Down and Dirty (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 9)

by A W Hartoin

  “May I ask if you know Hervé?” he asked.

  “I do,” I said. “He chose this dress for me.”

  His gaze flicked over to Calpurnia who lounged in her wingback like she was at a party and totally unconcerned with what was going on. Maybe she was.

  Then he came around the desk and held out his hands. I gave him one of mine and he pressed it between his cold palms. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Watts.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “May I ask how you two happened to meet?” he asked. “You are strange bedfellows.”

  No kidding.

  “It’s a small world,” said Calpurnia. “Mercy met my nephew, Oz, helped Lucia, and the rest is history.”

  “I believe you cleared Donatella Berry of those nasty allegations after the Tulio shooting,” he said.

  “I did.”

  “So you know Officer Ameche. He used to caddy for me. Good man.”

  “I agree,” I said.

  He returned to his desk and sat down even more slowly than when he got up. “So Calpurnia tells me that you have some questions about our unfortunate Mr. Weeks.”

  “I do,” I said. “Can you tell me if he was having money problems?”

  He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Interesting question. One would think so given his actions, but no, he wasn’t.”

  “His accounts were all good? No problems?”

  He blinked slowly and said, “No. He was well paid.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how much?” I asked.

  “I don’t mind. Porter made just under 900,000 a year and there are other perks, stock options and the like. Do you need specifics?”

  I told him I didn’t and I tried to figure out what to do. I expected him to say that Porter Weeks III was hanging on by his manicured fingernails.

  “Do you have any idea why he killed himself?”

  He tapped his fingers together in a rhythm one by one. “I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent thinking about that, Miss Watts. May I call you Mercy?”

  “Of course.”

  “And I’m Edward Laidlaw,” he said. “You can call me Ward.”

  I could tell I was supposed to know who he was, but I didn’t. I just nodded and looked as impressed as I could without falling all over myself.

  “I knew Porter for twenty-three years, but I didn’t expect this,” he said. “He was brilliant and insightful, curious and steady.”

  “Always?” I asked.

  A flicker of something went through his eyes. “I believe so.”

  “But there was something.”

  He told me that a couple of years ago Porter went through a rough patch, started calling in sick and showing up late. Looked like hell and occasionally smelled like alcohol, but he was given a talking to and he straightened himself out.

  “I thought it was a woman,” said Ward. “That happens. He was young and it’s easy to get in over your head.”

  That’s when Calpurnia sat up and said, “What about gambling?”

  Ward started. “No. He was a conservative man. He belonged to the St. Louis Legacy Country Club.”

  “They can still gamble,” I said.

  “It’s frowned upon.” He smiled at me and showed his dentures. “Between the three of us, that crowd isn’t very much fun. I don’t know what he saw in that place.”

  “Me, either,” said Calpurnia, frowning severely before easing back into her chair.

  I bit my lip and thought about what to ask next, how much to reveal. “Would you mind telling me about the account you gave to Elite Accounting three weeks ago?”

  “You know about that?” he asked.

  “I know a lot about it.”

  “That is not good news. Our security must be failing.”

  “It’s not,” I said. “We haven’t been able to hack your system yet.”

  “But you have someone trying, someone you think will make it through,” he said stiffly.

  “No. You already told me what I need. Weeks was flush.”

  Ward relaxed. “How good is your guy?”

  “Very. He’d get through eventually,” I said. “Most of what I know about the account came from Elite and it was given to me.”

  He stopped breathing and his face lost what little color it had. Calpurnia leaned forward and put an elegant hand on the edge of the desk. “Mercy is discreet. I vouch for her with no hesitation. Elite made a wise choice. Listen to why.”

  They focused on me and I gave him a quick rundown of Catherine’s situation, doing my best not to talk much about the sex part, but he wouldn’t let me avoid it. He insisted on knowing the down and dirty. It was like telling my grandad the ins and outs of deviant behavior. Gross with a capital G.

  “Your connections are tenuous,” he said when I was done.

  “I have a feeling,” I said.

  “And this is important?”

  Calpurnia nodded. “It is.”

  Ward steepled his fingers again. “What do you need to know about our account with Elite that you don’t already know?”

  “Not so much about the account itself,” I said. “More about the inner workings here.”

  “In regards to Porter?”

  “Yes.”

  According to Ward, Porter as CFO knew of the irregularities in the debit card charges, but that was delegated to the lower ranks. They’d spoken about it several times and he was concerned, but in Porter’s opinion it was a glitch since there was no pattern to speak of.

  “Was he against sending the problem to Elite?” I asked.

  “No, but he didn’t really think it necessary. He thought IT should be able to figure it out.”

  “He didn’t try to block it?”

  “No.”

  “What about Catherine Cabot? How did he feel about her?”

  “We never spoke of her specifically. I don’t remember asking about who would do the forensic work. I did ask how long it would take,” said Ward.

  “What was the answer?”

  “I believe that Mr. Calabasas said that he couldn’t say. It was a particularly difficult puzzle. I didn’t speak to him personally. I got that from a board meeting. Eric Schneider told me.”

