The Swap

by Nancy Boyarsky

  “My dear Mrs. Graves,” Keaton said. “Of course we’re listening to you. As for these individuals who accosted you on the train — why, we are indeed searching for them.”

  “Great,” Nicole said, although it was hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Oh, and by the way, did you ever find out anything about Inspector Reinhardt?”

  “Yes,” Keaton said slowly. “I did make some inquiries, and we do have an Inspector Ronald Reinhardt. He works in …” There was the slightest hesitation, while she seemed to grope for a word. “another division, which is why I didn’t recognize the name.”

  “I see,” Nicole said, waiting for the detective to say more about Reinhardt.

  Instead, Keaton stared at her for a long moment, then said, “I wonder if I might offer you some advice. I hope you won’t take offense.”

  Once Nicole had nodded, Keaton went on, “You must give yourself some time to recover from these terrible experiences. When it’s a deliberate act of violence, the victim is always fearful the perpetrator will return to finish the job. In a case like this, where you were an innocent bystander, that virtually never happens. Yet people go through a period of — I don’t want to say paranoia. Let’s just call it acute sensitivity to anything out of the ordinary in their daily lives. It’s easy to interpret any unusual event as a threat or sign of conspiracy. Believe me, if you were in any danger whatsoever, we’d give you protection or advise you to go home.”

  It was a struggle for Nicole to remain silent. She had the most terrible urge to point out that she was being stalked by two dangerous criminals and that the police — London’s finest in general and Detective Keaton in particular — were doing nothing to protect her.

  “As for the break-in at your condominium,” Keaton continued, “you tell me that nothing was taken, and your sister has turned the matter over to the Los Angeles police. You’re in capable hands.”

  She reached out and gave Nicole’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “As for the incident on the train,” she went on, “it’s true that things like this occur every day on our transit system — bag snatching, robbery, and even murder. Of course, it’s a different matter since these men seem to be stalking you. You have my word that we’re sparing no efforts to apprehend them.”

  “I don’t mean to rush you,” Nicole said, getting to her feet, “but I do have an appointment.”

  Keaton followed her to the front door, and they said their goodbyes. The detective was starting down the front steps, when she turned back. “Oh, Mrs. Graves, there’s something I’d like to ask of you, a small favor that might help us find these men. We’d like you to come down to headquarters, look at some photographs, and see if you can identify them.”

  “All right,” Nicole said quickly. At this point she would have agreed to anything to get rid of her. “How about tomorrow morning?”

  “Fine,” Keaton said. “I’ll be by around nine to pick you up. We won’t keep you more than an hour or so. By the way, if the Lowrys’ tenant contacts you, please let us know.”

  Nicole regarded her through a narrowing crack in the door. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, heavens no. We just want to ask her a few routine questions.” She smiled brightly and gave a wave. “Until tomorrow, then. Look after yourself, Mrs. Graves. And please be more careful with those keys.”

  Nicole watched from the front window until Keaton got into her car and drove away. Then she waited another two minutes by her watch — an eternity — before she felt it was safe to return to the yard. To her enormous relief, Alice was still there.

  This time they left the door of the shed open. Once they were settled, Nicole stationed herself in a spot where she could keep an eye on the gate. Then she said, “Listen, Alice, before you go on, I have to know something.”

  When Alice nodded her head, Nicole said, “What about my husband? He found this house for us. He said he’d run into Lowry in his company’s office here, but how likely is that? Do you know anything that would make you suspect Brad is mixed up with Lowry and Hayes?”

  “That I don’t know, Nicole. But you say your husband works with computers, and I once overheard Freddy talking about a chap who launders Hayes’ drugs money. He said the man was a computer expert who could move money around on the Internet.”

  Nicole’s blood froze. Brad’s electronic trading scheme would be the perfect vehicle for laundering money. And Hayes’ profits would give Brad the capital he needed to keep his business afloat. Part of her thought it was hard to believe he’d get involved in something that was not only illegal but also dangerous; on another level, it made perfect sense.

