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“Hi, Nadine. This is Detective Dunbar.”
“Look, this is going to sound weird, and I probably called too early, but something’s happened to Henry.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were supposed to meet Sunday. He said he was on his way, and he never showed. He didn’t go to work yesterday. I’ve called and called, and he hasn’t picked up. I actually went over to the work site. RiverEast? They start at seven or seven thirty, but he’s not there today, either.”
“Have you talked to Mr. Russo?”
“I tried to reach Clark yesterday, and I tried again just now. I just know something’s happened. And it was after you were here,” she said with an accusing tone. “He said . . . he said, I should’ve been nicer to you. That you were just doing your job. Well, I don’t know, but maybe you doing your job is why he’s missing!”
“Have you been to his home?”
“Of course I have! He doesn’t answer my knock! He’s not there!”
“And you reported him missing?”
“God! That’s what I’m doing now!”
Savvy said, “I’ll talk to the Portland police and let them know. Can you give me Henry’s address?”
“Yes . . .”
When the call ended, Savvy started to call Portland, then stopped, thinking back to her conversation on Saturday with Henry, and then Nadine, through Henry’s phone. She’d just written up a report on that interview and call, so they were fresh in her mind, and the gist of it was Henry had been friendly and not too informative, and Nadine had gotten on the phone and accused Kristina of slavering all over Marcus Donatella and coming on to other Bancroft employees, including Henry. She’d also blamed Hale and “that old lech” Declan of knowing about the dune’s instability and building Bancroft Bluff, anyway.
Now Savannah pulled up the file on her computer again and looked at what she’d written. Grimacing, she changed a few words, putting in Nadine’s “slavering over Marcus” comment, knowing that trying to protect her sister’s memory and Hale’s reputation wasn’t going to help find Kristina’s killer.
As soon as she finished, she put in a call to Lang and left a message on his voice mail that included Henry’s address and Nadine’s fears about him being missing. Lang was headed straight for the Portland PD and could deliver the message in person.
For a moment, she recalled the Bancroft worker who’d stared at her at the job site. It had seemed so pointed at the time, so intent. Who was he? And was that simple curiosity she’d felt, or was it something else?
Going back to her notebook, she looked down the list of temporary employees. Henry Woodworth’s name was at the top of the list; she recalled that he’d been angling for Neil Vledich’s job, according to both Vledich and Russo. They’d both made disparaging
remarks about Henry. The other employees’ names were listed with their phone numbers. Maybe she should start with the name under Henry’s, Jacob Balboa, and go down from there.
She picked up the receiver, then glanced back to her notes on Russo and Vledich, wanting to see if what they’d said about Henry Woodworth was how she remembered it. Yep. They weren’t fond of him, and he hadn’t been of them, either.
A notation in her own handwriting suddenly caught her eye. It was small enough that she had to take a moment to decipher it. She saw the notation Williamson a friend of DeWitt’s.
Savvy’s brows rose. She glanced rapidly over her notebook again. Clark Russo had given her the previous manager, Paulie Williamson’s, phone number. Williamson had quit and moved to Tucson soon after the dune debacle. Russo had then taken over Williamson’s vacated job in Portland at Sylvie Strahan’s recommendation.
Savannah’s pulse sped up as she concentrated hard on exactly what Russo had said in that conversation with her about Williamson.
What was it?
Working on his tan and drinking mojitos . . . ran like a rabbit after the Donatellas were killed . . . He’s the one who awarded the engineering job to DeWitt. . . .
Was that why he’d hung up on her? Because he knew something?
Quickly, she phoned Williamson again. Once more she was made to wait long, anxious minutes for either Williamson or his voice mail or an answering machine to pick up. To her surprise, it was Williamson himself who answered, and she realized this time she’d called him on her cell. His caller ID hadn’t given him any information other than her phone number, and he hadn’t realized who was calling.
“Mr. Williamson, this is Detective Dunbar again. I need to talk to you, and if you can’t find the time, I’ll have someone from your local precinct get in touch with you in person.”
“What do you people want?” he declared in exasperation. “I talked to you before! Did I know the dune was unsafe? No! Did the Bancrofts? Yeah, I think so. And they went ahead, anyway! But it’s not my fault.”
“I understand you awarded the engineering contract to Owen DeWitt.”
A pause. “We used him all the time.”
