Parker scrolled to the video and tapped the Play button. He turned the phone toward Diana and watched her face go hard with shock as the man in the recording bolted into Miranda’s cube. When he began to examine Miranda’s phone, she let out a gasp.
“My word, Wade. This is outrageous. I’ll call Gloria right away.”
Again he stopped her. “What I need from you, Diana,” he said in his cool investigator’s tone, “is information on this man. I’d like to handle the matter myself.”
She stared at him, the meaning of who he was and what he meant sinking in. Slowly she nodded her head. “I can access the employee records. Give me just a moment. I’ll be discreet.”
She rose and left the room. For an excruciatingly long time, in Parker’s opinion. Though he knew it was only a few moments.
When she returned she had papers in her hand.
“I found him. Fortunately we keep photo IDs on file and cross reference by first and last name. The person on your video seems to be Gabriel Anthony Pierson.”
She laid the papers on the desk and turned them around for Parker to see.
He took in the photo. The shaggy, dirty blond hair, the muscular build. It was the man on his recording all right. He had his head down as if he hadn’t wanted to be photographed. And there was something in his eyes. Something most observers would miss.
A distance, a detachment, a desire to be elsewhere. And a tiny spark of hate. Parker had seen the look before in the eyes of hardened criminals. That thought was disturbing.
“He worked for us from November of last year through January,” Diana said.
Parker scanned the data on the paper. “Yes, I see that. Left without notice.”
“Too many do that, I’m afraid. But Gloria worked a few extra shifts herself until Pierson could be replaced.”
“I appreciate that,” Parker said. Though his attention was on the man’s address. A high-rise on Ponce de Leon. He hoped that was still his residence.
He tapped the paper. “May I have a copy of this?”
“This one’s yours, Wade,” Diana said.
“Thank you.” Parker rose. He folded the paper and slipped it into his suit pocket.
Dianna got to her feet as well. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. If there’s anything else I can do to rectify the situation, please let me know.”
Parker patted his jacket. “This is enough. Again thank you, Diana. I can see myself out.” He started for the door.
“Wade, what do you intend to do with that information?”
He turned back, his expression purposely bland. “That remains to be seen.”
As he hurried back up the elevator, Parker felt like a hound on the hunt. At last he had a scent now and he was hell-bent to follow it. A quick check of this Gabriel Pierson’s background and he would be out the door and on his way to midtown.
But as soon as he stepped through the office entrance he was met by Gen.
“Did you forget the meeting?”
He scowled. “Which meeting?”
“Reviews. Judd and Tan are already in the board room. I’ve got lunch coming. You didn’t see the delivery man, did you?”
Gen was in full business mode. A slate gray suit with an elegant sheen over her slim body, a string of gold at her neck, modest pumps on her feet, eyes eager, body poised and ready to take charge of the world.
Quarterly reviews. How could he have forgotten? They were due by the end of next month and he always insisted on turning all the paperwork in early.
With a heavy sigh, he acquiesced. “Very well, Gen. I’ll be there in a moment. I just need to drop something off in my office first.”
“Don’t be late, Dad.”
Despite his frustration Parker smiled at her tenderly. His talented daughter would do well managing the business side of this agency.
“No intention of it,” he said resisting the urge to kiss her on the cheek.
And he hurried off.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was quarter past two, almost two hours later, when Parker finally made it out the front door and into the parking lot.
With the fervor of a lion prowling for prey he climbed into his Madza and spun out of the lot heading for midtown and Gabriel Anthony Pierson’s apartment. The background check he was running on the man hadn’t finished but he hadn’t bothered to wait for it. An in person visit was what the situation called for.
What would he say to the man once he found him? Split his lip in two was his first inclination.
Not the best way to get the proof he needed. Or a conviction for harassment.
No, he would be reasonable. Ask questions, ascertain details, determine motives. And he would record the conversation on his phone.
But forty minutes later, after he had knocked, gotten no response, and picked the lock to apartment nine-twenty-nine of the high rise, all Parker could do was stare at the silent living room he stood in.
Everything from the perfectly placed cushions on the light green couch, to the lack of dust on the artificial flowers, to the empty refrigerator in the spotless kitchen told him this was a model. Besides a cleaning man could never afford an apartment like this. Not without several roommates to share the cost. Or a benefactor.
Gabriel Anthony Pierson had given his former employer a false address.
But to be thorough, Parker would make certain of that by checking with the landlord.
He found the landlord’s office on the first floor. It was actually a small rental unit turned into a workspace and stuffed with glossy oak veneer filing cabinets and a matching pressboard desk which was cluttered with pamphlets and other sales paraphernalia. The desk had been pushed up against a set of balcony doors and a young man sat behind it.
Parker waited for him to get off the phone.
“Mr. Hunter?” Parker said as soon as he did, eyeing the name plate on the desk.
“Yes, how can I help you today?” The young man sat straight up with a bright salesman’s smile.
