Impulse Spy (Sonic Sleuths Series)

by Carrie Ann Knox

  I was letting myself be drawn in again; I had no reason to care about this drama. “Listen, I just can’t get involved. This man’s soon-to-be ex-wife has the power to ruin my career. She could set me back at least a year in graduating, and I bet she wouldn’t hesitate to do so if she found out I was following her around. She’s not someone I want to mess with. So I have to end this. No more."

  “I understand completely. But here’s the thing: he’s not her soon-to-be ex-husband anymore. He’s her deceased husband.”

  I put my coffee down slowly, unsure I had understood. “Deceased? What do you mean . . . I thought these pictures were from last night.”

  “They were. It seems that drinking wasn’t all he did last night. He later overdosed in his hotel room. They found him this morning.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  Sloan nodded somberly.

  I looked at the man in the photos again. “Well, he was an addict. You saw him relapsing yourself. It’s very sad, but I don’t know what it has to do with us.”

  Sloan narrowed her eyes. “You don’t find it just the slightest bit suspicious?”

  I hesitated, unsure. “Why, do you have any reason to believe there’s something suspicious about it? Did Richard or his wife go there that night?”

  “No. But someone did.” Sloan laid another stack of photos on the table.

  I recognized the slightly ajar door on the first image and whispered. “The camera you planted outside the hotel room?”

  Sloan nodded. “That’s how I found out about his death. I started receiving constant photos of activity going on. It looks like the maid found him. Then the authorities arrived. It wasn’t long before they took him away. No big to-do, no crime scene tape. Open and shut case to them.”

  “But you’re not so sure.”

  She shrugged. “The night he died, I snapped photos of him drinking. The camera planted in the hall tells me he went back to his room a couple of hours later, looking inebriated.”

  Sloan turned to the next photo, showing the man in the doorway to his room. In front of him stood a thin male with his back to the camera. He was wearing an oversized navy hooded sweatshirt and ripped jeans.

  She continued. “Soon after, this mystery guy shows up and comes in for a while. It’s about 3 a.m. when he leaves again. Here’s a better look at him.” She flipped over the final photo, of the visitor on his way out. He looked young, maybe early twenties, with greasy hair and multiple facial piercings.

  Sloan pointed to his sweatshirt, where there was a logo of Japanese characters printed in white along the arms. “I didn’t pay attention to him at the time, but this sleeve is in the photos at the bar, drinking next to Carter. They could’ve met there.”

  I looked at Sloan with skepticism. “Or that could easily be a friend or his dealer. It’s very sad, but I still don’t know what it has to do with us.”

  “It’s true, it could be.” Sloan looked me carefully in the eye. “But you don’t find it suspicious that the ex-husband shows back up—Richard is clearly angry about it for some reason—and two days later the man is dead?”

  I thought about it. “It’s a little suspicious, I guess. But again, he was an addict. We can’t jump to any conclusions.” I felt uneasy talking about someone’s death so clinically. “And now I certainly don’t need to be involved any further. I can’t be anywhere near this man’s death.”

  “But I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I want to find out the truth. Because if anything funny did happen we may be involved, whether we like it or not.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

  Sloan pulled the rest of the photos from her lap and laid them in a stack in front of me. “The night after you peeped in Carolyn’s house, while you were busy dodging me—I followed Richard to see what else he was up to.”

  In the first photo I could make out Richard, but I couldn’t place the other man. He was almost as big as Richard, but his bulk looked stronger, more powerful. A shadow of salt and pepper stubble covered his lower face. Their dark suits looked out of place in what appeared to be an alley of some sort.

  “Who is that?”

  Sloan shook her head. “Don’t know yet.” She pointed to the picture. “But this is Richard pulling out a large wad of cash. He hands it over the mystery man—late at night between two deserted buildings.”

  I eyed the photo more closely. “Sort of an odd place for two well-dressed men to conduct business.”

  She nodded and turned to the next photo, showing Richard reaching his hand to the other man. “They have a tense little discussion. In the end, Richard hands him something else, small like a business card or a note, and they go on their separate ways. I wasn’t able to follow the man in time without being detected. I had to sneak a little ways on foot just to get the pictures.”

  I tried to sort out the situation. “I’m still not following. This does seem weird, but what does it have do with everything?”

  “It’s the timeline. We show the pictures to Richard, unwittingly alerting him that Carolyn’s husband is back. He rushes to her in a fury to discuss it. The following night, he’s handing over cash to a seedy character in a dark alley.” She picked up her coffee and sat back in her seat. “Less than thirty-six hours later, this same husband is found dead.”

  My stomach sank. When you put it that way, it was impossible to ignore the possibility that something more had taken place.

  Sloan shrugged. “Maybe it’s all a coincidence. But I can’t ignore the fact that if something did happen, we played a part in this. We gave Richard the photos that could’ve set off the entire chain of events.”

  The reality of that set in. I felt a wave of guilt for having ever gotten involved in the first place.

  “We need to take this to the police then. Let them sort it out.”

