to 30 minutes. I take lunch at 11:30 or 12, a 15 minute break at 2:30 and I leave at 5:00, once everyone is gone. Sometimes people stay, but I leave at 5. Overtime has to be approved.”
“Have you or anyone worked overtime this week?” Finch asked.
“I didn’t, but I’m not sure if others did.”
“What usually happens on the floor? Was anyone acting strangely?”
“Well, I never go into private offices unless asked to. That arm could have been out there for a week and I wouldn’t know. And I haven’t seen anyone doing anything out of the ordinary.”
“Does another guard come in after you?” Finch asked.
“No. This place is cheap. They wouldn’t pay another person to walk the floor when no one is here. This level gets locked up at 8:00. No one gets in; no one gets out unless you have security clearance.”
Brown asked, “Who has security clearance here?”
Petit answered, “I don’t know exactly who. I would think head of security and the big wigs around here. Anyone from the board may have it, but I’m not 100% sure.”
“How did you find the arm?” Finch asked as she filled in the online worksheet.
“I didn’t find it. I got a call from one of our window washers, Eddie Cons. He was completely terrified and hysterical.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was throwing up when I got here. So I sent him home, but he is on call and willing to speak.”
“Let’s get back to this arm here. How do you know it is Robert Benson’s arm for sure?” Brown wanted to get his questions answered.
Petit walked closer and pointed. “That middle finger. See how it’s short? I remember him giving a speech about eight months ago to the employees here. And he told us a story about a butterfly that was caught in his dorm window back when he was at Harvard. He opened the window to free it and the window slammed back down on his finger cutting it off at the tip. I’m not sure if he was making a point about helping the helpless, or getting burned by those you help.”
“Was there a ring here? Look at that tan line. Did he wear a ring?” Brown asked good questions and always made good observations.
“Harvard ring. Class of 97. It slipped off once and my buddy, Jake, found it. That cheap bastard gave him 10 bucks for finding it. It was a $5000 ring!” He covered his mouth with the paper towel in his hand. “Sorry. This is kind of hard.”
“It’s ok. Get some air.” Brown sent Petit out of the room.
In the meantime Finch sent a text to Chief Downy. “HERE. EVERYTHING IS GOING WELL. UPDATING FILES ON THE CLOUD NOW.” She went back to her notes and was impressed with the way Brown handled the guard. Finch nodded as she took notes:
ROBERT BENSON: COO CHAPEL & CASE
MISSING TWO WEEKS
SPEECH 8 MONTHS EARLIER
SHORT MIDDLE FINGER: CUT IN WINDOW
HARVARD RING MISSING
CLASS OF ‘87
Some things may have seemed irrelevant, but she wrote everything that could possibly lead to a motive:
SAM PETIT:
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