Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

Chapter 19

PARTICIPATING IN A MULTI-JURISDICTIONAL INVESTIGATION was a lot like dancing. Unfortunately, Wyatt didn’t care for dancing. Never had. Never would.

Currently, he had Kevin in the car, riding shotgun. When playing with the feds, it never hurt to have a smart guy around, and Kevin was as geeky as the North Country knew how to get.

They had instructions to rendezvous with Special Agents Adams and Hawkes at the Denbe Construction headquarters in downtown Boston. Though it was a Saturday, the FBI had already received permission to start interviews of various company officers and employees. Given that in a missing person’s case, time was of the essence, no one was arguing.

Nicole mentioned a private investigator might be present as well, some corporate security expert retained by Denbe Construction to conduct an independent assessment of the situation.

Which is where things got complicated. Not competitive, necessarily, though sometimes that happened as well. But complicated. To say everyone wanted the Denbes recovered safe and sound oversimplified the matter. Denbe Construction wanted them found in the most efficient (i.e., least costly) manner possible. The FBI wanted them found in a way that would highlight not only the bureau as a whole, but advance Nicole’s and her partner’s careers individually. And Wyatt… Well, hell, he wasn’t immune to a little glory. He was already blowing his budget on the search operations. He wouldn’t mind coming out of this looking like a good guy. A sheriff’s department had to fight for funding just like everyone else. A high-level success went a long way to keeping them operational another year.

In other words, a lot of cooks in the kitchen. Which could lead to some really great collaboration, or one massive fuckup.

Wyatt’s job was never boring.

They took 93 into Boston. Sun was long gone, the city lights blazing with full Saturday night glory. In his younger days, Wyatt would head down to Boston to catch a concert, or maybe a Red Sox game. Now, following in the footsteps of most New Hampshirites over forty, he shunned the city entirely. The drive, the traffic, the parking, the crowds…

Yep, he’d gotten old and, mostly, he liked it.

Red arrows appeared on the navigation system, trying to illustrate which of the myriad of exits he was supposed to take, but mostly confusing the issue. Kevin did the honors. Being a hockey nerd, he still drove to Boston regularly for the Bruins games.

Between the two of them they managed to find the Denbe Construction building. Underground parking lot, which was useful. They got their ticket, parked the car, then shook out their limbs. They wore their uniforms: Tan pants with dark brown stripes. Dark brown shirt topped with a light brown tie, county patches and gold badge indicating rank. Duty belts, high-polished boots, tight-brimmed hats.

The feds would blend with the other suits in the room. Wyatt and Kevin, on the other hand, knew how to make an entrance.

The building lobby was composed of mostly glass, steel and dark-gray slate. The kind of architectural design that kept Wyatt forever happy to be a hick. He noticed one coffee shop and what appeared to be a travel agency. Otherwise, there was an information desk, currently empty, then a bank of elevators beside a huge directory of the building’s occupants.

Kevin located Denbe Construction, twelfth floor. They hit the button and the elevator obediently carried them away.

Exiting the elevator, they encountered a narrow hallway and a great deal more glass: an entire wall of it, with the glass door so artfully fit into the broader panes Wyatt felt like a blind man using Braille to feel out the edges. Door was locked. Behind it sat a cherrywood receptionist’s desk, topped with bold metallic letters that spelled out Denbe Construction. Right place. If only they could enter.

Kevin finally found an intercom, hit the button.

Thirty seconds later, an older woman with short-cropped silver hair, dark gray pants and a long-sleeve white silk turtleneck appeared. She had the tight look of a woman under a great amount of stress but holding it together.

She took in their uniforms, then opened the door.

“Anita Bennett,” she said briskly. “Chief of operations, Denbe Construction. And you are?”

Wyatt did the honors, could see her bright blue eyes immediately connect the dots.

“You found Justin’s jacket and will now be assisting with the New Hampshire search,” she stated, gesturing for them to enter.

Wyatt was tempted to quibble over the word assist , but resisted. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bennett—”

“Anita, please call me Anita. The others are in the conference room. Coffee and refreshments are on the side table. Restrooms just down the hall. I have a few final details still to tend. This whole day… We’re a bit rattled. Nothing like this has ever happened to us before.”

Wyatt and Kevin nodded their sympathies. Anita led them to an impressively large conference room, with the requisite wall of windows overlooking downtown Boston. Wyatt guessed that in an industry where contracts ran to the tens of millions, image mattered, because nothing in this room was cheap. Massive birchwood table. Dozens of plush leather chairs. Huge graphic prints. Wyatt hadn’t gotten to visit the crime scene at the Denbes’ town house yet, but just looking at Justin Denbe’s offices made him very curious about Justin Denbe’s home.

Half of the leather chairs were taken. Sitting with their backs to the Boston view were the two feds, Nicole Adams and Ed Hawkes. Next to Nicole sat a stocky-looking guy, buzz-cut black hair, red plaid shirt rolled up to the forearms, tattoo creeping up his neck. Definitely one of Denbe’s, same with the three guys beside him, also clad in worn flannel, heavy cargo pants and work boots. None of them were large, but each of them exuded the kind of inner swagger that came with years of winning bar brawls. Former military, Wyatt would bet his life on it. Which he already found interesting. Hadn’t realized Denbe employed so many of the military types, guys who would have, say, hands-on experience with Tasers. Not to mention, these guys looked like top of the food chain—they probably had interesting connections to even more interesting military specimens.

He finished his inspection of the Denbe crew about the same time they finished their inspection of him. They didn’t seem impressed, but then, the first guy, Mr. Buzz Cut, already appeared more captivated by Nicole. Good luck with that, Wyatt wanted to tell him, but didn’t.

Across the table, currently sitting alone, he got his first surprise.

Female, heart-shaped face, flat blue eyes. Jolted him a second, because at first glance, the face seemed young, but then, those eyes… He met her gaze, and she returned it frankly.

Definitely another former something. Not in uniform now, but had been. The face niggled at him. A sense of déjà vu, as if he should know her.

“Tessa Leoni,” she spoke up. “Northledge Investigations. I’ve been retained by Denbe Construction to handle an independent assessment of the situation.”

Ah, the independent investigator.

He crossed over and pulled out a rolling leather chair next to her. Kevin took a seat beside Wyatt.

Wyatt did the honors, holding out his hand. “Wyatt Foster, sergeant, criminal investigations. This is Detective Kevin Santos. We had jacket duty.”

“You launched the hotline,” Tessa said.

He nodded modestly. “Don’t tell anyone, but I like the public. More often than not, they have useful things to tell us. I mean, once you weed out the crazies. And given that we have few leads and very little information, I thought we could use some useful tips right about now.”