Vanished by Joseph Finder Read Free Book Online Page A

nodded. “Do you have any idea what Roger’s been working on recently?”
    She paused to chew a big mouthful, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “We rarely talked about work. Sort of house rules.”
    “So he didn’t mention anything he was especially worried about.”
    She shook her head. “Nothing interesting, as far as I know.”
    Of course, that pretty much described all of Roger’s work at Gifford Industries. He structured deals, arranged financing. It would take me pots of black coffee to get through a single one of his mornings without lapsing into a boredom-induced coma. I always had the feeling, though, that Roger regarded himself as overqualified—that he’d never been promoted to a level he considered commensurate with his talents. Not that such a level could ever possibly exist in corporate America.
    “Hmm,” I said.
    “You’re thinking this had something to do with his job?”
    “Not necessarily. Just covering all the bases. It could be anything. But I doubt it was a random mugging. If he was attacked”—I deliberately avoided the word “killed”—“there’d probably be some evidence of that. Something would have turned up by now.” A body, I didn’t say.
    “Then what are you suggesting?”
    “We can’t rule out some sort of abduction or kidnapping.”
    “A kidnapping ? You’re not serious.” Her voice got high-pitched, scornful, as if to mask her fear. “The cops said the same thing. But who’d kidnap Roger? We’re not rich. That’s crazy.”
    My eyes slid toward the humongous hulking stainless-steel eight-burner Vulcan commercial range that threw off enough BTUs to serve a good-sized restaurant. I knew they’d dumped a quarter of a million bucks at least into redoing their kitchen to Roger’s maniacal specifications. “No doubt,” I said.
    “I mean, sure, we’re well-off, but Roger and I both work for a living.”
    “I know.” Once Victor Heller’s considerable assets were seized, Roger and my mother and I were left without any money. But Roger, at least, inherited Dad’s genius for making it and investing it. Just one of many ways he and I were different.
    Lauren had been Gifford’s admin, a divorcée with a young child, when she met Roger, and she’d made it clear from the outset that she loved her job, loved working for Leland Gifford, and would never give it up. She continued working because she wanted to, not because she had to. Roger made enough to support them, and he invested well.
    “Anyway, if he’s been kidnapped, wouldn’t I have gotten a ransom demand by now?”
    “Not necessarily. Sometimes they wait, just to increase the desperation level. But I agree, that’s not likely.”
    “Then what is likely?”
    “Just a theory, here, but maybe he stuck his nose into something he shouldn’t have. Got into trouble with the wrong sorts of people.”
    “Like who?”
    “Your company’s involved in gigantic, billion-dollar construction projects around the world. Maybe he ran up against some organized-crime syndicate that thought they had some project nailed but lost out to Gifford Industries. Maybe Roger helped elbow them out. Something like that.”
    “You make Gifford Industries sound like some sort of two-bit Mafia-owned New Jersey garbage-hauling company.”
    I thought of a few rejoinders—I’m just wired that way—but I held my tongue.
    “Forget the Mafia,” I said. “The criminal underworld’s gone transnational. The Russians, the East Europeans, the Asians—they’ve all gotten sophisticated. Now they invest. They use legitimate businesses to launder their money. They trade commodities. They’re into oil and precious metal and insurance companies and banks. All over the world. What if Roger came across something about one of these organizations while he was negotiating a deal, something they didn’t want him to know . . .”
    She looked at me for a few seconds, then her eyes shifted from side to side as if she were reading something off a