Part 28 (2/2)

”We employ several different models, depending on the market we're looking at.”

”Do you develop your own models,” I asked, ”or do you bring in outside consultants for that?”

”It's all in-house,” he said. ”I hold a doctorate in economics, and we have several other economists on staff.” I asked him to explain a little about the industry, and he did.

”This is just fascinating,” I said. ”I never realized there was an entire industry using mathematical models to predict markets.” He smiled politely. ”I guess I should be going,” I said. ”I want to thank you again for your help. Are you sure I can't pay you?”

”Don't worry about it,” he said. I stood up.

”By the way,” I said, ”do you know an economist named Dale Hawkins?” His eyes blinked rapidly for just a second.

”Doesn't ring a bell,” he said. ”Is he in Denver?”

”No,” I said, ”just someone I know in Nebraska.”

”Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked. His patience was turning to anxiety.

”No,” I said, ”but I just want to thank you again for your time.”

”I hope it was of some benefit,” he said.

”It was,” I a.s.sured him. He stood and we shook hands. ”Hey,” I said, ”I understand one of my friends did some work for your company.”

”Who would that be?” he asked.

”Mike Polk.”

”Yes,” he said, ”Mike's done some work for us. Still does once in a while.”

”Mike and I used to work together,” I said.

”Really?”

”We go back a long way.”

”If I see him,” he said nervously, ”I'll tell him you were here.”

”Yeah,” I said, ”you do that.”

31.

BY EIGHT O'CLOCK TUESDAY MORNING, the temperature in Ned had already climbed to seventy-seven degrees. It was going to be another scorcher in the high country, so I decided to go running early and took off for the Eldora ski area. It's about five miles each way, and the vertical rise is at least two thousand feet. It was the longest, most difficult run I'd attempted in a while, but I finished it in less than an hour and a half. Not as fast as Finn could've done it, but not bad.

Later that morning Big Matt faxed me copies of the credit reports he'd obtained on Hawkins and Polk. On the fax cover sheet he'd written, ”If you need anything else, ask someone else!” He'd also drawn a little cartoon man giving me the finger. I smiled and reviewed the doc.u.ments. Hawkins's credit was fine. His only debts were what he owed on his home and car, and he'd paid those like clockwork each month. Polk had acc.u.mulated a lot of debt, but I already knew that. I faxed Polk's credit report to Scott so he'd have Pokey's credit card numbers.

A teenage girl called around two P.M. and asked how much I'd charge to help her establish a new ident.i.ty. Her parents were trying to control her life and she just couldn't take it anymore. She was seventeen. I got her name and some other information, told her running from problems is seldom the answer, and encouraged her to see a therapist I know in Boulder. She began to cry, told me I was just like her parents, and hung up on me. I thought about it awhile, then tracked down the girl's guidance counselor and alerted her to the situation. I didn't feel bad about violating the girl's trust. Half the kids these days are crazy, and I didn't want to pick up a newspaper someday and read about her killing herself.

I couldn't think of anything to do in connection with the case, so I cleaned house and did laundry, then drove up to the recycling center where I deposited two large bags of trash and a few weeks' worth of newspapers. The red message light was flas.h.i.+ng when I returned. ”Pepper, this is Jayne. Please call me at home right away.” She sounded distraught. I punched in her number.

”Thanks for returning my call so quickly,” she said.

”What's up?”

”Someone's been in my house,” she said.

”Anything missing?” I asked.

”Not that I know of,” she said.

”Any damage?”

”No,” she said, ”but someone's been here.”

”I'll come right down,” I said.

I ran an electric razor over my face, exchanged my shorts for a clean pair of slacks, and splashed on a little cologne. I thought about it and decided to take my Glock with me. I grabbed a blue blazer so I'd have something to conceal the weapon with, then fired up the truck and headed for Boulder.

She was wearing designer jeans, a blue cotton s.h.i.+rt to match her eyes, and leather sandals. ”Thanks for coming,” she said. Still a bit distraught.

”No problem,” I said. ”Tell me what happened.” I entered and she closed the door behind me. It was approaching one hundred degrees in Boulder, but she had the air-conditioning going full blast.

”I had an easy day,” she began, ”so I left work around three o'clock. I checked my mail in the box by the street, then came in and put my briefcase down on the kitchen table. I went into my office to check my messages and noticed a few things out of place.”

”Like what?” I asked.

”Just little things,” she said. ”I'd had my Rolodex opened to the card with the number of a women's shelter in Denver on it, but when I returned it was opened to a different card.”

”What else?” I asked.

”Don't you believe me?”

”I believe you,” I said. ”I'm just trying to find out which rooms the intruder concentrated on.”

”My office,” she said. ”He concentrated on my office. My chair was pushed right up against my desk, and I never do that because it scuffs the arms of the chair.”

”Have you been through the entire house?” I asked.

”Yes.”

”You checked the closets and everything?”

”Yes.”

”Let's take a look around,” I said. ”Show me what's out of place.” We began in the kitchen and went from room to room. Now and then she pointed out items she felt had been moved slightly or just didn't seem quite right. Nothing really concrete. I quizzed her on the contents of each room, but she a.s.sured me nothing was missing.

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