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The receptionist cleared her throat. “Detective? Our digital records only go back to 2000.”
“But you mentioned paper records. How long do you keep them for?”
She got up from her chair with a grumble. “I’ll take a look.” She disappeared behind the rear door.
Dan turned back to the man in the chair. “How long did you work with Mr. Reynolds?”
The man stroked his stubble-covered chin. “I started with this company when I was twenty-three. That was in ’95. Aiden was my foreman. We worked together till he left us in 2009.”
Damn. That meant they hadn’t worked together on the tunnel—it had been finished in 1994.
“Was he a good foreman?” Dan asked.
The man shrugged. “He was okay. Better than some. You could have a laugh with him at least. You didn’t have to watch your mouth, not like some of the guys I work with nowadays.” The sneer was back. “Working on a construction site isn’t like it used to be. When I first started, if you saw a nice bit of skirt walking past, you’d whistle at her or call out to her. Times have changed, though. These days you gotta be careful. Either she’ll report you, or you find out she isn’t a she in the first place.”
“Some people might argue those changes are for the better,” Dan murmured.
The man’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say a word, the rear door opened.
“Detective?” The receptionist held up two index cards. “I have the details you’re looking for.”
They walked over to her desk, and Gary plucked his pen from his pocket.
“In August 1992, Aiden Reynolds was working on the Ames Building. They were renovating it at the time.”
Gary arched his eyebrows. “Getting that contract must have been quite a feat.” He made a note. “So he was in Boston on the twenty-eighth.”
And miles from Lenox.
“Yes, he was. Well, only at the end of the day. For the rest of it, he was finishing up a job he’d been working on the previous month.”
Gary held his breath.
“And where was that?” Dan inquired.
“He’d been building a pool house in Lenox.”
Gotcha.
Gary made a note. “Thank you for your help.” He glanced at Dan. “We’d better go. We’re interviewing Rayne Wilcox in an hour.” He thanked the receptionist once more, and they hurried from the office.
“So hewasthere,” Dan muttered as they got into the car.
“Before you gettooexcited, something just occurred to me.” Gary frowned. “We don’t know if Cheryl was there. We only know her father saw her that morning at the house. We have no idea how long she was there, or if she even stayed there. For all we know, she came back to Boston.”
“If she did, even better.” Dan’s eyes gleamed. “We can place Reynolds in both locations.”
GARY ENTEREDInterview Room One, and Rayne Wilcox stood to greet him. She was in her midfifties, with short red hair, a glorious shade that had to come from a bottle. The frames of her glasses were red too, as were her lips. She wore black pants and a long white blouse, open at the neck, beneath an equally long black jacket. Gary’s first impression was one of height, until he noticed her shiny red high-heeled shoes.
Rayne held out her hand, and Gary took it. She gripped his hand firmly as they shook, looking him in the eye before she greeted Dan with a confident air.
“Thank you for coming in today.” Dan gestured to her chair, and she sat once more. They joined her at the table, and Gary prepared to take notes.
They’d agreed Dan would take the lead on this one.
“Gentlemen.” Rayne leaned back, relaxed. “You’re looking into Cheryl’s death? You’re about twenty-six years too late, but I guess better late than never.”
“You met in college, we’ve been told,” Dan began.
