Page 67 of In Plain Sight

Gary came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “He did what? How do you know?”

“I saw it when we touched hands. But he didn’t buy it from a gun shop. That would leave a trace. I’d be willing to bet if you check, there’ll be no record of him owning one, but he got hold of it from somewhere—and he still has it.” Dan met Gary’s gaze. “He says he didn’t kill Cheryl. We don’t know that for certain.”

“He also says he didn’t know about the transition.”

Dan shrugged. “Sure, hesaysthat. Doesn’t make it true. And here’s something else to think about. Maybe Cheryl’s head was removed not to impede identification, but to get rid of the evidence.”

“Evidence of what?”

Dan arched his eyebrows. “The bullet hole, what else?” He sighed. “I wish I’d seen more.”

Sometimes his visions sucked.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

THE DIFANETTIConstruction Company occupied an unimposing building on Dorchester Avenue, stuck in the middle of a lot that comprised a couple of gyms, a glass factory, a paint shop, and the home of Building Restoration Services.

“Do you think they’ll have kept time sheets going back that far?” Dan asked as they got out of the car.

“If they’ve evolved along with the rest of the modern world, everything will be digital now.” At least that was Gary’s hope. They knew Aiden Reynolds had been employed by the construction company in August of 1992—all they wanted to do was pin it down.

They strolled over to the wood-and-glass door that bore the DFF logo, and Gary pressed the intercom.

“Can I help you?” The voice came from the tiny speaker.

Gary peered up at the camera above the door and flashed his badge. “Police. We’d like some information about a former employee.”

A second later the door buzzed open, and they pushed inside. The office front was nothing but a desk, filing cabinets, and a couple of chairs, with another door at the rear marked Private. In one of the chairs, a man sat reading a newspaper, his jeans and boots smeared with dust. He glanced at them with the merest hint of interest before resuming his reading.

Behind the desk was a middle-aged woman, tapping at a keyboard. She stopped as they approached, and Gary held his badge up once more.

“Detective Mitchell, Boston PD.”

She gave him a polite smile. “Good morning. What kind of information are you looking for? I’m afraid I can’t divulge personal details.”

“We’re after time sheets,” Gary told her. “We’re trying to ascertain where one of your former employees was working on a particular day. Are you able to give out that information?”

She glanced toward the rear door. “Normally I’d ask the office manager, Mr. Abrahams, but he’s not in today.” She bit her lip. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.” She picked up a pen. “What’s the name? And what was the date?”

“Aiden Reynolds. And we need details for August twenty-eighth, 1992.”

She blinked. “I see. I don’t recognize the name, but I’ve only worked here for six years. And I’m not sure if I can look back that far, but I’ll try. If it’s not on the system, I’ll check in the paper records. We do still have some of those.” Her eyes glinted. “Let’s hope he’s in here.” She patted the monitor. “Because if he isn’t, that’ll mean a lot more work to track him down.”

Gary got the sinking feeling Reynolds was going to be problematical.

Behind him a newspaper rustled. “Why are you interested in Aiden?”

Gary turned to find a pair of brown eyes focused on him. The man was in his mid to late forties, his dark brows scrunched up.

“Do you know him?” Dan asked.

“I used to work with him. What’s he done to have the police checking up on him? Aiden’s a great guy.”

“All we’re doing is verifying some details he gave us.” Gary held up his notepad. “And believe it or not, he’d want us to verify them.”

The man sneered. “Yeah, right.”

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