  Sloan shook her head. “Can’t. First of all, the hidden camera at the hotel was totally illegal. Those pictures are just for us. But I’d also never work again if I went straight to the police with incomplete information—information I obtained while tailing my own client. If it turned out to not be true, no one would ever trust me to investigate for them. I have to find out the truth first.” She shrugged. “Besides, do you really want to notify Carolyn Evans that we were following her and her husband, before we’re sure what happened?”

  She had a point. “But what if he did it?”

  “If we find evidence that Richard had anything to do with this, I will personally hand him over. Preferably with his case tied up in a little bow.” She gave me a direct look. “But if we played any part in this, we owe it to the man that died. We have to figure out what happened. And I need your help.”

  Ten

  I had set an alarm for Saturday morning, but my fitful night’s sleep ended far before any warning would come. I didn’t want to dig myself any deeper into this potential scandal, but I couldn’t see any other way. Sloan was right. I couldn’t live with the uncertainty.

  There was no way but forward, until we discovered the truth. My only hope was that we would find nothing unseemly, and I could go back to my safe, quiet life with a clear conscience.

  In the afternoon I dressed in a white button-up and black pencil skirt, as instructed, and headed back to the parking lot of Westbrook Trading. Sloan was waiting for me in her car. There was only one other vehicle in the lot. I was curious what we were doing at the deserted office on a Saturday.

  “Welcome to Westbrook,” Sloan said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  As she let us into the hulking corporate office I noted that we were wearing matching outfits, although my typical black flats were shown up by her shiny heels. But before I could question her, we turned a corner and came face to face with a petite curly-haired brunette. I startled slightly. She looked just as surprised to see us.

  “Oh, it’s just you,” she said. “I’m in here after hours all the time, but it’s still creepy when you’re here all by yourself.”<
br />
  “I’d be creeped out all the time if I worked directly for Richard Westbrook,” Sloan said. “Quinn, meet Hannah Porter. Richard’s assistant and our inside man.”

  We exchanged greetings.

  Hannah looked us over, humored. “What’s with the Bobbsey twins thing?”

  “She just likes to copy me.” Sloan grinned, ignoring my scoff. “Quinn’s helping me check into some things. And we could use your help.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Access. Your boss is still keeping things from me, even though he hired me to consult for him. There are many things I need to take into consideration, including his personal finances. And he just doesn’t seem to get it.”

  Hannah nodded knowingly. “He can be pretty stubborn.”

  “So could you do us a favor and give us access to his computer?”

  Hannah tucked her thick mane behind one ear, looking wary.

  Sloan continued. “I need to know the full picture before I can advise him. Something funny is going on. The company could be in trouble.”

  Hannah looked a little alarmed at her statement. “But you can’t tell me exactly what you’re checking into?”

  Sloan shook her head. “Sorry. Still can’t. But if it makes you feel better, the contract Richard signed gives me access to his information as a client. I can send you a copy. I’d just rather not have him fight it and try to hide things from me, against his own interests.”

  Hannah bit her lip, considering the request. Finally she shrugged. “Well, he did hire you. Okay. But this is just between us. And I’ll need to watch.”

  “Better than that. You can help.”

  We followed Sloan down the hall to an expansive office with a large carved dark wood desk. One wall was mostly glass overlooking greenery to the side of the building.

  Sloan settled into the chair behind the desk and started the computer. “First things first—you know the password to the computer?”

  Hannah leaned over and typed in the code. I inched closer, feeling awkward about the invasion.

  “We’re in.” Sloan looked to me. “Where would you start?”

  “Um, email?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Sloan started his email client. It opened without prompting for a password.

  We quickly skimmed emails in his office account. Nothing jumped out. A focus on communications between Richard and his brother indicated nothing noteworthy.

  “So what exactly do they do here, anyway?” I asked Hannah while Sloan continued to scroll and click. “Money management, right?”

  “Right. Some long-term investments. Retirements, that sort of thing. But the big money is in short-term investments. Trying to beat the market. It’s like a game to them. A very intense, high-stakes game.”

  I checked out the room. Nothing out of place, the office was spare but expensive. The traditional nailhead trimmed leather armchairs and heavy woods contrasted with the modern glass-walled building. I noted a lack of photos or anything remotely personal-looking.

  “Meetings, instructions, appointments.” Sloan sounded bored. “This would take forever to go through, but so far it just looks like mundane office stuff. I doubt anything funny would come through there anyway. Does he have a personal email?”

  “Actually, yes,” Hannah said. “But I don’t think he even knows I’ve seen it.”

  Sloan offered the mouse and Hannah maneuvered to a list of bookmarks in his internet browser. Once again it instantly logged in and an inbox appeared on the screen. One new email was waiting. The subject line was blank.

  Sloan clicked to open. The email contained only two lines. I am getting impatient. You will not like me impatient. There was no signature.

  “Well, that’s a little ominous. Any idea who that is?”

  Hannah shook her head. “The username looks like random letters. Never seen it before.”

  Sloan marked the email as new to make it appear unopened and continued into the older emails in the account. Old reservation confirmations and receipts. Some email marketing. Very little personal communication, except for a few emails back and forth about commitments with what looked to be extended family members. None from any obvious spouse.

