Company Man by Joseph Finder Page A

whole house blows.”
    â€œJesus.”
    â€œNever proven if the whole thing was an accident or thiswacko did it, but the cops suspected he did. Never could prove it, though. Had to let him go—no evidence. Just strong suspicion. Nick, this guy Stadler is one dangerous motherfucker. And I’ll tell you something else you’re not going to want to hear. This fruitcake’s got a gun.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThere’s an old safety inspection certificate in his name—found it in the county records. Like twenty years old. And no record of sale, which means he’s still got it.”
    â€œJesus. Get a restraining order.”
    Eddie made a soft, dismissive pfft sound. “Come on, man, TROs are bullshit. Piece of paper.”
    â€œBut if he tries to go on my property again—”
    â€œYou can get him arrested for trespassing, man. Not for stalking. Big fucking deal. You think that’s going to stop a goddamned psychopath? Guy who eviscerated your goddamned dog? Guy who hears voices, wears a tinfoil hat?”
    â€œJesus Christ, Eddie. We got a time-stamped image of this nut climbing the fence right around the time my dog got killed. The cops got a knife that might have prints on it. They got enough to charge the guy with my dog’s death.”
    â€œYeah, and what have they done, right? They haven’t done shit.”
    â€œSo how do we make them take action?”
    â€œI don’t know, man. Got to apply some serious pressure. But they’re going to be busy covering their big fat asses, so they’re not exactly going to snap to. I say we scare the shit out of this loon first. Once the police get involved in any real way, we gotta keep hands off Stadler. But in the meantime, we got to make sure you and your family are safe.”
    Nick considered for a moment. “All right. But don’t do anything that’ll compromise me in any way. So no getting rough with him. I just want the fucker locked up somewhere.”
    â€œFine with me. I’ll track the guy down. Meantime, my man Freddie’s going over to your house this afternoon to get started on the new system. I’m having him put a rush on it.”
    Nick glanced at his watch. He had to head over to the monthly meeting of the Compensation Committee. “Great.”
    â€œAnd hey, if all else fails, remember my little loaner.”
    Nick lowered his voice, aware that Marjorie was at her desk on the other side of the partition and might be able to hear their voices. “I don’t have a permit, Eddie.”
    Eddie gave a slow shake of his head. “Permit? Come on, man. You know how long it takes to go through the hoops, do all the paperwork? You can’t wait that long. Look, carrying an unlicensed weapon is a misdemeanor, okay? A hundred-buck fine. And that’s if you get caught. Which you won’t, because you won’t have to use it. Isn’t that worth it to protect your family from that sick fuck? A hundred bucks?”
    â€œAll right. Get out of here—I need to check my e-mail, and then I’ve got three meetings stacked up.”
    Eddie rose. “Man, you got some fancy computer equipment up here. I could use some monitors like this for my department.”
    â€œNot up to me,” Nick said. “I’m just a figurehead.”

8
    Scott McNally lived in a decent-sized, but perfectly ordinary, house in the Forest Hills section of Fenwick where many of the Stratton execs lived. A successful accountant could have lived here. It was a generic white colonial with green shutters, a two-car garage, a rec room, a finished basement. It was decorated generically too. Everything—the dining room set, the couches and chairs and rugs—seemed to have been bought all at once, at the same mid-priced home-furnishings store. Obviously Eden, Scott’s trophy wife, didn’t share Laura’s interest in design.
    Nick and Laura had talked about