Free Draw (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series Book 2) by Shelley Singer Page A

didn’t sound too good, overall.
    “And the key to that,” I nodded, “is the management team, right? A solid corps of executive talent. Mature experience and fresh new blood.” The corners of his mouth turned down slightly in a half-born frown. “And I know— I’m terribly sorry— that you recently lost one of your team members.”
    The frown was now complete. “Ah, yes. Very sad. A longtime and loyal employee. A young man, too, with a family. But the company goes on.” For the first time in our conversation, he looked alert. “It always has.” He paused. “Mr. Samson, isn’t
Probe
magazine somewhat given to sensationalism? What is sensational about a respectable old company that has dedicated thirty years to the education of people all over this country?”
    “Mr. Bowen,” I said, gazing directly into his eyes, “
Probe
is a monthly journal that attempts to report on and interpret the significant events and developments of our society.” Artie had given me that one, and I’d never had a chance to use it before. “Sometimes, certainly, those events are sensational. But I’m not on the staff of the magazine. I’m a free-lancer who gets work where he can.”
    The old man was no fool. “Just the same, Mr. Samson, James Smith’s death was a sensational one. He was murdered.”
    I sighed and shook my head. “Mr. Bowen, I’m afraid that murder no longer qualifies as unusual enough for the national media to bother with. Assassination, yes. Murder, no. Mr. Smith was, undoubtedly, valuable to your company. But his death is of very little interest to a magazine like
Probe.”
It was pretty interesting to one of
Probe’s
editors, but Bowen didn’t have to know that.
    He was, or seemed to be, nearly convinced. “It does seem coincidental that this magazine has not shown interest in Bright Future before.”
    I affected a world-weary shrug. “Let’s say that the murder brought your company to my attention. I pick up ideas from the newspapers. I suggest those ideas to editors.”
    “Ah.” He nodded, relaxing.
    “Actually, I expected that you’d be pleased by the possibility of national exposure.” I’d no sooner said “exposure” than I wished I hadn’t, but he had drifted off and away from alertness again so it didn’t matter.
    “Perhaps if you’ll tell me what aspect of our institution interests you the most, I can direct you to those departments and persons involved,” he said indifferently.
    “The history, of course,” I replied. “And the academic department. Sales. Whatever subsidiary departments those might have. I’m afraid I don’t know much about your corporate structure.”
    He nodded. “Let me give you some printed background materials and turn you over to my executive vice-president. We can talk again another time.” He buzzed his secretary, gave her some instructions, and said a polite goodbye.
    She, in turn, pulled a few items out of her files, handed them to me, and led me off to another wing of the executive first floor, where she passed me on to another secretary who asked me to wait a moment, please. I sat down and looked at the top sheet of the stuff the first secretary had given me. It was a diagram of the corporate structure. Nothing very unusual about any of it.
    I didn’t remember Alan saying anything about an editorial department or an advertising department. Just communications, which, on this diagram, applied to both. Did two vice presidents share one department? That alone sounded like a motive for murder. I glanced quickly through the other papers. They were advertising flyers.
    The executive vice president came striding out of his office, a tall thin man with youthful bearing and gray hair. His suit was gray, too, very nicely tailored, and worn with a pale blue shirt and a gray, blue, and red-striped tie.
    “Bill Armand,” he said, sticking out his hand.
    “Jake Samson.” I took brief but firm hold of his manicure.
    “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was on