Easy Innocence

Chapter 41

ENVIRONMENTAL ENGINEERS was in the industrial backwoods of Skokie, a locale that was dotted with warehouses and small plants. There was a quiet sameness to the buildings: most were one-story, flat-roofed structures made from indistinguishable yellow bricks. Georgia skirted the grass, almost the same pale yellow as the buildings, and walked up to two glass doors. White letters on the left-hand door indicated she'd arrived at the best kitchen remodeler on the North Shore. Black letters on the right spelled out the company she was looking for.

Inside was a small room with a hallway off the back. A young woman in a black t-shirt, black pants, and black fingernail polish sat behind a gray desk. She looked up from a magazine as Georgia walked in.

"May I help you?" she asked in a voice that bordered on surly.

"Possibly. I'm looking for Mr.—uh..." Georgia pretended to search in her bag for a piece of paper.

The girl failed to help her out. "He's not here."

Georgia smiled. "I'm sorry. What is his name?"

"Jimmy Broadbent."

"Of course. How could I have forgotten?"

"Who are you?"

"My name is Georgia Davis, and I wanted to ask him about a project he worked on."

"He's onsite today."

"Where?"

The girl sighed, as if Georgia had asked for the impossible, and rummaged around the desk. Finally she picked up a slip of paper. "Des Plaines."

Georgia waited. When no further information was forthcoming, she cocked her head. "Des Plaines is a big place."

The girl's eyes narrowed. "What do you want him for?"

"We had an appointment. You know, if you would just tell me where he is, I'll get out of your hair and you can go back to work." She gestured to the magazine.

The girl glanced at her magazine, then at Georgia. She shrugged. "He's at Wolf and Dempster. The old Malden plant."

Georgia made sure to smile. "Thanks."

***

Jimmy Broadbent looked like his name: stocky, lots of brown hair and a thick neck. Georgia wondered if he'd been a boxer once upon a time. Dressed in jeans, work boots, and a windbreaker with a Sox logo, he was leaning over the ground about ten feet from an abandoned building. As she drew closer, she saw him shove a hand auger into the dirt. An open suitcase with test tubes in two neat rows and a glass jar lay nearby. After a moment, he pulled out the auger, dug deeper with a hand trowel, and poured what he'd collected into the glass jar. She waited until he closed the jar and made some notes on his clipboard.

"Mr. Broadbent?"

He looked up, startled.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—Your office told me I could find you here."

He leveled a cool glance her way. "I'm pretty busy right now."

"This will only take a minute. I'm interested in a project you did for Perl Development."

He didn't move, but Georgia sensed his muscles tightening.

"You do recall it, don't you?"

Broadbent frowned. "I work a lot of sites."

"This was an old gas station. Belonged to a man named Fred Stewart."

His eyes went flat. "Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell."