Richard Hawke - Cold Day in Hell

“That’s hiring and firing?”

“Basically, yes. Though most of my time is spent in recruitment.”

“You check qualifications, references, do interviews? That sort of thing?”

“Correct.”

“Have you fired anyone recently?”

She paused. “We announced a large layoff right before Christmas.” She managed a small laugh. “Nice and Dickensian, isn’t it? Some people went immediately. Others received notice that their positions were being phased out over a matter of a couple of months. We give good severance packages. But yes, I guess I’ve fired a lot of people recently.”

“How does that work, a mass layoff like that?”

“It’s a grueling couple of days. I see everybody one at a time, and I give them the news.”

“That must be fun.”

“Most people are surprisingly okay about it. Layoffs are part of the culture these days. That’s not to say they’re happy. I get the word that we have to make so-and-so many cuts in such-and-such department. I talk with the department heads, we go over their staffs. Except in rare cases, it’s almost always a matter of seniority. I mean, sometimes there’s a bad job report that can move someone up on the list, but usually it’s last one in, first one out. Either way, it’s painful. It’s like I’m the village executioner.”

“You say people are pretty good about it. But do some people get angry? Have you ever had anyone threaten you personally?”

She and Jeffrey shared a look. “Go on,” Jeffrey said. “Tell him.”

Allison turned back to me. “It’s nothing. Yes. Some people do get upset. Of course they do. Who wouldn’t? Like I said, these last cuts came right around Christmas. Which I argued against, by the way. Plus, the job market really stinks right now.”

“You’re reluctant to give me a name, is that it?”

She looked like she was ready to cry. Jeffrey squeezed her hand tighter and answered for her. “There’s an implied confidentiality in the work Ally does.”

I ignored him. “Ms. Jennings, were you also reluctant to give this name to the police last night?”

“I could lose my job if one of our former employees brings a lawsuit. I’m sure this guy isn’t the one who left that message. It makes no sense. The last thing I need is him finding out I sicced the police on him.”

“Okay. Let’s put him aside for a minute. I assume you also interview people for new positions. Have there been any job candidates in the past six months or so who struck you as peculiar?”

“Peculiar?”

“Excessive in some fashion. Too eager. Too friendly. Too boastful. Too secure or too insecure. Someone who behaved like he had the job in the bag when in fact he didn’t.”

“Yes.”

“Yes to which?”

“Yes to everything you just said. That’s what you get in my position, all the types you just listed.”

“Let’s concentrate on the ones who didn’t get the job.”

“That’s the majority. One position, scores of candidates.”

“I’m looking for a man, someone who stands out. Maybe he wasn’t necessarily aggressive. Something off in the body language. Or he had an odd way of putting things. Did any of the candidates come on to you? Even subtly?”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“I’m just fishing. If someone unhinged thought he’d made a personal connection with you and then he didn’t get the job. In his eyes, you rejected him not only for the job but also personally. Does anyone like that come to mind?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”

I was getting nowhere. But most times that’s how you have to play the game. You rack up the miles on fruitless roads. I tried a new tack. “Back to the people you had to let go. Did any of them ever say to you that losing their job was going to make things difficult for them or their family?”

“I guess so. It really depends. The ones who are single, they have a little less to worry about, and most-”

I had a thought. “Hold on. Clear your mind for a second. Stop looking for a man. Think of the women. Specifically the married women. I’m not expecting you to know the circumstances of everyone’s private life, but I’m sure sometimes you get a sense. Does any woman stand out who seemed upset over how her husband was going to take the news? Maybe someone who mentioned that her husband was recently laid off himself or was out looking for work or maybe just made a large investment? A house. Or the kids’ tuition. Someone who worried that she was really going to be strapped by losing her job? Did anyone seem uncommonly scared?”

Jeffrey spoke up. “You mean like a woman who was afraid her husband was going to yell at her or even beat her up for losing her job?”

“Exactly. That’s one example. The violent spouse. Does anything like that come to mind, Allison?”

“Possibly.” She nibbled lightly on her lower lip before continuing. “There was a woman during the pre-Christmas layoffs who said exactly what you just said. But people say stuff all the time. I mean, it’s a figure of speech.”

“What’s a figure of speech?”

“‘My husband is going to kill me.’”

I took out my notebook and slid it across the table. I handed her a pen. “It’s time for names, Allison. I want this one, and I want the man you mentioned who got angry when you fired him. This is no time for you to be protecting anyone. Do you remember the names?” She nodded. I reached across the table and tapped my finger on the notebook. “Write them.”

She scribbled down a pair of names. “I’m not going in to work today. I’m just too freaked out. But if you’d like, I can call my assistant and have her pull the files on these two.”

“That’ll be good. I know where your building is. Tell her I’ll stop by later this afternoon.” Allison produced a business card and handed it to me. I tucked it into my notebook and thanked her for her time.

Jeffrey accompanied me to the front door. He looked like he could use some air.

“I don’t get it. Why would somebody want to kill Allison? Do you really think it’s got something to do with her job?”

“I plan to find that out.”

“I’m afraid to leave her side.”

I looked back at Allison. She was staring a hole into her hands. I turned back to Jeffrey. “If I were you, that’s exactly what I’d do. I’d be on her like glue.”

PETER ELLIOTT STUCK his thumbs in his maroon suspenders and put his feet up on his desk. I settled into a brown leather chair that smelled faintly like a new shoe. “All you need is a stogie in your mouth, counselor.”

Peter laughed. “Shelly hates it when I smoke cigars.”

“Shelly is a civilized woman.”

“No argument there. So you met with Ms. Jennings?”

I gave him a rundown. He listened without interrupting, consulting the ceiling as I spoke. When I was finished, he brought his feet back down to terra firma and drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Okay. Those sound like lukewarm leads.”

“That’s how I see it, too. But they should be tracked down.”

“Give them to the police. It’s the Fox connection we want.”

“That’s a zero,” I said.

“Anything to the Jennings woman looking like Robin Burrell?”

“I didn’t see it,” I said. “I mean, she looks more like her than you or I do. Though maybe you’ve got dishy legs. I’ve never had the privilege.”

“Ms. Burrell did have a nice set of sticks, didn’t she?”

“She was not an unattractive woman.”

Peter scoffed, “Come on, Fritz. The woman was gorgeous.”

“But no sexual predator.”

The attorney held up a hand. “Please. If I never hear that term again, I’ll be grateful. You’ve got to give Riddick credit for that one. He really pounded it into the jury. Basic brainwashing 101. What was I supposed to do, go up there and ask the witness to explain to the jury that she wasn’t a sexual predator? That just keeps the damn term floating out there longer.”