Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier 'n puttin' it back in.
Will Rogers
By the third interview, I was pretty sure of a couple of things. The employees here did not like working for Mr. Jones. It was more than mere fear of a mercurial boss, there was some actual distaste from two of the three, disgust from the last. Mr. Jones was up to something that these fine folk did not approve of.
The second thing that I had noticed is that many of the employees on this floor were exhausted from long hours. They didn't have the haggard look of people who work extended hours all of their lives. This heavy workload had only started up several months ago.
Small clues had led me to this conclusion. Wistful discussions of past hobbies that they no longer had time for. Pain around the eyes when they mention families or partners. A general sense of weariness mixed with the fear brought on by instability. Taken together, these facts indicated to me that Mr. Jones was working on an extracurricular project that at least some of her superiors were aware of, and that rather than making it part of the regular workload, it was to be completed in addition to the daily tasks, possibly to mask its existence to prying eyes. Secrets and cruelty seemed to be the watchwords here..
Jordana McTavish was now sitting in my office. Unlike the previous victims of my pseudo-interviews, she was self-confident without being arrogant. A woman in her mid-fifties, she was in the prime of her work life and had another thirty years of productive employment ahead of her. She had taken the common route these days to have both a family and a career, having completed the first fashionably early and entered the latter fashionably late. There was not much that could rattle this stalwart sergeant of industry. She had seen much already, and was prepared for much more, such as this interview.
Before I could say a word, she had walked to the chair and asked "May I?" before going ahead and sitting down anyway. She glanced at Darwin, then looked at me.
"And how can I help you today, Mr?" She was the first person to actually ask my name. As I said, self-confident.
"Friedman. Joshua Friedman." This one would not be bullied or scared into revealing information. If I wanted to know what she knew, I was going to have to ask for it, politely.
"Thank you for taking a few minutes to speak with me. Would you mind scanning in, please?"
She smiled a business smile, all surface with a guarded reserve. Passing her left hand over the mobile produced the little green light again, sending her information to my terminal.
She was not done though. She turned to look at Darwin again. "You are beautiful, aren't you." She had slipped from her 'business voice' into a soft brogue. She held out her right hand tentatively towards him, without fear but at a respectful distance. Darwin, for his part, closed his eyes, breaking his ever present stare of intimidation. He tilted his head forward fractionally, inviting her to pet him, which she did, twice. He was ever the opportunist.
"Lovely," she continued in her brogue. "I always trust a man with a cat, Mr. Friedman. Cats are excellent judges of character. For myself, I have two, Washington and Franklin, named after two ancient statesman, don't y' know."
"Quite." I said, looking up again. "You don't seem as nervous as your co-workers, Mrs. McTavish. Why would that be?"
"Those four?" she said. "I'll grant that they are efficient enough, but they are too young and too attached to this job. As I say to my Harry, that's me husband, Mr. Friedman, this isn't my first job, nor will it be my last, I'll warrant. People who are afraid of losing a thing, they can be pushed about by the people who control that thing. I have no fear of losing my position here."
"Are you that sure of your value here, then, Mrs. McTavish?"
"Here?" she laughed. "Not a bit of it. The 'turnover' here, as they say, has been shocking, though not so much in the past few months. No, you mistake my meaning, Mr. Friedman. I may indeed lose my job here, sir, and you may be the one to take it from me. But I don't fear it. I know I have done good work here, solid dependable work. Should I lose this job, it would be through no fault of me own. Y' canna threaten me when I don't fear the weapon in your hand, as they say."
"I see," I said. This was an impressive woman. She was solid and rational in a way that was all too rare these days. I felt myself relaxing around her, slightly hypnotized by her lilting brogue.
"And what is it that you do here, Mrs. McTavish?"
"'Tis a good question, Mr. Friedman. I work here, sir."
"Yes, but what kind of work do you do here, Mrs. McTavish?"