He seemed to be in his early twenties, perhaps newly graduated from college. He had a clean cut appearance. The stream of light from the doors cast a sheen on the styling gel of his short brown hair. His nails were neatly trimmed and he wore a nicely pressed suit and a crimson tie.
“My name is Wade Parker.”
Hunter extended a hand along with a wide, toothy grin. “It’s your lucky day, Mr. Parker. We’re offering a move-in special with the first month free.”
Parker smiled at him patiently. “I’m not in the market.” He reached into his jacket for a card and handed it to Hunter. “I’m a private investigator.”
“Oh?” The young man dropped the false smile. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m looking for someone who claims to have rented from you. It was in November of last year.” The time Gabriel Pierson filled out his employee records for Gypsum Management would be a good guess. “I’m wondering if you can confirm that for me.”
Hunter’s thin brows rose. “You mean look up the rental records?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Eyes wide Hunter adjusted his seat, then his tie, then he glanced around the office. He was the only one here. “I think I’d need to get some sort of clearance before I did that.”
Again Parker smiled. “I’m simply looking for information, Mr. Hunter. Your boss doesn’t need to know.”
The young man’s lips twisted back and forth. He uttered a nervous laugh. “Now that wouldn’t be very ethical of me, would it? But I can take down the information, check with my boss and get back to you. What’s the name of the party?” He reached for a sticky pad and a pen from a holder with the apartment’s name etched on it.
“Gabriel Anthony Pierson,” Parker said smoothly. “My information states he resides in unit nine-twenty-nine, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone at home.”
Hunter sat back and tossed the pen on his desk. “Nine-twenty-nine is our model.”
Parker feigned surprise. “Is it?”
/>
Looking dazed Hunter stared out the window a long moment then suddenly he turned to his keyboard and began to type. “P-i-e-r-s-o-n?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Parker wondered what had changed the young man’s mind.
After a moment Hunter stopped typing and stared at his screen.
“What is it?”
Hunter licked his lips and twisted nervously in his chair before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no record of a Gabriel Anthony Pierson renting any of our units in the past year.”
“Did you check under the last name alone?”
He nodded. “Pierson. Gabriel Pierson. G.A. Pierson. There was no one by that name.”
Parker had been afraid of that. It only added to the incriminating image he’d seen on the surveillance recording last night. He needed to get back to the office and examine that background check.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hunter. I appreciate your efforts.” He turned to go.
“It’s really funny. A weird coincidence, I guess.” Hunter’s voice had a strange tone.
With a frown Parker turned back. “What is?”
“You’re the second person today to ask about that unit.”
“The model?”
He nodded. “Yes. A woman was in here earlier asking who rented nine-twenty-nine.”
Parker’s chest tightened. “A woman?”
“Yes, sir. Dark haired, pretty, well dressed. Very insistent.”
Parker blinked at the man, hoping he’d misunderstood him. “May I ask her name?”
Hunter hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “She left a card. Let’s see. Where did I put it?” He scanned his desk and found it under a paperweight. “Here is it. Miranda Steele. She’s a private investigator, too.”
Hunter handed him the card.
Reaching for it Parker felt as if the young man had stabbed him in the chest. Stunned he ran a thumb over the embossed lettering as he studied the card a moment.
A plain white background with no logo. Her name, new address and phone number were printed in a simple font. The sensation in his chest grew tighter. Confusion peppering his brain.
How could Miranda be looking for Gabriel Pierson?
He turned the card over. There was handwriting on the back. “What’s this?”
“Oh,” Hunter said, “that’s the person she was looking for. I wrote it down there. Who was it again?”
Parker read the writing on the back. “Thomas Anthony Drew.” Same middle name.
“Yes, that was it. Thomas Anthony Drew.”
There had to be some sort of mistake. “Are you sure Ms. Steele was asking about unit nine-twenty-nine?”
“Yes. Very sure,” Hunter said. “It was only a few hours ago. I was just about to close for lunch when she came in.”
Parker drew in a slow breath, a barrage of questions churning inside him. He’d run a background check on this Thomas Anthony Drew when he returned to the office.
He handed the card back to Hunter. “Thank you again for your time.”
The young man turned the card over, the dazed look in his eyes returning. “Weird coincidence…” he said again
“What is?”
“That guy never rented from us either.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
After her visit to the landlord, Miranda hadn’t had time to think about what to do next.
On her way back to her car from the apartment building where Thomas Anthony Drew didn’t live, she’d gotten another call from Chambers, whining about the things she’d taken from Drew’s Hyundai last night.
She rolled her eyes. He had the VIN number. He could get anything he wanted from that. Realizing that fact, she peppered him for information. But he knew less about Drew than she did.
Only because she wanted to stay on the police detective’s good side, whatever that was, she drove back to her office and started making photocopies of everything on the used copy machine she’d bought when she’d purchased the furniture and office doodads at the thrift store.
As they say, you get what you pay for. The thing broke on the first try.
