by Eden Sharp
A person's bank account laid out a map of their life. Their charge cards acted like GPS, showing where they traveled to, where they ate, the amount of times they frequented certain places, even whether they had a mistress or a shrink. They established a routine. Pinned people down. From these sorts of patterns it would be easy to establish the best time to move Rawlings’ money.
Acting or, at the very least, voice impersonation, also played a major role when making transfers by phone so it was important to take the time to sound like the account holder. Software called AstroSWITCH had voice changing functionality and would make me sound like a man. It also facilitated call spoofing and forwarding so I could ensure that the telephone number Rawlings had registered with the bank appeared on their caller ID. Some banks checked this and used it as further verification.
When everything was set up and ready, all I would have to do would be to make a call to the telephone banking line of Rawlings’ branch and answer any questions they asked as if I were him in a cool, calm, and collected way, requesting a transfer in an acceptable amount in comparison to his balance and history ratio. I would request that it be transferred to a secured drop account and from there it would be forwarded via a series of additional accounts to render it completely untraceable.
When the money reached its final destination account, regular periodic payments would be made to the Children at Risk Foundation in Thailand which supported several orphanages. Street children rescued from the sex trade would have one more generous but anonymous overseas benefactor.
I got myself some water and looked forward to getting some sleep.
TWENTY-TWO
Barstow
It was only eight in the morning but Barstow was rinsing his third cup of coffee when Ortiz and Aaron walked in the room.
Ortiz's cell rang. He glanced down at it then over at Aaron.
'Guess who? Thought he'd still be banging the chief.'
He answered the call and listened.
'No. No one's showed so far. Okay, got it.'
Ortiz fixed his gaze on Aaron.
'Barstow looks like you're with me today. Captain wants more team integration.'
Neither man looked in his direction. Barstow felt like the wallflower at the prom. After a chewing out by Ortiz regarding the warrant, being the new guy wasn't getting any easier.
Jordan appeared in the squad room. He looked over at Ortiz.
'We got the instructions for the exchange on the wire.'
'All right let's see what we can give the captain before he breaks into another sweat about his profile.' Ortiz and Aaron followed Jordan out of the room and didn't give him a second look.
Barstow refilled the flask and put on another pot of coffee to keep busy. Barista with a badge. He went over by Ortiz's desk and stared at the traffic joining the freeway and felt like the window dressing he was.
Ortiz returned with the captain.
'They just set up the exchange. I've put a tail on the courier,' Ortiz said.
Kraner threw a smile in Barstow's direction. 'Get everything on film.'
Angela McGlynn
Coffee and the extended sleep had made me feel brand new. It was just before noon and I was hungry so I tried to decide if I should go for something breakfast-related or not as I hung on the phone and listened to it ringing.
'Good morning Secora Hardwoods, Pamela speaking, how may I help you today?'
I wondered if the woman would listen and respond to my question or just continue on with her preordained script. I was tempted to call back three minutes later to see if she remembered to change it to good afternoon.
'Morning. I'd like to make an appointment to see Mr. Secora today.'
'Oh I'm afraid Mr. Secora is going to be out of the office for a few days. Perhaps I can help you with something?'
'I hope so Pamela. That would be great. Is Mr. Secora contactable? Because I need to speak with him urgently about a confidential matter of a personal nature.'
That should cause a panic. She had no information as to my status except the words confidential and personal and they could connote either an important big money client or a close family friend. The word urgent also made it a time-limited problem. I listened to her vocalizing her interior thought process.
'Well he is taking a few days’ vacation. But only at home. But I'm afraid I'm not authorized to give out that number.'
Yahtzee.
'Don't worry Pamela, I have it and you have been more than helpful.'
You can now breathe a sigh of relief Pamela, problem solved.
Employees knew they weren't meant to give out certain information such as home telephone numbers but they were never provided with any training about the value in giving away other information like the boss's location or the fact he was out of the office for a few days.
If I needed access to the company servers, all I would have to do would be to turn up for a fake meeting, pretend to have traveled a long way then discover my error. I had written the calendar appointment in the wrong week. No, there would be no need to disturb the boss on his vacation, especially for such an embarrassing mistake.
Pamela? Perhaps I could just access the company's wifi for a moment so I can print off a report from my laptop to leave him ahead of next week's meeting. Or even better, here take this data stick and print it off your machine, the one that's permanently linked up to the internal network and which won't cause the IT guys any concern. Dumb.
John Knox
Knox made coffee but lacked the enthusiasm for lunch. Losing his appetite was new. He sat on the couch and flicked through a million channels. Skipping the news, he couldn't find anything to watch that didn't involve fishing or hospitals. His cell chirped and he felt his mood lift when he saw the caller ID. McG.
'I'm going to pay a visit to Secora. You want to pick me up?'
'So you need a partner huh?'
Silence.
'Hey if it gets me out of the house.' Knox screwed up his face. 'That sounded sad didn't it? I want that struck from the record.'
