Access Denied, page 8
part #3 of Turing Hopper Series
in her head for protection. She looked puzzled when Maude and Sam introduced themselves, and frowned when she read Sam's card.
"You working for Kenny?" she said.
"No," Sam said. "I have nothing to do with Kenny, whoever he is."
"My ex," Rose said. "So if you don't work for Kenny, what do you want?"
"I want to ask you a few questions that might help me defend one of my clients," Sam said. "The answers might help you, too. With a financial problem."
"Which one?" Rose said, with a short, humorless laugh. But she stepped back and ushered them into the apartment's cramped, cluttered living room with a small kitchen visible through a pass-through at the far end.
A little girl with a thin face and enormous eyes sat on a stool at the pass-through counter, pushing something around a plate with a fork. Fish sticks or chicken strips, Maude couldn't tell which.
"Aren't you going to finish your lunch?" Rose asked.
"Not hungry," the girl said, in a barely audible voice.
"Why don't you go play in your room while I talk to these ladies?" Rose said. The girl nodded listlessly and left, barely glancing at Sam and Rose.
"She's got a doctor's excuse," Rose said, glancing back at Maude and Sam.
"I beg your pardon?" Maude said.
"For missing school," Rose said.
"We're not truant officers," Sam said.
"School?" Maude said. "How old is she?"
"Eight."'
Maude tried to hide her shock. She'd have guessed four or five, from the girl's size.
"She hasn't grown much since she took sick," Rose said, sitting on a threadbare brown easy chair and leaving Maude
Access Denied 73
and Sam to move aside enough toys and other junk to find seats for themselves on an equally battered sofa. Maude envied Sam's ability to appear calm and professional even under these odd circumstances.
"Now," Sam began. "You understand that everything I have to say is confidential."
Rose nodded solemnly.
Sam leaned forward, steepled her fingers, and took a deep breath. She squinted slightly, looked at Rose for a few seconds, then nodded.
"We recently received information about a possible credit card fraud," Sam said, "from a reliable source. Unfortunately, we can't take this information to the police without compromising our source. But we keep a private investigator on retainer to assist us with such matters, and we sent him to stake out a certain house where we had reason to believe stolen goods were being sent."
Rose looked puzzled, but nodded politely.
"Tell me," Sam said. "Do you know these people? Either of these houses?"
She handed Rose a sheet of paper with the Anderson's name and address and a copy of one of Tim's surveillance photos of their house, and a second sheet with similar information Turing had produced about the house in Leesburg.
Rose shook her head.
"Nobody I know lives in a place like that," Rose said, glancing a little self-consciously around the toy-strewn living room.
"Then it would surprise you to know that goods ordered with your credit card were delivered to those houses?"
"My credit card?" Rose said, in a strangled voice.
"You knew nothing about this?" Sam asked. "The first instance happened about two weeks ago, and the second within the last few days."
Rose shook her head.
"I didn't know anything about it," she said, in a flat voice.
"I know I should check when the bills come in, make sure all the charges are mine. But sometimes I can't even make myself open them. It's not like I can pay them off or anything. Ever since my daughter got sick ..."
She glanced at the closed door of the bedroom where the little girl had gone, and then down at her hands, which were clenched so tightly Maude's own hands hurt in sympathy just from looking at them.
"Maybe we can help you," Sam said. "Maude is with an organization concerned about credit card fraud, identity theft, and other forms of computer crime. We think there is an important point to be made about how the suffering of the individual is ignored in cases of this kind. We're looking for . . . well, a test case. Someone willing to be associated publicly with this effort."
"How much will it cost?" Rose said.
"We'll be doing it on contingency," Sam said.
"Which means that if we don't win the case, or can't bring it to trial, you don't owe us anything," Maude said. "If we're successful, you can pay back our expenses from any money we win for you."
"Great," Rose said, sounding hopeful but not entirely convinced. "But why would you want to do this for me?"
"We're not really doing it for you," Sam said. "We want to protect our confidential source. And also to get our PI out of trouble. Remember I said that we had him stake out the house our source identified? Well, someone was killed there last night. Probably one of the criminals involved with the fraud."
"Serves him right," Rose muttered.
"Yes, but right now the police are asking us why our PI was out there," Sam said. "I've told them he was working for me, which is true; but they want to know who my client was, and frankly, I'd like to show them a client other than our source."
"So all I have to do is tell them I hired you."
"It would help if you didn't mention that you formally hired her today," Maude said. "You don't have to lie; just tell them that you hired Sam after you found out that your credit cards were being misused."
"Okay," Rose said, with a faint smile. "So what else do I have to do?"
"First let's look over your credit card records," Sam said.
Rose looked panicked.
"I'm not sure I know exactly where to find them," she said.
Not surprising, Maude thought, looking around the living room. She could see envelopes and bits of paper scattered here and there among the toys, clothes, fast-food containers, and other clutter.
"We'll find them," Sam said. "And while we're at it, we'll help you catch up a bit in here. I know how it is when you have a sick child on your hands and no one to help out."
Since Maude knew Sam was single and unencumbered by even so much as a cat, she wondered if Sam really knew or if she was just trying to make their client feel better.