  “Did Schneider voice any reservations about giving the account to them?” I asked.

  “Not at all. He may have been slightly frustrated in the delays.” He pressed a button on his desk. “Nicole, can you please bring us coffee and some cakes. I’m beginning to get tired.”

  “Immediately, Mr. Laidlaw,” said Nicole.

  “My mind is as ever. My body is a different story,” he said. “Nicole’s coffee is very restorative. As I was saying, Eric didn’t like the delays. He’s a high-energy sort of person. If he were here, he’d be pacing.”

  “So he wasn’t the cause of the delays,” I said. “Why did it take so long?”

  “I asked and he said it was contracts and he would speed it up.”

  “Was Weeks in that meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did he react?”

  “I don’t recall that he did. Porter was typically stoic in meetings. He rarely showed anything other than mild concern,” said Ward.

  “Did anyone mention Catherine’s name?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I didn’t know she was working on our account until she was shot and Eric informed me. We had a meeting to discuss changing companies since Elite is quite obviously down for some time.”

  “Did you? Change companies?”

  “Yes. It was necessary.”

  So the account was out of Catherine’s hands, probably forever. Somebody would be very happy about that. But how was Weeks connected? His suicide couldn’t be a coincidence. It just couldn’t.

  “When was that meeting?” I asked. “The one where you asked about the delays?”

  Ward hesitated and I saw something dawn on him. “Last Monday. The day before Porter died. Do you think that’s why he did it? Because the account was going to
Catherine Cabot?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Absolutely.”

  “But why? He didn’t have anything to do with that situation.”

  “I don’t know the reason, but he did. When was your meeting on Monday?”

  “Nine a.m. sharp,” said Ward.

  “What did Weeks do after that?” I asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  Nicole came in with a silver tray laden with a heavy coffee service. She poured us cups to our specifications and gave us an assortment of petite fours. They were so good Aaron could’ve made them.

  “Will there be anything else?” asked Nicole.

  Ward looked at me.

  “Is Eric Schneider busy?”

  She looked at Ward and he nodded.

  “He’s not busy if you need him. I’ll call him.” She left and we took a moment to savor Nicole’s extraordinary coffee. Italian roast and brewed to perfection. Ode de Caffeine should take lessons.

  I took a breath and asked a question that Ward wouldn’t like. “Can you look at what was going on in Weeks’ accounts for me?”

  Ward frowned fiercely. “Porter was a customer as well as an employee and a friend. I’m not accustomed to breaching anyone’s privacy.”

  “Even if they’re ripping off your customers?” I asked.

  “You have no proof of that.”

  “I will.”

  “I told you Porter was solvent. You didn’t need to know more.”

  I sipped my coffee letting its warmth revitalize me. “You already took a look or you wouldn’t have been able to tell me that.”

  A smile flickered over Calpurnia’s face and she said, “She has you there, Ward.”

  “She doesn’t. I didn’t look at anything. We have a system set up—our employees’ consent—to monitor overdrafts and lack of payment on credit cards. I haven’t been alerted to anything on Porter since that period years ago that I told you about. It’s a simple measure to guard against what you’re implying. An employee that’s in the red might get ideas. We want to know if there’s an issue.”

  “Does it happen?” I asked. “Employees getting ideas?”

  “Rarely and usually in the lower ranks. We’ve had tellers palming bills. That sort of thing. Nothing to the scale that you’re talking about.”

  “Well, Porter Weeks III wouldn’t palm a bill. If he needed money, he’d need a lot. His kids’ tuition is over a quarter million.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Ward, gaping at me for a second.

  “Yes. His lifestyle wasn’t cheap by a long shot. Why are you surprised? He wasn’t exactly hanging on the bottom of the ladder.”

  “My children went to public school the way I did. I put myself through college and so did they. So have my grandchildren and I expect my great-grandchildren to do the same.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You’re hardcore.”

  He smiled and his whole face crinkled with a glowing warmth. “I’m amused that you think so. I’ve lived a long time and I’ve seen failure and dissolution. It usually comes from being handed your life and your wealth. I wanted my family to understand where money comes from. I believe your family feels the same.”

  “My dad was a cop. So yeah.”

  “I meant the Bleds,” he said.

  “They’re not exactly my family, but The Girls did pay for my education.”

  “I believe you got a scholarship to Whitmore Academy.”

  “I did, but they paid the rest. You know them?” I asked.

  “I know everyone,” he said. “And you work for your living, do you not?”

  “I do. I’m a nurse and I do this stuff, not really on purpose.”

  He ate a petite four slowly and I could see him thinking things over before he said, “I spoke to Porter about his children’s education and advised him against exactly what you’re saying he did.”

  “People don’t always follow advice,” said Calpurnia. “Or orders for that matter. I’ve got a nephew that proves the rule.”

  “Porter did though. He was a thoughtful person as well as a calculated one. My family has been extraordinarily successful. I thought he would follow my example. My people do as a rule. If Porter didn’t, it would be Rita’s doing.”

  “Rita?” I asked.

  “His wife.” He bit a cake viciously.

