“Very good, sir. Sorry.”
I picked up my pen and resumed beating out the tattoo on the edge of my desk. “Why were you in her desk?”
He was almost distracted by the pen. He took a deep breath and let it out soundlessly. “I don’t trust her.”
“Obviously. Why?”
“Mr. Vincent, the WBIS doesn’t hire fools. Well, not generally.” I wondered if he was thinking of his friend Mikey Shaw, or that asshole, Sperling. “Miss Jones acts like the quintessential dumb blonde, the kind who has to wear a tee shirt with the word ‘head’ on the front and an arrow that points to the neck. I tried to get into her file in Personnel, but I was denied access. It didn’t make sense. If she was just a low-level member of the typing pool, there shouldn’t have been any security on her file at all.”
“So you went searching
