CHAPTER THREE

 

 

Sunday had been relaxing. Henry spent the day finishing the dado jig for his router. He was starting to get comfortable using the router and was able to create a straight edge and, from that, to square up the jig. He could hardly believe it when he put the square on each corner, and they were all 90 degrees. What a rush. After he finished the jig and photographed it for posterity, he relaxed a bit and started a new case journal. He jotted down a few of his thoughts:

Jan 2, 1955. A New Year...A New Case. 37th floor, Chrysler Building, Office 16...Go there in person; meet Mr. Alexander's co-workers; look for clues. 8 am, Monday.

Henry had called Luna, just to check if she had heard from her father. He told her he intended to look around his office on Monday. She mentioned she suspected someone at the firm. Her father had been missing since December 24, and Monday would be the first day the firm was open since he disappeared. Henry wondered if they knew he was missing. He would need to be coy.

The door of Mr. Alexander's office was mahogany and had his name on it. Henry walked in, and a weathered woman, with a serious look, was sitting behind a desk. She had a slight scowl on her face and was opening the morning mail. She looked up and asked, "May I help you?" in a voice that was much kinder than Henry expected. "Yes, I was wondering if I might speak with Mr. Alexander," he said, taking off his hat. He had decided to play it cool and gauge her reaction.

"Mr. Alexander isn't in yet, but he should be here shortly; he is never late. Do you have an appointment?" she said, while continuing to open letters.

"No, I was hoping he might have a few minutes," Henry said. He knew now she wasn't aware he wouldn't be coming in.

She opened another envelope. The phone rang, and she answered and then said, "Excuse me, but are you Mr. Wood?"

"Yes." This caught Henry off-guard, although he was clever enough to put on his nonchalant expression. He assumed she would elaborate. He was correct.

"Mr. Alexander apologizes for being late; you may wait in his office. He will do his best to get here as quickly as he can." She hit a button under her desk. There was a low buzzing sound, and she stood up, opening the door and showing Henry inside.

The office was nicely decorated. There was a large art deco desk and bookshelves along both walls. Henry noticed two plants, of equal height, in each corner behind the desk; in fact, everything was exactly where one would expect it to be. Luna had described her father as meticulous, and now that Henry saw where he worked, he understood. The desk was free of clutter, save for the new pad of paper by the telephone. The phone was placed so it was parallel to the edge of the desk with the cord draped neatly over the side. Next to the pad was a group of six pencils, which were all lined up next to one another. They all looked to be the same length, and, as Henry looked closer, he noticed something odd. Every pencil was rotated so the brand name was not showing except one. Henry looked around the office and didn't see anything out of place.

Having spent his entire Sunday fastidiously measuring and re-measuring every single cut and drill hole, he was feeling like he understood what it was like to be so precise. Though he wasn't normally a neat and organized person, he appreciated its advantages and the aesthetic. Leaning forward, he carefully rotated the pencil. On the other side was a set of six numbers. He read the numbers to himself: 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, and 23. He put the pencil in his pocket and pushed the other ones together. Just then, he heard the buzz of the door. He quickly sat down.

The secretary walked in and said, "Mr. Alexander just called. He is sorry, but he is not going to be able to make it into the office. He asked me to apologize for not being able to discuss your numbers."

"Thank you" Henry said, as he stood up to leave.

"Do you mind me asking; are you a client of the firm? I thought I knew all the clients."

Henry, quick on his feet, said, "I am considering this firm. I met Mr. Alexander recently, and he offered to go over my books. He said that each partner has different strengths, and he would advise me which one might be best. I won't give my business to just any firm."

She smiled. This seemed to satisfy her.

While Henry rode the subway home, he thought about the numbers. What did they mean? Obviously Mr. Alexander was still alive and well, but what was he up to? How did he know I would be there at 8 am? How could he have known I would find the numbers? Henry had gone into the city looking for answers and only found questions. The detective in him decided he needed to think, which he did best while tidying his workshop. Mr. Alexander's office had rubbed off on him. He could clean and think. Plus, he needed to find a place of honor to store his dado routing jig.