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  “On second thought, let’s take this to one of the conference rooms,” Pamela said.

  Business at Genavax had begun early, and all the conference rooms were busy except for the boardroom. It was more dramatic than they needed, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Pamela flicked on the lights.

  “Please, sit.”

  Terry did, but Pamela didn’t. She stood stiffly, occasionally shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a birdlike fashion.

  “I won’t pretend that I haven’t heard, Terry.” Her tone was terse.

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “Terry, as far as I know, unless you can correct me, you were questioned as a suspect in Alicia Hyams’s murder.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You’ve placed Genavax in a very embarrassing position.”

  Embarrassing, Terry thought. He was potentially facing a murder trial. He felt his predicament trumped Genavax’s. He straightened in his seat.

  “I’ve mentioned before that Genavax went to a lot of trouble to hire you.” Pamela cut a groove in the carpet, pacing ten or twelve feet in one direction only to reverse. She reminded Terry of a carnival duck shoot, with the targets passing back and forth. “Frankly, we’ve been disappointed. We are not seeing the return on the time and effort invested in you. First of all, you’ve demonstrated absenteeism.”

  “My wife is missing, and I took personal days. They are allowed in my contract.”

  But Pamela wasn’t listening to him and plowed on, oblivious to his justification. “You’ve also interfered with the progress of other projects.”

  “What projects?”

  “Luke Frazer found you in the freezer playing with a set of samples.”

  “No, he didn’t. The wrong rack was stored on my shelf. I was trying to relocate it.”

  She stopped pacing and raised a hand to silence him. “None of that is important. The murder investigation is.”

  “It’s not like I’ve been charged,” Terry said.

  “Regardless, you’ve put everyone here in an uncomfortable position. We have the company’s image to consider.”

  “Am I fired?”

  She hesitated. “That hasn’t been decided. But I don’t want to raise your hopes.”

  “What the hell happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

  “It has nothing to do with innocence. It’s about perception.”

  “Perception! What exactly is your perception of the situation?”

  She snorted. “The perception is, if you haven’t heard, that you came to this country and abducted and killed Alicia Hyams.”

  “And I did all this with the consent of my wife, I suppose?”

  Pamela shrugged. “Well, there are two theories on that one.”

  “Like what?”

  “One is that your wife discovered your crime and ran away, and the second is she’s dead somewhere, killed in a similar fashion to Alicia Hyams.”

  “What a load of bollocks,” Terry said, leaping to his feet.

  Pamela stiffened, taking a step backward.

  “Talk sense for a moment. How could I have abducted Alicia Hyams? She was abducted between two and three p.m. on the thirteenth. At that time, I was in an airport shuttle on my way to my house.”

  Terry froze, trapped in the moment. He rewound what he’d just said and picked through events as he recalled them. Adrenaline-driven euphoria overrevved his brain, clouding his logic, messing with his puzzle. He stared at the ground to concentrate his focus.

  “What are you saying?”

  He needed a moment to think, to check his mental facts. Yes, he was right. He’d been in an airport shuttle with a bunch of witnesses when Alicia Hyams was taken. Holman had been so focused on the stash of Alicia’s personal items and the list of names that he’d found in the crawl space at Terry’s house, he hadn’t even tried to verify Terry’s whereabouts before Schreiber had sprung him. Terry should have realized it earlier, but he’d been too emotional, too wrapped up in the turmoil to keep a level head. But he was levelheaded now.

  “What I’m saying is there’s no way I could have done it, and you just gave me the proof.” Terry pounced on the phone on the desk and dialed Oscar’s cell number.

  “Gold Rush,” Oscar answered.

  “Oscar, call Schreiber. Tell him to meet me at Sheriff Holman’s. I have the world’s greatest alibi.” He slammed the phone down with more energy than he intended, making Pamela jump. “Yes!” he shouted with delight.

  He raced for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Pamela demanded.

