The first thing Wednesday morning, Lou went to the accounting firm Seaver worked for. It was downtown, on the third floor of an older, ten-story building on Seventeenth Street, where many banks and non-retail businesses were located.
Close to his apartment. I wonder if he chose to move in there because of its proximity to his job.
“Good morning,” Lou said to the receptionist. “I’m looking for Mr. Floyd Seaver.”
“I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment.”
“May I talk to his immediate superior?”
“That would be Mr. Johnson. If you’ll wait, I’ll see if he’s available. What may I say this is in reference to?”
“I’d rather tell Mr. Johnson in person, if you don’t mind.” He showed her his badge.
She frowned before picking up the intercom phone. A moment later she told Lou, “He’ll be with you