  “You don’t like her.”

  “I like her very well.”

  Calpurnia chuckled. “Tell the truth, Ward. Rita is a dingbat that got lucky.”

  People said that about me on a regular basis and I liked Rita on principal.

  “Is she really? Or is she just drawn that way?” I asked.

  “She’s not you, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” said Ward. “Rita is a social climber without an ounce of sense between her ears. She was a stewardess when Porter met her. Rita was the one who always forgot what people asked for and mixed up drinks, but she’s nice enough.”

  “What about money?” I asked. “How’s she with money?”

  “Terrible. She’s the daughter of a truck driver and a teacher so you’d think she’d understand the value, but she has no concept of it. If you have it, you should spend it.”

  Calpurnia and I exchanged a look.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Ward. “But Porter cut her off years ago. She gets an allowance. Their accountant handles all the bills. Rita has no say.”

  Ding. Ding. Ding.

  “Who’s the accountant?” I asked, getting out my phone.

  “I believe it’s Rick Madley. What are you going to do?” asked Ward.

  “Put it this way. You don’t have to snoop Porter’s accounts anymore.” I called Spidermonkey and he answered on the first ring.

  “Perfect timing. We got her.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Emma Ryder. She’s the one who was looking at Catherine’s photos on Fake ‘em till you break ‘em.”

  “A girl? Are you sure?”

  “I’m very sure. It’s her.”

  I sat back in the chair. A girl. I didn’t see that coming, but I should’ve. The way the threats were written and the importance that was put on them. That did say female. Men didn’t really care so much about sluts. In my experience, they didn’t see it as a black mark for all time. The sender did.

  “What is it?” asked Calpurnia.

  “We got the hacker,” I said.

  “The one for our account?” asked Ward.

  “Probably. Give me a second.” I returned to Spidermonkey. “Who is she? An engineering student?”

  “She’s working dual master’s degrees in business and computer science. Straight As and poor as a church mouse, if you believe her bank account and massive student debt.”

  “You don’t though,” I said.

  “No. She’s careful, but not careful enough. Last Christmas, she accessed an account in the Cayman Islands and withdrew two hundred dollars.”

  “Her name is on the account?”

  “Not exactly. She’s a contractor to an off-shore trust, but it’s her trust. It’s complicated.”

  “I believe it. How do you know it’s hers?” I asked.

  “There’s no other reason to do what’s been done. We’re talking multiple banks, trusts, and countries. I could barely follow it. Novak’s on it.”

  “You’re telling me some twenty-three-year-old student figured that out?”

  “She’s twenty-five and yes, she did, but she’s not alone. Once I got her phone I got her friends. There’s a group. They call themselves the Frightful Five, and I believe their money is coming from the Midwest scam.”

  “How come?”

  “There was some talk about nobody getting hurt. Nobody missing some money. That it’s insignificant. Midwest is only losing pennies out of their customers’ accounts. It doesn’t get more insignificant than that.”

  “Are any of them related to Weeks?” I asked.

  “
No. They’re all students and at the starving end of the spectrum. Brilliant, but no money.”

  “Can you profile them for me and find out where they were this morning and when Catherine got shot?”

  “I’m on it.”

  “I have to ask. How did you find her? I get the Rolla server, but they have thousands of students. How’d you narrow it down?” I asked.

  “Novak tried to narrow down a location through the IP address, but she pinged it off of a lot of towers, and that was going to take forever so we went back to basics.”

  What Spidermonkey and Novak did was simple. I wish I’d thought of it. They asked themselves why their subject was going to the Fakes site in the first place. It wasn’t to buy and they weren’t using it for voyeurism. There wasn’t enough time spent. So if you’re not a faker, you’re a fakee. He went back to when they accessed the site for the first time two years ago. They looked through blond and busty, where Catherine was. They saw Catherine, but didn’t focus on her pictures. They did focus on another model, younger and less busty. Novak got a list of who bought the pictures and videos of that model and then went about weeding through those names using Rolla as the denominator. One name popped up immediately, Rolla mechanical engineering student, Austin Pratt. From there it was easy. Austin Pratt was a swell guy that dated Emma Ryder for a year. She dumped him after she caught him humping another girl in her bed. Then, he deep faked her, posting porn videos with her face everywhere he could think of, including sending them to her mother. Austin was the guy my mom warned me about, but Emma had her revenge. She put the Frightful Five to work and they failed him out of school, repossessed his car, and gave him three hundred traffic tickets. He was currently serving a year for those tickets. To be fair, Austin was pretty much failing anyway and when the cops picked him up for the tickets he was found trying to shoplift a watermelon from Walmart so it seemed fair to me.

  “Is it wrong that I kinda like Emma?” I asked.

  “Oh, I like her, too,” said Spidermonkey. “If she wasn’t going to jail, I’d hire her to help me out. I’ve got more work than I can handle. Speaking of work, did you call for a reason?”

  “I’m a little blown away by your awesomeness and I hate to give you more work, but can you find Rick Madley? He’s Porter Weeks’ accountant.” I smiled at Ward. “The bank has scruples.”