Your understanding. So that you donât get the wrong impression when you meet him.â
âAnd what impression would that be?â
A pause. âHow much do you know about Harland Industries?â
âWhat most people do, I guess. Family business that Charles Harland inherited from his father. Manufacturing, mostly. Made a fortune during World War II and afterwards.â
âThatâs right. The company developed and built armaments, in partnership with Pittsburghâs steel industry. Though by the time Charles took over the reins, the company had begun to diversify. A prudent move, too, given that the cityâs industrial base was disappearing. Under Charlesâ leadership, particularly in the past twenty years, Harland Industries has morphed into a major supplier of high-end electronics and innovative software. Enhanced by some important mergers with foreign firms. The cityâs economic foundation has changed, obviously, and Mr. Harland made sure his business changed with it.
âQuite remarkable, in my view, given his advanced years. Many businessmen his age have grown hidebound and intransient in their thinking. Dinosaurs oblivious to the changing environment. Which is why most of them are extinct.â
âBut not Charles Harland.â
There was more than a trace of pride in his voice. âIâm pleased to say that Harland Industries has never been more profitable, nor more relevant in terms of meeting the demands of a globalized marketplace.â
âNice talking point. You trying to get me to invest?â
Another cool, placid smile.
âIâm trying to impress upon you that Charles Harland is not a rich, doddering fool who was tricked into marrying some gold-digging failed actress thirty years his junior. He has a sharp, calculating mind. Heâs also a man of strong likes and dislikes. Of unbending judgment.â
âSounds like you are, too, Mr. Drake. At least where Lisa Campbell is concerned.â
âAs I say, my opinion of her is irrelevant. I merely want you to know that Lisa means a great deal to Mr. Harland, and that you shouldnât misunderstand if he comes across as brusque or unfeeling. Or somewhat condescending.â
âIn other words, that just happens to be who he is, whether or not his wifeâs been kidnapped.â
He didnât comment. Instead, he finished the rest of his drink and turned toward his window, feigned looking out at the sweep of the night stars as we rounded a tree-crowned hill.
I sat back in my seat. By this point, I, too, wanted a stiff drink. But I also wanted to keep a clear head for whatever lay in store tonight.
Suddenly, face still in profile, Drake spoke.
âI am curious about something, Dr. Rinaldi. Something in Mikeâs report on you. I wonder, may I ask a personal question?â
âYou can try.â
He swiveled back to face me. âItâs about Troy David Dowd. According to Mike, heâs the reason you started working with the police. That was a good many years ago, correct?â
I nodded carefully. Dubbed âthe Handymanâ by the media, Dowd was a serial killer who tortured his victims with screwdrivers, pliers, and other tools. Though he was eventually captured and convicted, heâs been sitting on Death Row ever since, his attorney managing to win appeal after appeal.
Dowd would snatch people outside of roadside diners or highway rest stops in isolated rural areas throughout the state. Only two of his intended victims managed to escape. One of these, a single mother of three, was so devastated by her ordeal that she was sent to me for treatment. It was my work with her that led to my signing on as a consultant to Pittsburgh PD.
âWhat about Dowd?â I asked Drake.
âLike everyone else at the time, I followed that case quite closely. In fact, I know his lawyer. Well, just socially. From Bar Association events, my club, that kind of thing. Good