  But several emails from his son, all signed ‘B’. They all addressed him as Dad and began with some basic pleasantries, before begging for substantial sums of money.

  “I knew it,” Hannah suddenly exclaimed from behind us.

  Sloan and I looked up in surprise.

  She was gaping at the screen. “He’s always implied that he’s living off some giant trust fund or something. But really he’s just mooching off his father every chance he gets.”

  Sloan pointed to the screen. “I take it you know his son?”

  Hannah raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t mention that? Blaine is Richard’s son.”

  Sloan and I exchanged a look before she spoke. “Blaine, your boyfriend? The bartender?”

  “Yes, that Blaine. That’s how we met. I’ve been working for Richard for a while, unfortunately. Blaine eventually came along and laid on the charm.”

  “Yeah, you left that part out,” Sloan said, musing.

  I leaned into the conversation. “If Richard is his father, why is he bartending? Seems like an odd choice.”

  “He’s always said he was taking a break, sort of ‘finding himself’ before he settled down into starting his own company or something. But really he’s just a lazy twenty-six year-old freeloading off his parents.”

  Sloan grinned. “Well, it looks like his father has the same opinion. His responses here seem to get increasingly reluctant to hand over more dough.”

  “Good,” Hannah said, indignant. “You know, I don’t care that he doesn’t actually have money. But he’s been lying to me all this time. I thought he was a budding entrepreneur, just plotting his dream investment. No wonder he never wants to talk about his plans.”

  I let a small chuckle slip out at the thought. Both of them turned at the sound.

  “Sorry, no offense,” I said. “I just had trouble picturing him as any kind of business prodigy. But I don’t know him at all.”

  “No, that’s okay.” Hannah looked between Sloan and I. “I take it you’ve met him, then. So did you guys check him out? What did you find?”

  “We did,” Sloan said. “And let’s just say—if I were an investor, I would not put my money on Blaine turning out to be a good long-term investment, business or relationship-wise.”

  Hannah sighed, looking disappointed. “That’s it. I’m dumping him.”

  Sloan quickly continued. “But we really don’t have enough information yet. No real proof.” She glanced quickly to me, her eyes narrowing with an idea before returning to Hannah. “Don’t do anything just yet. Let us dig a little deeper first. Maybe he’s just a big flirt for tips. Apparently he is broke, after all.”

  Hannah returned a reluctant smile and shook her head. “I don’t know how exactly I can break up with my jerk of a boss’s son without ramifications, anyway. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Can’t help you there. Although he does have his charms.” Sloan gave her a sympathetic smile and turned back to the computer screen. “In the meantime, let’s see what else we can find out about Papa Moneybags. I saw bank names listed in his browser bookmarks. Can you get into those?”

  Hannah nodded. “Everything is set to log in automatically. If you know the password to his computer, you basically know the password to it all.”

  “Not very security-minded, is he? He could use a little consulting on his data protection, too.”

  Accessing his bank accounts? I was beginning to be concerned with my participation in this little venture. “Um, is this legal?”

  “We’re sort of working in a couple of gray areas here,” Sloan said. She looked to Hannah. “I assume you know how to get into these accounts because he has you access them on his behalf sometimes?”

  Hannah nodded, looking just as concerned about the legality as I
was.

  “Then he’s set a precedent that you’re allowed to see them. You have a ‘reasonable expectation’ that you have permission. We aren’t touching anything, just looking. Plus, like I said, his contract has clauses that give me permission to access his information if needed in the process of my inquiry. So I’d rather not advertise our access to him, but I’m not worried about it either.”

  I felt a little better, although I had no idea whether any of that were legally true. At least I hadn’t physically done any prying so far.

  Sloan logged into the first bank website listed. Two accounts appeared.

  Hannah spoke up, sounding a little uncomfortable. “So, what is it you’re looking for?”

  “Anything unusual that explains some questionable incidents. There may be criminal activity occurring right under his nose.” Always as vague as possible, expertly avoiding outright lies.

  She clicked to access the first account. “Checking account. Not exactly empty, but I’ve seen the guy’s house. I would expect a little more padding in his account to cover his overhead.” She browsed through the history. “Large credit card payments and regular ATM withdrawals, on top of what looks like the usual monthly expenses. Adds up to much more than the generous paychecks deposited. He’s been transferring in chunks from his savings the last six months to stay afloat.”

  Sloan switched our view to the savings account and scrolled quickly through the history. Her eyebrows went up when she reached the end of the accessible data. “His savings sure have taken a hit from all the withdrawals. He used to transfer in a ton every month. Now it only flows out, and is dwindling fast.”

  “Maybe he’s not the problem,” I said. “Is he married?”

  “Divorced,” Hannah answered. “She dumped the selfish jerk years ago.”

  “Well, there were several banks on the list,” I pointed out. “Maybe he’s putting it somewhere else.”

  “Good point.” Sloan logged out and moved on to the next bookmark. “Nope, this one’s a credit card.”

  I looked over the numbers. “Whoa, a big credit card. Surely that can’t be the balance.”