'Okay it’s expunged. Meet me in SoMa. I'm having breakfast at a place near Sixth and Howard called Little Anna's.'
'Out late again?'
'See you as soon as.'
Inspector Dean Ortiz
By lunchtime Ortiz was back in the office with the payment and pick up on tape. He bet Kraner would probably skip his usual order at Roma's and go all out. Kraner's knees bobbed like jackhammers expending the energy he couldn't contain as Ortiz pointed to the monitor and gave a running commentary of how it had gone down.
Kraner banged his fist down on his desk.
'Bring this Toma guy in with Lewan. We've got solid surveillance on the drop, pick up and payment.'
'I say we leave them in play. There's no hurry to make an arrest. Let's wait and see who else gets caught up. See who Toma tries to sell to. Create more opportunities to flip someone else prepared to go up against Secora,' Ortiz said.
He almost thought Kraner wasn't going to buy it.
'All right, but I want this wrapped up soon. I got a meeting in a few days. Brass want progress.'
Ortiz smiled. 'You're the boss.'
Ortiz was twenty minutes into his report when he saw Jordan stick his head around the door.
'We got them on the line.'
He moved next door and sat next to Aaron giving Barstow a turn in front of the computer screen monitoring the conversation. Vincent Toma's voice played on the line.
'I got the shipment but it wasn't what I ordered. The quality's real bad, only worth half what I paid.'
'That's impossible. Let me go sort this out. Whatever the problem I will make this right,' Secora said.
The call disconnected but almost immediately Secora came back on the wire.
'How's things?'
'Lewan,' Aaron said. Ortiz nodded.
'Hey how are you doing? We got a problem here. The client says the white oak was sub-standard,' Secora said.
A pause
from Lewan. 'It was perfect.'
'I know what it should have been but he's insisting he should have only paid half.'
Lewan's voice raised a notch. 'Look you know me. This guy's obviously some asshole on the make. I'm telling you the quality was top grade.'
Secora hung up.
'All our hard work with Secora's shitbag of a cousin is about to pay off, we're in play, Ortiz said.
He took out his cell and dialed Glen Secora.
'This is it Glen,' he said. 'Tell your cousin you've heard someone called Shark is offering ten K for a hundred and fifty thousand and ask him if he can spot you the money. Tell him it's in a container at Hunter's Point.'
Ortiz wished he could be there to see Secora go ballistic.
Ten minutes later a call came through on the line. A thin reedy voice relayed the offer Ortiz had proposed.
'I know we got our issues but I just thought you should know about this 'cause we're family right?'
Secora came over calm and measured. 'What's the name of this guy making the offer?'
'I don't know his actual name, just calls himself Shark. Says the lumber's in a container at Hunter's Point.
Secora's blood pressure would be increasing now, his heart speeding up with the extra volume. Toma represented an important new contact for him.
'Call your friend and make arrangements for a buy. I'll have the money ready.'
The call clicked off. They watched as Vincent Toma's number lit up on the monitor. Secora came back on the line.
'I've worked with my guy for years but he fucked us. I'm going to put this right and take care of the whole situation I can assure you. Trust me this won't happen again.'
'You work out your enemy's weaknesses then you exploit them,' Ortiz said. 'Now we flip Lewan.'
He shot Aaron a look and nodded his head toward Barstow.
'Go get the car. Bring him along.'
TWENTY-THREE
Angela McGlynn
From Sixth, I had Knox take Market, Taylor, Ellis and Larkin, directed him up Hyde, over the bumps and across Nob Hill, into Russian Hill and to our destination in Greek Street. I scanned the few cars which were parked up and down at the curb. None of them registered as a surveillance team. No vans either. Anyone hanging out on the street during daylight was soon going to attract a nosy neighbor and the possibility of them calling in a patrol to cruise by. Unless of course the dispatch had been alerted.
I had Knox drive down and out again then turn round and came back facing the other way, the same side as the property but a few buildings down. I put my weapon in the glove box next to his and told him to wait in the car.
I took in the house on foot. Someone had re-imagined what would have been a former Victorian residence, judging by the property in the rest of the street, into a faux Italianate villa. Visible in the gap between high, squared-off laurel hedging fronted by wrought iron fencing, neoclassical arches and columns framed eight-feet-high windows spanning across a cream marble facade on the second floor. A matching iron balcony ran the entire width and I wouldn't have been surprised to see a toga-clad statesmen emerge as if to address an imaginary crowd gathered below.
Down on the first, a large carved and studded oak door sat behind the gate leading in to a walkway of intricately patterned terracotta paving.
I leaned on the video entry system button and presented my best side to the camera. An unwelcoming, monosyllabic male voice answered almost immediately as if someone was paid to lurk just inside.
'Yeah.'
'I need to speak with Mr. Secora?'
'Who are you?'
'My name is Angela McGlynn. I'm a private investigator. Please tell Mr. Secora that I need to speak with him urgently about his daughter.'
'Unless you got an appointment he's busy.'
