by Cathi Stoler
John gestured to the conference table on the other side of his large office. “Why don’t we all sit down?”
At the table, Laurel picked up her coffee and waited. It was a ploy she learned from conducting interviews for the magazine. Most people had to fill the silence and, in an effort to do so, often told more than they intended.
Aaron, however, seemed to understand what she was up to and lightly drummed his fingers on the table. He spoke in a soft but firm voice. “The police department in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, contacted me. They were hoping you could help them with a missing persons case they’re working.” He hesitated. “I need to ask if you’re acquainted with a woman named Anne Ellsworth.”
“Anne is a reader who emailed me with a problem. We’ve spoken several times in the past few days. I’ve been trying to help her figure out a few things.” Laurel couldn’t keep a catch from creeping into her voice. “Is she … has something happened to her? Why are you … why is someone from the New York Police Department asking about her?”
“We’re not sure what’s happened. Doylestown PD called us this morning. A friend she stayed with for the last two days reported her missing after she didn’t show up last night. The friend, Cindy Moran, said Anne had some trouble with her fiancé, David Adams, and was thinking about leaving him. She also said Anne mentioned David might not be who he said he was and that she’d discovered he had several other aliases. Unfortunately, Cindy Moran couldn’t remember those names. Doylestown PD checked the apartment Anne and David were living in before she moved in with Cindy, but it looked as if it was abandoned. Then they found Anne’s car behind the post office. After a thorough search, forensics found an envelope addressed to you here at the magazine. It was wedged down next to the driver’s seat. Doylestown PD isn’t sure if she just didn’t get around to mailing it, or if she hid it in the car to conceal it from someone.”
Aaron handed Laurel a piece of paper, folded in half. As she took it from his hand and unfolded it, her fingers trembled. “That’s a copy of the note that was inside. Why don’t you read it and see what you make of it?”
Stomach churning and a feeling of dread washing over her, Laurel looked at the paper in her hand and tried to focus on the words it contained. It was handwritten in neat, small script.
Dear Ms. Imperiole,
Thank you for your help and advice. I’m planning to do what we discussed, but before I can leave, there’s one more thing I need to find out about—who David really is. I’ll call you as soon as I can.
Anne Ellsworth
“Oh my God, she never left, did she?” Laurel lifted her eyes from the paper and looked at Aaron, tears springing to her eyes. “Where is she? What happened to her? Did the police talk to David Adams?” The words poured out in a rush.
“Where should she be? Why are you so sure something happened to her?” Aaron’s soft tone was gone, his voice now icy. “Why don’t you tell me what you and Anne discussed and what she planned to do? Or is it one more thing you’d like to keep to yourself?”
Laurel bristled at his attitude. She knew where it came from but it irked her nonetheless. She relayed all the information she had about Anne and David—their backgrounds, how they met, David’s passports in different names and the list of numbers Anne found, which Laurel believed were records of embezzling. Just as she had done with Helen, Laurel spoke of her suspicions about David, her fear for Anne’s safety, and the plan for Anne to leave the area. “She was supposed to go to the police first and tell them what she found. Then she was going to leave her car at the mall, not the post office. I don’t know anything about what she tried to find out before leaving Doylestown. What has David Adams told the police?”
“He seems to have left the area as well,” Aaron said. “Or he’s staying under their radar. They’re still looking and they didn’t mention finding any of the passports or papers you just told me about. They’re definitely going to be interested in knowing about that.” The detective’s voice hardened even more and he fixed Laurel with his steely stare. “There’s something else. If Anne is with David, he may know about your involvement, and he may not like it. You need to be careful until he’s located. Is there anything else you can tell me that the Doylestown PD should know? Anything else you’re holding back?” His eyes pinned hers.
