Henry motioned to Alan to lean in and listen. The soft crackling noise could be heard clearly.
“How about over my lunch hour?”
“Noon then?”
“Can you come to the office?”
“Sure, I'll see you then.” He hung up the phone.
Henry looked at Alan. “What do you make of that?”
“I’d say her phone is bugged. You said it happened twice and both sounded just like that?”
“Yep.”
“Then it seems you happened to call two people who have their phones bugged.”
“Who was the other person?”
“Her name was Cynthia Pollard.”
“Was?”
“She was murdered last night.”
Alan was paranoid by nature, but this was too much for him. He closed his bag. “It sounds like you have gotten yourself into a mess. I was never here, but if you need me, stop by. Don’t call, though.”
“Got it, buddy, thanks.”
Celine walked in with a box of donuts and a can of coffee. “What did you do?!” Her tone was unmistakable. She was angry.
“I didn’t do anything. I was with Luna when she was killed,” Henry said, surprised she would assume he was involved.
“What? I mean to Bobby.”
“Oh, I didn’t do anything. He was going on, then he...”
“I just talked to him, and he declined a donut. He has never said no to baked goods. He said that he had been bothering you too much. What did you say to him?” Her foot was tapping.
Henry knew he was innocent but decided to throw himself on the mercy of the court. “It was a misunderstanding. He asked if there was anything he could do to help; I said I didn’t…”
“You did. Well, you have really upset him.”
“You didn’t let me finish…just like Bobby.”
Her foot stopped tapping, but her expression remained unchanged. “Okay, sorry, go ahead.”
“I was going to say that I didn’t have anything today. That was all. Not that I didn’t want him to ever help us again.”
“Well, you have hurt his feelings.” She handed him the box of donuts and pointed out the door.
Ten minutes later Henry was back, two donuts lighter. “He's doing some research on the company who disappeared. If he can dig something up on them, it will be great.” The office smelled of brewing coffee.
“Good. Now, who is dead?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lawrence was focusing on the directions he got from the security desk. He looked down and was thinking, left, then straight, left then right, third door. He said it a half dozen times before he bumped into a rather pretty woman with glasses, brown hair, and empty arms that used to hold a bunch of files.
“Oh, geez, I'm sorry.”
She had sort of bounced off Lawrence and now stood looking at the mess. “It’s okay; it was an accident.”
Lawrence got down and started sliding papers back into their files and handing each one back to the still startled woman. He noticed that she had really nice ankles. “I'm trying to find the Human Resources office. I'm supposed to start a job today. I'm early because I sometimes get lost.”
“Are you Henry’s friend?” She said.
He looked up. “Yes. Are you Miss Silverton?” He handed her another small pile of folders.
She crouched down a bit and helped him get the last few. “Yes, I'm. I don’t usually work over here, but, with the change in management, I had to pick up some files, obviously. I thought I would meet you up front and show you around. But you beat me here.”
“I like to be early.” He stood up and straightened his jacket, which was a little too tight.
She whispered, “I understand you're helping him with a case.”
He whispered back, “Yes, I'm, but I'm supposed to work hard, too. I promise I'll do a good job.”
She stuck out her hand and said, “I'm sure you will. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lawrence.”
“It's nice to meet you, too, Miss Silverton.”
“Please, call me Amy. Let me drop these off at the front desk. I can get them on the way out. I can show you where the HR office is, and you can finish up the paperwork. It won’t take very long. I had most of your information, so we just need a few signatures. After that, I’ll give you the tour and take you to meet your boss.”
Lawrence offered to carry the files, and she let him. He felt strangely at ease around Amy. Most pretty women made him nervous, but she seemed nice. He guessed she was a few years older than him. As they walked along, she talked about the company while he thought of how much she reminded him of a girl he knew in school...a cheerleader, with long chestnut hair, who was a senior when he was a sophomore. The cheerleader was nice to him, too.
Twenty minutes later, they were walking to production floor A. and Amy said, “Frank Pimpkin will meet us outside floor A. It’s a good idea to learn which buildings are which. A is the small floor, and also the name of the building, you'll be in building C, which has two floors, C and D. Frank will explain it to you. Are you confused yet?”
“Not yet, but I'm sure I will be shortly.”
Amy giggled and smiled at Lawrence. Lawrence felt ten feet tall. Frank chewed on a toothpick. He stuck out his hand. Amy left and the two of them walked through the door with an A on it. The sound of hard, sweaty work rushed up and hit Lawrence in the face.
One could have put three football fields inside the building. They walked past fifty or sixty people, some who looked up and others who didn’t have time. An old black man came through the door as they exited. He held it and said, “Morning, Frank.”
Frank said, “Morning, Frank.”
They walked a bit further and Lawrence asked, “His name is Frank, too?”
“His name is John Frank.”
“Oh, what does he do?”
“He is one of our top mechanics. Worked on Spitfires during the war; can fix anything.”
“Neat.”
Frank shrugged his shoulders and crossed over to another building marked B. It was different than the first one, had long production lines, smelled awful, and the walls were black with soot. The building was twice the size of the first.
“We have six teams here, which I keep my eyes on. What are you good at?”
“I used to work with my uncle. He was a plumber until he hurt his back.”
“We make pipes in this building, all sorts of lengths and sizes. I need help in a couple of areas. How about you work for a day on each and let me know which one you like?”
“Sounds good, boss.”
Frank introduced Lawrence to a couple of guys. Frank gave a brief description of how the machine worked and then said they could explain it better. He left Lawrence to start work.