Maybe the guy was slow. Best to run it by him again. Add emphasis.
'Tell him it's urgent. It's about his daughter. Or let him find out later that I was here with valuable information and start looking for another job.'
The thought processes would hopefully be kicking in.
'Wait.'
I felt like I was about to have another birthday when the gate finally buzzed open. I walked up the path between clipped hedging, all detailing and waste of space, toward a door opening to reveal a bodybuilding giant who'd spent way too long in the tanning booth. His blue-gray suit jacket strained across his chest which didn't make it easy for him to put his arms down close by his sides.
I stepped inside a cold and empty marbled entrance hall. The jolly orange giant held out a baseball mitt of a hand.
'ID.'
I produced my license but pulled it away when he tried to take it from me. I brought it into view once more and suppressed an urge to tell him you look with your eyes.
'You armed?'
'No.'
With upturned oversized hands, he motioned upward toward the heavens as if trying to lift the mood.
'Jacket.'
I opened it and turned around. He did a semi-expert job at patting me down but was enjoying it way too much. He attempted to lunge a hand inside my jacket and try his luck further.
I caught the underside of his wrist with my left and pulled it out and up, twisting my body and pressing my right hand into the back of his shoulder to increase the pressure. He stood there bent over and awkward, pissed now he was unable to go anywhere unless he went down to his knees.
I was tempted to kick out one of his legs from underneath him and drop him, but a bald man with a large diamond stud in one ear appeared through an archway to break up the party. He drew a pistol and pointed it at me.
I added a little more pressure before the release to discourage any new thoughts forming and held my hands up.
'Your friend needs to get some manners, he's a mauler,' I said.
I turned to Jolly Orange. He was straightening up. Rubbing his wrist.
'I'm sure your mother raised you better than that.'
His compatriot lowered the pistol.
'This way,' he said.
I followed the bald man through to a hallway. He knocked on an open door and stood back to allow me to enter what looked like a study.
A man with dark gray peppered hair sat at a heavy antique desk at the very end of the long narrow room, all dark blue walls and dark wood flooring. I felt like asking stooge number two to hail me a cab.
Adopting the Mussolini approach, so-called because the fascist dictator favored a long walk up to increase his subjects’ nervousness, was a good indicator of the magnitude of an ego. A youthful looking face, which I guessed owed more to botox than boyishness, stared out, impassive to my impending arrival.
As I neared he leaned back, increasing the size of the space he consumed.
'What's this about?'
There was no offer of a seat. He was maintaining high status. Trying to make me uncomfortable.
I knew how to play the game. I leaned forward, placed both hands on the desk, spread my arms wide and towered over him, reversing the status.
He waved a hand in my general direction.
'Sit.'
I paused for a moment because I don't like to follow orders and took in the photograph on his desk. A predictably younger blond wife stared out from the picture. She was standing with her arm around Jaime. The resemblance to Amber Grigson was clearly there.
I sat.
'I'm investigating the disappearance of a young woman similar in looks to your daughter-'
'Step-daughter.'
So the wife came as a package deal.
'Are you aware that Jaime had her purse snatched a few weeks ago?'
'Yes.'
He wasn't giving much away.
'This girl was desperate and-'
'She the one who took it?'
'No but the person who did gave her your step-daughter's charge card and she also had her cell phone. I think her disappearance may be related to the fact that someone mistook her for Jaime.'
I left a big gap.
Let it ride.
Silence. Not shock, or anger, or denial. No questions.
'Do you have any idea who may wish to do you or your family harm Mr. Secora?'
A glint of something crossed his face.
'I'm a successful businessman. I guess I could be a target of some lowlife who'd want to take advantage of me.'
I could be a target. Not my daughter. Me.
'Is there anyone in particular? Disgruntled ex-employee or-'
'Thanks for the heads-up Miss McGlynn but I really need to get on with my work now.'
Dismissed.
'Keep your step-daughter safe Mr. Secora.'
I was half out of my seat when I noticed something change in his face.
'Is that a threat?
It was a serious question but he was smiling. Only the bottom half of his face had responded. Nothing had made its way north to his eyes. His lips were compressed. The only type of people who smiled when they were being serious were dangerous people.
I stood and took a neutral stance. Not submissive but non-aggressive, not provoking any conflict.
'Why would you think I'd be threatening you? I came here to warn you that a family member may be in danger.'
Secora stood up and hooked his thumbs inside his waistband. His fingers framed his genitals, asserting dominance.
'Who hired you?'
I leaned in slightly to make clear the point I was about to make.
'That's confidential.'
I slid one of my cards across the embossed leather surface of the desk.
'In case you can think of anything that may help.'
Every micro-gesture made by his face signaled disdain. I half expected him to curl his lip.
'You can go now.'
Maybe importing hardwood flooring was a cut-throat, competitive business. Maybe everyone who worked in the industry was jumpy and security conscious and employed apes with guns to patrol the house, paranoid that people were being sent to intimidate them. But I thought it was highly unlikely.
