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Within minutes of arriving at Vieux Carré, Detectives Northcutt and Cantin asked to speak with whoever’s in charge. The stern-faced manager of Young Men’s Wear escorted them to the elevator. “Second floor, turn left, see the switchboard operator at the counter. She’ll have to page the store manager, Julian Chase, since he doesn’t carry a radio. Have a nice day.”
In less than a minute after he was paged a balding, short and rotund man with wire-rim spectacles and a friendly smile greeted them. “Follow me, gentlemen.” He brought them to his office. Sat in a swivel chair with a dark gray suit coat hanging off the back. Motioned for them to have a seat in the chairs facing his desk.
Cantin and Northcutt took turns questioning Julian Chase about what kind of a person and employee Susan Nolin was.
Chase didn’t know. All he did know was that she worked there. He confessed he only knew that much because he’d heard it on the news. He summoned his secretary, and told her to pull the file on Susan Nolin. He offered the men a cup of coffee. They declined.
“Here we go,” said Chase when he was handed a manila file folder. He spread it flat on his desk. Read quickly and briefly, absorbing just enough information to get a rough summation of the employee.
The detectives caught sight of a wallet-sized headshot of Nolin stapled to the folder, further confirmation of her identity.
“Lovely girl,” said Chase. “I tell you what, not only was it embarrassing to admit I didn’t know the woman, I’m even more ashamed now that I see she’d been with us for three years.”
His cheeks grew warm. Chase loosened his necktie. Let out a soft sigh.
“According to the time sheet and other records on Miss Nolin, she is, er, was a very dependable employee. Apparently, she’d never missed a single day of work. She was punctual. A team player. Followed directions. Got along with the managers.” A sheepish grin. “This is according to the handwritten remarks on her annual evaluation report made by the manager of the department the associate worked in.” He referred back to the file. “Ah yes, that would be Soft Home, er, bath and bedding.”
The collective stare of the detectives was unnerving.
Chase glimpsed at the sleeve of his light blue Oxford shirt thinking he should’ve taken a moment to put on his coat before welcoming the officers. He closed the folder, nudged it aside with his fingertips. Smiled apologetically.
“Gentlemen, we have over two hundred employees on the payroll. I don’t know how, but somehow, I just never became acquainted with this particular associate. Her record’s impressive, but unless she’d done something above and beyond her normal duties which helped make the company money, something such as convincing a great number of customers to apply for our store credit card, well then....” He pursed his lips.
“Fine,” Northcutt responded, sourly. Susan Nolin may’ve been the type who’s only content with drawing a weekly paycheck not seeking a leadership role, and that made her invisible to her employers. “If you think of anything else, give us a call.” He put a business card on top of Nolin’s folder. “Thank you for your time and cooperation.”
Standing outside the store, Northcutt saw a familiar face. “Who’s the guy over there?”
A couple of blocks up the street a man had exited a bar. He stared at the detectives for a long second, flipped a dark sweatshirt hood over his head, turned around and walked the other way.
“I think he’s the rookie cop who’s been asking around about how to become a detective. Wentzel, Jacob Wentzel,” said Cantin. “A little early in the day to be drinking, don’t you think?”
“And wearing a hoodie when it’s what, eighty-some degrees out here?” Northcutt mentally noted the time and date, also noting the guy seemed to know who they were.