But the real question was, why would Rosen’s secretary have that badge in her car? Even if Rosen’s company did use either the shelving or the racking, it was unlikely Janice had gone out there personally to arrange quotes. She would have simply sent a purchase order to their office supplies department.

Which meant we probably needed to contact Rosen Pharmaceuticals and talk to someone who might give us some insight—either on Holdright Industries or as to why Janice might have had the badge.

A police officer approached. I shoved my phone away and resigned myself to answering his questions. Jackson had no doubt already made a statement, but I couldn’t complain about cops being thorough. The fire brigade and the ambulance soon appeared, with the ambulance paramedics giving Jackson and me a quick check-over before declaring us both okay.

It was a good half hour before we managed to get away; by that time, I seriously needed a caffeine hit.

“I noticed our favorite café has a franchise not far away on Plenty Road.” His tone was amused. “We can grab something to go from there. Any luck on the Googling front?”

“I learned Holdright Industries makes industrial shelving.”

“It didn’t jog any memories loose?”

“Not a one. I guess our best option now is to go talk to Rosen Pharmaceuticals—but not before I have tea in hand.”

“I wouldn’t even dare suggest otherwise.”

“Wise man.”

He grinned and, in very short order, we not only had our hot beverages in hand, but also a large fries to share as we drove across to Power Street, where Rosen’s company was located. It was a rather plain-looking four-story building with a café on one side of the ground floor and a lawyer’s office on the other. The entrance to the building sat between the two.

There was no parking allowed on the street immediately outside the building, so Jackson turned onto Lynch Street and found a spot there. I drained the last bit of tea from the cup, then jumped out of the car and followed him across the busy road.

The building’s glass doors swished open as we approached, revealing a small, somewhat dark foyer. There was a bank of elevators to our immediate left, and I spotted two armed security guards, one near the elevators and the other near what I presumed was a rear entrance, possibly the loading dock. A reception desk was in the middle of the foyer, with a small seating area to the right.

A rather handsome middle-aged blonde glanced up from her computer as we approached the desk, and gave us a polite smile. “Welcome to Rosen Pharmaceuticals. How may I help you?”

“We need to talk to whoever handles the purchase of storage and shelving units.” Jackson pulled out his PIT badge and showed it to her.

“That badge,” she said, “says ‘associate.’ I do not believe it has power of investigation—”