“Susan is a pretty common name. What's the connection to Singh?”
“It's vague. She's just a name that turned up and I thought I should check it through.”
Andrew turned to his computer, typed in a series of commands, and the screen filled with the employee database. Then it executed a search for all Susans.
“We employ eight Susans,” he finally said. “When I set the age at forty or below, I'm left with five Susans. I'll give you a printout and you can talk to them if you want. All are married. None work in Singh's department, but he would have had a chance to mingle with the general population during breaks and at lunch. We're a relatively small company. Everyone knows everyone else.”
Clyde appeared in the open doorway. He was wearing a faded Star Trek T-?shirt and new black jeans that were pooled around his ankles. Scruffy sneakers peaked out from under the jeans. He had a can of Dr Pepper in one hand and a bag of Cheez Doodles in the other. He had a Betty Boop tattoo on his chunky left arm.
“Hey, Stephanie Plum,” Clyde said. “I was taking a break and I heard you were here. What's up? Anything exciting going on? Did you find Samuel Singh?”
“I haven't found Singh, but I'm working on it.” My eyes strayed to Betty Boop.
Clyde grinned and looked down at Betty. “It's a fake. I got it last night. I'm too chicken to get a real one.”
“Stephanie has a list of people she'd like to talk to,” Andrew said. “Do you have time to take her around?”
“You bet. Sure I do. Is this part of the investigation? How do you want me to act? Should I be casual?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You should be casual.”
Clyde reminded me a lot of Bob with the unruly hair and goofy enthusiasm.
“These are all Susans,” Clyde said, looking at the list. “That's a lead, right? Some woman named Susan knows where Singh is hiding. Or maybe some woman named Susan bumped Singh off! Am I close? Am I getting warm?”
“Its nothing that dramatic,” I told Clyde. “It was just a name that popped up as a possible friend.”
“I know all these women,” Clyde said, leading me out of Andrews office. “I can tell you all about them. The first Susan is real nice. She has two kids and a beagle. And the beagle's always at the vet. I think her whole paycheck goes to the vet. The dog eats everything. One time he was real sick and they x-?rayed him and found out he had a stomach full of loose change. Her husband works here, too. He's in shipping. They live in Ewing. They just bought a house there. I haven't seen the house, but I think it's one of those little tract houses.”
Clyde was right about the first Susan. She was very nice. But she only knew Singh from a distance. And the same was true for the other four Susans. And I believed them all. None of the Susans seemed like girlfriend material. None of them looked like sharpshooters or killers. They all looked like they might send roses and carnations.
“Those are all the Susans,” Clyde said. “None of them worked out, huh? Do you have any other leads? Any clues we could work on next?”
“Nope. That's it for now.”
“How about lunch?”
“Gee, sorry. I have a friend waiting for me in the parking lot.” Thank God.
“I'm a pretty interesting guy, you know,” he said. “I have a lot going on.” His eyes got round. “You haven't seen my office yet. You have to see my office.”
I glanced at my watch. “It's getting late ...”
“My office is right here.” He galloped down the hall and opened the door to his office. “Look at this.”
I followed him and stepped into his office. One wall was floor-?to-?ceiling shelves and the shelves were filled with action figures. Star Trek, professional wrestlers, GI Joe characters, Star Wars, Spawn, about two hundred Simpsons figures.
“Is this an awesome collection, or what?” he asked.
“It's fun.”
“And I collect comic books, too. Mostly action comics. I have a whole stack of original Spider-?Man McFarlanes. Man, I wish I could draw like him.”
I looked around the room. Large old wooden partner's desk with desk chair, computer with oversize LCD monitor, trash basket filled with squashed Dr Pepper cans, framed poster of Barbarella behind the desk, single chair in front of the desk, dog-?eared comics piled high on the chair seat. None of the catalogues and product samples I saw in Bart's office.
“So,” I said, “what's your part in the business?”
Clyde giggled. “I don't have one. Nobody trusts me to do anything. Now, on the surface that might seem a little insulting, but if you examine it more closely you see that I have a good deal. I collect a paycheck for staying out of the way! How good is that?”