Laurel took a beat. She understood the reason for Aaron’s hard edge. He was remembering how she’d behaved when they were searching for Jeff Sargasso. Going behind Aaron’s back, she’d aided Israeli Mossad agent Lior Stern, who recovered the priceless work of art at the heart of the case. She’d made a terrible mistake in choosing the Israeli over Aaron. It was a judgment call she couldn’t undo.
Laurel swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She realized she’d forgotten to tell him about the threatening email. Would he even care? The more she heard, the more she believed it was from Adams. If he actually did something to Anne, he wouldn’t come looking for her, would he? He’d probably try to get as far away as possible. No, she’d keep it to herself for now, until Helen could … Oh my god, Laurel thought as her body started involuntarily. Helen. I’ve involved her in this as well—but David Adams couldn’t possibly know that. She hesitated before speaking, hoping Aaron didn’t notice her distress. “No. Nothing. I can give you copies of the emails I received from Anne if that will help.” Rising from the table and walking toward John’s door, Laurel gathered herself. “I’ll print them out for you if you can wait a moment. I’d like to make a copy of this note, as well.”
“That’s fine,” Aaron said and nodded his assent. “It was addressed to you.”
Laurel used the time away from John and Aaron to catch her breath and review everything she and Anne discussed. Was Anne’s disappearance her fault? Did she give her the wrong advice? What was that expression? No good deed goes unpunished. Laurel began praying, Please, God, don’t let Anne be punished for something I encouraged her to do. She made a promise to Anne, as well: I’ll find you no matter what it takes.
When a more composed Laurel returned with the emails a few minutes later, Aaron and John were speaking quietly. They stopped when Laurel entered the room and she realized they had been talking about her. “Here.” She handed Aaron the papers. “I made you copies of everything. Tell me, why are you involved? Anne is from Pennsylvania, not New York.”
“There’s a question of David Adams’ identity as well as the note addressed to you here. It’s my jurisdiction and my type of case.” He shrugged and turned to leave. His eyes turned steely again. “You’ll call me if you think of anything else.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Of course she will,” John answered. Shaking hands with the detective, he escorted him to the door. “Thank you for stopping by, Detective Gerrard.”
Aaron departed without a word, and John turned back toward Laurel as she watched him go. “Well? Any other surprise visits I should expect?”
I hope not, Laurel thought. She knew she owed him an explanation that would account for her not filling him in on her plan to write a story about hidden identities.
“I didn’t mean to entangle the magazine in anything that would involve Aaron … I mean, the police.”
“But you have. It seems it could be rather dangerous to you and the woman you’re advising.” His face showed concern and his voice softened.
“Anne’s request for help really got to me,” Laurel said. “I’ve been thinking about how easily people can be fooled, how simple it is for them to change or hide their identities. People lie every day—on job applications, to their spouses, about where they went to school. The list is endless.” The thought Aaron would include her on that list of liars flew across her mind. She shrugged it away. “I decided to do a story about it while helping her at the same time. I probably should have cleared it with you first. It will benefit our readers. I really believe that.”
“You’re right.” John was now at Laurel’s side. “It will.” The publisher in him appeared to be recognizing a hot story i
dea. “Who else have you told about this?”
“No one.” Now she had to lie again, as well. If she mentioned hiring Helen, a private investigator, he’d really think it was too dangerous and probably ask her to drop the story. Her father obviously hadn’t told John about Helen’s involvement. He was probably too embarrassed about following her to her meeting. She’d have to think of a way to make sure he didn’t mention it.
“I think you should keep this very quiet until the police locate Anne Ellsworth and her fiancé.” John’s voice was firm. “All right?”
“Yes,” she replied softly.
“I won’t press you on your reasoning for keeping this information from me just now. I agree about the positive aspects of a story like this. Listen to me, though. I want you to be careful and if you hear anything, and I mean anything, from Anne Ellsworth, I want to know immediately. Do you understand?”
“Of course.” Laurel couldn’t believe John was letting her off that easily. It was out of character. Maybe Anne’s disappearance brought out his kinder side and he was willing to go a bit easy on her for the moment.
