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I quickly schooled my expression to hide the horror I felt. “Jennifer Hanley?”
“That’s right. I followed her myself from our building to the restaurant.”
I went back to the first picture. “I can’t make her out through this window.”
“Trust me. It’s her on the left.”
A few seconds later, I decided it could be her, but it wasn’t a good enough picture or from the right angle to be sure. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I sat back. It didn’t make any sense. Jennifer didn’t have a reason to meet with the Cartwright people. “There has to be some mistake.”
He produced two printouts from the folder. “Here’s a list of top employees at First Century, which is a Cartwright subsidiary.”
Suzanne Murtog was highlighted on the page.
Another sheet landed on my desk. “And this is from their website.” It had her name again and a head shot. “I can interrogate Hanley this afternoon.”
I shook my head. “Not so fast.”
“If you prefer, I’ll loop Mr. Fisher in, and he could talk with her instead.”
I wasn’t going that route either. “No, thanks. Let me figure out what to do next. I’ll be in touch.”
Disappointment crossed his face. He surely had planned on some high-pressure interrogation to round out his investigation. Probably something straight out of a TV show—bright lights and lots of yelling.
He placed the folder on my desk. “I’ll leave these with you.” He stood.
“Good work, Ed. Thanks.”
“It’s what you pay me for. I’ll keep digging on this.”
A minute later I was alone with a pit in my stomach and questions that needed answers.
* * *
Jennifer
When I’d passedDennis in the hallway just before lunch, I’d gotten the mean boss treatment again. He’d scowled and looked away as he went into his office—worse even than ignoring me.
After fuming over it for a few minutes, I sent him a text.
ME: Can we talk?
I also texted Cindy to tell her I wanted to talk to Dennis.
Ten minutes later, I called her. “Did you tell him I needed a few minutes?”
“He knows, but I’ll tell him again when he comes out.”
That meant he was alone in his office, so ignoring me had been deliberate.
I went back to my office and closed the door.
Over lunch down the street, I thought back to what I could have done. Staring out the window didn’t make the answer appear. Neither did running my fingers up and down the condensation on my drink cup.
I almost puked as a dirty, sweaty construction guy passed by on the way to a booth behind me. His BO was terrible, but in my current emotional state, it didn’t take much. I was a mess, and looking at my half-eaten sandwich only made it worse.
