Murder.com
Page 9
“Sure,” Luis replied. “I’m off-duty for the day, except for my time with the twins. So make it a double Scotch and water.”
The two men reviewed the bidding for Cynthia over their drinks. They were pleased that Ben Gilbert had come forward and probably solved the two-name puzzle, but they realized they were no closer to solving the bigger poser: the identity of Marina Courtland’s killer. They also explained the roadblock to accessing HallieNYC’s account at Meet.com.
“You boys are slipping,” Cynthia said. “What about Gino Facini? Don’t you think he might know the name of his half-sister’s first pet?”
“Good heavens, of course,” Reuben said a bit sheepishly. “I’ve even got his cell number.” Without another word, he rushed back to his study, retrieved Gino’s number, and called it. Unfortunately, he got voicemail, rather than the young actor himself. Reuben, in turn, asked Gino to call him as soon as possible and then reported back his lack of success to Cynthia and Luis.
“Well, let’s hope he calls and can answer the pet question,” Cynthia said.
“I’ll drink to that,” her husband added.
Sixteen
Password
Gino Facini called shortly after eleven that evening. Reuben was still up and took the call, explaining to Gino the information needed and why.
“She was screwing around with that Internet dating crap?” Gino asked. “She probably was killed by one of the nuts who go in for that stuff.”
Reuben asked the question about her first pet.
“How should I remember that? I was five years older than she was, and she probably had her first pet when she was maybe three and I was eight. She had real crazy names for all the animals she had while we were growing up—Bruno and Carlotta. Much later Marlon—after you know who. She even had a God period—not surprising, given her father—and called a spaniel she had Francis, after Saint Francis. Not to mention Beelzebub, a big black Labrador.”
“But what about the very first one? Try hard, Gino,” Reuben encouraged.
“Okay, it’s coming back to me. The first one I remember was a young kitten named Marian. I teased her about it because the cat was a boy and we had a neighbor, a girl, named Marian. But she was stubborn, as always, even at that age, and insisted on the name. Was that her first pet? I think so. It was the first one I remember, anyway.”
Marian. What an unlikely name. But it was worth a try. Reuben called Luis, who said he’d be over first thing the next morning.
“Let’s hope we’ve got it,” he said.
Thursday morning, the two men did not wait to have coffee before going straight to Reuben’s computer.
“I would have tried this out last night, but I wasn’t entirely sure how you go about it,” Reuben said. Seated at the keyboard of his PC, with Bautista sitting beside him, he asked for the exact name of the site they wanted.
“Meet.com.”
“With an ‘E-E,’ you told me. Here goes.” He typed in the name and an opening screen came up, asking for the user’s ID. Reuben typed in HallieNYC. Then clicked to indicate he had forgotten her password and entered her birth date and Marian in response to the pet-name question. They waited anxiously as the screen disappeared, but anxiety changed to disappointment when an error message reading INCORRECT RESPONSE TO TEST QUESTION came up.
“Damn!” Reuben exploded. “What did we do wrong?”
“I don’t think anything. Try it again.”
Reuben did so, very carefully, but the error message came up again.
Cynthia, passing by at that moment, stuck her head in the door of the study and asked how it was going.
“Badly, very badly,” her husband told her. He explained how the word Marian had been rejected as an answer to the site’s test question.
Cynthia thought about this and then said, “You know, there are two ways of spelling Marian—with an A or with an O.”
Reuben and Luis looked at each other. Hurriedly they tried again, answering Marion to the test question. The message that came on the screen told them that a temporary password was being sent in an email message to Hallie’s account.
“We’re getting there!” Reuben shouted as he retrieved the password, inserted it along with Hallie’s ID, and within seconds reached Meet.com’s home page for members.
“Cynthia, you’re a genius!” he called out to his wife.
“Yes, I’ve often been told that,” Cynthia said, laughing.
Luis got up and shook her hand vigorously and gave her big kisses on both cheeks. “It’s all downhill from here,” he said.
“Not so fast, Luis,” Reuben said. “We’ve got some more digging to do.”
“I’d love to join you boys, but I have a staff meeting at the Foundation this morning, so I’ll have to leave you to your fun.”
“We’ll keep you posted,” Luis told her.
“Let’s see what we have to do now,” Reuben said, as he read the directions on the screen. After some trial and error they found that they could get to the individual profiles of all the men who had communicated with “Hallie.” There were eight, including Ben Gilbert. All had pictures attached except one; none was recognized by either Reuben or Luis. They scanned each of the files that contained email correspondence between Hallie and the proprietor of that file. Ben Gilbert’s confirmed the details he had related to the police. Four others had clicked HELLO—the way of making initial contact on Meet.com. Marina, presumably after reviewing their profiles, had not answered them. That left three, which they combed through more carefully.
In the first email file, there were six messages, but they ended with a kiss-off from the male party. “I’ve enjoyed our virtual flirtation,” he wrote, “but I don’t think you and I are a fit. Too bad, but thanks anyway. Pampered Prince.”