  “I’m going to prove what I knew and you should have believed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hours after blowing Holman’s case apart, Terry and Oscar were being loud. The restaurant’s mood music had been turned up twice to compensate, but they didn’t care who heard them. Alcohol dictated the volume.

  Schreiber stood. “I’ll leave you guys to celebrate alone. My ride’s here, and I have other clients to defend. Enjoy.” He reached for his wallet.

  “No way,” Terry said. “Dinner is on me. You did me proud.”

  “I’m not sure I did anything. I think you proved yourself innocent.”

  “Maybe, but you cut through the red tape. That’s something I never could have done.”

  “Okay. I accept your hospitality.” He stretched to shake Terry’s hand, then Oscar’s. “Stay out of trouble, guys. I hope we don’t have to do business again.” He smiled. “I’m one businessman who doesn’t hope for repeat business.”

  “Good luck to you, counselor,” Oscar slurred at Schreiber’s retreating form.

  He waved as he left the restaurant.

  “Good man,” Oscar said.

  “That he is,” Terry agreed.

  Their waitress returned.

  “Shall I bring you your bill?”

  She was all smiles and politeness, but her question seemed more like a request.

  “We haven’t finished yet,” Terry said. “Have we?”

  “No, we haven’t,” Oscar said emphatically. He waggled an empty bottle that once held a moderately expensive Californian Chardonnay. “Can you bring us another bottle of this?”

  “Actually, you’ve been disturbing the other customers. If I do bring you another bottle, you have to promise to be quiet.”

  “Sorry, but we’re celebrating,” Terry said. “If we’ve been obnoxious, I apologize. We’ll do better to respect everybody else.”

  The waitress, Becki, according to her name badge, smiled and nodded, accepting Terry’s apology and promise. He found his accent worked wonders. Surprisingly, a couple of coworkers and store clerks had described it as exotic. He didn’t understand it himself. He considered his accent plain, but he did find that it defused situations. Americans, regardless of color, creed, or background, changed their opinion of him when they found out he was English and not American. His accent was perceived as a hallmark of honesty and dependability. He was accepted in more places than a platinum credit card. If Oscar had said the same thing to the waitress, they’d probably be leaving, so he wasn’t going to knock it. Becki relieved Oscar of the empty bottle.

  In the bar, someone turned up the television. The news-anchor’s voice penetrated the background music, and Oscar blew Terry’s bridge mending.

  “Hey, buddy.” He leaped from his chair. “Turn that up.”

  Oscar lurched toward the bar. Terry shrugged apologetically at Becki and followed his friend. He wanted to see the news as much as Oscar did.

  The female anchor went into the lead story. Oscar clutched the bar rail, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Terry joined Oscar. He ignored the glances they were drawing.

  “Turn it up another notch,” Oscar urged.

  The bartender shrugged and hit the volume button.

  “Dramatic events unfolded today in the murder investigation of Alicia Hyams and the disappearance of Bay Area journalist Sarah Sheffield. This report from Tom De
grasse.”

  The smooth and professional Tom Degrasse didn’t have a cigarette in his hand for his report. He was standing outside the sheriff’s department. It was a recording from earlier in the day, after Holman had dropped all interest in Terry as a suspect, at Schreiber’s insistence. Terry’s lawyer had demanded an immediate press release be made to clear Terry’s name.

  “I’m outside the Santa Rita County Sheriff’s Department in Edenville where there’s been a new twist in the Alicia Hyams murder case. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Terry Sheffield, a British citizen, now a resident in the United States, was questioned in connection with Mrs. Hyams’s murder after personal effects belonging to the deceased were found at his home. Interestingly, Mr. Sheffield’s wife, Sarah, has been missing for over three weeks, which has raised suspicions of his involvement in that case. But all that changed this morning.”

  Degrasse’s report cut to another recording of Holman making a statement to an assembled group of reporters. Holman’s name filled the bottom of the screen.

