“I have no clue,” Myrna said, confused.
“What if?” Pedro stopped suddenly and whipped around to stare at her in shock. “Again, hypothetical, but what if he targeted you to see if you knew anything.”
“Like what? What was I supposed to know?”
“What if he thought you inspected the outgoing packages against the paperwork. What if he and or Gus had someone at your factory stealing parts from work and those singular boxes was shipped to them?”
“Shit, and you think he targeted me because he wanted to know if I knew what was going on?”
“Like I said, it’s grasping at straws, but it could be a possibility.” He looked at her and saw her thinking. “I’m sure if we tell Agent Wilson, and whoever will be staying with us at your home can look further into it. My next question, what type of automotive parts did you sell?”
“Have you ever gone into one of those national chain stores that sells automotive parts?”
“Of course, everyone has.”
“Okay, those stores are our biggest customers. We would be like the bulk warehouse for them.”
“Ah, but there are other things you sold, right?”
“Of course, motors, doors, trunk lids, we just sent to the chain stores. People didn’t walk in off the street to get our products.”
“Wow, okay, then this makes more sense. At least it does to me.” He paced some more, then looked at her with wide eyes. “How long have you worked there?”
“Thirty years, but…” she started then looked at him with shock, and jumped to her feet and paced herself. She whipped around and ran her hands in her hair and gently pulled it, shocked by what she remembered. “Holy shit.”
“What?” Pedro walked toward her and took her hands in his to ground her. “What did you remember?”
“As I said, I worked there for thirty years, however, I was a picker from day one. For twenty-six years I walked and stood at the packing tables on concrete. Around year twenty, I started having pain in my hips. I thought it was just because I was getting older. I would take over the counter pain medication, but when that stopped helping, I finally went to my doctor. That’s when she diagnosed the arthritis. She said that if I didn’t get off that concrete, I might be in a wheelchair by the age of sixty.”
“Jesus, it’s that bad?”
“It was, but I can control the pain with the pills, special shoes, and watch what I do. I can ride Sally, but not for the three days I did when I took her from Gus. An hour here or there is fine.”
“Okay, so how did you go from picker to shipping clerk?”
“After what the doctor told me, I had her write it in a report. I didn’t want to quit, so I went to HR and gave them that report. She called in the plant manager, and that’s when I learned the shipping clerk I replaced was looking at retirement. It took a year and a half, but when he retired, I was offered the job. I took it.”
“Shit, so the previous shipping clerk might have been in on it?”
“No clue if there is even an ‘it’, and I don’t know about that. I never interacted with them. I had noneed to go into that office. I got my orders from the floor manager.”
“Okay,” he said as he squeezed her hands again. They stayed silent for several minutes then he sighed heavily, and dropped her hands. “Do you think what I suggested might be a possibility?”
“I would say on a scale of one to ten, you might be at an eight. There’s only one thing that we could have the FBI look into to make it a ten.”
“What’s that?”
“If your hypothetical scenario is correct, then the FBI would have to go to that company and ask them about their inventory.”
“Why?”
“Because inventory was taken only once a year. If there were any discrepancies of what was brought in to what went out, and you add in what was already there, then your theory might hold water. I helped with inventory all thirty years, but I was never privy to the final numbers afterward. That was for the salaried members of management.”
“Ah, but you think it might be a possibility?”
“It could. I do recall that just before I took over as the shipping clerk, there were rumors flying around that something was off in the inventory.” She frowned and looked off to the side. “Shit.”
“What?”