The second was eight messages long, with a sign off from Hallie. “I’ve really enjoyed our fencing—much fun—but I have to tell you I’m now pretty much involved with somebody else. Maybe later? HallieNYC.”
That left the last file, from Waggerson444, the file without a picture. It was the longest of the group, and Reuben and Luis scrolled through it quickly. Two entries, both dated April 26, the day before Marina was murdered, caught their eye.
To: Waggerson444
From: HallieNYC
Date: April 26 0800
Before we go off for the weekend—which I’m really looking forward to a lot, I’d like to have a quiet Friday-night dinner with you. How about a place up near me called Quatorze, on 79th and 2nd? Like 8 o’clock? Then we can have dinner and get that plane for Jamaica at eleven. OK? H.
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: April 26 1005
Perfect. I’m not flying this time, but driving—from Boston tomorrow. (Have to go to a godforsaken spot in Pennsylvania next week and driving there is easier than flying. Besides, it will be easier having a car at the airport when we get back Sunday, as it’s usually a mess at JFK on summer Sundays, as you probably know.) I’ll park near the restaurant tomorrow night.
They tell me you’re not supposed to use capital letters in email messages BUT I CAN’T WAIT! See you at Quatorze Bis (why couldn’t you pick a restaurant easier to spell?) tomorrow at 8. With bags packed AND READY TO GO! T.
Their curiosity piqued, they started reading the file from the beginning.
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: March 6 0955
I like your profile—and the conclusion of the Meet.com computer that we are “89% compatible.” Should we find out about the missing 11%?
I also agree with you about no picture, as you will see from my profile. This means you take a gamble, and so do I, if we get together. Maybe I’m one of the seven dwarfs and you are Daisy Duck. But should we chance it? Tom
To: Waggerson444
F
rom: HallieNYC
Date: March 7 2033
I’ll gamble. Call me on my cell at 917-445-7821. Hallie
To: Waggerson444
From: HallieNYC
Date: March 13 1122
Tom, I enjoyed last night a lot. More like 95% than 89%. Let’s do it again! And you don’t look at all like one of the seven dwarfs. Hallie
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: March 13 0947
I’m going to be stuck in Boston for a few days. However, I should be back in NYC on Thursday, the 22nd. Dinner? Tom
P.S.—And you don’t look like Daisy Duck.
To: Waggerson444
From: Hallie NYC
Date: March 17 2001
Sounds good to me. Same place as last time? 8 o’clock? Hallie
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: March 19 1001
Yes! Tom
To: Waggerson444
From: HallieNYC
Date: March 23 1122
After last night I think we’re at 98%. Maybe even 99. Very satisfying, as I hope it was for you. And I like that suite/hotel—or sweet hotel?—where you stay. Cute and comfortable. Hallie
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: March 28 0935
Sorry I missed your call last night. I had my cell turned off when I went to the theater and figured it was too late to call you by the time I got home. Tom
To: Waggerson444
From: HallieNYC
Date: March 28 2008
No problem. I was just calling to see when we can meet up again. I miss you.
To: Waggerson444
From: HallieNYC
Date: April 4 1050
Sorry about last night, which must have been about 80% for you. I’ve been having a rather nasty quarrel that involves a guy at work, my father, and his girlfriend. Don’t ask. I’m sure my anxiety came through. Forgive me? Love, Hallie
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: April 5 1120
Forgiven. It was more like 90% anyway. Tom
To: Waggerson444
From: HallieNYC
Date: April 9 1918
Sorry you’re tied up in Boston this week. Have you finished the Julian Barnes stories I gave you? He’s over here in the States doing a book tour and I saw him on TV last night. Will it make you jealous if I say I fell in love with him? Love (to you, too), Hallie
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: April 17 0958
I’ve read a couple of the stories. He’s clever, no question about it.
Thursday, the usual? Love, Tom
To: Waggerson444
From: HallieNYC
Date: April 17 2049
How about a change of venue? I haven’t been to Boston in ages. Would be great to be there with you.
Love, Hallie
To: HallieNYC
From: Waggerson444
Date: April 18 0949
Why not? Only problem is I really get sucked into late hours, entertaining potential investors, etc. But let’s talk about it and see if we can work something out. Love, Tom
“True love, you think?” Reuben asked Luis.
“Maybe. But I’ll bet he’s married.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t want her in Boston, if that’s really where he lives.”
“Let’s try his profile,” Reuben said. “See what we can find there.”
They did so.
Waggerson444
45-year-old man[No picture]
Boston/New York
seeking women 25–45
Boston/New York
About me and what I’m looking for:
I live in Boston, but I commute to New York City so much I feel like a resident there. I’m a private investor who has been lucky with a variety of investments, including some technology ones that I got out of before the high-tech collapse. I’ve been pretty much of a loner because of the demands of my work; my marriage went down the tubes because of that.
