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“Maybe Woodworth just decided to take a few days off.”
“I’ll check with Russo about his employment record,” Savvy said, adding it to her mental to-do list. She would check on the rest of the temporary employees, as well, see if she could figure out which one was the guy who’d stared so long at her.
“We up to date now?” Lang asked.
“Almost. I talked to Paulie Williamson today, the ex–Portland manager for Bancroft Development. He was a friend of DeWitt’s, and he confirmed that DeWitt had a friend, more like a frenemy, whose sexual exploits apparently gave DeWitt vicarious thrills. Williamson said the guy—he doesn’t know his name—was one of those people you want to stand back from.”
“Like he’s a walking disaster?”
“Like he’s unpredictable and dangerous.”
“You think this is the guy DeWitt said was with Kristina?”
“Yeah. Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
“Good Time Charlie. Not his real name. I’ve got him at the top of my list as the doer for DeWitt.”
Lang mulled that over. “All right, I’m coming back tonight.”
“Where are you now?” Savvy asked.
“A place near the station. Dooley’s. Don’t worry, Mom. I just had one beer. I already told Claire the same thing.”
“I was thinking maybe you can stick around and do a little checking for me. I kinda think Charlie’s associated with Bancroft Development somehow. I’ve got this list of temporary employees. Mostly construction workers. Henry Woodworth’s name is at the top of the list. I didn’t meet any of the other ones, but one of them was looking at me pretty intently when I was interviewing Henry at the RiverEast Apartments building site.”
“E-mail me the list when you send the report. I’ll pick it up on my phone.”
“Does that mean you’re staying over?” She would have to scan the list into the computer from her notebook, but that was easy enough.
“Get me another beer,” Lang yelled to someone across the hubbub of the bar. Then to Savvy, “Yep. Anything else?”
“When you get back tomorrow, let’s have a sit-down. I had a talk with Catherine Rutledge about some stuff, and I want to go over it with you.”
“Oh, God,” Lang groaned. “You know, you’re Clausen’s partner.”
“I think he dropped me when I was pregnant, so now I’m yours.” Savannah smiled, knowing that wasn’t the way it worked and not caring. It was the first time she’d really felt like smiling since Kristina’s death.
“Talk to you tomorrow,” Lang said, and Savannah settled back into work, putting the finishing touches on the interview report, scanning the list of temporary employees, and sending the whole thing to Lang’s e-mail address.
Her rumbling stomach was the first indication that time had passed, and when she looked up again, she realized it was after lunch and she really needed to get something to eat.
And then tonight . . . chicken and artichoke linguine with Hale . . .
Charlie shook rain off his black jacket and ran his hands through his hair as he stepped inside the door to the Crab Shack, a dilapidated board-and-bat hovel crouched on the edge of Nehalem Bay, a place so weathered and decrepit that it made Davy Jones’s Locker, his favorite dive bar along the coast, look like a four-star restaurant. But no one knew him at the Crab Shack—at least that was what he was banking on—whereas he would be recognizable at Davy’s.
And he needed somewhere to hunker down for a few hours. He’d given up his apartment in Seaside when he’d taken the job in Portland. Couldn’t afford to maintain two places, even with the money from Bancroft Development.
Bancroft Development. The company that was rightfully his. Only Pops refused to recognize him. Ha. The old man would learn what dismissing his son would get him soon enough.
But first . . . some fun.
Charlie moved up to the bar and ordered a Bud. He didn’t drink as a rule, but if he strode in and ordered up a soda or water, the bartender might take note of him, and then if the cops came around, a blurry memory might suddenly turn into a sharp recollection. Couldn’t have that.
And let’s face it, he’d been making a few decisions lately that hadn’t been all that well thought out. Damn. He’d been so careful for so long. But something had been triggered, and it wasn’t going away. Hell, he didn’t even want it to! A slinky, hot thread of desire was winding inside his blood, moving through his system, and it felt good. Ever since sliding that knife into his mother, he’d been infected, and well, he could admit, he’d gotten a little careless. Looking for that next thrill ride all the time, instead of lying back and waiting.
Escalating. Yep. That was what he was doing. But there was no going back.
