“Probably.”
“Where did you see Mr. Dunham?”
“Near my desk. I’d been in to Mr. Rainey’s office for a minute, to check on something about the retailing program I was assigned to, and when I came out, Nick was leaving his cubicle. He stopped and talked to me, just for a minute.”
The detective said nothing. It was his usual ploy to keep witnesses talking without steering their account of events, but he could well imagine Nick Dunham stopping to have a word with this beauty.
“He asked if I had plans for lunch,” she said uncertainly. “Is this what you want to hear?”
“Yes. Please continue.”
“Well, he said he would bring back something for me if I wanted, and I said thanks, but Jane Morrow and I were going out to eat together.” She looked at him expectantly.
“You and Nick Dunham are friends?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. We’ve worked together for a year or so. He’s very bright. Friendly, but not outgoing.”
“Pardon my asking, but is there anything personal between you?”
“You mean—no. He’s—Nick is married.”
Harvey was used to offending people with his questions, but he was sorry it was necessary. She seemed like a decent, conservative girl, but he needed to hear it in her own words.
“So, you didn’t want the relationship to become closer?”
She looked down again. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. We’re friends, but not close friends. The nature of our work doesn’t let us socialize much. All of us speak to each other, but it’s very superficial, I’m afraid.”
Harvey studied her face thoughtfully. Her anxiety seemed to be rising. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe Dunham had made a pass at her, and she was uncomfortable with that. Or maybe she really liked the guy, but didn’t want to cause problems in his home life or at work. “So what happened then?”
“He went out for lunch, and I kept working until quarter past twelve. When Jane was ready, we left together. I didn’t see Nick after lunch. I don’t think he was even here when we came back, but I’m not positive. I didn’t look in at his desk to see. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. We just need to know what he was doing up until the time he disappeared.”
She winced at that. “Do you think he’s in trouble? An accident, maybe?”
“Was Mr. Dunham in good health?” Harvey asked, skipping over her questions without compunction. It was his job to gain information, not give it, and he’d learned over the years to inspire trust while keeping his own counsel.
“Well, he was diabetic. It came up at the Christmas party, I think. He took his coffee black, and I don’t remember him eating many sweets. Other than the diabetes, though, I’d say he was in pretty good shape.”
Harvey nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell me about yesterday, Miss Wainthrop? Anything unusual?”
“I … don’t think so.”
He cast about for another question he could ask her. He knew he should be at Dunham’s house now, questioning his wife, but for some reason he didn’t want to bring this interview to an end. A rogue thought entered his mind. He could ask to see her driver’s license and check her birth date. She would believe him if he told her it was standard procedure to check her ID.
No, Eddie might do that, but Harvey wasn’t given to bending the rules so he could check out women. Just realizing he had thought of it was appalling. He glanced down at his left hand. The gold circle on his ring finger taunted him.
He stuck with procedure. She had made it clear that she didn’t date married men. The strong conviction that she was sincere buttressed his resolve to keep his own vow, even though no one else in the world would care. It also heightened his admiration for her.
He did take her home phone number, in case the police department needed to contact her again outside office hours and forced himself not to think about the way the morning sun streaming through the window illuminated her deep gold hair where it was pulled back sleekly at her temple.
“How are the partners, as bosses go?” he asked, watching her expressive eyes.
There was no sign of uneasiness as she answered. “They’re all right. They like to maintain a little distance, and they don’t mix with the rest of us outside work, but they usually treat us fairly.”
“Is there a union?”
“No, we negotiate our contracts individually.”
“Are you satisfied with yours?”
“Yes.”
Harvey nodded. He was stalling, and he knew it. Time to end this before he made a fool of himself. She was smart enough to figure it out if he stepped over the line of propriety. And if she knew what he was trying not to think at this moment, her trust and cooperation would evaporate in a hurry.
“I guess that’s about it, Miss Wainthrop. If we need to contact you again, I’ll give you a call.”
