“But—”
“I don’t mean to belittle the work you’ve already done.” He sighed. “But one credit card doesn’t really give us a lot to go on. We need more.”
“I understand that, Sir. And I’m perfectly willing to –”
“To be honest, I’m a little surprised that this is all you came up with after three days of trying. I hate to go back to our original conversation about you being too soft, but a tougher reporter would have accomplished more by now.” He settled his large frame into the chair and gave an accusing look.
Angel fought against feelings of defeat as she tried to explain. “So many things went wrong, Mr. Nigel. But I know I can find more evidence.” She reached for a tissue to dab at her runny nose. “There was a whole stack of credit cards. Maybe I can get my hands on a few of those.”
“That would be helpful, but it’s still not enough. We need hard evidence that pins this crime to these particular people. Mr. Morgan is counting on it. Ida Davidson is depending on it.”
Angel’s heart broke as he spoke the elderly woman’s name. She had nearly forgotten about her in the chaos of trying to crack the case.
Mr. Nigel shook his head. “Poor Ida’s been without a home for the past month. They robbed her blind, you know.”
“I know. You told me. But you never explained how they pulled it off.” Angel pulled out her notepad and pen, prepared to write down the specifics of Ida’s tragic tale. “How did they do it? Maybe her story will give me something to go on.” She sniffled, willing herself not to sneeze.
He didn’t respond for a moment. When he did speak, his words were slow, deliberate. “Started with a phone call,” he spoke slowly. “They, um, told her she had won a trip to the Bahamas. I think it was the Bahamas. Might have been Tahiti. At any rate, they, uh, they made her give up her social security number to confirm. She also offered up her full name and date of birth.”
“Tell me she didn’t.” Angel looked for some sign of hope from Mr. Nigel’s expression.
He shook his head. “She gave it, poor thing. The rest is history.” He leaned back in his chair and it groaned beneath his heavy frame.
Angel scribbled frantically. “What do you mean, the rest is history? What, exactly, did they do?”
“Well. . .” He paused for a moment and looked out the window. “They used the number to open up charge accounts at some of the largest stores in town. She had great credit, which worked to the crooks’ advantage. All in all, they took her for over $30,000.”
Angel wrote down the information as quickly as she could. “That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard.”
“And getting worse every day.” Mr. Nigel sat straight up, eyes growing larger as he continued on. “The bill collectors started calling. She thought she had to pay them, even though she hadn’t charged anything.” The veins in his neck bulged and his words came faster now. “That’s what they told her, anyway. So she used up all of her savings trying to get them to leave her alone.”
Angel’s heart broke as she listened. “Awful.”
“In the end, she lost everything. Like I said, she’s living in a shelter right now. No place else to go.” He sighed and leaned back into his chair once again.
“But Mr. Nigel, I thought the station was going to help her. Start a fund or something. I thought they would take care of her.”
“That’s your job, Angel.”
“My job?” Her heart seemed to leap into her throat. “Ida won’t have a place to stay until I crack this case?”
“If you do your job, she gets to eat. If you don’t. . .” A lengthy pause followed on his end. “Well, I hate to think of what will become of her.” He shook his head and shifted his gaze to the window once again.
Tears formed in Angel’s eyes. “My goodness. I had no idea things were that desperate.”
“They are. And others like her are waiting on you to come through for them, as well. So you see this is no small matter. If you crack this case wide open—if you’re truly the voice of the angels—then you win, KPRC wins, and ultimately the people of Houston win. Do you understand?”
“Yes Sir.” A lone tear dribbled down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away. I’m a tough reporter. I can’t cry.
“So, what’s your plan?”
Angel tried to sound confident as she spoke. “Right now, I’m just getting to know them. I’m trying to figure out how they operate. Picking through the trash isn’t their usual M.O., Sir. Just a fluke, if you ask me. I’ve got a feeling they’re doing most all of their scamming over the phone.” Her words were interrupted by a long fit of coughing. “If I could just find a phone list, I could call some of those people myself and see if they’ve had any problems. Then we could trace everything back to the list. It will be easy enough to establish where the list came from.”
“Of course, this would mean accessing their computers.” Mr. Nigel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Which means you’ll have to go back to their offices at least one more time.”
“Yes sir.”
“Are you computer savvy, Angel?”
“Yes Sir. Not sure how I’ll crack the password, if they have one, but I’ll do my best.”
“Your best is all I’m looking for, Angel. It’s all Ida and Mr. Morgan are looking for, too. That, and some good, solid evidence.”
***
“What you need, Peter, is some good, solid evidence.” Pastor Robert Bradford spoke forcefully. “It’s one thing to accuse someone of stealing, another thing altogether to prove it.”
“I know. I know.” Peter rolled a black ink pen around in his palm. To be honest, he felt guilty even thinking these things about Angel. “I saw her go in the office and come back out with a computer. That’s a start.”
Robert shook his head. “Not good enough. Find the computer. Take it to the police. They can check the serial number to see if it’s been reported stolen.”
“Then there’s the matter of the credit card.”
