Vanishing Day Page 12
Right. Garrett expected this call, but he’d been busy all morning combing through files. Busy trying to figure out how to lessen the damage Lauren might do to him when she got out of the hospital. There was no telling when she betrayed him and how much dirt she had. She could have been spying on him and snooping for the last few years, or only right before she left. He wasn’t sure how far back to go. God knows what she had.
Right now, he wished he’d never heard Mr. Yoshimoto’s name. Before he’d taken him on as a client, there was nothing for her to report.
Pressing the button for line 1, Garrett put on his business-is-good, all-is-well voice.
“Mr. Rudaski, what can I do for you? Garrett said, “Did you receive the letter? I had my assistant mail it out last week. Neal is an excellent employee.”
“Yes, I got it. All his paperwork is in order, but that’s not why I’m calling,” he said, “Mr. Everly did not show up for his final appointment with me today.”
“Really? Wow. I’m surprised to hear that. This was his final meeting, right? I gave him the day off specifically to meet with you and turn in his paperwork to the judge. He said something about proof of compliance and then he was done with all that.”
“Well, his appointment with me was at 9:00 a.m., and I haven’t seen him yet. Any idea where he might be? I’d like to get this file closed and off my desk,” Rudaski said.
“Not a clue,” Garrett lied.
He started to embellish, but thought better of it. Short lies were easier to remember.
Rudaski huffed in frustration. “OK. Let me know if you hear from him,” Rudaski said, “Doesn’t make sense, this last appointment is not one they usually miss...anything unusual happen with him? Break up with a girlfriend? Trouble at work? Anything that might explain a no-show on his release day?”
Garrett repressed a giggle.
“No, everything’s been fine as far as I know,” he said.
If you don’t count free-falling from a Cessna over the Pacific Ocean!
♦ ♦ ♦
“OK. If you do see him or hear from him, have him call me. Tell him if I don’t hear from him by five o’clock tonight, I’ll have to put out a warrant for his arrest.”
“Will do, of course,” Garrett said, keeping the verbal equivalent of a straight face, “I’m sure he’ll turn up. Neal has always been a very reliable employee.”
Rudaski gave his number again before saying goodbye.
Garrett sat back and smiled. Dead drivers tell no tales. And they certainly don’t call their parole officers.
Patricia buzzed in on the intercom again, “Mr. Yoshimoto on line 3 for you, Mr. Delaney. I didn’t think you’d want to be interrupted, so he’s been on hold a few minutes.”
Garrett did a slow burn. You did not keep Yoshimoto on hold—ever. He told her that. He snapped up the receiver.
“Mr. Yoshimoto,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, rushing to apologize before his client could complain, “I am so sorry you were made to wait.”
Silence.
“That should not have happened,” he added.
More silence.
This was not good.
“I will speak to my assistant,” Garrett said, “It will not happen again.”
Without accepting his apology, Yoshimoto apparently handed the receiver to an underling, because a voice unknown to Garrett came on the line, saying simply, “Mr. Yoshimoto has not yet received this week’s reports.”
Garrett’s intestines clenched. The report was only two hours late. But he had never been late before.
“Yes, I was just going to call you. I was unavoidably called out of the office on business last week. Because Mr. Yoshimoto is my most valued client, I handle all of his business personally, so it could not be given to anyone else to put together. Please express my apologies and tell him he will have the reports by the end of the day. I will place it in the hands of our best courier service myself, at the highest priority.”
“That will not be necessary. I will be there at 4:00 p.m.,” he said.
Garrett was left with nothing but dial tone and eight hours work to fit into three. After testily reminding his assistant that Mr. Yoshimoto was never to be kept waiting, and to inform him immediately when his representative arrived, Garrett had her hold all calls and got to work.
