Amber flicked over to a different box on the screen. “And here’s the email he received—the bank confirming the change of password on the account. I knew it. I knew something changed on that one, and it happened after Clint died. Derek Woo has been all over the place in these accounts.”
Mary was practically bouncing on her toes. “Do you think you can get in there now, retrieve half the money for me?”
Amber moved one of the boxes aside and looked at others. “Well, if it’s going to work, this should do it. I’ve tracked Derek’s keystrokes so I know what he enters as a password.”
She made a few more moves, rapid changes hard for everyone else to follow, but no one protested. They saw a sign-on screen, watched Amber carefully copy and paste information. Saw her click the Log In button.
Up came a message in red. The user name/password combination you entered is not a valid one.
“Rats,” said Mary. “What went wrong?”
“My guess is he’s changed them again. I’ll have to do some more digging. You all don’t have to wait around. It could take awhile.”
The reminder about the time of day made Mary look at her watch. “Oh, god, I’ve got a class to teach in a half-hour.”
“I’ll drive you to the gym,” Sandy said. “It’s quicker than trying to catch the buses.”
“Thanks—I’d never make it otherwise.”
“Coming along, Pen?” There wasn’t much option. They’d all arrived in Sandy’s car.
“Keep working on this information, Amber,” Pen said, “and let us know what you come up with.”
Amber nodded and the others saw themselves out. She decided to concentrate on the lawyer’s emails next. If he’d changed the banking passwords more than once, there could be something more recent in the data files. But rows and rows of code rolled by without a hit on anything usable. Either that, or she was growing bleary-eyed from staring at the screen too long.
She locked her screen and logged out, sticking the precious thumb drive in her pocket before she picked up the basket of dirty laundry she’d gathered earlier and walked out the door. Maybe a walk to the laundry room and back would help clear her head.
She’d thrown dark colors and lights into two machines, tossed in soap pods and started them when the idea occurred to her, a place she hadn't yet looked in the computer files. She race-walked back to her apartment.
Narrowing her search to the data added during the time Clint Holbrook was in China, Amber found what she was looking for in the folder called Trash. More than two dozen emails had gone between Derek Woo and Rudy Tong, Clint’s customer. She copied the coded lines and opened them in a word processor for easier reading.
As her eyes scanned the messages she realized she had hit the jackpot.
Chapter 46
The emails went back almost a year, to the time right before Clint’s company was awarded the bid for Tong Chen Enterprises’ construction job. The correspondence was conducted in English for the most part, since it appeared Derek didn’t speak much Mandarin. The occasional Chinese words were easy enough for her to look up. She took the messages in order, to make sense of the sequence of events. Right away, she found an interesting fact. It seemed Derek Woo and Rudy Tong were cousins.
Amber called Sandy and asked whether the rest of the Ladies should be in on this discovery.
“Why don’t you read everything first,” Sandy suggested, “make copies of the important ones and come up with some conclusions for us.”
It was the most responsibility the team had ever given their youngest member and Amber was determined to do the job well. She started again, reading with a more critical eye.
Knowing about the relationship between the lawyer and his client’s customer put a new perspective on the whole story. Perhaps it was not so coincidental, then, that Clint had been awarded the bid, something the Ladies had wondered about from the beginning—why an American from Arizona with seemingly no contacts in China happened to win such a lucrative contract. With Derek in the picture it all began to make sense. A few kickbacks, shaving costs on materials … there were lots of ways a cousin could better his own situation in such a deal.
She found one set of communiques where the deal was fairly well spelled out: Rudy Tong would award the contract to his cousin’s client; in return, Derek Woo would steer Clint toward allowing him more financial control, give Derek access to his bank accounts and allow him to handle payments and transfers. She wondered if Clint actually knew Derek had changed his account passwords, and which of the several banks Clint used were accessible by Derek. All of them?
Amber thought of the accounts she’d located early in her dabbling into Clint’s background. The fact she’d been unable to get into them later made her think things changed around the time Clint left for Shanghai and Derek Woo began taking charge. It could hardly be a coincidence.
But how would this lead the Chinese to want Clint Holbrook, unimportant plumbing contractor from America, to die? He was, after all, constructing a building for Tong Chen Enterprises.
She took a deep breath and stretched her shoulders, realizing she had been at the keyboard more than an hour without a break. While she ran to the laundry room to transfer her clothes from washers to dryers she thought about it. What she’d read so far didn’t lead to any conclusions. One thing she did know—Clint’s lawyer and his client sure had talked a lot about him behind his back.
She hurried back to the apartment and continued her task. Moving along in time, she saw how the two Chinese had planned exactly when Clint would travel to Shanghai and where he would stay. Rudy Tong knew what room Holbrook would be given, and there was a hint he could have set up surveillance of the premises. Another little flurry of messages when Clint’s lawyer learned he planned to take Kaycie along. The men weren’t too happy about that.
