They continued on to the top floor. The door leading into the office was ajar and they could hear a woman inside fielding calls. Lock pushed it open with the toe of his boot and they walked in.
The woman appeared to be in her late forties. Holding the phone in one hand, she rifled through a stack of papers on the desk in front of her. A cup of coffee sat full and untouched next to the papers, the milk congealing in a white paste on the top. The rest of the office was a mess, papers scattered randomly over every conceivable surface. ‘Yes, and I’m very sorry that things haven’t worked out, but I simply don’t have anyone else available at the moment,’ she was saying into the phone. She acknowledged Lock and Ty’s presence by holding up her hand and waving them in, directing them to two seats on the opposite side of her desk with another sweeping gesture.
Lock picked up the stack of files that were resting on top of his chair and laid them down on top of a filing cabinet.
‘Listen, I have someone in the office right now,’ the woman continued. ‘If anyone becomes available you’re top of my list.’
Lock could still hear the person on the other end of the line as she put the phone down on them.
When she spoke, the English accent seemed to drop away, revealing something more akin to Brooklyn. ‘Just so you both know, I’ve got a three-month wait list before I can find someone to mind your little bundle of joy.’
‘Er, we’re not together,’ Lock objected.
‘Yeah,’ she said, checking out Ty from head to toe before diverting her gaze back to Lock, ‘he is a little out of your league, sweetie.’
Ty snickered as Lock tried to decide whether or not to be offended.
‘Hey, you guys aren’t nannies by any chance, are you?’ she asked with a beleaguered smile.
‘Only for grown-ups,’ Ty smiled. ‘And I’m most definitely, one hundred per cent, straight.’
Only Ty could turn this into a hook-up opportunity, thought Lock.
‘This how you find your staff? Anyone who manages to hit the door?’ Lock asked.
‘You with the FBI? Because I’ve already told one of your guys everything I know. Shit, you’re not a reporter, are you? Because if you are I’m making no comment.’
‘We’re here in a private capacity, Ms. .’
‘Lauren Palowsky.’
‘Ms Palowksy. Josh Hulme’s father asked us to help find him.’ Lock deliberately kept Meditech’s name out of it.
‘The FBI said I shouldn’t discuss any of this.’
‘The FBI are fully aware of our involvement,’ Lock assured her.
‘Then speak to them.’
Lock’s face set, any trace of amiability falling away. ‘I’m speaking to you. And if you don’t mind me saying, you seem remarkably composed for someone who’s had an employee brutally murdered and the child who they were looking after kidnapped, and possibly murdered too.’
Lauren studied the film of milk floating on top of her morning coffee. ‘I’m trying not to think about it. But let’s be clear about one thing: I didn’t employ Natalya. I’m a broker, that’s all.’
The phone rang again, but Lauren let it go to voicemail.
‘Your lawyer tell you to say that?’
‘No. And anyway, don’t you think I’ve been worried sick about that child since I heard?’
‘I’ve no idea. You tell me.’
She looked down at her desk, grabbed a random handful of papers, held them up at him. ‘All these people are looking for someone to parent their children because they don’t have the time. They all want Mary Poppins, but they’re only prepared to pay minimum wage. Then when something goes wrong, suddenly it’s my fault.’
‘I’m just trying to figure out what happened,’ Lock said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. ‘Tell me about Natalya.’
‘There’s not much to tell, really. Same story as most of the girls who contact me looking for work. Her English wasn’t great, but a lot better than some. She seemed pleasant enough.’
‘How long had she been in the country?’
‘Not long, from what I could tell.’
‘Years? Months? Weeks?’
‘Months, probably.’
‘Did she say anything else about her circumstances?’
‘She’d been doing bar work, travelling into the city every day from Brighton Beach or somewhere. She thought a live-in position would suit her, give her a chance to save some money.’
‘Where was she bartending?’
‘I deal with dozens of applications every week. I’m lucky if I can remember any of the names.’
‘What about her visa? She had one, right?’
There was a pause.
‘I’m not the FBI, or the INS, or Homeland Security. I understand that you probably cut some corners,’ Lock prompted.
‘The clients sign a contract that says they, as employers, have final responsibility for checking that kind of stuff. Look, it’s not like I’m smuggling people into the country here.’
‘So what’s the difference between using you and putting an ad in the paper or posting on craigslist?’
Ty answered for Lauren. ‘About four thousand bucks a pop, right?’
‘I’m kind of going off you,’ she said to Ty.
‘Right back at ya, babe,’ said Ty.
Lauren sighed.
‘If these girls were legal, most of them could go get a job that paid them more than seven bucks fifteen an hour, know what I mean? Everyone bitches about illegals, until it comes time to put their hand in their pocket.’
Lock sensed this was a favourite gripe Lauren rolled out when challenged about the ethics of her business. But it wasn’t helping him with working out what part Natalya had played in Josh Hulme’s disappearance.
‘Did you get any references from Natalya’s previous employer?’
‘I gave all that stuff to the FBI already. They took copies.’
‘May we take a look?’
The phone rolled to voicemail again. Lauren sighed, and with what seemed to be a huge effort got up from behind her desk and crossed to the filing cabinet. ‘I didn’t want to give them the originals in case this whole thing comes to court.’ She stopped in the middle of the room. ‘Now, I know I put it all somewhere safe.’
Lock guessed that ‘safe’ in the context of Lauren Palowsky’s chaotic filing system meant somewhere it would probably never be found again.
The phone rang for a third time.
‘Would you mind if I. .?’ she asked.
‘Listen, do you want me to take a look?’
‘Could you? If I don’t keep on top of my calls I’ll be here till midnight.’
Lock opened the top drawer of the nearest filing cabinet and set to work. He motioned for Ty to start checking one of the numerous teetering piles.
A full hour later, Lock was wondering how people spent their whole lives in offices doing exactly what he was doing now. Not that he suffered from claustrophobia per se, but his mind and body were inherently restless; always moving, rarely still. Even in sleep, his dreams were vivid and kinetic.
The search did double duty: it gave them access to all of the agency’s records and allowed Lock time to weigh up Lauren. One thing had rapidly become clear: she wasn’t involved in any kidnapping. Kidnapping took a level of organization that was way beyond her. She’d probably end up sending the ransom note to the wrong address.
As they picked up and glanced at one piece of paper after another, Ty and Lock had soon discerned that invoices, applications, every piece of paperwork imaginable were simply thrown together with no rhyme or reason. There were applications from prospective nannies going back over ten years and details from parents of children who were probably in college now.
Ty lifted out one green hanging file whose tab read ‘telephone account’, so naturally it contained company credit card statements. Beneath it, on the bottom of the cabinet drawer, was a piece of paper. He lifted it out. It