Once he dug into the accounts, what seemed a grinding chore proved useful. While compiling an accounting of this week’s transactions and account balances, with an update on various real estate investments, he took note of the continuing unbelievable rise in the Monero wallet. The path seemed clear. He couldn’t erase bank records from Yoshimoto’s original deposits. There was always a paper trail. But from here on out, all of Mr. Yoshimoto’s money was going into crypto. Untraceable.
This could still work.
Now, all he had to do was recover the flash drive or laptop containing the documents Lauren stole from him. Destroy those, and he’d be free and clear. If they didn’t know the names of the banks, the SEC couldn’t find the old accounts. He wasn’t a complete idiot. He’d been careful to do all Yoshimoto’s business on his personal computer. Garrett didn’t know how to wipe data from it, but he could hire someone who did.
Yoshimoto would never have to know his information was compromised. He’d keep giving Garrett money, and he, Garrett, would wash it so white it would become invisible. Everybody would be happy. No reason to give up the goose. He could use a few more golden eggs.
Yoshimoto’s emissary, a short, ugly man in a dark suit, with dandruff on his shoulders and a cowlick sticking straight up out of the crown of his head, arrived at 3:57 p.m. He did not return Garrett’s confident smile or respond to his comments on the beautiful day. He entered the room, reached out his hand for the report, and let himself out without saying a word.
35
They hadn’t talked much since Ben dropped the Kid bomb on Sunday. For one thing, Ben woke up Monday morning with an impacted wisdom tooth. Took two days to get in to see the oral surgeon, but he was there now. The normal wait time for this particular surgeon was two months, not two days, but Ben had done the landscaping for his new office and they’d become friends.
Logan was home babysitting Purgatory. The dog was downstairs and she was up in the bedroom packing for her trip. She didn’t want to leave with Ben having surgery, but he reassured her he’d be fine. His sister already arranged to fill his prescriptions and stay over if needed, and Bonnie already stocked his fridge with plenty of soft foods to eat for the first few days. As he exited the car this morning, Ben reminded her he was a big boy and had been taking care of himself for years before she came along. Still, she would have stayed if she didn’t have this trip.
Working onsite at the New School several times a year was part of her new contract with Rita. Not something she could reschedule easily. She had a 7:30 a.m. flight out of John Wayne. She’d arrive in Portland mid-morning, hopefully grab some pho at Than’s downtown, visit with her briefly, then book it out to meet Huey in his lab by 2:00 p.m. That didn’t leave her any extra time in Portland, but Friday was a conference day—a rare, student-free day for Huey. He wasn’t a homeroom teacher, so didn’t have to hold any parent-teacher conferences unless specifically required for a particular student. Logan was planning on digging into a variety of projects with him, mapping out their year. This was just a short trip. He was due down her way for a week in November.
At least the drive was beautiful. Once you got through Beaverton and Tigard, it was an hour’s open drive through rolling, green hills and the occasional red barn. Five minutes after the turnoff, the narrow road quickly wound its way through towering green corridors, touched occasionally by Whisper Creek, which playfully ran alongside and sometimes under the road as it crossed several bridges, one of them constructed of rounded, mossy stones. Logan always looked forward to that part of the drive.
Ben needed to think about what having a child at this point in his life would mean. The reality of diapers, no sleep, college tuition, and the 18-plus-forever time commitment. Being a parent didn’t have a graduation date. You were in it for life. She didn’t think Ben had any idea what being a parent entailed. But then, neither did she when she got pregnant twenty-four years ago. And she wouldn’t trade Amy for anything.
Knowing this wasn’t a problem she could solve right now, Logan focused on her packing. Satisfied she had everything she needed for her trip, she zipped up her carry-on and pressed the Velcro handles together over the top. Part of a three-piece set she’d had for years, the roller bag was made of a tough, hot pink canvas and came with a diminutive, stuffed gorilla hanging off the ID pouch. Made baggage-claim a breeze if she ever needed to check it. You could spot that thing from three miles off. She wore the bulky items like her boots and carried her jacket. Everything else fit in the bag. She believed in traveling light.
