by Ava McCarthy
She nodded. ‘Actually, you’re right, I could use a phone.’
Reuben reached for a box from a stack behind him, ripped open the packaging. ‘The caller ID’s blocked, you get total privacy. Let’s get this charged up while I take your photo.’
‘These passports of yours, just how convincing are they?’
He looked offended. ‘Hey, these are quality documents, cloned from the real thing. I got a batch inside, ready to go, security features all legit.’ He launched into another waiter’s recital. ‘Special paper, watermarks, security threads, micro-printing, laser perforation, latent image—’
‘Hey, Reuben?’
He halted, mid-flow. Jodie pinned her gaze to his.
‘Will it get me past airport controls?’
He hesitated. Broke eye contact. When he spoke again, his tone was subdued.
‘Okay, without the bullshit? Depends on where you’re going. My passports’ll get you out of here and into most countries. Leaving the US isn’t a problem.’ He gave her a quick, direct look. ‘But you try and re-enter, that’s when they’ll take a closer look.’
Jodie nodded, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. She’d worry about that later on.
‘How much will this cost me?’
‘Five thousand dollars.’
‘Dixie said four.’
‘Hey, it’s a rush job now. But since you’re a friend of Dixie’s, I’ll throw in the phone for free.’
Jodie made a wry face, while Reuben produced a small digital camera. He eyed her up, made her stand against a blank, magnolia wall and snapped off a series of shots. Then he told her to wait and headed for the door, scrolling through his handiwork on the way. He paused by the threshold, still studying the photos.
‘I’ll touch these up, get rid of that bruise.’ He flicked her a glance. ‘You have a distinctive face, you don’t mind me saying. Those eyes, and all. If I were you, I’d find me a big pair of shades and keep ’em on. You got Asian blood, or something?’
Jodie shook her head. ‘Half-American, half-Irish, as far as I know.’
But the truth was, she didn’t know for sure. She’d never seen a photo of either of her parents, though eight years ago, she thought she’d come close. She’d traced her father’s family home to Carrington, North Dakota, only to find out the Rosens had long since moved away. So she’d knocked on a neighbour’s door, hoping to fill in the gaps, and a mild-mannered man had stepped out into the cold to talk to her. He’d peered at her through glasses so thick they distorted his eyes.
‘Yes, I remember the family.’ The aroma of toast and stewed coffee had seeped out through the door behind him. ‘Long time ago now.’
Jodie explained who she was, and his eyes seemed to magnify. He introduced himself then as Kenneth Blane, and invited her inside, leading the way into a dark, galley-style kitchen.
‘Peter Rosen.’ Kenneth reached for some cups, clattered with saucers. ‘Haven’t thought of him in years. We were kids together on this street. ’Course, I was five or six years his junior, but he was always friendly. Protected me sometimes from the bigger kids.’ He smiled, indicating his Coke-bottle glasses. ‘Back then, these made me a bit of a target.’ The smile turned rueful. ‘Still do, truth be told.’
He poured scalded, undrinkable coffee while Jodie perched on a stool, hands tightly clasped. It was the first time she’d met someone who’d actually known her father.
A shrill voice called out from somewhere down the hall. ‘Kenny? Who was at the door? Is there someone in the house?’
Kenneth’s face tightened. He moved as far as the kitchen door, his gait stooped.
‘It’s nothing, Mother. Just someone asking about the Rosen family.’
‘Rosen? That old bastard from next door?’
Kenny flung Jodie an apologetic look. ‘Mother, please—’
‘Who wants to know? Bring ’em into my room.’
‘There’s no need—’
‘Bring ’em in, I said. It’s my house, I’ll see all the visitors around here.’
Kenneth blinked at Jodie. ‘Would you mind? She won’t quit till she gets her way.’
Jodie hopped off her stool. ‘I’d like to talk to her. Sounds like she remembers the family.’