“Which could have been her own, for all you know,” the pastor said.
“I doubt that, all things considered.” Peter slumped back against the chair. “At any rate, I’m headed back over to Tennyson Towers to track her movements. I’m convinced I can catch her in a compromising position. When I do, I’ll call the police. That’s the only thing I can think of. Let them catch her red-handed. Then it’s out of my hands.”
“Isn’t it already?”
“Well, yes,” Peter said, “but I meant –“ He broke out into a sweat. “There’s a crime being committed here, Rob. I can smell it.”
“I think that’s your aftershave.”
Peter groaned.
“You really want my opinion, right?” His friend’s voice suddenly took on a more serious tone.
“Of course. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Then here’s my suggestion. Take Angel up to the women’s center on Harbor. They’ve got all sorts of programs to help her get back up on her feet again. If that’s what she wants. If not, this is really out of your hands. The best you can offer her is your prayers.”
“But—”
“And leave her in God’s hands. That’s easier said than done, I know.” Robert looked at him quizzically. “To be honest, you’re the one I’m concerned about.”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“I wonder if you’re getting in over your head. This girl is really getting to you.”
“No way.” The ink pen broke under the crushing pressure and black ink escaped all over his hands. Peter scrambled for a tissue and wound it around the offending object. Then he began to rub at his palms to remove the stain.
“Are you sure your interests in her are purely platonic?” Rob asked, as he reached for a tissue. “No romantic interests whatsoever?”
A picture of Angel in that beautiful black dress held him captive for a moment before he finally answered. “I don’t know.” He took the tissue and rubbed at his hands until they turned red. “I’ve never pursued
her, if that’s what you mean. And if I have feelings for her, they started out as platonic and then changed somewhere along the way. But she’s not a believer, Rob. I can’t possibly be interested in someone who’s not a believer. The woman I have in mind for my wife will be ministry-oriented. She’ll be sweet and kind and have a heart for the down and out. She’ll be someone who lives to help people, not steal from them.” He paced around the church office.
“I see your dilemma.” The older man smiled. “The girl you’ve described is nothing like that.”
“That’s the strange thing,” Peter said. “I’ve seen that side of her, too. She sat at dinner and chatted with my mother like they were old friends. She got along great with my dad. Even I can’t do that. She was kind to a total stranger at the dinner table—a client of my father’s.” He dropped his weight down into the chair. “I’m just so confused about all of this. But I want to help her. I do. Not for my sake. Not because I want some sort of trophy of my accomplishment as an evangelist, but because I want to know she can be changed. God can turn her life around.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
His friend shrugged. “Then what will you expect from her?”
“Expect? Nothing.” Peter hadn’t thought about what would happen after the fact. He simply wanted to see Angel clean up her act and become a productive citizen. “Make sure she finds a good church somewhere with friends who can support her?”
“Okay.”
“Help her find her God-given gifts. Give her a taste of a better life.”
“But you’re missing the point, Peter.” Robert stood. “Your motives are good and your heart is pure. That I’m convinced of. But you can’t do the work of the Holy Spirit. Even if she does all of the things you hope she’ll do, you still have to let go and trust God to do what you can’t do. I tell you this to save you from future grief because I know you have a heart to minister to those in the inner city, those in need. You will be used by God to plant many seeds. You’ll probably even water a few. But only God can give the increase. He’s not asking you to carry the whole ball of wax, Peter. That would be too much for any one man.”
Peter clutched the back of the chair. “I know, but—”
“No buts. Do only what the Lord asks of you in each particular case. No more and no less. If you cross the line of service, you’ll render yourself useless.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, God is looking for willing hearts, but He’s not looking to hand people over, like projects, to be ‘fixed’. It doesn’t work like that. Be available, but be just as willing to take your hands off completely should the Lord ask you to.”
“Do you think that’s what he’s asking me now?” He tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat, but found it impossible.
“Only God can answer that question, Peter. But it’s clear you’re emotionally tied to this girl. Maybe the Lord will use you to get Angel on her feet again. Or maybe…”
Peter looked up, as shame washed over him.
“Maybe He’s brought Angel into your life to teach you a thing or two.”
CHAPTER TEN
Peter hid out in the Men’s Room on the first floor of Tennyson Towers. He fidgeted with the keys in his pocket and his nose argued with the aromas that occasionally affronted him, but the outcome would make all of the offenses worthwhile. To steady his nerves, he peeked out of the door every few moments. He hoped to catch a glimpse of Angel entering the building. When he found her. . .
Well, he wasn’t sure what would happen then, but he would do his best to reason with her. If his patience held out. A few moments into the wait, his cell phone beeped. A text message from his mother caused him to groan. “She’s an angel,” it read.
“Maybe in your eyes, Mom,” he muttered. “But you don’t really know the real Angel.” Of course, he didn’t either, but he would remedy all of that today. In just a few minutes, hopefully. He glanced at his watch and sighed.
11:00 a.m.
The moments turned into nearly an hour and Peter grew weary with the process. Still he remained, waiting and worrying. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he contemplated what could have become of her. Had her rough-looking boyfriend hurt her in some way? Was she in trouble?