It wouldn’t last, though. Sooner or later, he’d start thinking about the whole episode and begin to pick it apart. Digging out the truth was what made John such a brilliant editor. Soon he’d begin wondering if she was entirely forthcoming. John would want to discuss everything again, and when that happened, she better have some solid answers.
Helen was the best bet Laurel had for getting answers. Laurel would call her as soon as she got back to her desk and ask for her assistance on Anne’s disappearance as well. She was sure Helen would be able to find Anne and the answers to all the other questions spinning around in her mind.
Chapter 15
Wednesday, 1:20 p.m.
Whoever coined the phrase “never a dull moment” must have been thinking of me, Helen thought. Her day was a whirlwind of activity even before she left the house.
It started with her usual morning call to Joe. As they said their hellos, she realized both of them had calmed down a bit since the receiver-banging episode of the day before.
“Nothing to report today,” she said. “Ralphie hung out at the Three Aces until the crew left about two a.m. From what I could see, they played cards and did shots all night. Suave Sal and his cronies never showed. Maybe they headed down to Atlantic City for a little R and R.”
“Yeah, well, I hope the bastards lost their shirts at some crooked roulette table,” Joe said. “They deserve it. This case is making me crazy, and it’s gotten a lot bigger than Ralphie and the stolen ring. The Feds are all over my ass about this since the little tête-à-tête with the Jersey family you witnessed the other night.”
“A lovely ass it is, too.” Helen chuckled, knowing Joe would turn red at the intimate reference to her knowledge of her former lover’s anatomy. Now that they were just good friends, Helen was more inclined to tease him when the opportunity arose, although he didn’t always appreciate it. “Listen,” she continued more seriously, “I’m sorry I hung up on you yesterday, but I’m certain that car was heading right for me. I’m sure it was the Mafia’s.”
“Can’t be. The guys at the Organized Crime Unit swore on their mothers they didn’t give up your name to anyone. In fact, they’re bringing over their tapes from the club so I can listen and make sure your name wasn’t mentioned at all.”
“Those guys haven’t got mothers,” Helen said. “There’s no other explanation. Tapes can be altered. I appreciate your efforts. I’m going to check out some contacts of my own and see what I can find out. I’m also going to spend a day away from Ralphie. I know I said I’d make time, but today I need to take care of a few other things and do a little digging for my other assignments.”
“No problem. I’ll put Jack on it. He’s been doing a lot of Internet investigating lately and is getting a little too cozy with his office chair.” Jack was Jack Kleinman, Joe’s chief assistant. “It’ll do him good to get off his butt and go out on the street for a few hours.”
“Oh,” there was a touch of levity in her voice, “is his butt as nice as yours?” She hung up before Joe could reply.
Helen sat back in her chair and flexed her now unbandaged hand, which felt much better. Dressed in her favorite gray cashmere sweats, which were obscenely expensive and sinfully comfortable, she stretched her arms overhead, enjoying the softness against her skin. The sweats reminded her of her old boss, Richard Volpe, and his ideas on how people should dress and behave. “Richard’s Rules of Relationships” is what the group at his detective agency called these pronouncements of his. Sweats, even cashmere ones, and even worn only in private, were a definite no-no. So were sneakers and many other items.
“Women and men should look their best for each other, treat each other well and not take their relationships for granted,” was how this man who had been married three times so aptly put it. Must be experience talking, Helen thought at the time. He also believed in buying only the very best, always booking the most expensive room you could afford for a vacation and eating at each new restaurant that opened in the city. Of course, all this could become very costly. As he also explained, “That’s what credit cards are for.”
Helen smiled at the thought of this elegant man, who she still spoke with on a regular basis. As she got up from her desk and headed to the kitchen, she wondered what he’d make of her current assignment. She made a pot of Gevalia coffee and slathered a big dollop of Fortnum & Mason raspberry preserves on a croissant she had heated while the coffee was brewing. Placing the breakfast on her wicker tray, she took it back into her study.