  “Now, where was I?” Alice said. “Oh, yes, about Sean’s diary. Well, I gave it to the police, but they never did follow up. There wasn’t anything for me to do but get the goods on Freddy myself, was there? I thought I’d turn it over to someone I know with the tabloids. With that publicity, the police would have to go after him. So I came to the house and said I was looking for a place. Of course, I didn’t give them my real name.

  “I told the Lowrys I’d heard they sometimes let rooms,” she went on. “At first they said they didn’t want another tenant. But when I told them I’d help in the house, Muriel’s ears pricked up. They invited me in. Next thing I know, Muriel is saying she needs someone in the house, seeing as Freddy is gone all the time. He says they don’t know if they can trust me. Muriel says she has a good feeling about me, and she’ll keep an eye on me.” Alice chuckled.

  “They were always doing that, talking about me as if I was deaf or something,” she went on. “Of course, I spread the Oirish on so thick I sounded like a foreigner. They think we’re all stupid Paddies anyway.

  “So I move in and keep my ears open. My bedroom is just down the hall, so I hear more than I want. They don’t have much of a marriage. That’s for certain.”

  She got up and stretched. “Stuffy in here,” she murmured, raising her arms over her head and yawning.

  After a minute or two, she resumed her seat. “So one day Freddy tells Muriel the police are onto him. I don’t know, maybe it’s Sean’s journal that started them watching him. In any case, a couple of detectives corner Freddy, and soon they’re saying they have enough to convict him of drug dealing. They give him a choice: They’ll put him away for fifteen years. Or he can rat on Hayes and help build a case against him. If Freddy did that, they said, they’d turn a blind eye to what he’s done himself.

  “So Freddy, willing lad that he is, promises to cooperate. But the whole time they’re meeting with him, putting together a case against Hayes, Freddy must have been laying his own plan. It isn’t until the night before they leave that I overhear him and Muriel discussing something that makes me think they’re about to pull a runner. The police have begun a big crackdown on street dealers, so Hayes is stuck with a huge shipment of cocaine. Freddy had talked Hayes into letting him have it on credit. This is highly unusual, Nicole. Hayes always makes his distributors pay up front. It was a real windfall for Freddy.”

  As Nicole tried to digest what she’d just heard about Brad, she was having trouble concentrating on Alice’s story. But the account of Lowry’s windfall did catch her attention. “I guess that means the Lowrys never intended to stay at our place,” she said. “They arranged the house swap so they’d have someone occupying their house while they disappeared.”

  “You may be right,” Alice said. “It gave them a chance to get out of the country. Freddy’s money worries were over when he got his hands on the new load of drugs. Imagine how I felt at the idea of that bastard walking away free, a rich man, after all he’d done. And Sean only twenty when his life was taken. I wasn’t going to let Freddy get away with it. So I found Hayes’ number and rang him up. I told him that his trusted associate, Freddy Lowry, had cut a deal with the police.

  “But Freddy and Muriel were out of the house the next morning before dawn. It’s my guess that Hayes’ men couldn’t get here in time to stop them,” she sai
d. “The last I saw of Frederick H. Lowry, he and Muriel were pulling away in a taxi. I’ve been trying to track him ever since.

  “And I won’t give up,” she added. “That’s for certain. The only clue I have is in the envelope I asked you to bring to the Docklands. You still have it, don’t you, Nicole? It’s one of the reasons I came back.”

  “Sure,” Nicole said. “Wait here. I know just where it is.” She hurried back into the house and retrieved the envelope from where she’d hidden it, behind a plate in the china hutch. As she removed the envelope she noticed the china and figurines on display, a colorful collection of Delft, Wedgwood, and Lladro worth hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dollars. It all made sense now: the expensive furniture, the antiques, the big-screen TV and state-of-the-art sound system in what was basically a very modest house. These were things that could be purchased on the cash economy, without attracting notice from tax authorities.