Suspecting the worst, he had come today for one last shot at talking some sense into her. He would take her to the women’s shelter. If she agreed to go. But first he had to find her and right now that didn’t seem to be happening. He glanced out of the door again, and then apologized for the umpteenth time as someone tried to squeeze in around him.
11:59 a.m.
With a look of sheer determination on that beautiful face, Angel entered the lobby, her tennis shoes squeaking against the tile floor as she made her way in haste. Clearly a woman on a mission. That concerned him. Greatly.
She bounded across the lobby, eyes focused. Peter slipped out of the Men’s room and did his best to follow behind her. She headed for the stairwell. He opted to take the elevator, knowing where she would end up. God, whatever she’s about to do, watch over her. Guard her. Keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life.
***
12:01 P.M.
Lord, protect me. Send your angels to watch over me and don’t let me make a mistake I’ll regret. Angel prayed as she raced up the stairs of Tennyson Tower. She was nervous about the mission ahead, but with God’s help, nothing would slow her down. Not this time. This time she approached the challenge as a chef would approach a soufflé. She would handle it delicately, and the outcome would be satisfying. For Ida Davidson. For all of the others who had been victimized.
Today Angel carried no bucket, no supplies. She dressed in casual clothes, but nothing that suggested any specific occupation. In short, she came unprepared. And yet, in every way, prepared. In her pocket she clutched a thumb drive that would help her access the computer. A keystroker program, or so she had been told by the KPRC’s computer guru, Mark Casey. Pop it in, let the computer boot up off of the drive and a world of information would await - including any passwords. She counted on it.
In her purse, a writeable CD and cell phone also awaited. Any valuable information from the computer would be burned to CD and then she would telephone Mr. Nigel with the necessary information in hand. He would take the ball and run with it and all of this would be out of her hands. Thank goodness.
12:04 p.m.
Armed with a new sense of purpose and destiny, Angel rapped on the door of now-familiar office, though she secretly prayed no one would answer. Time elapsed as she stood in silence. Thank You, Lord. She opened the door as easily as one would pop open a can of soda.
Once inside, Angel’s gaze swept the room for traces of things she might never have seen before. “What could I have missed? Where can I look?” A filing cabinet on the left side of the room caught her attention. She inched her way toward it, deep breaths framing every guarded step.
Top drawer. Locked.
Second drawer. Locked.
Third drawer. Open. Father, help me! She pressed her hand inside, anxious to pull out evidence to support her story. The story that would save lives, homes, families.
Cheese Puffs. A fistful of stiff, orange cheese puffs. Nothing more.
12:07 p.m.
Undaunted, Angel made her way across the room. Firm steps. Heel-toe, heel-toe. “Steady your breathing girl.” She stole like a burglar toward the desk, anxious to access the computer. She eased her way into the large leather chair. Her heart beat in sync with the ticking of the clock to her right. She stifled a sneeze and reached for the mouse. As she did, her hand brushed up against a notepad.
Blank.
Currently blank, that is. Upon further examination, she found the imprint of something that had obviously been written on the sheet above. Angel placed a clean piece of paper over it and rubbed a pencil across it until she could read the words. They would surely provide evidence.
Pepperoni. Large. $
15.95
12:10 p.m.
Angel pulled the necessary thumb drive from her pocket and stuck it in the USB port on the unfamiliar computer. As it booted up, she prayed fervently. As promised, the computers files unfolded like a deck of cards before her.
Password included. She wiped her nose with a tissue as she examined the word, making sure she read it correctly.
Scamme.
“Scam me?” Not very creative.
12:14 p.m.
Angel pulled the diskette out of the computer and re-booted. This time it opened up to the usual access area. She quickly entered the password and the welcome screen with a beautiful picture of a tropical island loaded. Probably someplace they visited using one of those stolen cards.
Angel broke into a long fit of coughing. Her heartbeat marched along in tempo and her hands began to tremble. She looked up toward the door, and prayed no one would enter.
12:15 p.m.
What am I looking for? She fought heavy breaths as the word processing program loaded. Documents, documents… there seemed to be a million of them. She clicked the ‘file’ button to her top left and scrolled through all recently opened documents. What’s this one? She clicked a file titled “masterdb” and prayed. Father, help me. All I need is one good, solid piece of evidence to…
Her heart could hardly contain the joy as the document loaded. A database of names, addresses, phone numbers filled the screen. A carefully constructed file, these guys had everything down to a science—with columns for each stolen item.
Jones in League City. SS#896-07-8563. Marilyn in Galveston, Driver’s License #64512784, Thomas in Houston, Checking Account #5681-869-813 with full routing number beside it.
Everything they would need to buy the world. And then some.
12:21 p.m.
Something in her gut told her there was more. Angel scanned the computer’s programs, stumbling several times over the web-building software. She ignored it until something in her gut allowed her to ignore it no more. She clicked through the program, hoping to find recently opened files. When an index page for a self-constructed web site caught her attention, she accessed it right away.
Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six) Page 9