She followed him down the hall into a half-lit bedroom. The air smelled fusty from ancient layers of floral scent and stale socks. Mrs Blane was in bed, tiny and bird-like, propped up by a marshmallow-mountain of pillows. Kenneth made introductions, fussed with some chairs. Jodie sensed the old lady sizing her up.
‘Well, well. So Peter Rosen had a child.’ Her face looked cadaverous, old age finally revealing the jutting cheekbones she’d probably craved in her youth. Her small, lashless eyes fixed on Jodie’s. ‘You look nothing like him. Or much like the rest of the family neither. Oh, don’t look so disappointed. You’re better off, believe me.’
‘Mother, please—’
‘Young Peter was nice looking, I’ll give you that.’ The old lady curled her lip. ‘But his father, old Elliot, he was an ugly brute. And his mother, Celine, well, I guess you could say she had nice eyes.’ Her gaze rested thoughtfully on Jodie’s. ‘There’s a resemblance there.’ Jodie’s heartbeat quickened, and the woman went on. ‘But really Celine was just mousy.’
Kenny looked uncomfortable. ‘Mrs Rosen was always very kind.’
The old woman rounded on him. ‘What would you know, you were just a child.’ She peered back at Jodie. ‘Has he made you tea? Don’t let him give you coffee, Kenny’s coffee tastes like burnt manure.’
‘I’m fine, really.’ Jodie’s smile felt tight. She appreciated the woman’s plain speaking, but her words still grated. Could you really feel loyalty for a family you’d never met? ‘Do you have any photographs?’
‘Of the Rosens? Why in the world would I take any pictures of them?’
Kenneth’s expression turned gloomy. ‘Mother never went in much for photos. Not even of me.’
Jodie darted a glance from one to the other, not wanting to get tangled up in their grievances.
‘My father,’ she prompted. ‘He met my mother in Ireland when he was about seventeen. Do you know why he was over there? This was back in 1982.’
Mrs Blane’s eyes glazed over, tracking some internal event. ‘I seem to recall he ran away from home one time. Or got sent away, I never knew which. Might have been around then. But he came back in the end.’ Her face grew slack. ‘Should’ve stayed away. He was better off far away from all of them.’
Jodie studied the woman’s gaunt face, wanting to ask what she meant. She ducked the issue, and instead, she said, ‘Did he have any brothers or sisters?’
‘Two sisters. The younger one, I forget her name …’
‘Anna,’ Kenneth prompted.
‘… she was maybe seven or eight years younger than Peter. She died when she was ten. Been sickly all her life, some lung disease. Then there was Lily, she was the eldest of the three. Bit of an artist, as I recall, always messing with her paints.’ Jodie experienced a leap of recognition. Mrs Blane went on. ‘But she was mousy, like her mother. Never stood a chance with that bully of a man. None of ’em did.’
‘Mother.’ Kenneth’s voice held a warning note.
‘Well, if she’s family, she deserves to know, doesn’t she?’ The woman’s crooked old hands plucked at the sheets. ‘No sense in sugar-coating it, your grand-pappy was a cruel and violent man. He used to beat Peter as a child. Kicked him black and blue, sometimes.’
Jodie felt herself grow still. Beside her, Kenneth shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘You don’t know that, Mother.’
The old lady ignored him. ‘And Lord knows what he did to Lily, but I can guess. When she tried to run away, he locked her up for weeks. Had the windows in her room permanently bricked over. Can you believe that? Like a dungeon. Child never was right in the head after that, had to be hospitalized more than once, as I recall. House stayed that way till the new people moved in.’
She opened her eyes to find the old lady watching her. Jodie kept her voice level.
‘Do you know where the family is now?’
Mrs Blane gave her an odd look. Then she said,
‘Your grandmother took off with Lily and disappeared about fifteen years ago. Finally got sense and left Elliot.’
‘You never heard from her since?’
‘She gave me a number where she could be reached, some lawyer’s office. They’ll know how to find me, is what she said, in case of emergencies. In case Elliot up and died, is what she meant.’
‘Do you still have it?’
