All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [87]
Baldwin sat incredulous on the bed for a few moments. Then a thought hit him. He opened up his computer and went to the Health Partners Web portal. He had glossed over a lot of the information last night, but something was tickling his conscience. He navigated the site until he found a section that was entitled Contact Us. He clicked it open, and there it was. The home office of Health Partners was in Nashville.
He started scrolling through but couldn’t find any more information. The company must have a listing of officers and executives, he just wasn’t finding it online. No matter, that was something a quick phone call could provide.
He dialed the number that Health Partners had listed in their contact information. A pleasant southern voice answered, but Baldwin quickly realized it was voice mail. Damn, he was hoping to get a secretary. The voice gave him the option of hitting zero to speak to a live person, and he did just that. Muzak drifted out from his earpiece and he rolled his eyes. There was just something so wrong about hearing synthesized Aerosmith. “Dude (Looks Like A Lady)” just didn’t work in the dulcet tones of elevator music.
After a few minutes, the music stopped and a real voice came on the line.
“Health Partners. Can I help you?”
He cleared his throat and gave a brisk no-nonsense answer. “Yes, you can. This is Special Agent John Baldwin with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I need to get an organizational chart of your company.”
“Sir, is there a problem?”
Great, he managed to get someone that wasn’t impressed by the credentials and cop voice. “No, ma’am, not a problem, but I would like to find out more about your employees. Could you give me some information?”
“Yes, I can, but why does the FBI want to know about us? Are we under investigation for something? I think I’d better let you talk to Louis Sherwood. He’s the CEO, so you should be able to get everything you need from him. Please hold.” The Muzak started up again, this time with The Scorpions’ “Rock You Like A Hurricane.” Baldwin gave out a little laugh. Whoever decided hard rock made melodious calming music was crazy.
It seemed as though he had been on hold for an hour, but it was probably more like five minutes when a voice came back on the line. “I’m Louis Sherwood. Is there something I can help you with, Agent Baldwin?”
“Yes, sir. I’d like to get some information about your traveling executives. I’m in the middle of an investigation and your company’s name has come up in relation to the case. Would you be willing to give me some information?”
Sherwood didn’t hesitate. “This is about the Southern Strangler, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, that’s the case I’m working on. You are familiar with it?” Silly question, he knew, anyone who owned a TV, lived next door to someone who owned a TV, drove a car with a radio, walked, slept or ate knew about the cases. The virtues of modern media.
“I am familiar with it, and I’m glad you’ve contacted me. I understand that three of the victims worked for our company in one capacity or another. I think that merits a sit-down discussion, don’t you?”
Baldwin was pleased, anything that would shed light on any aspect of the case was important. “Absolutely, sir. When would you be available?”
“I’m free anytime for you. Are you here in town?”
“No, sir, I’m in North Carolina, but I was planning on coming back to Nashville today, if nothing keeps me here.” Yeah, like another girl getting snatched.
“Back to Nashville? Do you have some interests here in town already?”
“Oh, sorry, I actually live in Nashville. I work out of the field office, handle national cases as needs be. I can be back in Nashville by late afternoon. Will you be available then?”
“I will be waiting for you. Do you need directions?”
Baldwin took down the information and thanked Sherwood. It felt good to do a little old-fashioned