by Cathi Stoler
At 7:00 a.m., Aaron Gerrard sat at his desk, booting up his computer to input the data for the NCIC search of David Adams before he and Laurel left for Pennsylvania.
Computers surrounded him in what some might consider an extravagance of riches, considering they were all packed into one NYPD squad room. The Identity Theft Unit was located on the second floor of the Thirteenth Precinct and occupied a converted storage room at the back of the building. The rest of the detectives called the unit “The Ids.” Aaron was sure Freud would have found some hidden meaning in that nickname. But the truth was, the team didn’t need their egos stroked and got along well. They had to, crammed as they were into a small space where every nook and cranny was filled with battered desks, chairs, phones and various equipment of the unit’s five detectives. Aaron was lucky to have such good people on his team. Detective First Grade Larry Waxman, Detectives Second Grade Judy Tassone and Santo Fareri and the newbie, Detective Third Grade Davey Jones—the unit’s IT specialist—all worked their butts off for him, and it showed.
While his squad had a high clearance rate, the problem of identity theft was growing like those wildfires in the west that ate up thousands of acres of land. It ran the gamut from small-time crooks smart enough to intercept mail and destroy a person’s credit, to operators who created whole new identities from scratch and sold them for hundreds to thousands of dollars.
It was easier than most people imagined to acquire a new identity. If he wanted to dump the identity “Aaron Gerrard” and become someone else, he could choose from a myriad of ways to accomplish that aim. He could buy a social security number and birth certificate from someone down on his luck. He could go “dumpster diving” and sift through someone’s trash for personal records and mail and use the information to create an identity. Or, he could hook up with someone in the State Employment Bureau and purchase the information he needed. As long as the documents were official copies, he’d have no trouble applying for a job, leasing an apartment, and opening a bank account or applying for credit cards. It might take a month or two, but most people desperate enough to change identities wouldn’t mind the trouble, or the wait.
Aaron checked his watch. Laurel would be here in half an hour with her rental car. He flashed on her soft eyes and inviting mouth, then shook his head. Did you forget what she did to you the last time you two were involved? Are you out of your mind, letting her talk you into going to Pennsylvania? His inner voice wouldn’t be quiet. Aaron drummed his fingers on the desk. I am one dumb schmuck. He sighed. I told her boss I’d get a man to keep an eye on her, not babysit her myself. What the hell am I doing?
* * *
Helen walked into the squad room and waved to Aaron with the bag of donuts she held in her hand.
She noted the look of surprise on his face. He was going to want to know why she had arrived at his desk at this ungodly hour and she didn’t have a reason she could safely share.
Helen hadn’t slept much. Nor had she recovered from the fear the DVD sparked in her, or from the subsequent conversation she had about it with Joe. She couldn’t let Aaron see something was troubling her. He’d start asking questions in that easygoing, slide-it-in-sideways manner of his, digging and digging until she let something slip. She couldn’t let that happen. She needed to talk to Laurel and ask her a few more questions about Matt. Today. Now. Before Laurel left for Pennsylvania. A lot depended on her answers.
Putting on her game face, Helen walked over to his desk. “Aaron, my man, I see you’re still in one piece after last evening. Made it home okay?”
“Why are you here annoying me?” He kept his gaze on his computer. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it isn’t nice to gloat, especially when you’ve asked the person you’re taunting for their help?”
“You’re such a sensitive thing.” She reached into the paper bag she held and waved a chocolate-covered donut under his nose. His hand reached out and snatched it away. “I would never have guessed,” she said and smiled, slipping easily into the lie forming on her lips. “I was on my way to the office for an early meeting, so I thought I’d stop by to check on your progress … and to wish you bon voyage.” Take the offensive and get his mind on something other than me.“So, did you find out anything about our man, David Adams?”
“I’m just getting started,” Aaron said. “Pull up a chair.” He took a bite of his donut. “That is, if you can find one.”
Aaron worked the computer and Helen watched over his shoulder as he logged onto the FBI’s NCIC database. Designed to provide any law enforcement agency with information about crimes and criminals, it contained data from the FBI, federal, state and local agencies, as well as foreign criminal justice agencies. Helen knew that if a person had ever been arrested or jammed up with the law, his or her name would be in there, even if the case was closed and they beat the rap.
Aaron typed in his password and NYPD code to access the system. Once both were accepted, he entered the name David Adams and his aliases as well as his sex, race, date of birth and the social security number they had for him. Then he requested the system execute a search for wanted fugitives.