"I'll search the kitchen," she said aloud, already rolling up her sleeves as she headed for a doorway where a beaded curtain did little to conceal a sink overflowing with dirty dishes.
Tim's spirits rose as soon as he spotted Claudia Diaz, her tall, slender form towering over a gaggle of Asian tourists on the sidewalk outside the arrivals area at Dulles Airport. She was the only person on the sidewalk not dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her, only a purple nylon carry-on bag slung over one shoulder. Of course, the purse on her other shoulder was nearly as large.
"Is that all the luggage you brought?" he called, as he pulled Maude's car to the curb in front of her.
"How much do I need?" she called back. "It's not like we're going to get out of bed before Monday morning, are we?"
Tim tried to look blase as the passengers up and down the sidewalk stared and snickered, but he feared his beet-red face gave him away.
"Just don't do anything like that in front of my girlfriend," he said, as Claudia threw her bag into the backseat and hopped in.
"Sorry," Claudia said, as she untangled her long, dark braid from the seatbelt and buckled in. "I couldn't resist. So, what have I missed? I hope you saved all the really exciting stuff for after I got here."
"No," Tim said, pulling away from the curb. "We had the murder last night without you."
"Well, that was selfish," Claudia said. And then something in Tim's tone must have sunk in. "Wait a minute— are you serious? Who bought it?"
"The guy I was supposed to be watching."
"Oops," she said, shaking her head.
"Yeah," Tim said. "Not exactly one of the high points of my career as a detective."
"Well, was there really anything you could have done?" Claudia asked.
"I don't know," Tim said. "If I'd been awake . . ."
"Oh, God," Claudia said, shaking her head again.
"I'd been up too late the night before," Tim confessed. "Short on sleep for the last two weeks, actually. And it was dark, and quiet, and after four hours—"
Claudia imitated a snore, and Tim smiled in spite of himself. He glanced over to see that Claudia was watching him with an intensity that contradicted her light tone. He felt his mood lift slightly. Claudia wasn't going to criticize him, or embarrass him with sympathy, or reassure him too often that his mistake didn't matter all that much. He could talk to her.
"So you woke up and found your pigeon dead," Claudia said.
"Actually, I woke up to find two cops pointing their guns at me," Tim said.
"Damn. So I gather the surveillance is off."
"Permanently off."
"Anything happening at the moment?"
Tim shrugged.
"They probably have something for you by now," he said. "I'm just trying to stay out from underfoot and apologize whenever anyone looks my way."
"Don't beat yourself up about it," Claudia said. "You were trying to do too much—that's why they called me, remember? So if we're not doing surveillance, what's the plan for the day?"
"I'm supposed to feed you and bring you up to speed," Tim said. "Which I assume means telling you in excruciating detail exactly how I screwed up last night."
"Let's do that Thai place," Claudia said. "And I bet you lunch I can top any stupid PI tricks you've pulled, and then some."
"You're on."
Maude spent her first half-hour back
in the office telling Turing every detail of their visit to Rose Lafferty, then answering an endless string of questions.
"Honestly, I didn't notice," she said, for at least the tenth time. "I know you want more details, but that's really all I remember. Next time, maybe I could wear something like a miner's helmet, only with a little miniature camera on the front instead of a light."
"We'd need voice communications, too," Turing said. "So I could tell you if you're looking in the wrong direction."
Maude rolled her eyes.
"That was a joke," Turing said.
"I should hope so," Maude said. "The point is that Rose Lafferty not only agreed to hire us, she's pathetically grateful that someone would even try to help her."
"Can we actually help her? She sounds like someone who has a lot of problems already—I would hate to give her false hopes and then disappoint her."
"Oh, yes," Maude said. "I should think if nothing else, Sam can probably negotiate a new payment schedule. Sam's a good negotiator."
Turing seemed satisfied. Maude decided to wait before broaching the other subjects on her mind. Like the fact that Rose Lafferty might need more than a renegotiated payment schedule. A job for instance, and possibly money to pay for medical help for the hollow-eyed child they'd glimpsed briefly.
"Tim and Claudia are going to check out the Leesburg drop-off site after lunch," Turing said.
Maude nodded, still preoccupied with the question of how to help Rose. When the phone rang a few minutes later, she didn't glance at the caller ID.
"Maude Graham speaking; may I help you?"
"You can tell me what you and your friends are up to this time," said a familiar voice.
"Special Agent Norris," Maude said. "How have you been?"
"Overworked, but that's par for the course," he said.
Was that some kind of backhanded apology for the fact that she hadn't heard from him in four months?
"Dan Norris?" Turing said in a message box that popped up on Maude's screen. "Why is the FBI calling now?"
"And then today I got a call," Norris was saying. "It didn't exactly make my day when the Fairfax County Police told me a suspect in a case we'd been working on together
had been murdered. But things didn't really hit bottom until I learned who they'd found hanging around the scene. What are you people up to now?"
"Tim was on a case," Maude said. "It was simply his bad luck being there when the murder took place. He wasn't expecting a murder, just UPS."
