I put his papers aside and took a look at Gwen Harding. Her work history was just as she described it, though I did a double take when I came to her salary classification. With her long tenure and regular, steady pay increases, she was making nearly as much as the executives. Rarely did secretaries earn what they deserved, but I would say this was an exception. I thought about Gwen and those gorgeous pearl earrings she wore, and I realized that she very likely had bought them for herself.

Alan Bennet, on the other hand, was definitely not making enough money to be going around in Armani suits and $200 ties. His salary was perfectly respectable, but it certainly wasn’t on a par with his spending. I saw that he had only been at Smythe for about a year and a half, and that good semi-annual reviews from his boss, Judith, had led to two six-percent pay increases.

A copy of his resume was there, and I took a moment to study it. Prior to working for Smythe Incorporated, he had been with three other clothing manufacturers. Under Education, he had listed a B.S. in Accounting from a small private college in the Midwest that I had never heard of.

According to my discussion with Gwen, Alan had basically been running Feed the Need’s finances for the last four or five months or so while the regular accountant was out on extended maternity leave. Even though I knew it wasn’t him I had chased from the bathroom two days before, I still felt that he was worth a little more research.

I tucked all of the papers away in my briefcase, then closed it up and turned to my computer, typing out a quick e-mail to my office, giving them the information I had and asking them to look into Alan’s history a little more closely.

The police department was only a few blocks away, so I took advantage of the gorgeous weather outside and walked. The men I sought were in a cavernous downtown building, at the end of a long hall. A handwritten sign taped to the door said “Keegan and Sollie.” I knocked, thinking the two names sounded more like a dog and pony show than a pair of police detectives.

“Come,” a voice barked from inside. I swung open the door to find a tiny office with two desks crammed in a space barely big enough for one. Behind the first desk sat Detective Keegan, tufts of reddish hair still poking out over each ear. He gave me a broad smile, unexpected after his gruff greeting, not to mention his attitude at our previous meeting the day before.

“You made good time,” he said warmly, rising halfway and then sitting again.

“Hi, Detective,” I said, shaking his hand. “Nice to see you.”

He gestured toward a chair and I took it, turning my knees to the side so I could fit.