  Back in the shed, Alice extracted the key from the envelope and examined it in a shaft of sunlight before closing her fingers on it. She explained that she’d found the key taped in Sean’s journal, along with a rental receipt for a storage locker in Glasgow.

  This locker, Alice said, was where Sean kept the drugs he was transporting to London. “First he’d bring the whole load to Glasgow in a rented lorry. Then he’d transfer it to his car, because it’s less suspicious than the lorry. Since there wasn’t that much space in the car, he’d leave some in storage and then make several trips. I think he must have put some of his own things in the locker as well.

  “I found only one of his journals at his place. He’d been keeping them even before he left home, and he always saved the old ones. He kept the used journals in a leather case our da gave him when he went down to London. It wasn’t in his flat, and I’m thinking he must have put it in the locker for safekeeping. These journals are just what we need to put Hayes and his whole filthy operation out of business.

  “I know you want to see Kevin and Chazz punished for killing the Lowrys’ neighbor. But Lowry and Hayes have blood on their hands, too. It would be a travesty if they walk away free. Someone has to go to Glasgow and take a look in that locker.”

  “I have an idea,” Nicole said. “The police are looking for Lowry. Why don’t I turn the key over to Keaton? I’ll say I found it in the house.”

  Alice gave a disgusted cluck. “Don’t be so bloody wet; the police can’t be trusted. I’ve got a better plan. If Sean’s journals have the evidence we need, my friend will write it up for her paper. That will force the police to hunt down Lowry and Hayes, won’t it? Meanwhile, if we find Freddy’s whereabouts, we’ll put in a call to Hayes, and he’ll call his dogs off.”

  “What do you mean? He’ll still be looking for his money.”

  “Yes, but he’ll know just where to find Freddy then, won’t he?” Alice said. “If Freddy can’t cough it up, that’s his problem. Meanwhile, Hayes won’t have any call to be following you, will he?”

  Nicole stared at Alice, trying to digest this plan. It made sense, and yet something still bothered her. “What if you found drugs in that locker?” Nicole said. “What would you do?”

  “Not hand it right over to the police. That’s for certain.” Alice was quiet a moment. “First I’d get a laboratory to weigh and authenticate it. I’d call my reporter friend and ask her along as witness. Then I’d turn it in to HM Customs.”

  “What if you found the money?”

  “Money?” Alice repeated.

  “Whatever money Lowry got for the drugs, if he was able to sell them .”

  Alice paused, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “If Freddy left the U.K.,” she said slowly, “you can bet he’d take every penny.”

  “Well, sure,” Nicole said. “He’d try. But it’s not so easy walking out of the country with a suitcase full of cash. With Hayes and the police closing in on him, maybe he didn’t have time to launder the money, or whatever he’d have to do. Just for the sake of argument, Alice, suppose you did find it?”

  “Don’t know,” Alice said. “A bit like winning the Irish Sweepstakes, isn’t it? I mean, drugs money doesn’t belong to anyone. The government hasn’t any more right to it than you or me.” She was silent for a long moment, absorbed in her thoughts as she twisted her hair into a topknot.

  “I suppose I’d catch a flight to Switzerland and deposit it in a bank,” she finally said. “Then I’d take my own sweet time finding a use for it. I’m thinking I’d like to set up a charity in Sean’s name — some kind of anti-drug trust.” She was quiet again. Then she said, “So I was wondering, Nicole. Can you help me out?”

  “Help you out?”

  “Go up to Glasgow and see if Sean’s journals are there. You wouldn’t have to touch anything else. Just get those journals.” Before Nicole could answer, Alice added, “I can’t do it myself. Not with the police looking for me.”

  “Keaton told me they just want to talk to you,” Nicole said. “They’re not looking to arrest you.”

  Alice snorted in disgust. “What bloody difference does that make? They’ll lock you up in a heartbeat and say you have information about terrorist activities. That’s what they did with your husband, isn’t it? Look, Nicole, it wouldn’t even take you the morning once you’re up there.”

  When Nicole didn’t reply, Alice said gently, “No need to give an answer now.”