Eddie breezed in from the hallway, and Harvey resolutely pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Thanks for your help.”
“I hope you find him soon,” she said.
Eddie’s brilliant smile was instantaneous. “That’s what we’re here for.”
She nodded at Harvey and left the room briskly, avoiding Eddie’s gaze.
“What did I say?” Eddie asked, looking after her.
“Nothing. She’s just taking this very seriously. He’s her friend, and she was the last one to see him.”
“She can’t be a day over twenty.” Eddie watched her out of sight and turned back to find Harvey scowling. “What?”
“Twenty-three,” Harvey muttered. “At least.”
“No way.”
“Come on. Are Pete and Arnie on the way?” Harvey shoved his notebook into his pocket and headed for the exit.
“They’ll meet us in the parking lot.” As they walked down the hallway, Eddie gave him a summary of his findings in Dunham’s cubicle. They stepped out into the cool March sunlight, and Eddie pulled on his worn leather jacket. “And, Harv, I found a vial of insulin in one of the drawers.”
“So, he left his insulin, too.”
Eddie shrugged. “Might of had more that he took with him.” He waited, and Harvey knew he was watching him. “What’s eating you, Harv?”
“Nothing.” Harvey walked toward his fifteen-year-old green Ford sedan and leaned on the hood, watching the street for Arnie Fowler’s SUV or Pete Bearse’s car.
“Hey, she’s a pretty girl,” Eddie persisted.
“Woman.”
“Yeah, woman.”
Eddie was smiling, and Harvey turned away, his feelings all askew. He knew Eddie had never seen him unnerved by a female before. What was it about Jennifer Wainthrop that had thrown him so decidedly off his equilibrium?
“I wonder if she’s single.” Eddie stared innocently toward the street.
Harvey said nothing.
“We might need to go back and question her again, after we see the wife.”
“This is business, Ed.” Harvey berated himself for even responding to Eddie’s baiting. He glanced at him. As he’d suspected, Eddie was finding this extremely amusing. As if she’d like anything about me, Harvey thought. Eddie was the one the girls always threw themselves at. Besides, he was not in the market.
“There’s Pete’s car.” Eddie nodded toward the street, and Harvey was glad to put the subject of Jennifer Wainthrop behind him.
*****
Jennifer kept at her work all afternoon, but was aware each time a stranger passed through the office. In the large room, more than a dozen programmers and designers sat at their computer stations, the padded dividers between them muffling the sounds of keyboarding and telephone conversations. The editors worked at the far end of the room, closer to the hallway that led to the partners’ offices.
Two new detectives came around, questioning each worker. She told them she had already been interviewed by Detective Larson, but repeated her story for the benefit of the newcomers, Bearse and Fowler. Fo
wler was older, and she guessed he was near retirement. He had an engaging manner and seemed to be the one questioning most of the female employees.
Bearse, prematurely balding and somber, seemed more efficient, asking a few brisk questions, scribbling his notes, and moving on to the next worker, but she had to wonder if Fowler didn’t glean more information. The middle-aged office receptionist, Leola Harriman, laughed freely at some witty remark from Detective Fowler, and Jennifer caught a startled glance from Jane, across the aisle. Leola was not known for her good nature and was the last person Jennifer would suspect of flirtation, but when Arnie Fowler left, Leola kept the starry-eyed, distracted look, and misdirected several incoming phone calls.
It was nearly three o’clock before one of the partners, Ron Channing, came into the workroom and addressed them all in a strained voice, striving to reassure them that the investigation was under control and that Coastal Technology would carry on business as usual. Channing was stern-featured and broody, and Jennifer thought the company morale might have benefited more if Mr. Owen had been the one to speak to them.
John Macomber, one of the software designers, dared to ask if there was any word on Nick.
“We haven’t heard anything from the investigating officer yet,” Channing admitted, “but I’m confident we’ll learn soon that Mr. Dunham is fine. I’m inclined to think he was called away suddenly and forgot to inform us, that’s all.”
