Case #47 – Murder In Conference Room B
Another case of workplace tension gone on far too long.
“They should leave the blogging to someone who wants to do it. ”
Date: 22nd of May
Time: 13:52
Location: Who cares?
Cause Of Death: Blog writing gone wrong
Stomach: Rumbling
*4 suspects. 1 victim. No chance of lunch before solving the case*
Description:
The employees stand aghast around a large desk in the centre of the conference-room. All faces only a mother could love. Light forces its way through the slits of the faded venetian blinds. Seems like another ordinary Monday at the office to me.
A body lays slumped in one of the black leather chairs. The victim – male. 58 years old. Pale complexion. Short brown hair. Blue eyes.
A keyboard, black as the night itself, lodged in the side of the unfortunate victim’s head. Peculiarly, a couple of keys are missing. There was no escape.
The room joins onto a larger office where the employees usually sit and “work”.
“I need you in a line outside. We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way. One at a time.” I say lighting up a Camel cigarette, my only relief from this miserable situation.
“Erm… I don’t think you can smoke in here?” One of the suspects announced.
The Interviews
Workplace Tension
I’ve seen it all before…
An office, disgruntled staff and one very fast moving keyboard.
“Name?”
“Cavendish. Donald Cavendish.”
I’m not sure why an IT manager would need to wear a suit with a bowtie…
The man sitting in front of me’s most defining feature is his nose. A small moustache lies hiding under the large feature. The only thing more distracting, his awful fake English accent.
“You see old chap…” Donald sarted, “I’d had a truly terrible morning.”
There’s only one thing I hate more than missing my lunch – office smalltalk.
“I walked into the office with my cup of piping hot tea and noticed that Richard had not yet graced us with his arrival.”
Sarcasm. It stuck to his mouth like delicious BBQ ribs.
“I was requested to assist Jennifer, as she was having troubles with her computer. Again.”
His eyes rolled like two bowling balls headed for a perfect strike
“And then what?” I asked, trying to avoid staring at his more noticeable facial feature.
“Well that was it really…” He paused looking slightly irritated.
“Apart from Barnaby asking me to write some blog posts for him. The bloody cheek of it!”
I can almost taste the baloney sub I have waiting in my car.
“Oh. And the god-awful screaming coming from the conference room. It must have been Velma and Barnaby arguing”
“They were always at it, arguing I mean. Until she helped him fall into the big sleep that is.”
There it is. Another office space gone sour. It happens everyday. You delegate a disgruntled employee a blog or two thinking nothing of it. Then BAM! you’re thrown overboard and left to sleep with the calamari.
“I have what I need, you’re free to wait outside” I flick the ash of my cigarette towards the doorway.
Mmmm. Calamari.
“Jolly good, pip pip cheerio.” He bounced towards the exit slightly flashing his Union Jack pants as he left the seat.
Like most IT managers I’ve had the displeasure to meet- insufferable.
The Algorithm
If I had a dime for every murder committed over blog writing, well, I’d be a dime richer.
“It’s Jennifer Falcone before y’ start.”
Her face? As pointed as a freshly sharpened knife.
Her wit? As blunt as a butter knife.
“Go ahead Ms Falcone”
“Was a pretty crappy mornin’ if you ask me. I’m away smoochin’ Richy in the Janitor’s cupboard and whens I get back to my desk I see that creep David or Donald or what ever its name is sniffing ‘bout my stuff.”
Spoken with the brains of Gwenyth Paltrow and the personality of a rock.
“So I goes up to him and ask what d’ya think you’re doing creep!?”
“Then he says…”
She goes on mimicking the IT manager. Although I’m not sure whether drawing the moustache on with a sharpie was absolutely essential.
“Madam, are you absolutely sure you cannot log in? There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with the device”
“Lookie here inspector, I gots to work, but it ain’t in my job description to do these blogs ya see?”
I remember this company’s website now. The blog section was as barren as the turkey farms at thanksgiving.
No wonder it took me so long to find them on Google. Other search engines are available.
“Sounds to me like you should be keeping up to date to keep up with the algorithm.” I say lighting my second camel to stave off the hunger in my stomach.
“Don’t start with me mister! I ain’t gunna write no blogs!.”
I don’t want to be that guy, but, I guess it’s time…
“Jennifer, I need to speak with your manager”
Creating Quality Content
Richard Corleone, the ex-mafioso turned physical therapist. People owe him favors from all over. I’ve met his type before. Mean.
“Richard Corleone, it’s about time we met. Looks like you’re running a slack operation round here.”
His eyes sizing me up like a hunk of Ol’ Jimmy’s finest T-bone steak.
“Hmmm…” He says, his eyes not moving an inch.
“I’ve been talking with Ms Falcone and it seems you’ve been sampling your own stock?” I ask.
“She ain’t nothing to me” His voice not matching his larger stature. He whines like a small angry dog.
Life must’ve been ruff for this one.
“And where were you after your little rendezvous with Ms Falcone?” I inquire waiting for him to slip up.
“I was telling Velma to mind her own damn business! She was trying to tell me how to run my own company. Can you believe that?!” He barked.
Woof. Woof. Woof.
“She was getting all up in my grill, telling me something about how the blogs I’d been doing weren’t worth the virtual paper they were written on. Sumthin bout SEO and the blogs won’t be helping our rankings” Corleone continued.
Grill? Dog? Hot dog. Lunch.
“Then that Barnaby, he was poking his nose in and saying we should hire some other schmucks to do the blogs. But I ain’t parting with my cash unless I have to. Then he starts talking bout how the blogs I was doing weren’t good quality content.”
Maybe a hot dog with the crispy onions from the van round the corner? Ketchup maybe? Mustard too?
