Chapter Eleven
The lobby of Speed Net reminded Lance of a trendy loft—sleek, industrial, and slightly cold. Building security rivaled that of a bank vault. Instead of glass, the front door was made of steel. Lance and Morgan had been buzzed into the building after speaking to the receptionist via a video intercom.
Lance had expected the start-up tech firm to employ a young, hip receptionist, but the woman sitting at the modern desk was middle-aged and dressed in comfortable navy-blue slacks and a white cardigan. She rounded the desk to greet them, and Lance suspected her heavy-soled black shoes were orthopedic.
The nameplate on the desk read BARBARA PAGANO.
Speed Net was founded by Elliot Pagano. Could this be his mother?
Morgan introduced them and handed the receptionist a business card.
“Hello. I’m Barbara. Elliot is waiting for you.” Her smile was a thousand times warmer than the metal-and-glass space around her. Lance half expected her to offer him a cookie.
Barbara stepped in front of a number pad and entered a code. Then she pressed her thumb to a small glass plate. The door unlocked with a soft snick, and she opened it. “This way, please.”
Lance and Morgan followed Barbara into a large, open industrial-looking room filled with long tables, desks, and computer equipment. At the far end of the room, a few couches and overstuffed chairs were grouped around a large screen TV. Video-game controllers and soda cans littered the sleek coffee table. The ceiling was at least thirty feet high. The people milling around in their jeans and T-shirts and sneakers could have passed for the cast of American Pie. They crossed the polished concrete floor to a glassed-in conference room.
Morgan set her tote on the floor and sat in a gray leather chair at the table.
“You’re Elliot’s mom?” Lance asked.
“I am.” Barbara smiled. Her eyes shone with pride. “He doesn’t just let me work here; Elliot employs the whole family. There’s his dad and brother, Derek.” She pointed through the glass. At the far side of the cavernous outer room, two men were installing some sort of conduit along the base of the brick wall. “He’d be furious if he heard me say this, but Elliot is such a good boy. He takes care of all of us. Here he is now.”
The door opened and a young man walked in. Elliot wore jeans, sneakers, and a gray Doctor Who T-shirt emblazoned with a spinning TARDIS. His hair was short but in need of a trim. A thick chunk fell over his brow. According to their preliminary information, Elliot was a twenty-seven-year-old, self-made multimillionaire. He might be young, but he had the self-assured bearing of a more experienced man.
“Thanks, Mom,” Elliot said to Barbara as she bowed out of the room.
Lance held out a hand. “Thanks for meeting with us.”
“I’ll do anything to help. I can’t believe Chelsea is missing.” Elliot shook their hands and sat across from Morgan. Lance took the chair beside her. Tim had provided basic information about his employer. Elliot had built the company from the ground up after selling his previous start-up for a huge chunk of change. Not bad for a guy who had dropped out of college at the age of twenty.
“Nice that you let your parents work here,” Lance said.
“I tried to give them money, but my father practically burst a vein at the thought of taking money he hadn’t earned.” Elliot sighed.
“Hard to fault him for having a good work ethic,” Lance pointed out.
“This is true,” Elliot agreed. “Most of my employees got here by being smart and working hard. Of all of them, I have the most respect for Tim. I grew up poor, but I had the support and love of my parents. Family is everything to me. I don’t know how I would have handled my wife’s death without my family. Tim didn’t have that support network growing up, but I’m glad Chelsea’s family is here with him now.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Morgan said.
Elliot was a widower? But then losing a spouse so young could explain Elliot’s maturity.
“How much do you know about Tim’s background?” Morgan asked.
“Tim was up front about his family’s legal issues since his personal information gets mixed up with his father’s.” Elliot interlaced his fingers and leaned on his forearms. “I’m glad I hired him. He works his ass off, and he’s never given me any reason to doubt his loyalty.”
“What can you tell us about his wife?” Lance asked.
Elliot shrugged “I really don’t know Chelsea that well. We have holiday parties, and several times a year we hold picnics, where we participate in team-building exercises. Spouses are welcome. Chelsea always comes. She seems very sweet. Loves her kids like crazy,” Elliot said with a sad smile.
Lance glanced through the glass. Everyone looked young. Very young. Many must be fresh out of college, and apparently not one of them owned an iron. At the ripe old age of thirty-three, Lance felt ancient. A young man in skinny jeans and a knit beanie cruised by on a skateboard. The glass muffled the click-clack of his wheels on the polished concrete.
“How valuable is the research Tim’s team is working on?” Morgan asked.