Now I’m looking to kick back and enjoy myself more. I want to break out and meet someone I do not have to talk business with. I need to meet someone who is fun and intelligent and, above all, relaxed and non-obsessive. Good looks a plus, needless to say.
My name is Tom, by the way.
More About Me:
Relationship: Divorced
Have kids: None
Want kids: Doubt it
Ethnicity: White/Caucasian
Body type: Muscular
Height: 6'2"
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Best Feature: Haven’t any idea; chest maybe
Body art: Absolutely none
Religion: Agnostic
Smoke: No
Drink: Social drinker
Sports: Swimming, diving, tennis
Exercise: 3 times a week
Education: BA, MBA
Income: [No answer]
Languages: English
Politics: Middle-of-the-road
Likes: Theatre, concerts, travel, gourmet meals
Dislikes: Airheads, chatterboxes
About the date I want:
Hair: Any color
Eyes: Any color
Height: 5'5" on up
Body type: Slim and curvy
Ethnicity: White/Caucasian
Religion: Not important to me
Education: At least a BA
Occupation: Something different than mine
Income: Not a factor
Smoke: OK
Drink: Social drinking OK
Have kids: No
Want kids: No
“All right, who is he?” Bautista asked when they had finished.
“Not a clue,” said Reuben. “Divorced, white, Boston private investor. Forty-five years old. Doesn’t fit anyone I know.”
“Of course, every one of those ‘facts’ you just reeled off could be lies. I’m told that many if not most of the people that use these matching services lie about themselves. But let’s give it a try.”
“What are you doing?” Reuben asked.
“Calling directory assistance in Boston. To see if there’s a Thomas Waggerson listed.”
The answer was no.
“Google! That’s it!” Reuben exclaimed, turning again to the computer. But once Google was keyed up, the only Thomas Waggerson referred to had died in 1779.
“Looks like a dead end,” Bautista said. “He has a cell phone, so I’ll have the boys check that out—see if there’s a number for Mr. Waggerson. Since he also had a vehicle they can check that out, too.
“If those leads don’t pan out—and I’m afraid I’m pessimistic since ‘Tom Waggerson’ may be as fictional as ‘Hallie Miller’—where does that leave us? Right where we started?” Reuben asked.
“Not quite. It appears that he and Hallie met up at a restaurant called Quatorze Bis the night she was killed. What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?”
“I’ve been there. Nice place. I’d be pleased to dine there with you, Detective.”
As for dining that night, Reuben had agreed to accompany Cynthia to the Cygnus Club to hear a young downtown artist, Jacobo Casciano, deliver a lecture, accompanied by slides, on his paintings and drawings, followed by dinner.
“Uplift, my dear, that’s what the Cygnus Club is all about,” Cynthia had told him. “It won’t do you any harm.”
“All right. As long as we get there early enough for me to order a martini before the talk begins.”
They did indeed arrive early, and were pleasantly sur
prised at Casciano’s articulate and witty talk on his art. Dinner was pedestrian as usual, at least by Reuben’s lights, but the couple did find an extraordinary bargain on the Club’s wine list—a 2000 Saint-Émilion, albeit a cru bourgeois—that tempered Reuben’s usual Cygnus Club impatience.
After dinner, as they were strolling toward the entrance, they passed a display case containing photographs of the Club’s annual “revels,” a pre-Lenten celebration in which the members performed skits, sang nonsense songs, and generally carried on in an outrageously silly fashion. Reuben had accompanied Cynthia to one such annual event and vowed never to do it again. A vow he had kept during her thirty years of membership in the Club.
Stopping to look over the display, Reuben asked, “Who the hell is that?” pointing to a picture of a formidably large woman, in drag—tails, a cape, a top hat, and a fake mustache—pretending to choke a smaller and seemingly terrified victim.
Cynthia took a closer look. “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “Even in that ridiculous outfit and pose, there’s no mistaking her. It’s Darcy Watson.”
“Hmm. Sorry Luis didn’t see that when he was here earlier today. Isn’t it just possible that life followed art?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Reuben.”
“I’m not. All I’m saying is that that woman could be Marina Courtland’s murderer and, let’s face it, she had a motive to kill her.”
“It’s time we went home,” Cynthia said. “Just let me do one thing first.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just wait here.”
Reuben continued to gaze at the revels pictures until Cynthia returned.
“I have a little surprise for you, dear. On a hunch, I checked at the office to see if by chance Darcy Watson stayed here at the Club the night of April twenty-seventh. And the fact is she did.”
“Good God.”
Seventeen
Quatorze
“Life is getting complicated,” Reuben told Luis when he called him Friday morning.
“What do you mean?”
Reuben passed along the information that Darcy Watson had been in New York the night of the murder, contrary to what she had told Luis.
“Could she possibly have done it?” Reuben asked. He told Bautista about the pirate picture. “I’ve never seen her, but from that picture it sure looked as if she’d be capable of choking someone to death without any difficulty.”