Wait. Barnaby? The victim?
“So you were the last person to see Mr Winterbottom?” I ask, waiting for the answer that lets me leave and go for lunch.
His face went flush like a fresh tomato.
“No that was Velma, she was giving him a talking to, then 5 minutes later. BOOM! Ain’t no more Mr Winterbottom.”
A real stand up guy.
“One more thing Inspector, here I found this on Mr Winterbottom’s desk just before the er, accident.” He gets up to leave.
The kindest thing Mr Corleone’s done in his life, leave the room.
In front of me sits a note “Meet Me In Conference Room B.” Wait what’s this? A stain on the corner of the page, *sniffs* it smells like tea? Hmmmm.
SEO – A Priority
“You asked for me, inspector?” An older woman with short blonde hair sits in front of me, giving a wink as she talks.
Velma Underwood, I’ve seen her films. An old actress turned HR recruitment officer. A colorful history being fired for stealing office supplies. Rumor is she’s wanting to make her own office to star in her own series. One pen at a time.
“I did, what can you tell me about the argument you were having with Mr Corleone?”
She’s staring at my shirt, probably waiting for me to make the first move.
“I told Mr Corleone straight up that he can’t be publishing nonsense, how am I supposed to keep my job if the business goes dry from bad SEO?”
There’s an employee who knows how it is. SEO. Keeping your content fresh like a salad. A chicken caesar salad with a side of fries and a burger – and probably a shake, too.
Wait. Where am I again?
“Then Mr Winterbottom came in and Corleone stormed out probably to give Ms Flacone her yearly review or something.”
“That’s all I know really darling.”
She’s hiding something. I can feel it. Her eyes hungry, fixated on the same spot of my shirt.
“And your conversation with Mr Winterbottom?” I ask.
Her eyes not leaving my chest. She knows how to make a guy feel uncomfortable.
“I’d simply advised that it should be Mr Corleone needs to buck his ideas up with the SEO content, either that or hire someone who actually cares.” She continues.
I finally gain the confidence to follow her gaze.
It’s directed at the pen in my pocket. I grasp it tightly to let her know she can’t have it.
“Then 10 minutes later the poor guy turns up dead, if you ask me its probably that fake British guy.” Her gaze breaks from the pen as she speaks, I lean forward feeling slightly more comfortable.
“That’ll be all Ms Underwood.” She leans in for a handshake before she leaves. I accept.
Could it be Cavendish? No something doesn’t add up here.
I go to grab my pen from my shirt pocket to write my notes. It’s gone?
Damn she’s good.
Keeping Your Staff Happy
That was my last interview. I can almost taste my lunch.
An old man wearing a blue jumpsuit opens the conference room door and walks in.
“Cleaning.” He says in a rugged voice.
Cleaning at this time?
The man looks about making sure nobody else is in ear shot.
“The name’s Johnny Two-Mops and I’ve got some hot information for you.” he mutters from under the tache.
“Spill it Two-Mops.” I demand. Knowing lunch is just a confession away.
Bingo! This is the lead I need.
Johnny Two-Mops leans to whisper in my ear:
“These lot have been at each-others throats over all this blog writing and they’re all dodging the responsibility.”
“I saw someone take that British guy’s mug from his desk and stamp it on some note.”
So it wasn’t that Michael Cain wannabe Cavendish? I knew it!
“Spill the beans I haven’t got all day.” I say.
Beans, toast, bacon, egg, sausage – breakfast.
The old man leans further in and whispers a single name.
The Confession
Back in conference room B we all stand around the body.
“Put the cuffs on that British geezer and be done with it will ya.” Ms Falcone starts the accusations.
Wow this office is in much worse shape than I thought.
“Not so fast Ms Falcone, I bet it was you trying to get out of a day’s work by offing Barnaby.” Ms Underwood says with eyes darting between the other suspects.
“Keep your accusations to yourself Ms Underwood, we’ve all noticed our office supplies bloody well disappearing!” Cavendish pipes up.
Chaos.
“That’s enough!” I start
“Mr Winterbottom was the victim of mismanagement!”
“The real killer was… Richard Corleone.” His lips curling into a slight smile.
The rest of the employees didn’t so much as gasp. The most unsatisfying room to stand in as a detective.
“Corleone tried to frame Mr Cavendish and butter the rest of you up.”
Like a buttered lobster.
“The motive? Frustration.”
“Corleone, you knew that Mr Winterbottom was right when he said you would need to focus more on your SEO content.” Corleone’s face dropped as I explain.
This might just be over before Sal’s deli has been completely raided.
“Well done detective. It was a second of pure anger. These lot ave been going on and on about SEO and blog writing for months a tell ya! It’s been doing my head in. So I snuck in to the conference room after the office went quiet.” Corleone started.
“Do you wanna know the fool’s last words?” He went on.
“Maybe we should hire someone else to do our SEO content so we don’t end up killing each other. HA!” He continued.
SEO. Blog writing. This could’ve all been prevented.
“So you snapped and killed Mr Winterbottom?” I query placing the handcuffs on his wrists and passing him to my partner.
“And I’d do it again before I wrote another blog that ‘weren’t good enough’” He squealed.
There it is, the sweet smell of a freshly baked donut – er, I mean confession.
I face the remaining employees.
All of this over SEO content management.
“You want my advice?”
“Leave it to the professionals.”
Blog Writing Shouldn’t Be Murder
The moral of the story – don’t make blogging a motive for murder in your office.
It doesn’t take a detective to realize SEO management shouldn’t be the cause of your stress.
We can alleviate this stress for you with our range of website, SEO, and professional content creation services.
Get in touch with us anytime through our contact page.
Johnathan Elliott
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