Working silently and quickly, Aaron also requested a search of the stolen vehicle file, entering David Adams’ plate number and make of car.
Helen wished she could ask Aaron to run Matt Kuhn’s name for crimes committed in a foreign country. She was positive the response would be informative. But, that was for another day.
Helen liked watching Aaron work. He was the kind of man who concentrated entirely on whatever he was doing at the moment, a trait Helen was especially grateful for this morning, as it continued to focus his attention on something other than herself. Anticipating Laurel’s arrival—her real reason for being in the squad room—she kept sneaking glances at her watch, hoping Aaron wouldn’t notice.
Aaron hit enter and sat back in his swivel chair. All of this would take some time, unlike on TV where the information came up instantly. “When we get to Doylestown, I’ll see if they found anything on the prints they were able to lift from Anne Ellsworth’s note. The detectives there should have run them by now.”
The FBI had over 170 million prints on file. Basically anyone who’d ever been fingerprinted was in their database and on their computer. If David Adams had been printed for any reason—during an arrest, as a condition for employment, or because he joined the Army, for instance—he’d be in there. “Good, good,” Helen said. Her prints were all over that DVD. I’ll have to wipe it, she thought.
“Hello?” Aaron was staring at her face. “What’s the matter?”
She forced herself to smile and took a bite of her donut, which seemed to stick in her throat. She shook her head. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Aaron eyeballed her a little more closely now. Damn, her woolgathering had made him curious. She was sure the stress lines around her eyes and mouth that no amount of makeup could hide would give her away.
“Listen, I’m not sure what—” Aaron began.
Just then, the door to the squad room opened and Laurel walked in. She wore a simple black pantsuit with a purse slung over her shoulder. She looks totally professional, Helen thought. That is, until Helen looked at her eyes, which showed the strain she had been under.
“Hi. I stopped by on my way to the office to see how Aaron was getting along.” Helen gestured to the computer. “How are you?”
“What a surprise,” Laurel said. “Good morning, Detective Gerrard.” She nodded in his direction. Uh-oh, being formal this morning. Helen wondered what had happened after Laurel and Aaron left her house. “I’m fine. Anxious to get going.” She unconsciously twisted her watch around her wrist.
“Give me five minutes,” Aaron said. “I have to go over a few things with my people before we leave.” He gestured to the Identity Theft Unit’s detectives who had filtered in while he worked the computer and were clustered at the other end of the squad room.
“Could you show me where the ladies’ room is?” Laurel qu
ietly asked Helen after Aaron moved away from them to talk to his team, usurping her plan to find a private spot where the two of them could talk.
Helen sensed an underlying urgency in Laurel’s voice and raised her eyebrows in questioning. “Yeah, it’s this way. I’ll come with you.” Under her breath she added, “We need to talk.”
Aaron glanced over at them as they left the room. She hoped he wouldn’t catch on to Laurel’s unease and ask her about it later.
Once inside the ladies’ room, which was a crumbling testament to turn-of-the-century plumbing, Helen locked the door against intruders and turned to Laurel.
“Thank God you’re here,” Laurel said. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I got a message from Matt.” The words spilled out in a torrent. “It was on my machine when I got home last night.” She blushed slightly. “It was like nothing happened between us. Matt said he was leaving Siena today and would be home in time to go to Dad’s birthday dinner tomorrow night. I might have been wrong. I couldn’t have seen him here, not if he’s been in Italy all this time.” There was uncertainty in her voice and hope, as if by saying the words, she willed them to be true.
It was as if someone punched Helen in the stomach. What could she safely tell Laurel about Matt? Worse yet, could she ask the questions on her mind since late last night that brought her here this morning?
“You’ve got a lot on your plate right now,” she said. “I think you should concentrate on your trip to Doylestown today and your story. It’s your best opportunity to find out about Anne Ellsworth and what happened to her.” Helen threw her net wide. The advice sounded trite, even to her. “I should know more about David Adams and everything else by the time you’re back this evening.” She thought about Matt and shivered. At least with Aaron Laurel would be out of harm’s way. “We’ll talk later tonight, or tomorrow morning.”
“No, I can’t wait. I’m sick of hearing little pieces. I want to know it all.”
Helen formed her words carefully in her mind before speaking. “There are some leads I have to explore further and some questions I need to ask you.”
Laurel waited silently while Helen gathered her thoughts. “Have you ever been to Matt’s office at the bank, or met any of his coworkers?”