  “No. It’s okay,” Nicole said. “I’ll go. It probably would do me good to get out of London for a bit. I want to see those men punished.”

  “It will do you the world of good to get away from this filthy city,” Alice said, her tone growing more enthusiastic. “Have a look in the locker; then you can book one of those posh motor coach tours. A trip up the Scottish coast — just the thing to put the color back into your cheeks. The scenery is gorgeous. The Outer Hebrides and the Orkney Islands — and the Isle of Skye. They say that Skye is one of the most glorious spots on earth.

  “The Isle of Skye,” Nicole repeated. She pictured a cool, wooded island floating in a vast blue ocean. Then she realized how impossible it was. “How can I go off on a pleasure trip right now?” she said, “Especially if I find evidence against Lowry and Hayes. I’ll want to get right back to London and see it through.”

  “No, Nicole,” Alice said. “You’ll be shipping the journals to me, and I’ll take care of them. You bloody well need some relief. All we’re talking about is a few days.”

  “I don’t know,” Nicole said, shaking her head. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t imagine herself setting off on a sightseeing trip. “But tell me where you’re staying, so I can ship the journals if I do find them.”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Alice said. “Believe me, it’s much safer if you don’t know. Safer for both of us. But I’ll give you a post office address that belongs to someone who knows how to get in touch with me. You can ship the case with the journals there.” She pulled a pencil and a notebook from her backpack and wrote out the address of the storage facility and the PO box where Nicole was to send the journals. Then she tore the page out and handed it to Nicole, along with the key to the storage locker.

  “If you don’t mind,” Alice said. “I’ll just leave my rucksack here a bit while I take care of something.” She leaned her backpack against the wall. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll be in touch. Take care of yourself.”

  Alice stepped out of the shed, and once again they embraced. Nicole watched as Alice put on the cap. Then she hopped the fence into Mr. McGiever’s yard and disappeared.

  Eighteen

  Silently, Nicole eased herself out of bed, acutely aware of the slow rhythm of Brad’s breathing. His computer was on the desk, no more than six feet from where he was sleeping. Before turning off the light, she’d memorized the machine’s position. In the dark, it was relatively easy to disconnect the electric cord; a firm yank pulled it free.

  Next, she put his cell phone on top of the computer, picked up the computer and tiptoed across
the room. The phone was where he kept the passwords needed to get into his computer and run the software. Brad had explained about this several months before, after a food-poisoning episode incapacitated him. While he was alternately moaning in bed and dashing for the bathroom, his office had called with an urgent need for information kept only on his computer. The job of retrieving it had fallen to Nicole.

  She was just walking out of the room when Brad stirred and called out.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Go back to sleep.”

  The light snapped on. “Nick — that you? What’s wrong?” He sounded a little less groggy now; she wondered how long it would be before he glanced over at the desk and noticed that his beloved laptop was gone.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Can’t sleep. I’m going downstairs to read. Night.”

  “Night,” he mumbled. The lamp went out, and she could hear the bed creaking as he worked to get comfortable again.

  In the kitchen, she went through half the passwords before she found one that admitted her to the hard drive (password: Hercules, in honor of a Doberman Brad’s family had once owned). That was how Brad’s system worked. A password began with the same letter of the alphabet as the program or online service it opened. Not written down were the numbers appended to the end of the name. It was 1984, Brad’s birth year, sometimes reversed to 4891. Walter, which was Brad’s father’s name, opened Westcom Financial Network. Peggy, his mother’s name, went with Points West Data Management, and so on. Then she got to an application called GlobalTrader — password Georgia. Who was Georgia? She decided it merited closer inspection.

  After tinkering for a while, she figured out that GlobalTrader was a database for tracking financial transactions made through an online service of the same name. The files had two letter names followed by the extension .ACCT. The largest and most extensive file was AH.ACCT. Staring at it, she wondered if AH stood for Alexander Hayes and AH.ACCT for the Alexander Hayes account.