Free When the Devil Doesn't Show: A Mystery by Christine Barber Page A

one of the most secure places in the world. It also made everyone who worked there justifiably paranoid. “They are a federal organization,” Gil said. “They don’t really have to cooperate with us. They operate according to their own set of rules.”
    “Are you saying these are the guys who come for you in the black helicopters?”
    “No. I’m saying these are the guys who built the black helicopters and trained the pilots.”
    “Meaning we need to shut up, smile, and don’t ask questions,” Joe said. “I know exactly how to do that. I was a soldier after all.”
    They parked between a pair of dark SUVs, just two of more than a dozen in the lot, and went to the reception center—a steel-and-brick building that looked new and angular. A minute later, they were shaking hands with assistant security chief Chip Davis. He had close-cropped blond hair with some gray in it and was wearing a red golf shirt and khaki pants with an ironed-in crease. When he talked, Gil thought he heard the ghost of an East Texas accent.
    “We’ve got an interview room all ready for you,” he said, leading them to a set of elevators that opened with a swipe of his security card. “We have notified Dr. Price’s immediate supervisor about the situation. She is being brought up to talk with you.”
    They got out in a hallway lined with identical doors and went in the third one on the left. Inside was a wall of sound and camera equipment with a video monitor showing an interview room decorated like a funeral home: beige carpet, pastel blue walls, and several watercolor paintings of mountains.
    Gil and Joe put their guns into a locker and went into the interview room with Davis, where all three of them took a seat. What Davis didn’t need to explain was his presence there. Gil and Joe would not be allowed to talk to any employee without a security member present.
    Davis slid a green folder across the table to Gil, saying, “We have Dr. Price leaving his workstation at 5:34 P.M . the day before yesterday and passing through all the checkpoints within a few minutes after that.” Gil flipped open the folder, which had a picture with a time stamp that showed Price getting into his car and another of him driving his car through town. “We have confirmation of him leaving the city limits at 5:47 P.M .,” Davis said. “Do you have any reason to believe that this is related to his work?”
    “No,” Gil said. “Not at this time. You’ve looked over our reports?”
    “They have our reports?” Joe asked before Davis could answer.
    “Your office sent them,” Davis said. “I read the incident report and some of the scene information. It doesn’t seem to involve us. But we’ll keep up-to-date on it.”
    “I know you keep pretty close tabs on your employees,” Gil said. “There must have been some red flag when Dr. Price wasn’t at work yesterday.”
    “According to our records, he had requested the day off,” Davis said.
    “Do you know why?”
    “No,” Davis said. “He wasn’t required to give a reason on the paperwork he filled out.”
    Someone knocked, then opened the door a crack. Davis got up to speak in low tones with a person on the other side, then came to sit back down, saying, “Dr. Goodwin is ready. Before she comes in, just keep in mind you cannot ask in any way about her work. I’ll conduct the interview, and you will be allowed to ask questions at the end.” Another security officer escorted a small woman with blond hair into the interview room.
    “Begin recording,” Davis said. “The date is December twenty-first. Present is myself, assistant security director Chip Davis; Santa Fe police detectives Gil Montoya and Joe Phillips, and Dr. Laura Goodwin. We are meeting to discuss any information regarding an incident involving Dr. Jim Price. Dr. Goodwin, could you state your full name and where you work?”
    “I am Dr. Laura Goodwin,” she said without inflection. “I am group director for the Primary