“Did the police talk to you about Zachary?”

“Yes, they talked to my boss, too. I told them what I told you. Zachary’s not a serial killer.”

“Did they ask for his personnel file?”

“Yes, and we gave them a copy. Legal said we had to.” Tim frowned. “It won’t hurt him any, and we complied. The fact that whoever killed those nurses used our instruments isn’t helping, public relations–wise. We got tons of calls from the media the first week. We even hired a PR firm. The Brigham family isn’t happy. The sooner this is over with, the better.”

“Did Zachary have any enemies that you know of?”

“No, not at all.” Tim cocked his head. “Uh, one of the other account managers wasn’t a fan. But that’s between us.”

“I’ll keep it confidential. What is his name?”

“Dan Pepitone.”

“Is Dan here today?”

“No, he’s calling on accounts. The managers are always on the road, remember? They never come in.”

“Right.” Christine made a mental note to follow up and meet Pepitone. “Why didn’t Dan like Zachary?”

“Zachary came into Dan’s region. I needed to bring somebody new. All of our regions are large, and there’s hundreds of accounts, we’re spread pretty thin. Dan’s in his late fifties.”

“Are you saying that Zachary was brought in as Dan’s successor?”

“That’s about the size of it.” Tim buckled his lower lip. “Dan is slowing down, he’s just burned-out. It’s not easy being a road warrior. When Zachary came in, the numbers went way up. Zachary made Dan look bad. That’s sales.”

“What do you think makes the difference?”

“Zachary tries harder. He charms everybody. He’s always closing, that boy.” Tim frowned slightly. “But Dan thought Zachary was a BS artist, which I get.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m in sales. I manage salesman. It’s a mentality. Some salesman, they’re made. Others are born.” Tim smiled. “Zachary was a born salesman. He could sell ice to the Eskimos. It’s a cliché, but it’s true about him.”

Christine didn’t know if she wanted her baby to be a born salesman, and if that was a good thing or not. “What makes a born salesman?”

“In my opinion, it’s a knowledge of people. Zachary can clue in on what somebody wants and give it to them. He knows how to work people.”

“That’s manipulative.” Christine couldn’t help but wonder if Zachary was manipulating her, like Gary had warned.

“It is and it isn’t.” Tim shrugged again. “Sales requires you to understand people and to a certain extent, yes, manipulate them. To tell them what they want to hear, so you can close.”

Christine thought it sounded worse and worse. “So is he a liar?”

“No more than I am.” Tim chuckled. “We’re just trying to sell you something. You need it, and we make it, so it works out. There’s no harm, no foul. Zachary’s very good at his job, the best young salesman I’ve seen in a long time. Zachary was a star. Not everybody likes that. Dan thought Zachary was arrogant, but I want my account managers to be arrogant. You know who are the most arrogant people on the face of the earth?”

“No, who?” Christine asked, because he seemed to wait for a reply.

“Surgeons. Surgeons think they’re God. They will cut into the human body without hesitation. They will save a life. They’re brilliant men and women, and they don’t respect dumb. I want my account managers to be arrogant and confident enough to earn the respect of surgeons.”

Christine understood. “Could Zachary?”

“Yes, totally. He could walk into a hospital, collar a surgeon when he’s on his way to the OR, grab whatever three minutes he can, and convince him that we make a better instrument than the next guy. If my guys don’t have that confidence, I’m not gonna be able to feed my family.”

Christine tried to understand. “So Zachary’s arrogant and manipulative, but you like him anyway?”

“No.” Tim smiled. “Zachary’s arrogant and manipulative, and I love him anyway.”

Chapter Forty-four

Christine hurried down the busy sidewalk, crowded with students carrying backpacks, businesspeople scrolling through smartphones, and Temple University employees in red lanyards, hurrying back to their offices after lunch. It had taken her almost an hour to drive into the center of Philadelphia, then another half an hour to fight the traffic going up Broad Street, which was evidently the city’s main artery. Hannah had said she only had twenty minutes between classes, so Christine had driven like a maniac, sensing that Hannah didn’t want to meet with her at all.

The air was impossibly humid, and Christine wiped the sweat from her brow as she passed a bustling campus bookstore, then made a beeline for the cheesesteak place that Hannah had specified. She threaded her way to the restaurant, pushed open the door, and breathed in the delicious smells of sizzling steaks. Her eyes adjusted to the dim, cramped rectangle, mostly a take-out joint with an order counter, open griddles, and cooks on the left, and on the right, two rows of small brown tables.

A young girl sitting in the back waved to Christine, but it didn’t make sense. The young girl was tall and thin, with long dark hair, which didn’t fit the description of Zachary’s girlfriend that Christine had gotten from the CO at the prison, the first day. Christine remembered the CO describing Zachary’s girlfriend as a “redhead” and “a pretty little thing,” and the woman standing up was neither little nor a redhead, though she was adorably pretty. She had a soft, round face, with dimples and a turned-up nose, full lips, and a dazzling smile, with perfect teeth.

“Christine!” the young girl called, impatiently motioning her forward, and Christine walked past the noisy crowd lining up at the counter and headed for the back of the restaurant.

“Hannah? I thought you were a redhead.”

“No, why would you think that?” Hannah sat down, brushing smooth the hem of a summery purple sundress with skinny straps. “Please sit, I don’t have long.”

“The guard at Graterford told me you had red hair.”