“Very,” Elliot said. “The technology we’re developing has the potential to transform Internet access on a global scale, increasing access to low-cost, multigigabit wireless connectivity.”
“Tim is a state-college grad,” Morgan said. “I would think a high-tech, cutting-edge firm like Speed Net would want graduates from more prestigious universities.”
Elliot steepled his fingers. “I went to a prestigious university. I didn’t fit in. Rich, privileged kids weren’t and aren’t my people. If you’ve watched your parents struggle to pay bills, if your family has been evicted from their apartment in the middle of winter, if you’ve made a meal out of government cheese and ketchup packets, you understand the value of success in a way someone who hasn’t struggled doesn’t. If, in spite of your family’s poverty, you’ve managed to get an advanced college degree, you have my attention.”
Refreshing attitude.
Elliot sat back. “Plus, I can’t afford MIT grads anyway.”
And practical.
“Who is your strongest competitor?” Lance asked.
“Gold Stream,” Elliot said with no hesitation. His mouth flattened. “Levi Gold and I used to be partners. We started our first tech company, TechKing, when we were twenty-two. We had a disagreement and sold the company.”
“How ugly was your disagreement?” Lance pressed. “Would he hold a grudge or try to sabotage your research?”
Elliot shook his head. “If someone tried to hack our system, I’d look hard at Levi. But kidnapping? No.”
“Does anyone here at Speed Net have a grudge against Tim?” Morgan asked.
“No.” Elliot frowned, but the wariness that clouded his eyes belied his denial.
“But surely your team members argue?” Morgan suggested. “Stress is high. There’s a lot at stake.”
“We have our share of disagreements, but we’re all professionals here.” Elliot said in an almost snippy voice. “I’m the boss. If anyone has earned a grudge, it would be me.”
Lance sensed Elliot was holding something back. “Do your other employees know Chelsea?”
“Yes. They would have met her the same way I did.” Elliot crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, putting a few more inches of space between them. One finger tapped on his opposite bicep.
Elliot’s body language radiated stress. Lance shared a quick glance with Morgan. The communication between them was silent but swift. Her interest was piqued too. But she also knew the power of silence. A few seconds ticked away, allowing them to hear the muffled sounds of activity on the other side of the glass.
Elliot sighed loudly. “All right. We had a company event about six weeks ago. It was a picnic. Tim and his daughter were running in the three-legged race. It was cute. He’s totally hung up on his kid.” Elliot took a breath. His brow lowered. “Chelsea was sitting at a picnic table, pushing the baby stroller back and forth. I noticed one of our other engineers on Tim’s team, Kirk, watching her.”
He paused, a furrow forming above the bridge of his nose. He stared at the wall as if replaying the scene in his mind. “I’m sure it was totally innocent. Chelsea is a very attractive woman. Young guys, particularly nerdy young guys with little experience with women, are bound to notice her.” Elliot looked over his shoulder. “If you look through the glass, Kirk is the one with the skateboard.”
Lance scanned the office. Beanie boy had emerged from the locked room and was cruising across the space to an open kitchenette. He could have been in high school. He still had pimples. “How old is Kirk?”
“Twenty-three,” Elliot said. “Kirk earned his PhD last year. He’s brilliant, but he has Asperger’s. Emotionally, he’s much younger, and social communication is difficult for him. He can talk all day about the challenge of delivering high-frequency, 5G spectrum wireless without a sufficient fiber-optic cable infrastructure. But he can’t ask a girl out on a date.”
“Has Kirk ever had any negative interactions with female coworkers?” Lance scanned the people on the other side of the glass. More than three-quarters of the employees in sight were male.
Elliot shook his head. “No. Everyone here is a geek. We all speak the same language, and as long as the conversation doesn’t venture into personal territory, Kirk is fine.”
“Can we talk to everyone on Tim’s team?” Morgan asked.
“Of course.” Elliot rose. “Do you want me to send them in one by one?”
Lance nodded. “Please.”
Elliot hesitated at the door. “You’ll be gentle with Kirk?”
“We will.” Morgan gave him a sincere, close-lipped smile.
“And understand, they will not be permitted to talk about the project,” Elliot said. “It’s a general rule.”
Lance thought, Thank God.
But he said, “Yes. Of course. One more thing. We’d like a list of all your employees.”
Elliot frowned. “I don’t know. I assure you they were all vetted before they were hired. And the sheriff took a list with him. I assume he was checking everyone for criminal records.”
“We know,” Lance said. “It’s always good to have fresh eyes on any investigation. You’d be surprised what can be missed with an overabundance of information.”
