Page 111 of Bennett

“Copy that,” Matthew said.

He ended the call and turned to Laurel, who was watching him over the rim of her mug.

“This is good news, right?” she asked, a flicker of hope lighting her eyes.

“Yes.” He leaned in, kissed her forehead. “You can enjoy another cup. I need to check something at the site downstairs.”

Laurel shook her head. “You’re not leaving me out of this.”

Five minutes later, they walked to the rear of Winslow Crossing, where Brandi’s crew was already unloading tools. Her general contractor, a sturdy, no-nonsense guy named Joe Everly, looked up from his clipboard as Bennett approached.

“You looking for me or trouble?” Joe asked.

“Just answers,” Bennett replied. “You have yesterday’s site log?”

Joe nodded and handed over the most recent logs. “Brandi said you might come asking.”

Bennett flipped through them quickly, scanning names and crew assignments. Rick Nolan’s showed up for the previous day under a generic electrical subcontractor label, but that wasn’t what he needed.

“Do you have logs from earlier this month?” Bennett asked.

Joe grunted and pulled a binder from the folding table behind him. “We keep the full paper back-ups just in case. Take a look.”

Bennett turned to the second week of the month. The day they’d found the damaged wiring inside Laurel’s apartment and along the east wall. His finger skimmed down the page.

Rick Nolan. 6:54 a.m. Signed in with Interior prep team.

He flipped forward. Another day. The camera glitch and the busted door lock.

Rick Nolan. 7:15 a.m. Electrical walk-through.

Bennett’s jaw clenched. The guy had been here more than once, always under some vague subcontractor label, and always on the days something went wrong.

He flipped back two more weeks, and a different name jumped out.

Bingo.

Fred Hess. 8:03 a.m. Listed as Structural consult.

Bennett narrowed his eyes. “Was Brandi still using Hess at this point?”

Joe looked over his shoulder. “Hell no. She fired him back in February. That’s when I came in.”

Bennett tapped the entry. “Then why is he listed here?”

Joe squinted. “That…shouldn’t be. Not unless someone on-site let him walk through.”

“That happen often?” Laurel asked, firm but not unfriendly.

Joe let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, there are a lot of crews coming in and out every day. Demo, finish work, electricians, vendors. Hell, even delivery guys. I try to keep tabs on everyone, but it’s a revolving door sometimes. If someone let Hess in, it could’ve been brushed off as a consult or supplier walkthrough. Nobody flagged it.”

Bennett looked at him. “So, it wouldn’t take much for someone like Rick Nolan to slip in under the radar either.”

“Not if he had a name to drop and a clipboard in his hand,” Joe said. “Half the guys here wouldn’t know the difference if he said he was checking outlets.”

Bennett’s jaw tightened. “And if Fred Hess was still connected to him—”

“Then he knew exactly where to send him,” Joe finished.