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“Maybe,” she replied, “but I don’t think so. I think he wouldn’t risk anyone noticing a different ring on his finger.”
“What about the women’s rings?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he saves those like typical trophies. Maybe he wears them on a chain. It doesn’t change the profile.”
“Okay,” he said, “we’re looking for a tall, skinny, soft-featured employee of the DOT whose wife died. That could work. Let’s go inside and talk to the manager.”
The manager was a heavyset, middle-aged woman who made it clear with her stoic demeanor and the massive arms folded across her chest that she didn’t care who Michael and Faith were, this was her office, and she was in charge. Faith didn’t mind. She was terrible with those personalities, but the ever-charming Michael ate up people like that for breakfast.
“Ma’am,” he said contritely, “I’m so sorry to interrupt your workday. I wouldn’t be talking to you if this wasn’t of the utmost urgency.”
The woman kept her stout expression and irritated tone of voice, but by the way her shoulders rose and her facial muscles relaxed, Faith could tell that her ego was satiated by Michael’s subservient behavior.
She sighed exaggeratedly and said, “Well, make it quick.”
“I will,” Michael promised. “My partner and I are investigating some recent murders, and we suspect that one of your employees is responsible.”
The older woman, whose name badge identified her as Darla, blinked, but her demeanor remained otherwise unchanged. “Who?”
“We’re hoping you can tell us that,” he said. “My partner nearly caught him outside of your office. Special Agent Bold, would you mind describing the individual to Miss Darla?”
Faith nodded. “Tall, six-foot-three or -four. 160 pounds. Shoulder-length, wavy, brown hair, bright blue eyes. Soft features, almost effeminate.”
“Oh my God,” Darla said, eyes widening. Her hardboiled expression vanished, and her voice was thready when she spoke again. “Kevin.”
Michael whipped out a notepad and pen as fast as an Old West outlaw drawing a pistol. “Kevin who?”
“Kevin MacGregor,” Darla said, her hand raising to her mouth. “He was out on his lunch break an hour ago and never came back. I thought he was just taking an early day. He’s not the most reliable employee. I only keep him because the state requires me to keep rehabilitated felons.”
Faith’s ears pricked up. “Felons?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s a program that gives felons job opportunities in civil service provided they meet certain conditions—”
“What was his crime?” Michael asked.
“He killed his wife.”
Faith and Michael exchanged a look as Darla continued, “He was ruled not guilty by reason of insanity and remanded to a facility. He was released last year after serving five years and put here. He was flaky, like I said, and kind of quiet, but he never seemed violent, and … I hate to say it, but he was so skinny, I didn’t think he could hurt anyone.”
“Do you have his address?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Not here. Um … it’s in the office.”
“Lead the way.”
They followed her through a crowd of curious visitors and utterly unconcerned employees to a small room in the back of the office. Darla maneuvered her way through cluttered stacks of papers and eased herself into a chair behind a far-too-small fiberboard desk. The computer, like the one at the gym where Antonio Delgado worked, was ancient. She pressed the power button and said, “It’s gonna take a few minutes to boot up. I’m sorry. They won’t give us a budget to upgrade. They want us to hire murderers, but they won’t give me a proper computer.”
“It’s fine,” Faith said. “You mentioned he was flaky.”
“Yeah, he … he leaves without asking for permission, shows up late, takes long breaks. Not enough to fire him, I guess. It’s hard as hell to get fired from a government job. I would fire him if I had my way, but it’s not up to me. I’m basically a glorified supervisor.”
“Do you keep a record of his absences?”
“Yes, I do. Do you need that?”
Faith handed her a business card. “Email it to me. Do any dates in particular stand out to you?”
“Umm, he left work early two days ago. Same thing, didn’t ask, left a stack of paperwork behind that I had to give to other workers to complete. People think we don’t care about deadlines here, but we do our best to keep up, you know? We don’t sit on our asses and forget to send people their tags and—”
