“That wire bypasses it.”
“Who installed the wire?”
“I don't know.”
“Could it be temporary maintenance?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because temporary maintenance lockouts are documented and tagged.”
“This is hidden.”
Beth zoomed further.
“What happens if the press fails?”
Jimmy looked toward her.
“It weighs fourteen tons.”
She stopped moving.
“That bad.”
“Yes.”
“Anyone injured?”
“Not yet.”
The word hung.
Beth handed the phone back.
“Driver.”
The suited man looked into the mirror.
“Yes?”
“Call Daniel Mercer.”
Jimmy stiffened.
Beth noticed.
“What?”
“Daniel Mercer?”
“You know him?”
“Everybody at Harrington knows him.”
Beth frowned.
“He’s Chief Operating Officer.”
“He also visited the plant Tuesday.”
She stared.
“The day you shut down Line Four?”
“The first day.”
“What did he do?”
Jimmy looked toward the driver.
“Should he hear this?”
The man’s face remained professional.
Beth said:
“David has worked for me thirteen years.”
Jimmy nodded.
“That wasn't what I asked.”
Beth smiled faintly.
David looked almost amused.
She answered:
“Yes.”
Jimmy continued.
“Mercer met with Martin Voss and Plant Manager Alan Pike behind closed doors for two hours.”
“Normal?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“COO doesn't visit our plant unless cameras are waiting.”
Beth leaned back.
“Were there cameras?”
“No.”
Jimmy watched her thinking.
He found it attractive.
That annoyed him.
Beth asked:
“What happened after?”
“Maintenance got ordered to restart Line Four.”
“By whom?”
“Pike.”
“In writing?”
“No.”
“Convenient.”
“Exactly.”
Beth looked toward David.
“Don't call Mercer.”
David nodded.
Jimmy glanced at her.
“You changed your mind fast.”
“I'm decisive.”
He smiled.
“Terrifying.”
Beth looked toward him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He turned toward the window.
Harrington Industrial Systems occupied ninety acres outside Millbrook, Vermont.
Three brick production buildings.
Two modern additions.
Rail spur.
Administrative offices.
A water tower painted with the company logo.
Jimmy had entered through the employee gate nearly four thousand times.
That morning he had left through it carrying twelve years in a broken suitcase.
Returning in the back seat of Elizabeth Crawford's SUV felt obscene.
He told David to stop before the front entrance.
Beth looked toward him.
“Why?”
“You walk through that lobby, everybody knows.”
“What do you suggest?”
“North loading dock.”
Beth glanced down at her clothing.
White shirt.
Taupe cardigan.
Suede boots.
Jimmy grinned.
“Problem?”
“No.”
“You're dressed for machinery.”
“I own boots.”
“Those boots cost more than my truck.”
“You don't know that.”
“They definitely do.”
David drove toward the northern gate.
Security guard stepped out.
Jimmy knew him.
Ray Collins.
Sixty-two.
Worked security eleven years.
Ray saw Jimmy in the back seat.
His face changed.
Then he saw Beth.
Nothing.