Page 113 of The Deadly Shallows

“Good. Keep me posted.” His other line rang. “Sorry, guys, I have to take this.”

“Take care,” Austin said before the call dropped.

Noah answered the incoming one. “Rowley.”

“Hi. This is Don Lang. You left a message on my voicemail about my logo guy, Dwayne.”

“Yes, Mr. Lang. Thanks for returning my call.”

“No problem. Have you found him?” Lang asked.

Noah furrowed his brow. Interesting choice of words. “Found him?”

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for months but can’t reach him. Seems Jim Larson can’t either.”

“Do you have a last name for Dwayne?”

“Jackson, I believe,” Lang said.

Yet another one. “And do you have any idea where Dwayne lives?”

“I think he rents a room at the Strasburg Hotel over on West Avenue.”

Surprise rattled through Noah. He was at the point where he’d stopped anticipating a lead.

“I tried calling over there once,” Lang continued, “but the lady at the desk said she hadn’t seen him in ages. I gave up and went with someone else for the job.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about Dwayne? Any physical features, markings, anything about his life that stood out to you?” He’d asked everyone on the list and gotten the same response Jim Larson had provided—tall, broad, dark brown hair. Though the customers had filled in a few more details—brown eyes, and that he wore jeans and patriotic T-shirts.

“Any tattoos?” Noah asked. “Anything specific or unique about the man?”

“Well, he did have this weird tattoo on his upper left arm, just below the shoulder.”

“Could you describe it?” he asked

“I mean, I only got a quick glance, but it was odd for a tattoo.”

“Odd how?”

“It looked like it was seared into his skin.”

FIFTY-FIVE

Caleb followed Austin into Huntington Foam to find himself in a completely different environment from the previous two foam manufacturing companies. The walls were a cheery yellow, and a blond secretary with red nails, red lipstick, and a perky smile greeted them. “Good morning, y’all. Welcome to Huntington Foam. I’m Cheri. How can I be of help?”

“Thanks for the welcome.” Caleb smiled.

“Do y’all have an appointment?” Cheri asked, picking up the phone.

“We do, with Mr. Gower.” Caleb lifted his badge. “I’m Special Agent Caleb Eason with the Coast Guard Investigative Service, and this is private investigator Austin Kelly.”

Cheri pressed an extension. After a moment’s pause, she said, “Mr. Gower, your next appointment is here. A CGIS agent and a private investigator. Uh-huh . . .”

She covered the receiver. “He’d like to know what this is in reference to?”

Caleb held his badge up again. “We’ve got some questions about chemicals used to make foam.”

After half an hour of waiting in the bright yellow lobby with upbeat elevator music that was trying Caleb’s last nerve, a man in a tailored three-piece suit stepped through the double set of gleaming white doors. The man was younger than Caleb had anticipated for being the CEO of such a lucrative company—based on Austin’s initial findings.