The guys showed him where he could put his sports coat. One of them gave him some coveralls so that he wouldn’t ruin his pants. Lawrence hadn’t known he was going to start but was ready. He learned how to make six inch pipes.
***
Amy set the files on her desk and hung up her coat. The sound of her new boss, Mr. Kerwin, on the phone made her a little sad. Daniel Kupton had such a lovely voice. Mr. Kerwin, who had served as the Executive Vice President for the last five years, was tall, late fifties, gruff, and driven. He preferred giving orders to explaining how something should be done.
“Get it done now,” yelled Kerwin, and he slammed down the phone.
With a knock she said, “Mr. Kerwin, I have the files from the plant.”
“Yes, do bring them in and be quick about it.”
Amy set the files on his desk.
“Get me our supplier at Bethlehem Steel on the phone. What is his name?”
“His card is in the Rolodex.” Amy went back to her desk and dialed the number. She knew the name but preferred not to be helpful when he barked at her. After Amy put the call through, the yelling began again. She wished the office had thicker walls.
Two accountants, carrying thick ledgers, came in. She told them to sit. They looked frightened.
Amy took out a fresh sheet of company stationary and rolled it into the typewriter. There were three additional secretaries in the outer office who handled most of the correspondence, but she took care of all of Mr. Kerwin’s personal letters. One of the accountants was watching her closely, trying to catch her eye. She was used to it and ignored him.
She began typing, not looking up from the legal pad. The sound of the key strikes took some of the edge off the loud conversation seeping through the walls. Amy got into a rhythm, and each ding of the bell and subsequent carriage return created a little tune. She noticed the other accountant, who was not checking her out, was tapping to the rhythm of her letter writing.
When Mr. Kerwin had finished arguing with the man from Bethlehem Steel, he hung up the phone. Amy announced the two accountants. They went back and, after a few minutes, more yelling ensued.
The phone rang and Amy answered, “Hello, Kupton Manufacturing, the office of Mr. Kup…er Mr. Kerwin.”
“Amy, it's Henry. I'm going to have to postpone lunch until tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“Sure, I’ll see you then.”
"Great, thanks. I'll see you then."
Amy hung up.
A messenger came through the door and said, “This is Mr. Kerwin’s office, no?”
“Yes. He is in a meeting.”
The messenger sat down and said, “I'm to give it to him directly. I'll wait.”
She couldn’t place the accent, but he didn’t look like most of the guys who made deliveries.
The typewriter tune started up again.
Thirty minutes later, the accountants left with ashen faces clutching their ledgers below their arms. The one who had wanted to catch Amy’s eye, made no attempt now but instead kept his head down and rushed out.
Amy motioned for the messenger to go ahead. He didn’t say anything when handing the envelope to Mr. Kerwin. She saw that he gave the guy a twenty. It seemed excessive.
Mr. Kerwin said, “Amy, I need you to cancel my dinner plans with my wife tonight. Tell her I have an unexpected meeting. Then get Smith from purchasing up here.”
She stopped typing, made a note on her pad, and called over to purchasing. She missed Mr. Kupton.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Gilbert Iverson sat with his back to his desk. The sun was zipping in and out from behind the clouds. It looked warm outside. He wasn’t daydreaming, though. The reports on his desk had gotten thinner over the last two days. Patek Philippe's finest creations had nothing on his internal clock’s precision. Gilbert liked routine and read four reports before lunch and four after, with any additional reports being finished that night. Barely past noon, he wasn’t even hungry yet, and he was through all of April 12.
Most of the chatter was useless noise. On occasion he found a small thread of something important. These moments made his job a joy. He got up and walked out to the bullpen.
Each analyst was assigned with the task of cataloging certain calls. They marked down date and time, listened for any key words, and recorded those, too. It was a noisy room usually, and Gilbert avoided it. Today, three analysts worked on the New York Times crossword, one read a book, and the others seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. When they noticed Gilbert, everyone attempted to look busy.
“Been a little quiet today?” Gilbert asked the one on the corner desk.
“Only one call, at nine am, for three minutes. The conversation was about donuts. I don’t think it was code.”
“Probably not.”
There were always lulls. He hated them. This seemed different, though. Gilbert knocked on Dewey’s office door.
"Come in."
“The chatter is down again.”
Dewey never ran out of work. He looked up from his stack of financial reports and said, “Oh? By how much?”
“Nearly zero across the board. You think they made us?”
“Either that or they're getting close to making a move and are being extra cautious.”
“Even the broker, Darby, doesn’t seem to be talking, and he talks all freaking day.”
Dewey stood up and pulled a piece of paper out of a file. Handing it to Gilbert, he said, “Jack’s report, from this morning, is a little more interesting than usual. He just dropped it off before he headed home for some sleep. I'm sure he hated writing it.”
Subject: Henry Wood
April 13, 1955
Subject arrived early, had one visitor before office hours. Alan Finnegan, carrying his bag, presumably swept the office for bugs. Subject remained in office for rest of morning. Secretary, Celine, arrived at normal time of 9:00, carrying a box that was likely donuts.
End Noon
Gilbert smiled and asked, “Shall I call and gloat now, or wait until he comes in tonight?”
“Let him sleep. When he gets in you can have your fun. Have him bug Mr. Wood’s office tonight.”
“You think we should include the phone?”
“I think that if he is worried about bugs he would notice the phone, so just do the two rooms. Have we gotten the reports on his secretary?”