Actually, the long lines of black smudge on the paper told her she probably needed toner. Too irritated to mess with it, she decided to use some of Santiago’s cash and headed to a copy shop instead.
She was a mile away from the shop with a nice folder of clean clear copies when her notorious client called. He wanted an update, of course.
“I’m working on it, Carlos,” she told him trying not to let her annoyance show.
“I want copies of the ID photo of that sucio bastardo.”
More copies? “Why?”
“I want to circulate it. Some people in the club are remembering him.”
It was grasping at straws to hope anyone at the club could remember a detail that would tell her where Tommy Drew was now, but just in case, she turned the car around and headed back to the copy shop.
She made twenty copies, drove out to the club and gave them to Santiago to distribute. One of the bouncers told her he now remembered Drew and gave her a height and weight description that matched the information on the driver’s license. But that didn’t tell her where Drew was.
This guy was good, she thought, as she sat in traffic on Piedmont. He knew how to cover his tracks.
So what was the next step?
She could hand over the papers to Chambers and bring him up to speed. He’d want to notify Hannah Kaye’s parents. Probably put them on TV and blast the media with photos of the missing college student.
The case would be out of her hands then.
And the media coverage would drive Thomas Anthony Drew deeper underground.
The troubling thought pressing in on her, she switched on her windshield wipers. The rain she’d smelled earlier had started up. The light turned green. Two cars in front of her got through and she had to stop again.
She let out a groan.
She didn’t want to drive out to the police station. She wasn’t ready to turn things over to Chambers. But she had only one ace in her hand left. The GPS tracker on Hannah Kaye’s car. If it hadn’t crashed by now.
Only one way to find out. Turning out of the traffic and onto a side street, she decided to head home.
Chambers could wait.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It took Miranda another twenty minutes to get back to her apartment, but at least the rain had decided to stop and the sun was shining again.
Her stomach on the other had was rumbling like a semi with a bad muffler. She’d only had a protein bar all day and it was almost four o’clock.
She went into her kitchen and reached for her trusty bag of corn chips. She had just jammed a fistful into her mouth when her cell rang.
It was Chambers again.
Didn’t that guy have a life?
Slowly she finished chewing and decided to let it go to voice mail. She got herself a cold bottle of water from the fridge, washed down another couple of handfuls of chips. But before she could get out the salsa, he called again.
“What?” she barked into the phone.
“Where are my papers?”
“Your papers?”
“The papers you were bringing to me two hours ago?”
“I got tied up. I’ve got a business to run, you know.”
“Look Steele. I’ve got to run fingerprints on everything from that car.”
She suppressed a groan. “Why? You’ve got all the available intel on the guy.”
“Because it’s protocol.”
Stuffy old bureaucrat. From what she remembered Chambers had always been a rule follower.
“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a little bit.” She came around her card table to see what percentage her GPS tracker was stuck at. “Just let me—”
She froze and stared at the screen.
Chambers voice registered in her ear. “Steele? You still there?”
She barely heard him.
All she could hear was the
low beeping noise. The beeping that matched the flashing circle on a map. The tracker had worked.
“Steele! What’s wrong, dammit?”
She found her voice. “I found it.”
“Found what?”
“What do you think? Hannah Kaye’s car.”
“I was supposed to—never mind. Where is it?”
She grabbed her mouse and clicked at the map. It was west about thirty miles from here. She gave him the general area. It would take her a while to get there. She didn’t have a minute to spare.
“Sorry, Chambers,” she told him, excitement in her voice. “I gotta go.”
“Don’t go out there alone, Steele.”
“Don’t have time to wait for an escort, Chambers.”
“You had better if you want to stay alive.”
He was assuming the worst. She was sick of the big boys trying to protect the little girl. “I can take care of myself. If you’re concerned, meet me out there.”
She knew he would. And it would be good to have backup. But she wanted to get there first.
She hung up.
She raced into her bedroom, grabbed a spare clip for her Berretta from the drawer, packed up her laptop and shot out the door as fast as she could go.
With any luck, Hannah Kaye might still be alive.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Parker sat in his office staring at his computer screen, a contemplative finger under his chin.
He didn’t want to acknowledge the disturbing emotions rumbling in his chest. He didn’t want to admit what he’d discovered. He didn’t want to admit this task was going to be a lot more difficult than he’d first thought.
But there it was, right on his screen.
The cleaning man, Gabriel Anthony Pierson, had a spotless record. No arrests, no warrants, no judgments of any kind. He also had no wife, no children, and no siblings. And interestingly enough, no history before the past three years.
Parker knew identity theft when he saw it. And so he’d spent the afternoon doing some deeper digging. And he’d discovered exactly what he’d expected to find.
The real Gabriel Anthony Pierson.
He was a carpenter who’d lived and worked in Macon, Georgia all his life. He’d attended the First Baptist Church there. He had a wife, three children, eight grandchildren, and six great grandchildren.
Smoke Screen (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 7) Page 17
