Touch & Go (20 page)

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.”

“Have you received any?” Nicole Adams spoke up from across the table.

“Nah. But we only have the description of the family, and I doubt the kidnappers are parading three abductees through public spaces. More useful would be a description of the vehicle.”

Nicole nodded briskly. “We have agents still canvassing the neighborhood. So far, however, we have more theories on the subject than solid leads.”

Wyatt was about to ask about the theories, when Anita Bennett returned.

The hostess of the party, she carried a large stack of spiral-bound photocopies. Company financials, he realized quickly. She handed out the presentation on Denbe Construction, and they quickly got down to business.

First, introductions. From Denbe Construction, they had Anita Bennett, COO and now acting president given Justin’s disappearance. (Wyatt made a mental note: first person to gain from the Denbes’ loss—Anita Bennett.) Next up, the stocky lothario, Chris
Lopez, chief of construction, who made a point of emphasizing his title while gazing deeply into Special Agent Nicole Adams’s very cool, very unimpressed pale blue eyes. Next to him was a trio Wyatt immediately pegged as the three stooges: Jenkins, Paulie and a guy seriously called Bacon. The core building team, Lopez explained. They worked with Justin, they knew Justin, they had his back. Whatever happened, these were the go-to guys for knocking heads and taking names.

Jenkins, who was former air force and current structural engineer, actually cracked his knuckles. And yet he was still more subtle than the Bacon character, who kept stroking a small, rough-hewn metal spoon he wore on a leather cord around his neck.

Wyatt translated “core building team” to mean “posse.” Justin Denbe had a posse. Of apparently some of the most dangerous, crazily unbalanced former military types Wyatt had ever met. Meaning he and the other law enforcement types would have to manage information carefully, as guys like this would definitely go off on their own, violence being their best friend and primary coping mechanism.

Mental note two: Isolate posse, interview each one alone and do deep background checks. These guys knew things, knew people. Probably including the type of people who could abduct a family of three, no problem.

Missing in action was the fourth member of the build team, an architect who was currently on site in California. He’d be on a plane first thing in the morning, available for interviews by Sunday at five. Also, the chief financial officer, Ruth Chan, was on vacation in the Bahamas. They were still trying to get word to her of the “current situation,” as Anita Bennett put it.

“Now then,” Bennett declared, “we are here for you. I understand you must have questions, and of course we will do everything in our power to make ourselves available to you. As you can see, I have already made a copy of last quarter’s financial statements. The head of
HR is also on call, ready to line up whichever employee interviews you feel are most appropriate. Right here in this room, we are the ones who work with Justin most closely, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say assisting him is nothing short of a privilege and an honor. Of course our number one priority is his safety, as well as the safety of his family.”

“And none of you have heard from Justin or any member of the Denbe family today?” Nicole spoke up briskly, assuming her role as lead agent.

It seemed like a stupid question, except Wyatt had been in investigations before where right at this moment, someone raised his or her hand and went, wait, dude, did I mention he called me thirty minutes ago? Today, however, was not one of those cases. Each person around the table shook their head.

“Has Mr. Denbe mentioned to anyone personal plans, a weekend away with his family?”

“Justin generally made his own travel plans. I took the liberty of checking his computer here at work, and there’s nothing on his calendar,” Bennett supplied.

“Has he expressed frustration with a current project, angst over the direction the company is going?”

A larger pause this time, then one by one, each person of the Denbe crew shook his or her head. Wyatt didn’t get too excited yet. Group answers were always suspect. A starting point, sure, but what would be more interesting is what they got out of each person individually, when they didn’t have to worry about their fellow employees overhearing.

“How are the financials?” Wyatt asked, earning a dirty look from Nicole for stealing her thunder. “Bottom line?”

“We are profitable.” Bennett said this a bit stiffly, paused. “But cash-flow challenged.”

Wyatt got that tingling feeling. As Anita Bennett explained it, Denbe’s
last major build had had some cost overruns and Denbe had gotten pinged pretty hard. They’d covered the project’s net loss out of cash reserves, but that meant they’d entered their current build, some hospital down in Virginia, with no cushion and, of course, encountered their first cash-flow crisis right out of the gate.

Big picture good, Bennett went out of her way to emphasize. The hospital was still on track to generate five million in profit. Last quarter, however, looked dreadful, and, yes, things were tight. But Justin liked tight, she added quickly. For him, money management, which really meant finessing banks and suppliers and subs, was all part of the fun of a major build. If there was one thing he loved even more than negotiating terms, it was renegotiating terms. Definitely not the kind of guy to run from a fight.

Wyatt thought that was a very interesting story. He jotted down: Embezzlement? Money laundering? Because from what he could tell, with these kinds of dollars flying around, this industry had to be rife with such opportunities. Meaning if Justin was a numbers guy, maybe he’d started to figure it out, or was at least sniffing close enough to someone else’s cash-skimming trail. Making his imminent departure necessary.

Bennett had one last piece of what she considered to be good news. Denbe Construction carried insurance on Justin. Boatloads of it. Ten million in life, but also a two-million-dollar kidnapping policy. Better yet, the kidnapping rider also covered members of his family. One million for his spouse. One million for each kid.

Nicole did the honors: “Are you saying this policy guarantees up to four million dollars in possible ransom money?”

“Yes.” Bennett beamed.

“Have you notified the company?”

“Not yet. We haven’t received any ransom demands.”

“How long would it take for the insurance company to procure such funds?” Nicole asked.

Bennett appeared a little less excited. “I don’t know. We’ve never used it.”

Wyatt thought that was missing the point: “Excuse me, but how many people are aware of this policy? You know, that kidnapping the Denbe family is worth at least four mil? Because it sounds to me like the company doesn’t have the cash to ransom Justin back, but this policy sure as hell does.”

Silence in the room. The Denbe employees looked at one another, then glanced away. “Well, most of us, I believe,” Bennett supplied warily.

“Justin liked to joke about it,” Lopez, the construction manager, spoke up. “That we should remember he was worth money alive, not just dead. But, for the record, I didn’t know about the family clause. I just knew Justin was insured. I mean, he’s the owner, this is a pretty serious firm that handles mega–financial deals. Seems to me, if you know Denbe Construction at all, then you assume the owner, Justin Denbe, is loaded to the hilt, whether it’s insurance money, his money, firm money. Either way, kidnapping a guy like Justin Denbe should equal easy money.”

The other members of the posse nodded.

“Except, of course,” Lopez continued, “nothing about Justin is easy. And we’re the ones who know that, too. So don’t go staring all flinty-eyed at us.” He shook his finger at Nicole in particular. “We shot with Justin at least once a week. The guy could take care of himself. Not to mention, most of us were around for his wedding, plus we helped change Ashlyn’s diapers. He’s one of us, his family is our family. We’re not the fucking problem here. You’re gonna have to sniff somewhere else for that.”

Lopez appeared to have said his piece. He sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. His guys nodded beside him.