Blood of Others by Rick Mofina Page A

grunting.
    “Got it.”
    “I want you to look into the face
of Iris Wood and repeat out loud what you just told me. That no one from the
outside can penetrate your system. Got that? You stare into that face and you
keep repeating that.”

SEVENTEEN

     
    Turgeon was losing her patience with Sydowski
as they drove to American Eagle Federated Insurance, downtown on Montgomery.
    “We’re in this together so you
better talk to me.”
    Sydowski rubbed his face,
thinking. “I just have a bad feeling about this one. I can’t find the handle on
it.”
    “It’s early yet.”
    “I always get a sense of where to
go on a file. But not here. And to top it off, you want to bring Wyatt in
closer. I am trying to keep that disaster out of the way and you want to bring
him in.”
    “Walt.”
    “Christ, Linda.”
    “Walt, I know you and every cop
in the department have a vendetta going with this guy. But push it aside.”
    “Why?”
    “Because we need him. He is the
best body we have to put on her computer.”
    Sydowski said nothing.
    “Walt, before I came to homicide
he helped me on a case. He got us a lock on some suspects who were operating
on-line. It took some time but he was good. He did stuff in the valley with
some of the early testing of the FBI’s Internet crime boys. Did you know that?”
    Sydowski didn’t know.
    “Walt, you’re an old bull. When
you started investigating murders, state-of-the-art technology was a
typewriter. It’s a new millennium and this case is
shaping up to be a backbreaker. We have to come at it hard from all sides.
Maybe her computer will be a dead end but what the hell else have you got right
now?”
    Sydowski nodded to a car exiting
a parking space on Montgomery. “Maybe I’ll talk to Leo after we’re done here.”
     
    The dark polished floors in the
lobby of American Eagle Federated Insurance gleamed against the stainless steel
desk where the receptionist sat. A silhouetted eagle, its wings outspread over
the company name, graced the wall behind her.
    “Can I help you?”
    Sydowski told her who they were.
    “I’ll let Mr. Fairfield know
you’re here.”
    She did not smile and Sydowski
could not decide if she was saddened by the murder of a company employee or
indifferent. They waited near the sectional couch. Standing, staring at the
landscape paintings, the palms in the floor planters. Turgeon was flipping through
a glossy travel magazine featuring Peru and treks through the Andes on the
cover when a tall man with distinguishing white hair, dressed in a well-cut
charcoal suit, greeted them.
    “Tim Fairfield,” he shook
Sydowski’s hand warmly, then Turgeon’s, before escorting them back to the
elevator. Fairfield’s face was etched with tiny lines.
    “Didn’t sleep much after your
call, Inspector.” The doors opened. Fairfield pushed the button for the tenth
floor.
    “We’re the national headquarters,
five hundred offices nationwide. I have nine hundred people in my division. Two
hundred of them here. Iris was one of mine. I am ashamed to admit that I did
not know her at all.” Feeling the need to explain, he added. “I am on the road
quite a bit.”
    “What can you tell us?” Turgeon
said.
    “I’ve gone through her personnel
records. She was a fine employee. Six years with us. Perfect attendance. Never
took a sick day. No complaints. Very shy.”
    “Anything on family?” Sydowski
said.
    “Afraid not.”
    The elevator doors opened on the
tenth floor and Fairfield led them down a long, wide corridor.
    “I did more checking on her
policy. She had no other relatives. Her parents passed away when she was a
child. We’ll handle funeral arrangements, according to her wishes.”
    “What are they?” Turgeon was making
notes.
    “She had a plot down in Colman
and wished to be interred there. We’ll have a small service. We’re still making
arrangements.”
    “At her age -- she thought about
a plot?” Turgeon shook her head.
    “Many people who work for us