Takeover - Lisa Black [37]
“So you convinced him to leave Atlanta?”
“No, he responded to the online posting. He wanted to come here.”
“Why?”
She paused, fingers stroking the gold cross around her neck. “I think he said Atlanta had gotten too crowded. It is a huge city. But he still drove a hard bargain—he got a promotion and a job for his wife out of it.”
“What does his wife do?”
“She’s a secretary in the savings bond unit.”
“She doesn’t work with her husband?”
“Oh, no. Family members can’t be in a supervisory relationship with other family members. She can type and had done some clerical work before the baby was born, so we fitted her in with the support staff.”
“Did you meet her?”
“Yes—Jessica, her name is. Sweet girl.”
“How did she feel about the move, about her new job?”
Again the human resources manager fingered her pendant. “I don’t really know. I only met her twice, once for the testing and interview process and once to sign all the paperwork. She seemed excited about the job but expressed some…misgivings, I guess you could say, about moving to the new city. I suppose that’s normal. She’s young and probably away from her family for the first time. I was a new bride of nineteen when I left Biloxi. It’s hard.”
“True,” Cavanaugh said, so briskly that Theresa winced. He didn’t understand. Didn’t he have a family, some sort of foundation he’d be reluctant to leave? “Did she seem angry about it?”
“No, not at all. Just nervous. She also, I think, would have preferred to stay home with her little boy instead of working. She said something about ‘at least until he started kindergarten.’ I could understand that, too. The first years are so important.”
“So her son is in a new house, a new city, and then has to start day care, too,” Cavanaugh said, showing more sensitivity than he had a moment before. “That probably worried her.”
“It was a lot of changes at once. Scary but exciting. She really is a sweet girl—an artist, too, likes to paint, and I told her about our art museum. I remember she joked that her son is taking after her and draws constantly, sometimes on the walls.” She chuckled again at the memory. “I think that’s all I can tell you. Why are you so interested in Jessica?”
“We believe she’s one of the hostages.” Cavanaugh pointed at the flat-screen, its images flickering silently on the tabletop. “Can you tell us if that’s her, on the left?”
The blood drained from the woman’s face to see her coworkers crouched on the marble floor, guns pointed at their bodies. “Oh, my Lord.”
“No one is hurt, and I’m sure we can get them out safely. But does that look like Jessica Ludlow?”
She squinted. “Yes, I’m sure. She has the baby with her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We’re wondering that ourselves. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Hessman—”
Theresa interrupted. “What time does she start work?”
“Seven-thirty,” the woman answered without hesitation.
Cavanaugh took a swig from his water bottle, allowing Theresa to continue her questioning.
“What time does Mark Ludlow start work?” she asked.
“Eight, usually. But a senior examiner…well…”
“Doesn’t punch a time clock.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Hessman told her. “Some are more flexible, come in at eight-thirty or nine and stay later, but only a few. They’re all accountants, so they tend to be a bit regimented.”
“Do you know what day-care arrangements she had for their son?”
“No, I sure don’t.”
Theresa mulled this over while Cavanaugh thanked the woman again. “This officer will see you out.”
The room fell silent, except for the hum of distant cars and the terse, quiet exchanges from the staff offices. Then Theresa said, “Maybe they drive separately to work because she starts earlier. It still seems funny, considering the price of gas these days.”
“Come here,” Cavanaugh said to her. He pushed an empty chair out from the desk, next to him. “Sit down. Need a bottle of water?”
“No—yeah, actually. That would be good.”
Irene pulled an Aquafina from a small cooler and passed it down.
Cavanaugh handed it to her. “Or she drives separately because