Amber made notes. When she came to an exchange of messages where Rudy Tong expressed displeasure with Clint’s using space in the Tong Chen offices, he commented to the effect that he wished to be rid of him. It hardly came across as a death threat, but Amber didn’t know the subtle nuances of the way these men communicated. Their different cultural habits, the familial bond—being rid of someone could mean wishing him dead.
She printed copies of the most inflammatory messages, not completely convinced she had anything that truly posed a danger to Clint Holbrook’s life—at least not yet. She realized the data she’d taken from Woo’s computer was up to date as of the moment she took it, but most likely he and Rudy Tong were still in touch and she was missing a treasure trove of information if she couldn’t continue to follow along. The past would become irrelevant and Woo would come up with explanations for everything she’d gleaned so far.
She paced her tiny apartment. There had to be a way to follow his moves in real time. She and her buddy, Bernie, had toyed around with this kind of stuff in their spare hours in school. Now if only she could apply that knowledge …
A final trip to the laundry room gave Amber the mental space she needed. By the time she got back to her room and dumped the laundry basket on the futon, she’d devised a series of steps in her mind. At her computer again, she wrote programming code until the room had gone dark and the night outside was black. Working in the glow from her screen, she began to see Derek Woo’s text messages coming in fast and furious.
Chapter 47
Amber yawned hugely at the Village Inn breakfast table where the Heist Ladies had gathered. An early meeting was all Sandy could manage—the bank’s auditor would be in her office by ten and she knew the grueling experience would go on all day. Gracie had shuffled her kids off to school. Mary and Pen were the only two who appeared as if they’d enjoyed a restful night and were alert this morning.
They should have met at one of their homes, Sandy thought. This place was full of seniors with their early-bird habits and nothing better to do than eavesdrop on others’ conversations. The only upside, other than the restaurant being centrally located, was most of those old folks proba
bly had no better hearing than a stone.
Even so, she kept her voice low as she asked Amber to expand on what she’d found out about Derek Woo.
“I don’t know how valuable it’s going to be, all the work I put in on this,” Amber said, mirroring Sandy’s near-whisper and helping herself to a second cup of coffee from the carafe the waitress had left on their table. “He’s still in contact with his cousin—I did learn that—but they are being super cautious. They’ll say things with references like ‘the usual place’ and they talk about people using initials, most of which I don’t recognize. I’m watching out for TG or AR, figuring if Derek has knowledge of Tiko or Angelo in the Philippines, those names might come up.”
Mary seemed sobered by Amber’s revelations this morning. “This whole thing started with you guys wanting to help me with my situation. It seemed so harmless, gathering financial data on Clint so we could get a judge to take a look. Now we’re possibly tracking killers?”
“I feel like a spy,” Gracie said, cutting a wedge from her blueberry pancakes. “All this hacking and watching is kind of exciting.”
“Perhaps we should turn everything we’ve learned over to the police and let them scrutinize Clint’s death,” Pen suggested. “We’re ill-equipped to take this investigation of ours all the way to a conclusion.”
She dipped a toast triangle into her soft-boiled egg. “Although I have to agree, it’s somewhat thrilling to see what can be done with surveillance these days.”
“It’s also highly illegal,” Sandy reminded. She turned toward Amber. “Not that we won’t stand behind you. We’re in this together.”
“It won’t come out,” Amber said, as if reading her thoughts. “Other than the emails I’m printing for you to look at, there’s no hard evidence. My programs have a self-destruct feature that erases everything the moment the thumb drive is plugged into any other computer but mine.”
“Amber, you keep one copy of the emails,” Gracie suggested. “I’ll take the others. My house has a fireplace.”
The comment brought a chuckle. It also gave an even more clandestine feel to the meeting.
“What we need is some definitive proof that these men conspired to … you know. Just one scrap of real evidence, and we can turn it over to the police to investigate. Agreed?”
“The problem is, we don’t even have evidence that Derek actually went to the Philippines himself. He was in China, but I haven’t found any phone calls or emails originating from the islands,” Amber said.
“He didn’t have to be there,” Gracie added. “If he was the one directing that boat guy, telling him what to do.”
“Yeah, guys like Derek Woo and Rudy Tong aren’t going to be the actual … killers.” Amber only mouthed the final part. A tiny woman with a fluff of white hair was watching from the neighboring table.
Pen gave the woman a hard stare, forcing her back to her bacon and eggs. “We need to tread very lightly,” she said. “I’ve learned one other thing. There’s an insurance investigator looking into this case. Apparently, Clint’s large new policy is not what you might call a shoo-in.”
Sandy glanced at her watch. “I’ve gotta go. Today’s going to be a busy one.” She put money on the table for her share and slid out of the booth.
Privately, she thought the Ladies would be hard-pressed to come up with anything on their own. The death happened in another country, after all, and if it was true Rudy Tong was connected somehow with Chinese mobsters and this really was a murder … well, the Heist Ladies were in far over their heads. It wouldn’t have taken a lot of cash to bribe a man like Tiko Garcia to sail his boat into shark-infested waters and give his passenger a shove over the side. She would speak to Pen later about consulting her friend Benton for advice.
