Protector - Laurel Dewey [55]
“I don’t get it. It’s got all these secret compartments and hidden buttons, how do you find anything? How do you know where they all are?”
“Only the owner of the desk knows what button goes with what drawer. The rest of us just go about blindly.”
Weyler eyed the five wooden compartments that lined the top of the desk. “Are those real?”
“Yeah. My mom’s desk had seven of them. One for every day of the week. I used to leave her a little piece of paper in one of those slots every day with a message on it. You know, ‘Hi, Mom,’ ‘Have a good day,’ ‘Please get well,’” Jane’s voice trailed off.
Weyler broke the silence. “You oughta take your mom’s desk down to that Antiques Roadshow on PBS when it comes to Denver. Maybe it’s worth something.”
Jane stiffened. “It’s long gone. Dad sold it two days after she died. He got a whole forty bucks for it,” Jane declared sarcastically. She turned away from the desk and sauntered into the living room. After surveying the area, she let out a deep sigh. “What do you know about David Lawrence?”
Weyler pulled a small notepad from his jacket pocket and flipped it open, scanning the scribbles. “He was Assistant VP of Technical Development for Crimson Technology in Denver.”
“What’s Crimson Technology?”
“It’s an Internet networking firm. They’re troubleshooters. David was apparently the quintessential computer geek. But in the words of one employee our detectives talked to, he was a ‘geek who made it good.’ This same guy said David reminded him of someone who was awkward and an outsider, but a guy who carefully rose to the top of his company. Someone who could afford to send his daughter to a private school.”
Jane brushed up against the Lawrences’ glassed liquor cabinet. “You said, ‘carefully rose to the top.’ Why ‘carefully? ’”
“I’m going by the words used to describe David.” Weyler read from the pad. “‘Careful,’ ‘Methodical,’ ‘Deliberate,’ ‘Safe.’ One woman at the company threw in the word ‘boring.’ He arrived at the office at 8:30 a.m. and left promptly at 6:00. Kept a tidy desk, emptied his ‘in’ box every day, left nary a scrap of refuse on his office carpet.”
Jane stared at the liquor cabinet in a daze. She was taking in every word but, at the same time, developing an internal sense for David Lawrence.
“Bank accounts?”
“We checked. No unusually large deposits or withdrawals. He paid his credit cards in full and always at least ten days before they were due. No debt, except for his mortgage. His new Audi was paid off as was his wife’s brand-new Toyota 4-Runner.”
“Other women in his life?”
Weyler smiled. “We asked about that and we were laughed at.”
“Why can’t a rich computer geek have an affair?”
“They can. But David Lawrence did not.”
“What about the hard drive on his home computer? His personal e-mails?”
“Chris said there was nothing incriminating.”
“So, after all the prelim, nobody found anything odd?”
“The only somewhat odd comment one of his coworkers made was that for a couple months this spring, David was acting . . . how did he say it . . .” Weyler referred to his notes. “Like a guy who finally got picked for the school team.”
“What does that mean?”
“He walked around with a cocky strut. The fellow wondered if David had landed another promotion and was keeping it quiet. We asked about a promotion and there was none. Apparently, the cocksure attitude didn’t last more than six weeks. He suddenly became edgy and anxious with his coworkers. Talked on his phone in hushed tones. Seemed preoccupied at staff meetings. Showed up at work smelling obviously of whiskey.”
Jane took Weyler’s comment as a backhanded, personal affront. “He showed