Bad Luck and Trouble

would wonder why.
    They waited the same four minutes before they heard the click of Berenson’s heels on the slate. She came out of the corridor and around the corner and didn’t hesitate. Just gave the receptionist a nod of thanks and passed her by and headed on out. She gave up two types of smiles, one kind to Reacher and Neagley because she had met them before, and another kind to O’Donnell and Dixon because she hadn’t. She shook hands all around. Same scars under the makeup, same icy breath. She opened the aluminum door and stood still until everyone had filed past her into the conference room.
    With five people in it the room was short one chair, so Berenson stood by the window. Polite, but also psychologically dominating. It made her visitors look upward at her and it made them squint against the light behind her. She said, “How may I help you today?” There was a little condescension in her voice. A little irritation. A slight emphasis on today.
    “Tony Swan is missing,” Reacher said.
    “Missing?”
    “As in, we can’t find him.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “It’s not a difficult concept to grasp.”
    “But he could be anywhere. A new job, out of state. Or a long-delayed vacation. Somewhere he always wanted to go. People sometimes do that, in Mr. Swan’s circumstances. Like a silver lining.”
    O’Donnell said, “His dog died of thirst, trapped inside his house. No silver lining there. All cloud. Swan didn’t go anywhere he planned to go.”
    “His dog? How awful.”
    “Roger that,” Dixon said.
    “Her name was Maisi,” Neagley said.
    “I don’t see how I can help,” Berenson said. “Mr. Swan left here more than three weeks ago. Isn’t this a matter for the police?”
    “They’re working on it,” Reacher said. “We’re working on it, too.”
    “I don’t see how I can help.”
    “We’d like to see his desk. And his computer. And his diary. There might be notes. Or information, or appointments.”
    “Notes about what?”
    “About whatever has caused him to be missing.”
    “He’s not missing because of New Age.”
    “Maybe not. But people have been known to conduct private business during office hours. People have been known to jot down notes about things from their outside lives.”
    “Not here.”
    “Why not? You’re all business all the time?”
    “There are no notes here. No paper at all. No pens or pencils. Basic security. This is a completely paperless environment. Much safer. It’s a rule. Anyone even thinks about breaking it, they get fired. Everything is done on computers here. We have an in-house network with secure firewalls and automatic random data monitoring.”
    “Can we see his computer, then?” Neagley asked.
    “I guess you could see it,” Berenson said. “But it won’t do you any good. Someone leaves here, within thirty minutes their desktop hard drive is taken out and destroyed. Smashed. Physically. With hammers. It’s another security rule.”
    “With hammers?” Reacher said.
    “It’s the only definitive method. Data can be recovered otherwise.”
    “So there’s no trace of him left?”
    “None at all, I’m afraid.”
    “You’ve got some pretty heavy rules here.”
    “I know. Mr. Swan designed them himself. In his first week. They were his first major contribution.”
    “Did he talk to anybody?” Dixon asked. “Water cooler buddies? Is there anyone he would have shared a concern with?”
    “Personal issues?” Berenson said. “I doubt it. The dynamic wouldn’t have been appropriate. He had to play a cop’s role here. He had to keep himself a little unapproachable, to be effective.”
    “What about his boss?” O’Donnell said. “They might have shared. They were in the same boat, professionally.”
    “I’ll certainly ask him,” Berenson said.
    “What’s his name?”
    “I can’t tell you that.”
    “You’re very discreet.”
    “Mr. Swan insisted on it.”
    “Can we meet with the guy?”
    “He’s out of town right now.”
    “So who’s minding the store?”
    “Mr. Swan is, in a way. His procedures are all still in place.”
    “Did he talk to you?”
    “About personal things? No, he really didn’t.”
    “Was he upset or worried the week he left?”
    “Not that I saw.”
    “Was he making a lot of phone calls?”
    “I’m sure he was. We all do.”
    “What do you think might have happened to him?”
    “Me?” Berenson said. “I really have no idea. I walked him to his car, and I said when