Sandy thought about all the new information on her way to work. Pen’s discovery of an insurance company’s involvement might be more important than they realized. She parked at the bank and pulled out her phone, jotting a quick text to Pen: Can you find that ins investig? Maybe we shd talk with?
Chapter 48
Kaycie had put off the insurance man as long as she could. His look of disbelief when she’d claimed to be meeting her mother for lunch was almost funny, but only in retrospect. She knew the picture she’d presented yesterday morning—wearing sloppy shorts and top, no makeup and her hair in knots, the condo a complete mess. No way had she been on her way out the door, but the man was pleasant and gracious. No doubt he’d come face to face with the recently widowed, many times.
The surprise visit had one positive effect—Kaycie realized what she looked like through someone else’s eyes and it snapped her back to reality. Today, she was freshly showered and wore one of the dresses she often wore on air for Channel 3. Her swollen sinuses still felt like hell and the sleeping pills she was taking every night left her groggy until noon the following day, but he didn’t need to know that. She was walking and talking and wore makeup. Little else mattered.
The one thing she did not do was to invite him back to her home. Fixing yourself up to face the world was one thing. Having the house ready—that was something else. She’d called Inez, the cleaning lady, and apologized profusely for being rude the other day. She offered double the woman’s regular rate if she would put off someone else and come clean the Holbrook condo today.
The sun was bright when she went outside to the covered parking space where her little Mercedes sat next to Clint’s big Cadillac SUV. Another reminder. What was she going to do with all these possessions? Clint had been big on toys and gadgets. He had an antique car collection she had only seen once, garaged in a big warehouse-like storage facility out in Glendale. He’d bragged to people that he had more than a million dollars tied up in those cars. She could ignore the things she didn’t see everyday, but the things she encountered all the time—like the Cadillac and his clothes and such—each item was a painful reminder.
She almost blew off her appointment with the insurance guy and turned back, but the man would only come around again if she didn’t go see him instead. She took her keys from her purse and pulled out his business card, too. Bradley Muggins. A smile curved her lips. What a name.
The city looked different as she drove toward the address on Central. When she tried to pinpoint what had changed, she realized it was simply the otherworldly feeling of having been away—first to China, then locked away in her condo for more than a week. A return to real life was more a plunge back into the ordinary.
Mr. Muggins—she smiled when she said his name to the receptionist because it sounded like a character in a children’s book—met her in his office cubicle. His desk was clear, although there were piles of folders on the adjoining credenza and file cabinet.
“How are you today, Mrs. Holbrook?” he asked, followed by an offer of coffee, tea or water. “You seem a little more—” He stopped. There really wasn’t a good ending to that sentence. More dressed? More alive? More ready to face the world?
She waved away his blunder and accepted the coffee, which he signaled someone outside the cubicle to bring. Her sinuses still ached and she hoped the burst of caffeine would help.
“I brought the certificate you requested,” she said. “Unfortunately, they only gave me one copy.”
He reached for the papers she held out. No comment. He studied the two stapled sheets while Kaycie accepted her coffee in a foam cup, holding it to warm her hands which were suddenly ice-cold in the air-conditioned room.
“It lists the cause of death here as drowning,” he said, “although apparently there was no autopsy.”
“He uh … they uh … his body was never found. They said they searched the water for a long time but there were a lot of shark—”
She set the untouched cup on his desk and reached into her purse for tissues. It hadn’t become easier to tell this story. Would it ever?
“I’m sorry. I know this is upsetting.” He looked over the papers and gave her a minute to compose herself. “There are some st
andard questions I have to ask, just things the company needs ticked off a list before they can pay a benefit.”
She sniffed and nodded. “I understand.”
“Your husband’s health, in general, was good?”
“Yes.” Clint had a routine physical every year.
“Did your husband—I’m sorry this is a difficult question,” Muggins said. “Did your husband ever mention having suicidal thoughts?”
“Clint? He loved life. There he was, having a ball on a fishing trip. He—” She saw what he was getting at. Asking whether Clint might have bought insurance and then chartered that boat so he could die quickly. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Sorry—it’s just one of the things I’m required to ask.”
She swallowed the choking feeling in her throat, blinked her eyes quickly and nodded.
“I’ll need to keep this document a few days to have it verified,” he said.
“You can’t just make a copy?”
“Normally, a funeral home will obtain several copies for the next of kin because each insurance company and agency needs an original. I understand—you only have this one. It will have to be reviewed upstairs, but I’m sure you’ll get it back in due time.”
Due time. What on earth did that mean? She fidgeted with the clasp on her purse.
“There will be a delay in payout. I need to let you know. Normally, if all is in order, a beneficiary will receive payment in a couple of weeks. But this is a very large policy—a million dollars—and the circumstances are unusual. The foreign death certificate and the fact your husband only held the policy since last spring.” He tucked her papers into the file folder and pushed it to the far side of the desk, well out of her reach.
“How long is this delay?” she asked.
“Hard to say, exactly. Do you have enough money available to live on until we’re able to finalize our determination?”
The Trophy Wife Exchange Page 18