Page 95 of Flint’s Strike

We thank Todd for his time, warn him not to discuss our questions with anyone else at Apex, and head back to the reception desk.

I flash my credentials at the young man playing games on his phone. “We’d like to speak to the head of Human Resources.”

We didn’t get much of anything from Todd. Time to ask anyone who’ll talk to us about Roger Haight—and why no one at Apex reported him missing.

Apex’s twenty-eight employees are mostly independent contractors, so their Human Resources “department” is just one overworked woman named Carol.

She tucks a lock of graying hair behind her ear and straightens a stack of papers on her desk. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long. No one told me you were here. I’ve been training a temp most of the morning. I’m goin’ on vacation to Galveston next week, and I gotta make sure this place don’t shut down without me.”

Nate and I sat outside Carol’s office for almost an hour before she came rushing down the hall, coffee staining her pale green blouse and a run in her pantyhose.

“Ain’t no never mind,” I say and flash her a sweet smile. “Captain Hardison and I just have a few questions about one of your contractors.”

“Of course.” Carol pulls her keyboard closer. “Name?”

“Roger Haight.” I open my notebook, rest it on my thigh, and uncap my pen.

“Can you spell that for me, hon?” she asks.

At my side, Nate sits up a little straighter, but my side-eye is enough he stands down. “It’s Captain. And Roger’s last name is H-A-I-G-H-T.”

Carol types his name, then nods. “He was one of our contractors. But he hasn’t worked for us in over a year.”

I slide my left hand under my notebook and ball it into a fist, digging my nails into my palm. “And you never thought to track him down?”

“We do not locate contractors, Captain. When they want to work, they show up.” Her fingers fly over the keyboard for a few seconds longer. “The last job I have on file for him was an inspection in Cedar Park after the building was sold. Before that, he had a handful in Austin city limits, then a couple more in Round Rock. One in Pflugerville.”

“The Cedar Park inspection was fourteen months ago,” Nate says. “You’re telling me no one noticed that he simply…stopped looking for work?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m sayin’. Because that’s how we do things here. He ain’t on payroll. We don’t have to pay into Social Security on his behalf. A contractor who stops requestin’ assignments isn’t unusual. It’s a regular Tuesday ‘round here.”

Nate doesn’t write anything down. While I watch Carol’s face—looking for the way her eyes move left or right, whether she licks her lips or blinks too quickly—Nate watches her hands and listens.

“He ever come by the office? In person?” I make a show of scribbling in my notebook, though it’s just a reminder to buy more coffee beans on the way home.

“Not that I can remember. Most of what we do is electronic.” She glances down at her watch, gray brows arched. “Now, if you’ll excuse me⁠—”

“Roger Haight is dead, Carol.” I watch her expression change from annoyance to shock to disbelief.

“Oh, my God. What happened?” she asks.

I give her another smile, though this one is softer. Full of understanding. “I’m afraid we can’t comment on an active investigation.”

Nate clears his throat. “We need to know what happened to Haight’s electronic fob.”

Carol pulls open the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet that’s stuffed so full, I don’t know how she can find anything inside. Riffling past a stack of hunter green hanging folders, she pulls out a manilla envelope. Roger Haight is scrawled across the front, along with “Front Desk” and a date stamp. She breaks the seal, and a fob tumbles into her hand, followed by a lanyard with Roger’s photo on it, and a single slip of paper.

“Someone dropped his gear off at the front desk. Laptop, ID, his gas card, and his fob.” Carol pinches the bridge of her nose. “I just assumed he’d found a better job. Apex pays less than the other big firms in town.”

“Any idea who dropped it off?” Now we’re getting somewhere.

“Can’t tell you that, hon. Captain. Not after this long.”

“You didn’t think it was strange? That somebody else returned his equipment?”

“I think a lot of grown men don’t want to say the words, ‘I quit.’” For the first time since we sat down, she smiles, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “Half my job is people avoiding me.”

Nate leans forward, finally writing something down. “That equipment return. You keep security footage from the lobby?”