The headquarters of WPI sat in the heart of LA in a glossy, mirrored building that stood head and shoulders above the surrounding buildings. The interior of the lobby smelled like canned air and lemon scented cleanser. A waterfall took up the entire east wall and provided a white noise to mask the calls the three receptionists fielded behind the shiny pale wood lacquered counter.
“They own this entire building?” Day asked Jackson. “Like, all this is for Camscape?”
“No. WPI is a holding company. They own several cam companies, a few of the larger adult film companies, some adult toy sites, and other various entertainment companies of the less adult varieties.”
Jackson had called Detective Jimmy to ask him to arrange a meeting with WPI’s head of security but told him not to tell them what it was about. Jackson’s plan had seemed crazy at first, but even if Oscar was a crazed stalker and a murderer, Day found it hard to believe he would whip out a gun and start firing in the midst of all these people in their fancy business clothes, surrounded by ten foot palms and greenery that made Day feel like he was in some sort of arboretum.
Day wiped his sweaty palms on the knees of his black jeans and once more shifted in his seat. He felt underdressed beside Jackson, who looked like he belonged in a place like this with his perfectly tailored gray slacks, black cashmere sweater that clung to his muscles, and sleek black loafers. He looked more than like he belonged. He looked hot. The moment they’d entered, the women behind the front desk had exchanged knowing glances and sly smiles. Jackson really was everybody’s type.
Jackson leaned in, his lips moving against Day’s ear. “Relax, baby. You know I won’t let anybody hurt you, right?”
Day gave a hesitant nod but that wasn’t really his concern. Here, in this huge business lobby, somehow, the idea of Oscar being his stalker seemed almost too absurd to consider. He knew it was a bizarre thought to have. It wasn’t as if all stalkers lived in darkened basements, moving through sewers or darkened city streets like cartoonish super-villains, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all wrong. “Something’s off about this.”
Jackson frowned as he looked at Day. “About what?”
Day twitched, his hand spasming in a sort of aborted gesture. “This. All of this. I just don’t think he’s our guy,” he finished with a whisper.
“Well, if he’s not, we’ll keep looking. This is the first solid suspect we’ve found, so we’ve got to let it play out and see how things go.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m just so ready for all of this to be over. It’s like being followed by a ghost. I can feel him around me all the time, but he hasn’t made a direct threat against me, so it feels surreal, impossible even that somebody would think I was worth killing for. I know that sounds crazy, but my brain can’t make the leap from a guy I’ve talked to once a month on the phone being somebody so obsessed with me he’s willing to kill.”
“People who are this level of psychotic have no problem achieving the level of mental gymnastics that allows them to imagine a relationship with a total stranger. There have been several cases of stalkers killing over people they’ve never even met face to face. That is what makes them so hard to catch. It’s why often nobody even knows the obsession was there at all until it's too late to save the victim.”
Day shivered at that but shook his head. “But does this Oscar guy have a history of stalking or some kind of history that makes him a more likely candidate than any random guy off the street or even in this building?”
“He’s got enough of a history to make me think he’s capable of this, yes.” Day gave Jackson a flat stare at his lack of an answer. He sighed. “He has a history of rape and manslaughter.”
Day swallowed audibly. “Jesus.”
“That’s not going to happen to you. Nothing will happen to you. I promise.”
Day didn’t have a chance to answer. A man in gray slacks and a pale pink button down shirt walked towards them with purpose. He was fit, mid-fifties with snowy white teeth and a widow’s peak. He wore black framed glasses. He looked like everybody and nobody, but when he extended his hand, first to Jackson and then to Day, he gripped both their hands with a friendly confidence that made Day feel even more certain they were on the wrong track.
“Mr. Avery. David Caine, head of security. I spoke with your detective friend, but I’m afraid he gave very little information on the phone. How can I help you?” The man spoke to Jackson, but his eyes kept moving back to Day, his gaze questioning.
“My client, Mr. Daniels, has been working with one of your employees in payroll regarding a recurring error on his payments, and I was hoping we might be able to speak to him.”
Caine’s eyes widened then narrowed. He was clearly not expecting this to be a money issue. “Are you inferring that this employee has in some way committed a crime in regards to your client’s pay?”
“No, not at all. We’re investigating another matter entirely, and we have reason to believe that your employee might be able to offer some insight into this separate matter. I assure you that this has nothing to do with anything that might be a liability on the part of the company. I just thought it was better to reach out to you before I asked to speak with an employee on company time so as not to upset anybody.”
Day did his best not to gape at Jackson as he smoothly navigated around any potential verbal icebergs, speaking without really giving any information away.
“Employee name?” Caine asked.
“Oscar Delgado.”
The man reached behind him, and for a split second, Day had visions of the man pulling out a weapon. Instead, he pulled a phone from his back pocket and pressed some buttons. “Hey, Ben. David. Is it possible for me to steal Oscar for about thirty minutes?” There was a brief pause as Day assumed Ben was answering. “No. Nothing to worry about. Just some routine security stuff. Yeah, that should be fine. Thanks, man.”
Caine disconnected and smiled. “Oscar is at lunch for another ten minutes. The department heads usually go to lunch later so that the support staff can take their lunches on time. Ben said he’d put a note on his desk to head down as soon as he’s back. I’ll have Debbie open the first floor conference room for you and show you in as soon as he arrives.”
“Thank you, Mr. Caine,” Jackson said, giving him his best smile.
“Not a problem at all. If you need anything further, just let Debbie know and she’ll get a hold of me.”
With one last long look at Day, the older man disappeared back into the bank of elevators on the right, leaving Jackson and Day alone in the cavernous lobby once more. Day tried not to fidget but as ten minutes turned into fifteen then twenty, Day’s stomach began to churn. The idea of meeting Oscar face to face suddenly seemed less like a notion and more like a reality, and he wasn’t sure he could stand there and look at a man who may have slit Jay’s throat right in front of him. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Day muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asked.
