take my chances.”
She scowled. “Don’t take too many. You sure you won’t see a doctor?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it’s your—”
He was almost certain she was going to say “funeral.”
“—skull,” she said. “Concussions can tire you out, though. You should try to get plenty of rest.”
Her concern, however professional, made Simon feel slightly less isolated. He had been up most of last night trying to find an answer to the puzzles that plagued him. The night before he’d spent lying on the cold floor of the lab. He was strained, exhausted and aching in every muscle.
But of course he couldn’t tell her that.
“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I will.”
She hesitated as if she wanted to say something more and then shrugged. “I left my field kit on the boat. I’ll go get it, and then I’ll talk to your guy, Brown, and poke around.”
He watched her slim, straight figure climb the stairs and cross the echoing hall. She was leaving. He was alone.
Simon had the uncomfortable sense he was often alone.
But this time, this once, he didn’t like it at all.
Chapter 2
“I don’t know what to think,” Laura said honestly to her boss when he called her into his office late the following day. It was a Saturday, but they both were working. Chief Denko, because his personal life was admirably organized, and Laura, because it was her shift and she had no personal life.
“Ford definitely has a bump on the head,” she continued. “But I didn’t find any tool marks or fingerprints to support his claim of a break-in. We don’t even know for sure that a crime took place. He could have emptied the safe himself as part of an insurance scam.”
She didn’t mention Ford’s claim, that the bump on his head had affected his brain.
And as for Ford’s suspicion that it was an inside job, that the guard that night had attacked and robbed him before disappearing… Her stomach tied itself in knots. Nope, she definitely didn’t want to go there.
Not that she had a choice. She had a duty. And Police Chief Jarek Denko would demand a complete and impartial investigation in any case.
“Has Ford filed an insurance claim?” he asked.
“No,” Laura admitted.
Chief Denko regarded her levelly from the other side of his utilitarian gray metal desk, his hands folded on the stained blotter. The Eden town council didn’t believe in spending money on fancy furniture for its public servants. But somehow they’d scraped together enough sense and an appropriate salary to hire Denko, a former homicide detective from Chicago’s notorious Area 3, as their chief of police.
After the last two Bozos who’d held that the position, Laura respected the lean, harsh-featured police chief enormously. She dreaded letting him down.
Denko steepled his fingers. “No signs of forced entry, you said?”
“No, sir.”
“Who has keys to the house?”
“No keys. Entry is controlled by magnetic passcards and internal bolts operating on a tiered code system. Only the highest access codes get you into the house itself.”
“And who has those codes?”
“I’ve requested a complete list from the security company. But the guy on the phone said the master passcards were reserved for security personnel and Ford himself.”
Denko tapped the pages on the blotter in front of him. “Your report says the tapes are missing from the security cameras. They weren’t simply disabled?”
Laura shook her head. “Vandalizing the cameras would have set off the alarm automatically. So either the intruder knew where the cameras were and how they operated, or there was no intruder and someone on the inside swiped the tapes to avoid being identified.”
“Ford?” Denko suggested. “That would fit your insurance fraud theory.”
But once her chief put it into words, Laura found she didn’t like her theory anymore.
Isn’t there anyone you can trust?
That’s what we need to find out.
Simon Ford had trusted her. Or he was playing her for a fool. Neither possibility sat comfortably with her right now.
“Maybe the tapes aren’t missing. Maybe his security people forgot to load the cameras,” she offered without conviction.
Denko raised his eyebrows. “The same day Ford calls to report a break-in? But you can ask, by all means. Who installed his security system?”
“A private contractor—Executive Corporate Industrial Protection.”
“E.C.I.P.?”
“You’ve heard of them?” She shouldn’t be surprised. In Illinois law enforcement, Jarek Denko was like God, all-knowing and damn near all-powerful.
“They hire a lot of ex-cops,” he explained with a slight smile. “Military, too. Do they provide the personnel or just the system?”
“According to Quinn Brown, they provide complete security for Lumen Corp. That includes the house and the Chicago headquarters.”
“So the bodyguard, Brown, is one of theirs?”
“Household manager, sir. And no. He reports directly to Ford. He’s been with him for the past nine years. Took a couple of days off to visit his daughter. The timing is suspicious, but we can confirm his alibi easily enough.”
“What about the other man? Swirsky? Do you have a lead on him yet?”
Her stomach twisted again like wet rope. Her palms were damp. “He is an E.C.I.P. employee. He was scheduled to go on vacation next week. The company is cooperating, but I haven’t been able to reach him by phone yet. I thought I’d try him at his apartment in Chicago.”
“Family?” Denko asked.
She hesitated, her heart thumping. “Swirsky has a son living in Chicago. I left a message, but he hasn’t returned my call yet.”
“All right. Let me know when you hear something. And get that list of the safe’s contents from Ford.” Denko gave her a brief nod and pulled another file toward him.
She was dismissed.
Laura cleared her throat. “There’s, uh, one other thing you should probably know that’s not in my report.”
The chief looked up from his file.
“Peter