Mrs Blane looked doubtfully at her son. ‘Might be here some place. Kenny can dig it out for you before you go. But it won’t do you no good. The old bastard did die, at long last, but when I tried calling the number, it was a disconnect.’
Jodie tried to hide her disappointment. ‘What about my father?’
The old woman hesitated. ‘I thought you already knew what happened to him.’
Jodie stared. Shook her head.
The old lady sighed. ‘Worst storms I can remember. They’d no business being out, driving so far.’
She paused, and Jodie leaned forward. ‘Go on.’
‘There were three of them in the car. Peter and two of his friends. They veered off a curve on Highway 57 and plunged into Devil’s Lake. No one survived.’ Mrs Blane shook her head. ‘He was only nineteen.’
The kerosene fumes in Reuben’s apartment were clogging up Jodie’s head. She jerked to her feet, as much to drive away the memories of her father’s family as to keep herself awake.
Distracting herself, she took advantage of Reuben’s absence to open the cashbox and extract several wads of notes. She riffled through them, counting them out, then stuffed them into her pockets. By the time Reuben returned, the cashbox was back in the holdall.
He handed over her passport with a flourish. She flipped it open, saw her own digitized image printed on the page, with her new name of Clara Philips. She looked up at Reuben.
‘Five thousand dollars?’
‘That’s what we agreed.’
‘I’ll give you five and a half if you throw in one of those trucks downstairs. Any of them roadworthy?’
Reuben grimaced. ‘Dodge is a wreck. Blue Chevy’s not bad, but the transmission’s unreliable. Red one’s older than either of them.’ His face brightened. ‘But it’s got a full tank of gas and it’s the only one with a working heater.’
‘Red Chevy it is.’
Jodie handed over the cash and he counted it out, pausing now and then to finger the bills and pass one or two under his nose.
‘Where you been hiding this, in a cave?’
She didn’t answer, and when he finished his count, he said, ‘You got any more like this?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, it’s old and it smells. Still legal tender, don’t get me wrong. But it might attract attention if you start passing it around. And I’m guessing attention is the last thing you need right now.’
He had a point. Jodie folded her arms. ‘I get the feeling you’ve another business proposition up your sleeve.’
Reuben’s smile was broad. ‘I buy your old bills. I’ll give you one thousand for every two grand of yours. I can hide them in clean money, spread them around in different places.’
‘So you launder money, too?’
He laughed. ‘A regular one-stop shop for fugitives, that’s me.’
‘How do I know your clean bills aren’t fake? Everything else around here is.’
He dipped his head. ‘Fair question. But word gets round I’m passing duds, I’d be out of business in a week. Probably dead inside of two.’
Jodie chewed her lip, debating her next move. Reuben was right. She couldn’t afford to attract attention. She made up her mind.
‘I want a discount for volume. Seven thousand for ten of mine, and it’s a deal.’
Reuben started to object but his heart wasn’t in it, and five minutes later, they’d wrapped up the transaction and he’d handed her the keys of the truck. Shoving passport, phone and clean bills in her bag, Jodie thanked him and headed for the door.
The red Chevy started on the third attempt. Reuben saluted her from the steps as she galvanized the rusted-up truck out into the snow, steering a course back towards Interstate 90.
Jodie’s breath clouded the icy windscreen. She thought of the cabbie she’d left behind. Of the merciless cold that could kill him in hours.
Shit.
She reached for her phone, dialled 911, reported the unconscious cabbie and his location. Cutting off the dispatcher’s questions, she ended the call and concentrated on the road for a long while. Then she reached for the phone one more time and dialled Matt Novak’s number.
14
The journalist picked up on the third ring.
‘Novak.’
He sounded groggy. Jodie hesitated, then took the plunge.
‘Sorry to disturb you at this hour, Mr Novak. It’s Jodie Garrett.’
‘What? Jesus.’
She heard a scuffling sound, presumably as he shifted in the bed. He swore some more. She pictured his dishevelled hair, the scruffy stubble.
‘What time is it?’ he said.
‘Four thirty in the morning.’
‘Fuck.’
