E Is for Evidence

wasn't expected until after 10:00, and Terry was on a leave of absence, but Ava was at her desk, looking dark and sour. She'd had her cracked nail repaired and the color had shifted from harsh red to a mauve, with a chev-ron of dark maroon painted on each fingertip. Her outfit was purple jersey with a cross-chest bandolier of red, alto-gether dazzling, I thought.
    "I left my business card yesterday. I was hoping you'd call," I said, taking a seat in the metal chair beside her desk.
    "I'm sorry. We were swamped with work." She fo-cused a look on me. All the flint was gone and worry had taken its place. The lady was in a mood to talk. She said, "I heard about Lyda Case on the radio this morning. I don't understand what's going on."
    "Did you know Lyda?"
    "Not really. I'd only talked to her a couple of times on the phone, but I was married to a man who killed himself. I know how devastating that can be."
    "Especially when there was no way to have it veri-fied," I said. "You did know all his lab work disappeared within days."
    "Well, I heard that, but I wasn't sure it was true. Sui-cide is sometimes hard to accept. People make things up without even meaning to. What happened to Lyda? The radio didn't say much except that her body'd been found. I can't tell you how shocked I was. It's horrible."
    I told her the details, sparing little. Ordinarily I'd downplay the particulars, not wanting to pander to the public appetite for the gruesome specifics of violent death. With Ava, I felt the reality of the situation might loosen her tongue. She listened to me with distaste, her dark eyes filling with anxiety.
    "Do you mind if I smoke?" she said.
    "Not at all. Go ahead."
    She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out her handbag. Her hands were trembling as she shook a Winston from the pack and lit it. "I've been trying to quit, but I just can't help myself. I stopped at the drugstore and picked up a pack on the way to work. I smoked two in the car." She took a deep drag. One of the engineers peered around from his drafting table as the smoke drifted toward him. She had her back turned so she missed the look of annoyance that crossed his face.
    "Let's go back to Hugh's death," I said.
    "I can't help you much with that. I'd only been with the company a few weeks before he died, so I hardly knew the man."
    "Was there an office manager before you?"
    Ava shook her head. "I was the first, which meant the office was a mess. Nobody did a thing. Filing alone was piled up to here. There was just one secretary. Heather was the receptionist, but all the day-to-day business was handled by Woody himself, or one of the engineers. It took me six months to get things squared away. Engineers may be obsessive, but not when it comes to paperwork." She took another drag, then tapped the small accumulation of ash from the end of her cigarette.
    "What was the atmosphere like at the time? Was it tense? Was anybody caught up in an office dispute? A feud of any kind?"
    "Not that I ever heard. Woody bid on a government contract and we were trying to get organized for that…"
    "Which entailed what?"
    "Routine office procedure. Forms to be filled out, clearances, that kind of thing."
    "What happened to the bid?"
    "Nothing. The whole thing fell through Woody had a heart attack, and after he died, Lance let the matter drop."
    "What was it they were bidding on? I wonder if that ties in."
    "I don't remember what it was. Hold on. I'll ask." Ava turned and scanned the room. John Salkowitz was passing through, blueprint in hand, apparently on his way to the rear of the plant. "John? Could I ask you about something over here?"
    He detoured toward us, his expression clouding with concern when he caught sight of me. "What's the story on Lyda Case? My wife just called and said she heard about her on the news."
    I gave him the shorthand version, putting it together with the question at hand. "I'm still trying to figure out how it ties into this business with Lance. There's gotta be a connection somewhere."
    "He's not seriously being accused of insurance fraud, is he?"
    "Looks that way. Along with me, I might add."
    "Appalling," he said. "Well. I don't see how it could have any bearing on the contract we bid on, but I'll fill you in. We get a little trade paper called Commerce Daily, published by the government. It was Hugh's job to check it for any contract available for bid that might apply to us. He found one under heating equipment, requesting bids on a