Helen loved good food and bristled at the memory of her lunch the day before strewn on the sidewalk like so much litter. She took a bite of her croissant, deftly catching the preserves that dripped from its end and licking the jam off her finger. Thank God for her good metabolism or baggy sweats would be all she fit into.
She took a sip of her coffee and dialed Laurel’s work number. They needed to discuss Matt. Laurel’s voicemail picked up. Helen left a message saying she’d try again later.
Time for the nitty gritty. Helen laid the pages Laurel gave her out on her desk. Laurel was thorough in organizing the information she received from Anne about David Adams, but there were still a lot of holes. Most of it was based on what David told Anne during the months they were together and there was no way of knowing what was true and what was fabricated.
Name: David Adams
Age: 30
DOB: April 21, 1983
Last Known Address: 80 Old Dublin Pike, Doylestown, PA
Description: 5’11”. Dark brown hair, brown eyes. 170 lbs., athletic build.
Distinguishing Marks: Crescent-shaped scar (about 1”) on right hip.
Car: 2000 Toyota 4Runner leased from Rogers Toyota of PA.
Employment: Investment Associates, 89 Brook St. Doylestown, PA. Employed as a Financial Advisor.
Origins: Midwest (was never specific about city or state)
Relatives: Parents names unknown; no known relatives.
Education: Spoke about attending The Kelly School of Business at Indiana University (not known for certain).
Aliases: John Collier, Kenneth Martin, Jason Pitt, Robert Laird.
Has set of identification for each alias including Social Security card, passport, driver’s license, credit card and bankbook.
No photos available.
As Helen read over the memo, she made notes. What a piece of work this guy is. She wondered if any of the aliases would be his real name or if he stole them from people he encountered in his various incarnations. I have to get a copy of all the socials he’s using with the aliases and check those, as well. She checked again; the notes did list the social security number associated with the name David Adams. Helen scribbled away. I wish I had a set of prints to run. I’ll have to remind Laurel to ask if Anne took anything with her that belonged to the guy.
Next, Helen reviewed the information Laurel had provided o
n Matt. It was just as well that she hadn’t actually reached her friend earlier, before she’d read this stuff. There was more to go on, but as she went through it, Helen thought about Laurel and the confusion she showed when they discussed Matt. Laurel didn’t have the experience to understand fully what she was doing by digging into Matt’s past. Helen’s work had taught her some things were better left unknown. She hoped Laurel’s first inclination was right and Matt would turn out to be a stand-up guy, the standard by which all the Women Now readers could measure their partners. Or at least something close to that.
Helen made another trip to the kitchen and refilled her coffee mug. Sitting at her desk once again, she took a bite of her croissant and read over her info on Matt.
Name: Matthew George Kuhn
DOB: December 10, 1979
Age: 34
Address: 361 Crosby Street, NY, NY
Description: 6”1”. Sandy colored hair, blue eyes. 165 lbs. athletic build.
Distinguishing Marks: Small mole on right side of lower lip.
Car: BMW Z4 Roadster, purchased from BMW Motors, W. 87th St., NY.
Present Employment: New York branch of ZurichBank AG, 25 E. 53rd St., NY, NY.
Division Manager, Corporate Client Group. Origins: Born Basel, Switzerland.
Relatives: Parents deceased in alpine skiing accident when a young boy. Raised by mother’s sister in Zurich.
Education: From age six to sixteen, attended La Sylvain, bilingual boarding school in Villars-sur-Ollon, Switzerland.
College: Institute de Investissement et Management and Swiss Finance Institute der Universität, Zurich.
Languages: English, French, German, Italian, Arabic.
Previous Employment: Worked for the UDB Bank in Basel, Switzerland, and London, England, as well as Arabia National Bank in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, before accepting present job in New York.