Right. Jennifer wasn’t usually cynical, but Nick Dunham was a family man in good standing. He had two young children, and his wife, Lisa, adored him. She showed up once a month or so for a lunch date with her husband, and all the women at Coastal knew the Dunhams’ marriage was solid.
At the end of the day, Jennifer was surprised when Mr. Owen called her, Tessa Comeau, and John Macomber into his office. Channing was there, too, sitting in the comfortable wing chair at one side, and Jack Rainey, the third partner, entered the room right behind John and Jennifer.
“Miss Wainthrop, Miss Comeau, Mr. Macomber.” Owen was always a bit more formal than the other partners, but usually he was affable. Today he seemed absolutely stiff. Jennifer watched him, sensing that he was affected deeply by Dunham’s abrupt disappearance.
Owen cleared his throat and nodded deferentially toward Channing and Rainey. “My partners and I have decided to go ahead with a new project. Before this unfortunate occurrence, we had planned to put Nick Dunham in charge of it. But it would be poor business for us to delay beginning the project.”
Jennifer glanced at Tessa, but she was watching Owen with interest.
“We’ve been commissioned by a private client to create a rather extensive program,” Owen went on. “It’s very ambitious, and will absorb all the energy the three of you can give it for several weeks. It’s an extremely important account for us. We’ll start you on separate sections of the program tomorrow morning. Later, we’ll have the translators and editors help you. We will reassign any unfinished projects you have on hand. Any questions?”
“Residuals?” John asked timidly. The programmers were normally entitled to a percentage royalty of programs they initiated or contributed to extensively.
“I’m afraid not,” Owen said regretfully. “This program will be marketed overseas, and it’s a one-time fee for us, but it will be significant, and I expect you to receive a hefty bonus when the work is done to the client’s satisfaction.”
John and Tessa nodded, and Owen looked expectantly at Jennifer. She was disappointed but felt she had no choice. The work-for-hire contract would eat up time she might have spent on programs she designed, which were her best chance to build a nest egg.
“You three are our best designers. This will be worthwhile for you.” Channing had been silent until then, and Jennifer looked at him. His melancholy face held its customary guarded expression. Was he trying to make them feel special because they’d been selected for a difficult job? Probably he hoped he could mollify them into doing an arduous task that would be very profitable for the firm. She knew she and John Macomber were better at programming than any of the three partners, and Tessa was known for her creativity.
The firm’s partners were business minded, and they knew computers. Rainey, especially, was detail oriented and could pound out a workable technical program quickly, if all the protocols were standard. The youngest of the three, he was an intuitive troubleshooter. Owen was a born marketer and courted clients assiduously. Channing was somewhat creative and studied the software market with a quick eye for the customers’ needs. But none of them was truly an innovative thinker. When they needed a complicated program without glitches, they turned to John and Jennifer. Or Nick Dunham.
“So, Miss Wainthrop,” Owen said smoothly, “will you be ready for this new assignment in the morning? Things are in a bit of a muddle just now, but I’m sure this question of Dunham’s whereabouts will be cleared up soon, and the client insists that we begin this project immediately.”
“Certainly.” She hoped her confusion didn’t show. Normally, Rainey or one of the other partners handed her an assignment without questioning her readiness. This job must be different somehow. Or was it just the unsettled feeling in the office, with Nick missing? Everything seemed tentative, as though all the people at Coastal held their breath, waiting for the detectives’ permission to exhale.
As she prepared to go home, her thoughts focused once more on Detective Larson. He was in charge of the investigation, she was sure, although she hadn’t seen him since their interview. She’d heard Bearse’s end of a conversation with him, when Larson had apparently called for an update. She hadn’t meant to listen. Bearse had spoken quietly, but had stood quite close to her work station when he took the call on his cell phone.