"And I know when I find Mr. Pincoski, the odds are you and that elusive boss of yours will be nearby," Norris said. "Come on, level with me—do you really expect me to believe that Tim's case had nothing to do with the one I'm working on?"
"I have no idea," Maude said. "Since I know absolutely nothing about what you're working on."
"Credit card fraud and identity theft," Norris said. "And it might make everyone a little less likely to suspect Tim of being up to something if he could tell us something useful."
"I'll make sure he understands that," Maude said, with a sigh. "Better yet, call the attorney he's working for."
She rattled off Sam's name and phone number.
Norris sighed.
"Yeah, I know Sam," he said. "Look, maybe she and Tim will listen to you and share any information they have. The police have been tracking this kid who was killed for several weeks, and they still have no idea who he's working with or how he's getting the credit card information he's using. For that matter, we don't either. And finding that out suddenly got a lot more important."
"Because of the murder," Maude said.
A short pause.
"Yeah, because of the murder," Norris said. "Look, we need to talk."
"Go ahead," Maude said.
"I'm up to my ears for the rest of the day," he said. "Let's talk over dinner. Do you know Dak's on Columbia Pike?"
"I can find it," Maude said.
AO Donna Andrews
"Seven, then," he said. "See you there."
"Well, that was odd," Maude said. She put down the phone and looked at it, as if expecting more odd behavior.
"What's up?" Tim asked.
He and Claudia had appeared in the doorway sometime during her call.
"Claudia, welcome," she said. "Things are heating up. Dan Norris just called and wants to talk more later."
"Special Agent Norris?" Tim said. "He's not coming here, is he?"
"No, we're going to talk over dinner. His idea, not mine."
"That's cool," Claudia said. "I like Norris."
"I like him, too," Maude said. "But that doesn't mean I want to be interrogated by him."
"What do you mean interrogated?" Claudia said. "He's asking you to dinner—maybe he just wants to talk to you."
"He didn't say 'I want to talk to you,' " Maude countered. "He said 'We need to talk.' That's different."
"Maybe he's one of those guys who gets self-conscious about asking women out, and he has an easier time if he pretends there's some work reason," Claudia suggested.
"Or maybe he thinks he can get more information out of me if he pretends it's a social occasion," Maude replied.
"You are so cynical," Claudia said, shaking her head. "At the very least, you get a chance to show off the new Maude! The hair is great!"
"I'll look so much better in the mug shots when they arrest me," Maude said.
"I'm with Maude," Tim said. "I mean, Norris is okay, but he's FBI. He'd get really ticked if he ran into us meddling in one of his cases again."
"He already has," Maude said, with a sigh.
***
Access Denied fll
Tim sat down in one of Maude's guest
chairs. The good mood produced by swapping war stories with Claudia over lunch was evaporating.
"Maude, I don't usually eavesdrop on your phone calls, but since this was Norris—" Turing began.
"You correctly deduced that it was business rather than personal, probably something to do with the credit card case."
"Would it be normal for the FBI to get involved in a case like this?" Turing asked. "Or is it possible that Norris got involved for the same reason we did?"
"When Nestor Garcia's card popped up?" Maude said. "It's possible. He did hesitate when I suggested that his interest in the case had increased because of the murder. Maybe what increased his interest was spotting the charges on Garcia's card."
"Are you sure you're not imagining things?" Claudia asked. "Nothing like a murder to up the ante."
"Maybe," Maude said. "I'll see what I can find out tonight."
"Somehow I suspect Special Agent Norris plans to be the one finding things out," Tim said.
"Yes," Turing said. "He seems to think we can tell him who Blake's partner is and how they were finding the credit cards. That's interesting."
"That the FBI and the police don't know who the partner is?" Maude asked.
"No, that they have no idea how they got the credit card numbers," Turing said. "I've been looking at all their credit card use, but I haven't figured out a pattern. I assumed it was because I had only six cases to work on—not much data to analyze. I thought if I had more data, I'd see some obvious pattern of relationships among the victims. I was even wondering if there would be some way to hack into the police or FBI files for information."
"Turing," Maude began.
"I said I was wondering," Turing said. Tim had to smile; her electronically generated voice sounded so anxious. "Not that I was even thinking of trying it. But the odds are if there was an obvious pattern, the police and the FBI would have seen it. There isn't."
"Apart from the fact that they all have bad credit," Maude said. "And they're all relatively local. Which makes sense for the drop-off sites, but not the cards."
"So it hasn't gotten us anywhere," Turing said. "I don't think the answer lies in their credit cards. Or in any of the other bills I can find in their credit records. There aren't any creditors common to all six. It's maddening."
"You'll find the connection," Maude said, in what Tim recognized was intended to be a comforting tone. He'd heard that tone often enough recently. "Maybe you should talk to Rose directly. Sam has probably gotten her phone turned on again."
"Oh, I'm sure Rose will love that," Tim said. "Now she can get all those harassing calls from the bill collectors again."
"And she can turn them over to Sam to handle," Maude said. "If nothing else, we'll have done a good deed, straightening out that poor young woman's situation."