“All right,” Elliot agreed. “Everyone who works here signs off on periodic drug and background investigations due to the sensitive nature of the business. I don’t like to violate my employee’s trust, but this is an extraordinary situation.”
“Do you remember where you were last Friday night?” Morgan asked casually. “We need to be thorough.”
“I understand.” Elliot nodded. “I was with my brother at his place.”
“What did you do?” Lance asked.
“Nothing really. He was working on his road bike. I watched. We had a few beers.” Elliot shrugged. “Derek’s girlfriend broke up with him a few weeks ago. He’s been depressed.”
“I don’t suppose anyone saw you there.” Morgan looked up from her notes. “Did you order takeout? Run to a convenience store?”
“No. Sorry. If had known I was going to need an alibi, we would have gone out,” Elliot said drily. “Let me get Kirk for you.”
He left the room. A few minutes later, Kirk shuffled into the conference room, turned his skateboard over, and set it on the table in front of him. Bouncing into the chair Elliot had vacated, Kirk watched his skateboard wheels spin. He flicked quick, almost furtive glances at Morgan and ignored Lance completely.
Morgan gave him a soft smile. “Hi, Kirk.”
“Hey,” Kirk mumbled. His gaze darted from Morgan’s chest to her face, then dropped, and he stared, red-cheeked, at his skateboard.
Morgan began, “We just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Tim Clark.”
Kirk played with a skateboard wheel, brushing it with his fingers and watching it spin. “Sure.”
“How long have you worked with Tim?” Lance asked.
Irritation flashed across Kirk’s face. His gaze passed across Lance’s face for a quick second, then dropped to stare at the center of his chest. “Dunno exactly. Maybe two years.”
“Do you and Tim get along?” Lance kept his voice conversational.
One of Kirk’s shoulders lifted and dropped. “Sure. Tim’s OK.”
Morgan set her clasped hands on the table in front of her. “Do you know his wife, Chelsea?”
Kirk’s gaze moved to her hands. “Yeah.”
“Do you like her?” Morgan pressed.
Despite her gentle tone, Kirk seemed to shrink, his shoulders caving in as his weight shifted back in the chair. “I guess.” He swatted the wheel of his skateboard three times. It spun with a soft whir.
“Is she nice to you?” Morgan twirled her thumbs.
Kirk seemed transfixed by the movement. “She’s nice to everybody.”
Despite his limited social skills, the kid was bright enough to know he was in the hot seat.
“Have you ever talked to her?” Morgan asked.
“Not really.” Kirk tugged at the neck of his T-shirt. “Just hi and stuff.”
Morgan kept moving her thumbs. “Did you see her at the last company function?”
“Yeah. She brought the kids. I like kids.” Kirk’s tone brightened.
“Everyone says Chelsea is a great mother,” Morgan fished.
Kirk agreed with an emphatic nod. “She is.”
“It’s such a shame she’s missing,” Lance said in a tough voice, playing off Morgan’s good detective persona.
Kirk’s face fell. He looked like he was going to cry.
“We’re trying to find her.” Morgan unclasped her hands and reached into her bag at her feet. She slid a business card across the table.
Kirk stared at it.
“Would you please call me if you think of anything that might help us?”
Instead of answering, Kirk took the card and slipped it into the back pocket of his skinny jeans.
“Thank you for talking to us, Kirk.” Morgan smiled. “Would you let Elliot know we’re ready for the next interviewee?”
Kirk grabbed his skateboard and rushed for the exit.
“Oh, Kirk?” Morgan asked. “You don’t happen to remember where you were last Friday night, do you? We’re asking everyone.” She shot him a halogen-bright smile.
Kirk blushed. “I was online playing World of Warcraft.”
“People still play that?” Lance asked. “I thought everyone was into Call of Duty, Overlook, and Destiny now.”
Kirk nodded. “I play those too.”
“Were you playing alone?” Morgan treated him to another smile.
“No. Well, yes.” He flushed, his hands clenching the edge of the board. “I was playing online with some friends.”
“But you weren’t all in the same physical place,” Lance clarified.
Kirk shook his head. “No.”
“Thanks, Kirk,” Morgan said.
Kirk ducked out of the room. Outside the door, he tossed his skateboard onto the concrete and jumped aboard. His body had the finally-free posture of a kid leaving the principal’s office.
Lance and Morgan interviewed the remaining five members of Tim’s team without discovering anything interesting, other than they all alibied each other.
Lance and Morgan finished with the last interview, and Barbara escorted them to the lobby.