  “I would like to reiterate that due to irrefutable evidence, Terry Sheffield has been eliminated as a suspect in the murder of Alicia Hyams.”

  Terry and Oscar cheered.

  A wave of questions struck Holman, which he didn’t respond to until the cacophony of voices burned itself out. One voice made it through with its question.

  “Sheriff Holman, can you tell us what evidence has come to light?”

  Holman looked uneasy, but he answered. “It’s an issue of timing. At the time of Alicia Hyams’s abduction, Terry Sheffield was entering the US. We have corroboration from airport immigration.”

  “Who’s trying to cover up their screwup?” Terry said to the television. “I was in your office, not the airport, when Alicia Hyams was kidnapped.”

  “But do you suspect foul play in the disappearance of Sarah Sheffield?” the reporter demanded, following up her previous question.

  “There is no evidence of foul play.”

  Another slew of questions ensued.

  “Do you have another suspect, Sheriff?”

  “Is Alicia Hyams’s murder in any way connected to Sarah Sheffield’s disappearance?”

  “What is your next course of action?”

  Holman shouted the questions down with his commanding voice. “All I’m willing to say is that I can categorically state that Terry Sheffield is not responsible for Alicia Hyams’s death.”

  Holman turned his back on the reporters. The camera tracked him returning into his offices.

  “Categorically,” Terry said, chewing the word over. “Does that mean without a doubt?”

  “I think it does, man,” Oscar replied.

  The report cut back to Tom Degrasse. “Sheriff Holman and Mr. Sheffield declined to comment further, but Mr. Sheffield’s lawyer, Jonathan Schreiber, made a statement on his behalf.”

  Schreiber appeared on the screen. “Terry expressed his supreme pleasure at being eliminated from the sheriff’s investigations.”

  “Hell, yeah,” Oscar seconded.

  “Amen to that,” Terry said.

  “He is also grateful to Sheriff Holman for his statement today.”

  “Are you?” Oscar asked.

  Terry shrugged. “I’m grateful he let me go.”

  “Terry wishes to be left to resume his life in the US and hopes Sheriff Holman’s investigations lead to a speedy capture of Alicia Hyams’s murderer and the return of his wife. Thank you.”

  The report cut back to Tom Degrasse to sum up. “There you have it. Authorities are no closer to finding Alicia Hyams’s killer than a week ago. Let’s hope developments are swift and forthcoming. This is Tom Degrasse reporting for KTAH, San Francisco. Now, back to the studio.”

  Oscar slapped Terry on the back. “Well done, buddy.”

  “God, I’ll never get tired of watching that.”

  “I know I will,” a familiar voice said from behind them.

  Terry and Oscar whirled to find Holman standing there. He looked ready to burst.

  Terry sighed. “Okay, we’ve been loud, but we haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You’re not here to arrest him again, are you?” Oscar asked.

  Holman glared at Oscar.

  “What do you want, Sheriff?” Terry asked.

  “I was passing by and saw you two whooping like monkeys at feeding time, so I wanted to make sure you weren’t being a nuisance.”

  Becki came forward with their check in an American Express bill holder. “No nuisance here,” she said. “They were just settling up.”

  “Thanks,” Terry said, but not for bringing the bill.

  “As long as they weren’t causing trouble.”

  “No trouble,” she said with a smile.

  Holman grunted.

  “Anything else, Sheriff?” Terry asked.

  “Not for tonight. But we are far from finished, Sheffield. You can count on that.”

  Terry, Oscar, Becki, and the rest of the patrons in the restaurant watched Holman leave. No one spoke until the doors closed.

  “Becki, you’ve earned an excellent tip,” Oscar said, handing her his Visa card.

  She went to charge Oscar’s card. Terry waited for her to be out of earshot before speaking. “Did you smell alcohol?”

  “I thought that was us.”

  “It was, but we weren’t the only ones.”

  “So?”

  “It doesn’t seem like him. Don’t you think it’s a bit reckless to be drunk on duty?”

