Unexpected Outcome

Usually, a prospective client told her a bit about his problem when he called to make an appointment, but Haine hadn’t given her the slightest clue.

He finally looked across the desk and said, “You were highly recommended, Ms. Morancy.”

She smiled. “That’s good to hear. Who should I thank?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. I didn’t do the asking around myself. But I understand it was someone on the NYPD. An officer you used to work with.”

While she nodded acknowledgement of that, she did her best to ignore the familiar chill creeping through her.

An officer she’d worked with. Someone who knew she hadn’t been able to cut it on the job.

She stopped herself right there. Whoever had recommended her obviously thought she was a good private investigator. Despite her failings as a cop.

Forcing her full attention back to the moment, she said, “And what can I help you with, Mr. Haine?”

“Why don’t we drop the formality. Go with Robert and Dana.”

“Fine.”

As he took a few seconds to choose his next words, she eyed him surreptitiously. In his midfifties, he was roughly the same age as her father—but she suspected that might be the only thing the two had in common.

They were certainly on different pages when it came to clothes. Her dad always claimed he felt uncomfortable in a suit. Robert Haine, wearing a perfectly cut charcoal pinstripe, clearly didn’t.

“My business partner, Larry Benzer, and I have a company,” he said at last. “Four Corners Imports. Someone is trying to sabotage it.”

“I see,” she said slowly. “Sabotage it how?”

“Various ways. Arson in our warehouse. A couple of cargo containers that simply vanished—which left us scrambling to supply our clients. Invoices that were printed but somehow didn’t make it into the mail.

“Other things, too. Enough to affect both our bottom line and our reputation.”

“And you’re sure you haven’t just had a string of bad luck?”

He shook his head. “Our employees seem to figure that’s all it is. But only Larry and I are aware of everything that’s been going on. And seeing the complete picture, we’re convinced someone’s out to get us.

“So is my nephew, Noah Haine, who’s our director of finance.”

“I see,” she said again.

“The three of us have been spending half our time trying to figure out who it is. But the only thing we’re agreed on is that it has to be someone with access to inside information.”

“Someone on your staff, then.”

“That’s the obvious conclusion,” he said, his expression telling her how much that bothered him.

“Are you particularly suspicious of anyone?”

“There are a few people it could be. Theoretically speaking. But when it comes to hard evidence…”

He shrugged, indicating they had none, so she said, “What about a possible motive?”

“Again, only a couple of theories.”

“Theories are a good place to start. Why don’t you tell me what they are.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Well, you’ll need a little background information to understand the first one.

“A few years ago, Larry and I decided to expand into the West Coast market. That took money, so we went public to raise it.

“The shares did fine right from the initial offering, but in the past while they’ve dropped through the floor. Because, as I said, these problems have cost us money.

“But the point is, we figure someone could be accumulating shares on the cheap. And when he’s got enough the sabotage will miraculously stop. Then he’ll sell after the price recovers.”

Dana nodded, thinking nobody orchestrating a scheme like that would be dumb enough to purchase shares in his own name. Or her own, as the case might be. But there could easily be an accomplice with no apparent link to the company.

“Our other idea,” Robert was saying, “is that a competitor’s trying to drive us out of business. And has a Four Corners employee on its payroll.”

“Do you have many competitors?”

“Only two major ones. We’re a niche company—import collectibles and sell them almost exclusively to interior design firms.”

After another brief silence, he added, “Is this the sort of job you’d take on?”

“Yes. Definitely.” White-collar crime. No risk of shoot-’em-ups. Tailor-made for Dana Morancy.

“I’d just like to ask a few more questions,” she continued. “Exactly who knows you’re hiring a private investigator?”

“Right now, nobody except Larry and me. We’ll tell my nephew, of course, but he’s out of town until tomorrow.”

She thought for a moment, then said, “How would you feel about not telling him? About not telling anyone else who I really am?”

Robert didn’t seem to like the suggestion, so she said, “If one of your employees is involved, introducing me as a P.I. would warn him off. And if he goes to ground I’ll have a harder time learning who he is.”

“Yes, of course,” he said slowly. “That makes sense. But what does it have to do with not telling Noah?”

“When you’re trying to keep a secret, the fewer people in on it the better. All it takes is one slip…”

“Hmm…I see what you mean.”

She waited, letting him debate with himself. She never pushed clients very hard on issues like this. That way, the decisions didn’t come back to bite her.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Only Larry and I will know. But if we don’t say you’re a P.I., how do we explain you?”

“Well, I’ve established an identity for undercover work—Dana Mayfield, an organizational design consultant. It’s solidly backed up, so it checks out as authentic if anyone gets curious.”

“A consultant,” he repeated.

“Uh-huh. You’ve had this run of trouble, so you bring in a consultant. Your people would see that as a reasonable move, wouldn’t they?”