Outside, street lamps cast puddles of yellow light on the parking lot blacktop. The temperature had dropped, and the air smelled of burning wood. Morgan buttoned her coat and hunched her shoulders against the cold as they walked to the Jeep. “Isn’t that Elliot’s brother, Derek?”
He followed her gaze to a man clad in jeans, a leather jacket, and a knit hat walking across the parking lot. “Yes.”
“Shall we ask him about last Friday night?” As she asked the question, Morgan was already veering off course toward him.
“Hi.” She flashed him a megawatt smile.
He nodded. “Can I help you?”
Morgan introduced them. Lance kept his mouth shut. Most young men responded better to her than to him, especially when she turned on the charm.
“I know who you are,” Derek said. “Everyone inside was talking about you.”
“We just wanted to confirm that Elliot was with you last Friday night,” Morgan said. “You went out to dinner?”
Lance appreciated her attempt to catch Elliot if he had been lying.
Derek shook his head. “No. We just hung out at my place. I was tuning up my road bike.” He glanced back at the building and frowned. “Elliot hasn’t been himself since Candace died. I don’t like to see him spend too much time alone.”
“He must have been heartbroken,” Morgan empathized.
“He was.” Derek nodded. “I think if you have any more questions about Elliot’s wife, you’d better ask him, but I’ll tell you right now, Elliot wouldn’t hurt anybody. He takes care of people.”
Morgan thanked him. Lance led her back to the Jeep, and they got in.
“At least he verified Elliot’s alibi. Though they’re brothers, so we have to take that into consideration.” Morgan closed her door and shivered. “Poor Elliot. Twenty-seven is young to be a widower.”
“It would be devastating at any age, but it must have been a huge shock for him. It’s a wonder he could function to run his company.”
“Maybe he used it as a diversion. It’s best to keep busy.” Morgan would know. She’d only been thirty-one when her husband had died. No doubt her focus on her children had gotten her through.
He started the engine. “Kirk Armani seemed pretty happy to get away from us.”
“He’s on the autism spectrum, so I wouldn’t read too much into his body language.” Morgan fastened her seat belt. “Just being forced to talk to two strangers would be very stressful for him.”
“But he got more uncomfortable when we asked about Chelsea.”
“True. But given that she’s missing, that’s natural. He’s obviously extremely intelligent. We’ll see what turns up in his background check.” Morgan cupped her hands in front of her face and exhaled into them. “Do you think there’s any possibility that someone kidnapped Chelsea to get information from Tim?”
“Then why would Tim come to us to find his wife?”
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her palms together. “And we don’t have a ransom note.”
“No, and it’s been five days since Chelsea disappeared.” Lance reached across the console and took Morgan’s hand in his. Her fingers were freezing. He rubbed her hand between his palms for a few seconds then released it to drive out of the parking lot.
“What if the kidnapper wants to wait until police interest in the case dies down?”
“Typically, the opposite happens. They contact the family immediately to prevent the police from being involved at all.”
Morgan’s thinking line creased the bridge of her nose. “What’s your impression of Elliot?”
“Smart. Ambitious. Workaholic.” The air streaming from the vents warmed, and Lance turned the heater on high.
“His only alibi is his brother, though I can’t come up with any reason Elliot would hurt Chelsea.” Morgan stretched her hands toward the heat vents in the dashboard. “But we should find out more about his wife’s death.”
“I’ll let my mother know, though I’m sure she’ll find it on her own.” Lance checked the clock on the dashboard. It was almost eight thirty. “I’ll drop off the list of Speed Net employees tonight. It’ll be a good excuse for the extra visit.” He usually stopped to see his mom once a day.
Heat filled the vehicle until Lance was nearly sweating.
But Morgan settled deeper into her seat with a contented sigh. “I doubt his employees get along as well as he claims. There’s always workplace drama.”
“Throw in high stress levels and a bunch of very young people with outrageous IQs and weak social skills,” Lance added. “It was like a high school in there.”
“Right?” Morgan laughed. “I felt like such a mom.”
She crossed her legs, the movement drawing Lance’s eye fast enough to treat him to a quick flash of pretty thigh. “I don’t think Kirk saw you as a mom.”
And neither did Lance, despite the fact that he loved her kids.
“No?” She seemed cheered by his comment.
“No.” Lance wasn’t giving Kirk a pass because of his autism. The kid had acted weird toward Morgan and even weirder when they’d talked about Chelsea. Until she turned up, no one was getting a pass for any reason except a solid alibi.