“No, Harv, nothing solid. The receptionist logged four calls for Dunham after he quit answering his phone. She took messages for him. The earliest one was just after noon. Yeah. And one guy’s pretty sure Dunham’s car was in the parking lot when he came back from lunch.”
Jennifer thought about that off and on all evening. She tried to remember if she had seen Nick’s car, but she and Jane had gone out the front door and down Market Street for sandwiches at a deli they frequented. She’d paid no attention to the parking lot. Too bad. If only someone had sensed sooner that something was wrong!
She thought of Lisa Dunham waiting at home for her husband to return, struggling to be strong for the children. If she knew Lisa better, she might have called her.
She’d have to leave it up to Detective Larson and his squad to solve the puzzle and bring comfort to the Dunham family. If ever she’d seen a man capable of bringing order out of chaos, it was Harvey Larson. Dependable. Competent.
Jennifer puzzled over the favorable impression the detective had left. Why did Larson inspire calm and hope in her, when Owen and Channing’s speeches to the employees only fueled speculation and dread where Nick’s fate was concerned?
Chapter 2
“Time to move on to something else,” Captain Mike Browning counseled six weeks later. He sat with his elbows on his desk, leaning on his clasped hands.
Harvey sighed. “I hate to leave a case unsolved.”
“I know. But on this one, we’re past the point of diminishing returns.”
“You’ve put everyone else on other cases.” Harvey tried not to let discontent creep into his voice. For weeks he had immersed himself in the life of Nick Dunham, with no success. The man had vanished, leaving no trail to follow.
Apology darkened Mike’s blue eyes. “We won’t close the case, of course, but I need you and Eddie. We’ve got a backlog of cases waiting for attention. I feel sorry for the guy’s wife and kids, but we’ve got to let this one go, Harv.”
Eddie sat back, watching them uneasily. He was the youngest man in the unit, and lacked the maturity and experience of Mike’s other detectives.
“I don’t say it’s a kidnapping,” Harvey admitted. “No ransom demand. We’re way past the time for that.”
&n
bsp; “No, if it started as a kidnapping, something went wrong,” Mike said.
“So, what do you think, Eddie?” Harvey asked. He seldom disagreed with Mike’s decisions, but, then, he seldom had to put a case in mothballs. He’d gotten used to success, and the elite detective unit was a formidable team, known for cracking tough cases. But this one had stymied them.
“Well, his car disappeared with him,” Eddie offered. “Somebody drove it away.”
Mike nodded. “Don’t discount the possibility that Dunham doesn’t want to be found.”
“I don’t buy it.” Harvey plunked his coffee mug on the desk. “Pete found a witness who said the car was in the company parking lot after lunchtime.”
“One out of two dozen.” Mike shook his head. “Harv, you know how hard it is to get consistent testimony from a group that big.”
“All right, what about the insulin? The man’s diabetic. His wife says he’s got to have insulin twice a day, minimum.”
“He took it with him,” said Mike.
“How big a supply? Come on, Mike. He hasn’t contacted his doctor, and he hasn’t filled his prescription. Lisa Dunham thinks he’d need to do that within a week.”
Mike’s jaw hardened. “The plain truth is, you don’t know how big a supply he had on hand. Maybe he built it up inconspicuously over a period of time, planning for this. Or maybe he’s getting it off the Internet, from some borderline legal supplier.”
“Or maybe he went into a diabetic coma and died somewhere,” Eddie put in.
“That couldn’t happen,” Harvey protested. “I’ve kept after all the law enforcement agencies and hospitals in the state and alerted all the morticians. Dunham wore a medical alert dog tag. If he wound up in an emergency room or a morgue, we’d know it.”
“You alerted New Hampshire.” Mike rose with his empty coffee mug in his hand and headed for the coffee maker.
“All of New England. And there’s been nothing. No diabetic John Does. I put the word out to pharmacies and hospitals all down the coast. I’ve been working this thing, Mike.”
The Priority Unit (Maine Justice Book 1) Page 2
