"Just annoyed?" Catherine asked. "Not surprised?"
"Surprised, too. Then he said he might as well just go home, but I stopped him. I told him I thought you people would probably be back today, to talk to him and the others. Actually, I asked all three of them to stick around."
"Was anyone upset by that?" the detective asked.
"Not really. Jermaine said he had some drawing to do and he didn't need the computer anyway-not all of our graphics are computer-generated-so he went to his work station."
Nick said, "Let's go back to Ben Jackson for a moment."
"What about Ben?"
"You're positive he wasn't here over the weekend?"
"I'm positive as far as my personal knowledge goes…but if you'd like, I'll check the sign-in book…. Come with me."
Heels clicking, Denard led them back to the receptionist's desk. She made a request and the woman withdrew a large black three-ring binder from her center desk drawer desk.
Denard rested the big book on the counter and riffled through the pages to last Saturday. Methodically, she ran a finger down the lines. "No…. No, there's no sign of Ben's name. He wasn't here this weekend."
They strolled away from the desk again, Catherine saying, "Well, isn't there any way he could have come in without signing in?" They stopped and formed a little semicircle. Denard shrugged.
"I suppose, but people get paid by this book…so they always sign in when they come to work. Besides, Ben was out of town."
Nick said, "Or was supposed to be out of town."
Denard frowned. "Why would I disbelieve him? Why would you?"
Catherine said, "As far as signing in…maybe he didn't come in for work…. Maybe he came to do something else. Something recreational…."
Picking up on this, O'Riley asked, "Is there any way Jackson could have been here without anyone seeing him?"
Denard had started shaking her head halfway through the question. "Doubtful-too many people around. Yes, people come in and out, but there's always someone around during the day."
"Back ways into the building?"
"Of course-but all but two are fire exits with alarms."
Nick said, "Two doors is one more door than you need."
O'Riley pressed. "Could Jackson have gotten in at night when no one was around?"
Again Denard shook her head. "He doesn't have a key."
"Who does have keys?"
Denard list's was short: "Mr. Newcombe, Mr. Gold, Roxanne Scott and myself-that's it."
Nick considered that for a moment. "Someone could 'borrow' one of those keys, and make a copy…."
Denard's expression was skeptical. "Isn't that a lot of trouble to go to, just to use a work computer, after hours?"
But Catherine and Nick exchanged looks that said each had had the same thought: someone dealing in kiddie porn over the net might well want to keep that material off his home computer. Using a work computer might muddy the waters, nicely, should the police be alerted…like now.
O'Riley was still at it: "You're sure you didn't see Jackson on Saturday?"
Denard was admirably patient. "No, I didn't, but then, I left early. It was Roxanne who locked up."
"Roxanne," Catherine said, "who's currently on vacation."
"Yes."
Gesturing toward the reception desk, Nick asked, "Can we get a photocopy of the Saturday sign-in page, from the binder, please?"
"Certainly. I'll be right back."
Catherine said, "We might as well go with you. We'll want to speak to Ben and have a look at his work station."
"Whatever you need," Denard said, but a weariness had crept into the woman's voice.
They followed her down the long corridor, falling in line behind her, single file; then they were in the work area, where she escorted the safari around a wall of cubicles and down a path to another hive of partitions. Denard stopped at the third cubicle down.
"Ben's work station," Denard announced.
"But no Ben," Nick said.
Denard checked her watch, shrugged with her eyebrows. "He might be in the break room or in the washroom. Might even have stepped out for a moment."
"Stepped out?" Catherine asked, with a little frown.
"Advertising is a high-stress business," Denard explained. "You'd be amazed how many of our employees smoke. Since there's no smoking in the building, they have to go out back. We have a small area out there to accommodate them."
O'Riley wanted to take a look at that, and Denard gave him instructions; then the burr-headed detective lumbered off.
As Catherine set down her crime scene case and prepared to go to work, Nick took a quick look at the cubicle, which seemed at first just another of these anonymous interchangeable compartments. Then he looked closer and noted the touches Ben Jackson had added to make the place his own.
Thumb-tacked to one of the cloth walls was a pennant from Iowa State University-CYCLONES! A five-by-seven frame on his desk displayed a photo of a beaming blue-eyed blonde woman in her early twenties-Jackson's girlfriend or wife, presumably. Ten mini-bobble heads stood in a line atop Jackson's computer monitor: baseball players, a few of which were caricatured well enough for Nick to recognize.
Catherine held up the framed photo in a latex-gloved hand. "Who's this?"
Denard, who'd been hovering nervously in the nearby hallway, glanced around surreptitiously, then said, sotto voce, "Ben's wife, Laura. They've only been married a few months. That's part of why I can't believe it was him."
"Ms. Denard," Catherine said, "we do not assume it's Ben. Please-no jumping to conclusions."
When Nunez and crew, with the help of uniformed officers, removed the computer towers, the monitors and keyboards had been left behind. But Nunez had prepared a list of serial numbers with the names of the Newcombe-Gold employees at a given work station. Right now Catherine was checking the keyboard's serial number, making sure this was indeed Jackson's keyboard-which could have been switched, after all.
"This is Jackson's keyboard," she said, bumping into Nick for the third time.
"There's not room for two of us in here," Nick said. "While you do this, why don't I go with Ms. Denard, to copy the sign-in book page?"
"Why don't you?" Catherine said. She was poised at the computer keyboard like a starving person about to sit down to a big, fine meal.
Field kit in hand, Nick followed Denard back to her office, where she photocopied the document and handed it toward Nick, who asked, "Would you mind if you kept the copy, and I took the original?"
"Well…I suppose. But why do you need the original?"
"We might have to have a handwriting expert look at it, and it'll be easier to work with the original."
Her expression was astounded. "A handwriting expert? You really think so?"
He shrugged, and gave her a little smile. "Just covering the bases."
She returned the smile, almost shyly, and handed over the original. He gave it a quick scan, then tucked it into an evidence envelope and slipped it inside his kit.
"Thanks," Nick said. "Now, shall we try to find Ben Jackson?"
"All right," Janice said. "Better start back at his work station."
But when they got there, Jackson still wasn't there. Catherine was just finishing up, packing her silver case.
"Anything?" Nick asked.
"Got some prints," she said, pulling off her latex gloves. "From the keyboard, desk, and even the edge of the cubicle itself; not much more. Tomas may be able to tell us something after he goes through the computer. You didn't happen to run into the elusive Mr. Jackson, on your journey, did ya?"
"Nope. But I have the original from the sign-in book. Ms. Denard kept the copy. We were kind of hoping he'd be back in his roost by now."
Catherine shook her head, red-blonde arcs of hair cutting the air. "Haven't seen him or anyone else."