Logan hadn’t taken any vacation time since launching Fractals, so when she made her reservations earlier in the summer, she tacked on a week of personal time on the end of her work at the New School. Rose, a weaver she met a couple of years ago at the Otter Festival, a friend of Thomas and Lisa’s, had invited her to stop by her shop on the coast. Ben insisted she stick to her original plans and not rush home, but Logan said she’d call in a couple of days and see how he was doing. She’d decide then.
Her original plan was to find an Airbnb or cheap hotel in Lincoln City, OR where Rose lived. Rose apologized for not being able to put her up at her place, but she was in the midst of a major remodel and her large, 1940s Cape Cod was torn up.
When Rita heard of her plans, she insisted Logan stay at a home she kept out in a small, coastal community called Little Whale Cove, about ten miles south of Lincoln City, OR.
“Nothing fancy, but it’s a five-minute walk to the beach and the house backs onto acres of old-growth forest. Miles of paths. Just the thing for a get-away,” Rita said, “You’ll love it. It’s smack dab between Lincoln City and Newport. Absolutely nothing to do but look at green trees and whale watch.”
Sounded perfect to Logan. Placing her bag by the bathroom door so she wouldn’t forget to tuck in her toothbrush in the morning, Logan started down the stairs to check on Purgatory. He was potty trained, but probably needed to go for a walk soon.
When she reached the living room, she stopped dead in her tracks. Pleased as punch, Purgatory lay there, grinning up at her with a goofy, doggie smile, thumping his tail on the ground. He was quite happy where he was, toys strewn around his proud, Sphinx self, along with the now empty gift bag Lori had filled for Shannon’s upcoming puppy.
36
Logan groaned. The gift bag never quite made it into the hall closet as originally planned.
Realizing it wasn’t the dog’s fault, but hers for leaving temptation within reach, Logan sighed and went over to begin collecting the items, salvaging what she could. No sense yelling at Purgatory. Whatever he had destroyed could be replaced. The counter was eye level for him. He just couldn’t resist the smell of dog treats wafting from the gift bag perched invitingly there.
After scooping up the items on the floor back into the bag, most of which were as yet unmolested, she gave the “Drop It” command Ben taught her and, with one last lick to get at the treats still inside, Purgatory opened his mouth and released the toy he’d been chewing into her hand.
She carried the drool-covered rubber toy to the sink to rinse it off. She’d get Lori a new one. Purgatory obviously liked this one. Before she could flip on the faucet, she looked inside the hole drilled in the middle of the toy to make sure all the treats were out.
What?
A small, silver flash drive had been taped inside.
Grateful she hadn’t run water through it yet, she carefully lifted the tape, and removed it, turning it over in her hand, as if it would reveal its secrets. Nothing written on the label.
Curiouser and curiouser ...
Checking it for dampness or any damage from Purgatory’s foraging tongue, she took it over to her laptop and inserted it into the USB port. The thought occurred to her as she did this that it might contain something that would damage her MacBook Air, but she’d just backed it up last night in preparation for her trip. Besides, if anything got messed up, she could always have Huey fix it. The man was a genius.
When the icon appeared on her desktop, Logan double clicked it and waited for it to open.
Nothing.
Why would Lori bother to tape a flash-drive into a dog toy, cover it up with treats and hide it in a bag? Obviously, something important was on it. Could Lori have made a mistake? Could there be another flash drive that had something she wanted to hide on it and she grabbed a blank one by mistake? This only deepened the mystery of Lori’s true identity and what she was doing in Jasper. Did the flash drive contain her secrets or someone else’s? And if so, why was it blank? It made no sense.
And why hadn’t Lori just asked Logan to keep it for her? She took a big risk hiding it in the toy. It could have gotten lost or thrown out ... or eaten by a certain neighbor’s dog!
