a chance that the same guy she’d seen before would be on duty again, but she was hoping he wasn’t. If he recognized her it wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, but he might also remember her name—these guys were good at such stuff—and that would spoil her plan.
She was in luck, however. It was another man, this one short and stocky with a gleaming bald head. The lobby was empty, except for a porter polishing the brass fixtures, and the concierge smiled at her receptively. The name on his badge said Bob Dolan.
“Hello, I’m Sasha Glen,” Kit said, assuming the most knowing air she could muster. “I’m with Ithaka, the firm Matt Healy worked for before his death.”
Dolan grimaced.
“Terrible thing,” he said. “Out of the blue like that. And what was he—thirty-eight, thirty-nine?”
“I know. We’re all very distraught at Ithaka. I was hoping you could help us. We’re planning a memorial service for him and we want to make sure we invite everyone that was close to him.”
“Gosh, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be any help there. We don’t keep tabs on people’s personal lives. The only thing I’ve been told is that his mother and stepfather went to Florida to collect the body, and at some point they’re coming here to deal with his belongings.”
“They’ll be invited to the service, of course, and we have their contact information. But there’s a friend of his we’re trying to reach, a former colleague from Ithaka who stayed with him here.”
Dolan wrinkled his brow. He’d been eager to engage when she’d first approached him, but she could sense his antennae shooting up now.
“Would you happen to have some identification?” he asked.
“Of course,” Kit said and drew Sasha’s business card out of her purse. She handed it to Dolan, who gave a quick nod as he read what was written on it.
“I think you may have been misinformed,” he said. “Mr. Healy didn’t have any roommates.”
“But this person—his name’s Garrett Kelman—he would have stayed with Mr. Healy for just a short time. We’re desperate to reach him because he may not be aware yet that Mr. Healy is dead.”
He flicked his head to the left, as if he was about to shake it in a “no,” and then caught himself.
“Actually, he did have a buddy with him for a few days a while back.” She saw him reach behind the reception counter for something and next she heard the sound of pages being flipped. Some kind of log, she guessed.
“Okay, I see it here,” he said. “A Mr. Kelman was given access to the apartment for several days about three weeks ago. But that’s all the info I have. You don’t have a cell phone number for a former employee?”
So one part of Kelman’s story held up. It also meant that Healy had deceived her.
“Um, unfortunately the number we have isn’t in service anymore,” she said. “But thank you for your help. Do you mind if I take the card back? It’s the only one I have on me today.”
As she left, she sensed him watching her, wondering too late if she was a reporter or someone nosing around for all the wrong reasons. But she’d snagged what she’d come for and that was all that mattered.
Out on the sidewalk she exhaled and desperately tried to corral the thoughts ricocheting in her brain and then make sense of them.
Last night she’d confirmed that Garrett Kelman had worked at Ithaka, and now she’d learned that, yes, he’d also been a friend of Matt Healy’s. That added credence to his claim that he hadn’t broken into her apartment.
But though Kelman had been honest with her in certain regards, she still had no reason to completely trust him. The man might not be the mastermind of an identity-stealing ring as she’d once suspected, but he was clearly in trouble and on the run. And he could very well be Healy’s killer. Maybe they’d even been involved in illegal stuff together and had argued, fallen out with each other, which could explain Healy’s strange claims about Kelman being a pickpocket.
Most disturbing of all: if Kelman hadn’t broken into her apartment, someone else definitely had. She was back to the idea of them again, unknown persons who’d come looking for the flash drive, trashed her apartment, and might very well return. How in the world would she ever stop them?
It was time to call Kelman. She couldn’t put it off any longer.