"Very good work, Mr. Friedman. Usually the best I can everyday, though some days one doesn't quite feel oneself. But must needs, as they say."
She was obviously evading my questions. She knew it and she knew that I knew it. She was going to make me ask outright, and I already knew the follow up.
"Mrs. McTavish," I tried again. "What is your function here? What is your role? What have you been working on lately?"
She smiled, pleased that we had moved passed the pleasantries.
"Ah, but there is the crux of the matter, as they say. Isn't that so, Mr. Friedman? Our little company deals with matters of a sensitive nature, matters that other, larger companies might be interested in hearing about. It wouldn't do to just invite our competition into our council chambers now would it? I may indeed answer your question, Mr. Friedman, if you will but answer one of mine."
Once this job was all said and done, I thought to myself, I was going to find this woman again and offer her a position. What a mind! And that brogue would instantly put folks off their guard, as it was very nearly doing to me.
"I will answer what I can," I replied carefully.
"We have been introduced, Mr. Friedman. But I don't know you from Adam, as they say. Our lady boss, well she has a habit of being in the company of a variety of 'friends', shall we call them. My question is this: who are you to know about such things as the work that I do here? Or if you prefer: What is your function here? What is your 'role'?, if I may borrow a phrase."
I hesitated briefly, deciding just how much I could share with this woman. Even the smallest hint would open vistas to her keen intellect. Around her, I sensed strong flows of cause and effect, each cause analyzed carefully, each choice made deliberately, each effect observed critically. Formidable, admirable.
I looked over to Darwin to get his read on her, and to my surprise he was missing. I had to stand to find him as he was blocked by the desk. He was curled at McTavish's feet, sleeping comfortably. His opinion had been given.
"Very well. I am looking into a missing persons case. I am a Finder, hired by your 'lady boss' to find one of your missing co-workers."
"Ah, yes. Well I must say I am very glad to hear it. I have been concerned for the poor girl. She's a fragile little thing and I worry that the burden of all of this overtime has been too much for the wee thing."
"Would you care to elaborate on the nature of the overtime, Mrs. McTavish?"
"Now that would be indiscreet of me, Mr. Friedman, now wouldn't it? I will help you in anyway I have the strength and knowledge to with the task at hand, which is to find that poor girl. However the work that we are doing here is, as understand it, very important. Now unless you can explain how the two are related, I think the wisest course would be to keep my own counsel on our special project. Wouldn't you agree?"
I cursed the fates that had allowed 3p Mining & Refining to hire this marvelous mind before I had even the chance to meet her. If I survived this, I might just do some poaching. That is, if I could afford her.
Darwin had awakened from his nap and was pawing at her leg.
"Well of course you can come up, you little darling." He lept up gently onto her lap. Her eyes widened in surprise at his weight, but she said to him as she started to pet him "You're no heavier that my grandson, Georgie." For his part the little defector had settle in and started purring loudly.
I resumed our discourse. Darwin was proving to be a distraction to all parties, myself included. "Your discretion is laudable, Mrs. McTavish. And you are, of course, correct. So let us discuss the matter at hand."
"Quite right, Mr. Friedman. What do you need to know?"
"Let's start with when you saw her last."
"Our shifts don't quite coincide," Mrs. McTavish said, "so it would have been four days ago, just before my interval, which is two days. When I came back yesterday, she wasn't at her desk. Someone mentioned that she had called in, saying she wasn't feeling well, which I thought strange, for 'tis not her way to miss a day. I found out this morning that she hadn't actually called, but had sent in a message, for she sent another today. Anyone could have sent that though."
"I see." I said. So this was confirmation of our timeline. "Was there anything wrong, out of place, or strange going on when you last saw her?"
"Aye," she said. "She had received some news that mightily upset her. I am not sure how she got it, but it was terrible indeed. I had never seen Imanda so distraught!"
"Imanda? Do you mean Leena?" I asked in surprise.
"No, I mean Imanada Salim. Who is Leena?" she asked innocently.