“Ben, please. This is all too trite. I just wanted to give you the heads up. I expect a hearing will be set within a week’s time.” He mumbled a few more platitudes, then rang off.
Ben slammed the phone back into its cradle.
“What was that all about?” Christina asked.
“Colby’s coming after us. Motion to dismiss.”
“Son of a bitch.” She fell soundlessly into a chair. “What kind of game is he playing?”
Ben could answer her with a single word. “Hardball.”
Everyone had their own standards, Mike supposed, when it came to evaluating who they liked in this world and who they didn’t. His father, for instance, God bless his soul, never trusted any man who had voted for Nixon—and would cop to it. His pal Ben Kincaid never trusted any man who liked to do a lot of hugging. His ex-wife, Julia, née Kincaid, had never trusted anyone who used a calculator to compute tips. And Mike himself? He never trusted anyone who was just too damn friendly.
Like the vice president in charge of operations for Blaylock Machinery, Ronald Harris. The man currently welcoming Mike into his office.
Harris had more teeth than a game show host, and they all seemed to be constantly on display. Frankly, most people weren’t all that enthused when a homicide detective wanted to see them. Judging by the look on Harris’s face, though, you’d think Mike was his long-lost billionaire uncle.
“Please come in,” Harris said, escorting Mike to a comfortable sofa at the side of the office. His hair was slicked back in a sort of Reaganesque pompadour, and his handshake was of the manly bone-crusher variety. “I can’t tell you how sorry we are about what happened to Harvey. And his family.”
Mike made no comment. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what happened to him.”
Harris’s reaction was a caricature of cluelessness. “Me? Jeez, no. I assumed it was a robbery. Weren’t some of their possessions missing?”
“Some.”
“You seem unconvinced.”
Mike shrugged. “Burglars don’t usually hang around for half an hour torturing the burgled.”
Harris winced. “Tortured? Gosh—was it as bad as the paper seemed to suggest?”
“Much worse. Someone was really out to get him.”
“Harvey? That astounds me. There’s never been a sweeter guy.”
Mike didn’t know what to think. It was possible this was simply the usual deification that accompanied someone’s passing, but somehow he didn’t believe a damn word this unctuous clown said. “Can you give me some background on his work here? Tell me what he did?”
“Harvey was a headhunter.”
“A headhunter.” Mike scribbled nonsense into his notepad, just to keep his hands moving. “I gather that means he worked in personnel.”
“Right. He was in charge of recruiting new executive talent.”
“How long had he been here?”
“Let me check that.” Harris thumbed through a file on his desk. “Yes, that’s right. Twenty-three years.”
Mike’s eyebrows rose. “That long? Was he the head of his department?”
“No, no. Just a regular working stiff. I think he preferred it that way.”
“He preferred being a grunt?”
Harris didn’t lose his smile. “Of course, we don’t use words like that here at Blaylock. Every one of our employees is an important part of the production chain. No, what I meant was, I don’t think Harvey would’ve liked the pressure that comes with promotion. He was a quiet fellow. Simple, in his own way. Reserved. And he was earning a good salary. I think he preferred his relatively anonymous place as one of many hard workers in personnel.”
Hard to believe anyone could be as contented as Harris made this poor stiff seem. “Did he have any problems?”
“None of which I’m aware. I see no notations in his evaluation file.”
“Any conflicts with any of his coworkers?”
“No. Not here at Blaylock. We have finely honed our employee relations and dispute-resolution techniques. Frankly, that sort of thing just doesn’t happen anymore. We don’t allow it.”
Mike frowned. The more he heard about this Stepford corporation, the less he liked it. “So you don’t know of any motive anyone would’ve had to kill Harvey?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. I can’t even imagine.”
Mike decided to try another approach. “Did he have any friends?”
“I would assume so.”
“Do you know who they were?”
“Sorry. No.”
“Would you object if I spoke to some of the other employees in his department?”
“N-nooo,” Harris said, with decided hesitation. “But I don’t think you’ll learn much.”
“And why is that?”
“Because for the most part, Harvey kept to himself. As I said before, he was an introverted man. Reserved.”
No doubt, Mike thought. The question is whether he was reserved for a reason. “Anything else you can think of that might be of assistance?”
“I’m sorry, no.” His plastic smile, however, did not admit a trace of sorrow. “This all comes as such a shock. Harvey was such a nice guy. Harmless, really.”
“Harmless. Huh.” Mike made another note. “Can you suggest anyone else I might talk to? Perhaps someone who knew Harvey better?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Like I said—”
“He was reserved. Right. I got that.” For all his smiles, Mike thought, Harris was being decidedly unhelpful. “You know, I really wanted to talk to your CEO. Blaylock. But I was told he was busy.”
“Yes, very busy, I’m afraid. There’s been a … legal development these past few days that I’m sure is occupying his time.”
“Legal development?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss it at this time. It has nothing to do with Harvey’s murder, though.”
So you say. “Well, I’d still like to talk to the top man.”
“I’ll let him know. Next time I see him. Which may well not be for some time.”
“I see.” Mike glanced up. Through the glass dividing wall behind Harris, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a face. Before he had a chance to focus, though, it was gone. “Who was that?”
“Who was who?” Harris twisted around, trying to look in the direction Mike was facing. “I don’t see anyone.”
“He’s gone.” Mike frowned. “I think it was a he, anyway.”
“Someone you recognized?”
“No. Someone I did not recognize. But someone who was watching us.”
“Watching us?” Harris drew up his shoulders. “Probably just idle curiosity. Someone wondering who’s in my office. Wondering if perhaps you’re going to be a new member of our family.”
Or perhaps someone who knew Mike was a cop, wanted to talk to him, and was wondering how to do an end run around Harris. Mike leaned into the hallway and craned his neck, but he found no trace of the person he had seen before. Which was odd, because he had the distinct and creepy feeling that he was still being watched.
“I see. Well, I think that’s about all I wanted to ask you.” Mike pushed himself to his feet. “If you could show me where Harvey worked. I’d like to take a look at his desk.”
“Sure.” Harris rose and gestured toward the back door.
Mike followed, already planning how he was going to shake this walking, talking Ken doll. He knew he’d never learn anything as long as Harris was part of his entourage. He wanted to find out more about Harvey—who he knew and what he was doing. He wanted to know why the CEO was so busy he couldn’t make time for the investigation of the murder of one of his long-term employees.
And most of all, he wanted to know who was watching him.
Damn everything, F thought, as he ducked into the kitchen. Did the cop spot him?
He thought he had been protected, hidden away by the combination of glare and fake foliage. And then all at once his eyes met the cop’s, and he knew perfectly well he’d been made. He’d darted away as quickly as he could.