  “He’s had a bad day. Totally understandable. We have a good day—we drink to celebrate. We have a bad day—we drink to commiserate. What else is alcohol for?”

  For burying guilt, Terry thought.

  Another day, another dollar and a different attitude. That was how Genavax welcomed Terry the following day. Condemned by a TV jury the day before, he was the conquering hero today. Colleagues either congratulated him, shook his hand, slapped him on the back, offered him a sympathetic ear if he needed it, or, the most touching of all, apologized for prejudging him. Today he was “The Man,” as Kirk from shipping had said.

  If attitudes were changing, his needed to change too. He had to buckle down and get on with his work and for good reason. In part, he needed this job. Sarah was missing and there was a mortgage to pay. It would be nice if there were a home for her to come home to. More important, Sarah had discovered something that had Pamela spooked, and if it was connected to her disappearance, he needed to figure out what it was. He couldn’t do that if Genavax gave him his marching orders. So for now, he’d be a good worker bee.

  Jenny Kuo stopped him in the corridor. She asked if he was okay and gave him a card with a 1-800 number to a counseling line. He remembered her mentioning the service at his induction.

  “It’s free and confidential,” she said. “Nobody from Genavax will know what is discussed. They are trained in stress management.”

  “Thanks, Jenny,” he said, holding the card up.

  “Will you use it?”

  He smiled. “Probably not. I have a good friend who’s been supportive. But I appreciate the offer.”

  “There’s no stigma in using it. Even things built Ford tough need a tune-up now and again.”

  He liked her attempt at not attacking his masculinity. It was cute. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave it up to you, then.”

  He wondered if Jenny’s insistence was because no one had ever chosen to use the service. He felt he should use it just to placate her desire to be an excellent human resources manager. He thanked her and pocketed the card.

  The lab was harmonious in its support. Even Frosty Frazer mumbled his congratulations, as did Pamela Dawson. Terry went into her office and closed the door.

  “May I have a quick word?” he asked.

  “If you must.” She crossed her arms over her flat chest.

  “I know my Genavax career hasn’t gotten off to a flying start.”


  Pamela grunted.

  “But I want to change that. I’ve never been fired, and I’ve never had a bad reference. I’m a good worker, and I’ll prove to you that you haven’t made a mistake by hiring me.”

  Pamela looked as if she’d heard this speech a thousand times before from a thousand people who were one excuse away from being fired. Terry carried on regardless.

  “I’m determined to make it work at Genavax. I will make up the time I’ve missed. You’ll see a change.”

  “I appreciate your saying so,” she said. “Let’s hope you can turn things around. If that’s all, we’d better get back to our work.”

  And that was what Terry did. He put his head down and beavered away. He stopped for a short lunch break and carried on through to five and beyond.

  Everyone pretty much vamoosed at or just after five, with two exceptions—Frosty Frazer and Pamela. They were disciples of the Genavax faith and believers in the corporate grail, always first to arrive and last to leave. But Terry knocked them from their thrones. They disappeared around six thirty. He stayed strong long after seven.

  That was the state of play until Thursday.

  His phone rang. “Terry Sheffield.”

  “Terry, it’s Frank from security. Have the Ice Maiden and Frosty gone?”

  “Yeah, about ten minutes ago.”

  “Can you come to reception? There’s a package that needs signing for.”

  “Sure thing.”

  A skinny FedEx delivery driver was in the reception area with Frank. He held a refrigerated container, looking relieved to see Terry.

  “Man, you just saved my ass.”

  “Have I?”

  “Yeah, I screwed up. I should have been here a couple of hours ago, but I missed the package in the truck. In twenty minutes, the refrigerant runs out and FedEx is liable if this shipment’s no good.” He handed the container off to Terry. He exhaled as he did so, glad to be rid of his burden.

  Terry checked the expiration date on the container. The driver had made it by the skin of his teeth.

  “Can you sign for it?”