Logan looked down at Purgatory who was sitting politely, waiting to be rewarded for giving up his prize. She got him some cheese from the fridge. He ate it in one gulp, so she rummaged in the gift bag and got him something called a bully stick that looked like a rawhide cigar.
“There,” she said as Purgatory trotted over to the door and plopped down, happily chewing his new stick, “That might take you a second and a half to demolish.”
She turned her attention back to her computer.
Staring at the empty window wasn’t going to make files magically appear. Selecting the icon, she ejected the drive from her computer, then physically removed it. If she didn’t eject it first, her computer yelled at her. Temperamental beast. One of the only features she didn’t like about Apple. She dropped the small drive into the inside, zippered compartment of her computer bag/purse. She’d have Huey check it out when she got to the New School. Maybe he could see if anything was on it she couldn’t access. Probably nothing, but worth a try.
Maybe that’s why Lori was attacked. Maybe they were looking for this drive. If they wanted it that bad, they’d be back. She hoped they wouldn’t realize she had it. Lori was in no condition to protect herself, and other than her supply of pepper spray, neither was Logan.
If Huey found anything, maybe it would lead the police to Lori’s attacker before he came back. Logan considered how to get it back to her. It had been a week since the attack and she still wasn’t allowed visitors. And Logan couldn’t just leave it on Lori’s kitchen counter. Lori obviously felt it needed to be hidden away from her home or she would have left it there herself.
She felt sorry for the young woman, but was Lori what she appeared to be? Maybe the drive had something on it that would point to something bad she had done.
Oh, hell.
Frustrated, Logan got up and snagged Detective Andrews’ card from the mail holder on the counter. She was just going to leave a message for him, telling him what she found and that she would drop the flash drive off for him at the front desk, but the operator put her through right away.
“Andrews here,” the Detective answered.
Logan hung up. She couldn’t help it, the words got stuck in her throat. Detective Andrews already thought she was an idiot. She wasn’t about to hand him a blank flash drive and tell him it might be important. He’d laugh her out of his office.
Lori trusted her. The least she could do was hold onto it until she could return it in person. Even if Huey pulled something incriminating to Lori off of it, it wasn’t her job
to be judge and jury.
It depends on what’s on there, if anything.
She could always take it down to Detective Andrews and let him deal with it, but for now, she’d hold off. There was obviously no rush. Lori was still in the ICU. It’s not like she’d be asking for it anytime soon.
37
Well, I’ll be damned.
It was the McKenna woman. He’d had the front desk trace the call and it was definitely her cell. Logan McKenna. It was almost a week since he interviewed her and gave her his card. Why call now? And if she had something to tell him, why hang up? Was she involved in all this somehow? What was it about her that she was always close to trouble? Making a note of the time of her call in the file, he went back to the timeline.
It was seven days since the woman on Killer Hill was attacked, and the investigation was stalled. The only new entry in the file was the break in. Monday he sent a couple uniforms to take down the crime scene tape, and they called it in. Someone had trashed the place, but good. Maybe kids saw no one was home and broke in looking for things to sell for drug money. Could be a party but looked more like a search. Could have been his perp, but if so, what was he looking for?
Again, no one saw or heard anything.
Feeling cooped up inside, without a lead to follow, Andrews’ mood darkened. Not that he was giving up, but maybe he needed a fresh perspective. Diaz was out sick today. Might as well give the newbie some practice.
He gave Singh, the new General Crimes Detective trainee, the file to read through. About an hour later, Singh came back over. Andrews had him pull up a chair on the other side of his desk, then went into teaching mode.
“So, what do we know?”
Singh, whose name meant ”lion” in Sanskrit, had a face more like a small, chocolate kitten with big eyes. Leaning forward in his chair, he spread the file open on Andrews’ desk and sat up straight. His first few weeks he worked with Latrell in Financial Crimes. This was his first Crimes Against Persons case. It was where he wanted to be, although he was sure his mother would prefer he continue working with numbers and computers. He hoped to be a Homicide Detective someday. Maybe in LA.