Free Out of Reach: A Novel by Patricia Lewin Page B

unloaded trucks. One man circulated among them, counting boxes and recording his findings on a large clipboard before the drivers wheeled the merchandise through freezers’ open doors.
    Erin suspected it was like this all summer, especially on nights like tonight. It was a pleasant weekend evening, maybe the last of the year, and the drivers would keep their trucks out as late as possible to entice people as they enjoyed summer’s last fling.
    She searched the faces. No one looked familiar, at least from this distance, and she fought the urge to leave Donovan and Kauffman to their files and head out to get a closer look. Unfortunately, Donovan wouldn’t appreciate her initiative, and she needed him on her side.
    “My secretary takes care of these things,” Kauffman was saying as he unlocked one of the metal filing cabinets. “So I might have trouble finding the shift reports.” He rifled through one drawer, slammed it shut, then started on a second. Finally, from the third drawer, he pulled out a sheet, glanced at it, then handed it over.
    “Okay,” he said. “Here’s the schedule for the day. It looks like Al Beckwith worked Jamestown Park.”
    Donovan scanned the sheet. “Any chance he’s still here?”
    “Could be. Want me to page him?”
    “No. We’ll go look. But first, I want his personnel file.”
    Kauffman returned to the cabinet, went through the first drawer again, and returned with a slim folder. “Here’s everything we have on him.”
    Donovan opened the file on the nearby desk, and Erin stepped up beside him to look over his shoulder. It contained a simple application form, a couple of evaluation sheets, salary information, and a photograph.
    “You keep pictures of all your employees?” Donovan asked.
    “It’s for insurance purposes,” Kauffman said, glancing at his watch. “Because our drivers deal mostly with kids.”
    Erin studied the picture. Beckwith was youngish, a couple of years on either side of thirty. Thin blond hair. Watery blue eyes. And looked nothing like the man she’d seen in the park today.
    Disguise, however, was an art. Once you’d mastered it, changing your appearance was as simple as slipping on a new set of clothes.
    “Does he do magic tricks for the kids?” she asked, speaking up for the first time.
    Kauffman shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”
    Donovan frowned. “So you don’t know if he entertains the kids with disappearing coins?”
    “They get paid a salary plus a percentage of what they sell. So, whatever they have to do, they do.”
    Alec glanced at Erin, a question in his eyes.
Is this the guy?
    “We need to talk to him,” she answered.
    “Okay.” Alec turned back to Kauffman. “I’m going to keep this file, but meanwhile let’s take a look and see if Al Beckwith is here.”
    Kauffman seemed distinctly uncomfortable with the prospect of handing over one of his employees, but agreed. He led them into the warehouse, toward the bevy of men who slowed when they saw him approach, obviously surprised to see their boss here on a Saturday night.
    “Is Beckwith back?” Kauffman asked the man with the clipboard.
    He nodded across the floor, toward a man unloading one of the handcarts. “Over there.”
    “Hey, Al,” Kauffman called, “there are some cops here to see you.”
    Beckwith turned, arms loaded, his eyes flicking from Erin and Donovan to the uniformed officer behind them.
    Donovan tensed. “He’s gonna bolt.”
    Beckwith dropped his load. The boxes crashed to the ground, splitting and spilling ice-cream bars, as he sprinted toward the back of the warehouse and the gaping loading dock.
    “Shit.” Donovan and the young cop shot after him, dodging men and vehicles.
    Kauffman stood, mouth wide, feigning surprise that Beckwith had run after his loud announcement.
    “Is there a side door?” Erin demanded, furious at the man.
    “What?” Kauffman looked at her, brow furrowed.
    “A side door.”
    “Yeah, sure.” He made a vague gesture to the