She tried to gauge his tone. So far, he just sounded like a guy dragged from sleep, not someone who knew he was talking on the phone with a fugitive.
‘How the hell are you calling me at four thirty in the morning? They have new rules in that place?’
‘Someone smuggled in a cell phone. I’m borrowing it while things are quiet.’
She pressed the phone close to her head, hoping to block out the tell-tale rumble of the pickup. She peered through the windscreen, keeping her speed at a steady twenty miles an hour. Snow enveloped the truck like thick smoke, visibility so poor now she could barely see ten feet ahead.
Novak’s voice cut in. ‘Hey, what’s going on there?’
Jodie stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘They won’t let me see you. I came in on Tuesday to visit like I said and they told me you were unavailable, whatever the hell that means. Won’t tell me anything else.’
‘Oh, right, I got into a fight. I’ve been in the hospital wing with a stab wound.’
‘Shit.’
‘It’s not serious.’ Jodie’s abdomen ached in protest at the lie. ‘Look, Mr Novak—’
‘Jesus, call me Matt. Or Novak, at least. My old man is the only Mr Novak I know.’
‘Novak, then. Look, I have a question. When you found out Ethan was in Belize, didn’t you try to track him down over there?’
‘Sure, I tried. But according to my contact, Ethan left Belize that same day. By the time I heard he was there, he was already gone.’
‘Do you know where he’d been staying?’
‘How the hell would I know that? All I know is he called into the bank and then he left.’
‘What’s your contact’s name?’
Novak paused. ‘I can’t tell you that, he’s a confidential source. What do you want his name for?’
‘Okay, then which bank was it?’
‘Why?’
‘Jesus, I don’t know. Ethan must have left some kind of trail, and we’ve got to start somewhere. I thought you wanted my help here?’
He seemed to consider this for a moment, and then he said, ‘Belize International Bank. On Coney Drive, downtown Belize City.’
Bingo. Jodie stored the information away.
‘So when can I come in?’ Novak said. ‘I’ve got stuff I want to show you.’
She felt the back wheels of the truck slide. She recovered traction, slowed to a crawl. ‘What kind of stuff?’
‘Some paperwork of Ethan’s. The cops i
mpounded it from his safe during the investigation of his so-called death.’
‘How did you get your hands on it?’
‘Ex-cop who worked the case,’ Novak said. ‘He’d always pegged the sheriff as dirty, and some of this paperwork points that way. Not enough to prove anything, but this guy kept copies just in case. Kept other stuff, too.’
‘And he just handed it over?’
‘He was happy to, once I told him I was digging into Caruso and a possible connection to fraud. Hold on.’
He grunted, and Jodie pictured him reaching for a drawer, heard him shuffling papers. She squinted through the windscreen. Her headlights scrubbed away the dark, meting out the road a few yards at a time. Now and then, she passed stationary cars on the shoulder: lights flashing, skid-marks tracing their trajectory into the breakdown lane. She tightened her grip on the wheel.
Novak came back on the line. ‘Okay, on its own it’s not conclusive, but with what I already have, there could be enough here to put Caruso away.’
‘And Ethan?’
‘Him for sure, if we can find the slippery bastard. He was the major player.’
‘What kind of racket did they pull?’
Truth to tell, Jodie didn’t much care about Ethan’s fraud. Nothing he did could surprise her now, and she’d already got the information she wanted from Novak. It was time to hang up. But somehow she found herself reluctant to end the call. She made a rueful face at herself in the mirror. Fact was, she was glad of his company.
‘Fraudulent loans,’ Novak was saying. ‘Between them, they falsified property records so that Ethan could transfer some of his clients’ homes into his own name. Without the clients’ knowledge, I might add. Then he used the homes as collateral for substantial bank loans. Probably borrowed over forty million dollars from half a dozen institutions.’
‘Jesus. And you can prove all this?’
‘Not all of it, but I’ve been digging into this for a few years and I know what was going on. This wasn’t just a sly dip in the till, this was screwing with people’s homes, their life savings.’