“No, but he’s mentioned them to me and I believe he was traveling in Italy with his supervisor, Helmut Schmidt. I think that’s who I heard in the background when he called me on Tuesday.”
Yeah, I’ll bet. “How about family members?” Helen asked.
“They’re all dead. Except for his aunt in Switzerland, who raised him.” Laurel looked puzzled. “I don’t understand. Why is this important?”
Just then, there was a tapping on the door and both women became quiet. Someone else needed to use the restroom.
Helen ignored Laurel’s question and whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t mention Matt to Aaron. Not yet.” Then she unlocked the door and nodded to the policewoman waiting to enter. “We’d better get back. Aaron is probably ready to leave.”
Helen and Laurel walked back to the squad room in silence, neither wanting Aaron to get an inkling of what they’d discussed.
He was waiting near his desk and observed them with that penetrating gaze of his. Helen was sure he suspected something was up and, knowing Aaron, he’d do his best to find out what it was. She hoped Laurel would heed her advice. Aaron told her Detective Jones would call as soon as the data came back from NCIC. If she needed to reach him, she could call his cellphone.
As he and Laurel walked out onto Twenty-First Street together, Aaron called over his shoulder, “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, okay?”
Helen gave him a thumbs-up, belying the jitters that assaulted her stomach. Easier said than done.
Chapter 23
Thursday, 9:22 a.m.
The Gemini Diner on Second Avenue was Helen’s favorite breakfast spot. The waiters and waitresses knew her by name and usually placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of her the moment she sat down. This morning was no exception. Helen walked in, said hello to the owner, Nick, and slid into her usual booth next to the front window, already occupied by the yawning figure of Joe Santangelo.
“So, here I am. I’m all yours and have been since about twelve a.m.” He stifled another yawn. “Whatever is going on, it better be worth it. Man, am I tired. I couldn’t get back to sleep after you called.”
“It’s worth it.” Joe’s eyes slowly come into focus at the sound of her words. Last night, she had told him just enough to let him know something really bad was going on, but not enough to make him go through the roof. That would come next, when she explained about the DVD and its contents.
A few moments later, Voula, their waitress, came over to take their orders, giving Joe a megawatt smile that at one time would have made Helen a little jealous. Now she grinned inwardly as she leaned against the booth’s cushy backrest and observed him while he ordered his breakfast. He’s one of the good ones. Too bad we didn’t work out. She looked at Joe, who regarded her expectantly. She was surprised at the unexpected stirring in her stomach. Feeling the tug of nostalgia play on her emotions, Helen determined her approach to the problem at hand.
“Remember when we stopped seeing each other, how we promised we’d still be best friends, always there to help each other out, no value judgments, no ‘I told you sos’?” Helen paused and gulped. “Well, this is one of those times.”
“Okaaaay.” Joe drew out the word, looking at her with a puzzled expression.
“This is real trouble, Joe.” Helen’s voice almost cracked.
“I gathered that much from your midnight call,” Joe said.
“I’ve done something and now there are consequences I didn’t foresee. Once I involve you, you’ll be part of it.” Helen could see the worry in his face. “That’s not the worst part. When you hear what I have to say, you’re going to want to share the information with the Organized Crime Unit. You can’t. It would put us in grave danger. You have to promise me you won’t do anything crazy. I mean it.”
“I see you haven’t lost your flair for the dramatic.” He gestured to the scenes of the Acropolis on the wall. “The ancient Greeks would have loved you. C’mon, just spit it out.”
She waited until after Voula, who was approaching, put their plates on the table and left. Then Helen told Joe about Laurel Imperiole and her story for Women Now, about Anne Ellsworth’s disappearance, David Adams and Matt Kuhn and about asking Aaron Gerrard for help. She took a deep breath and spoke about breaking into Matt’s loft, stealing the DVD, and watching it, which made her more frightened than she had felt in a long while.
To his credit, Joe listened to everything without interrupting, keeping whatever shock, disbelief, and anger he was experiencing under control.
When she finished, the story lay there between them for a few moments. “Jeez,” Joe said. Traces of fear and admiration mingled in his voice. “When you mess up, you really do it big time. Suave. Sal. Santucci.” He emphasized each word. “No fooling around with the peons for you. You go right to the top.”
No time to dwell on what could not be undone. She had to move forward. “So, what do you think? Will you work with me on this?”
Joe raised his palms to the sky and shook his head. “Honestly, no matter what we do, I think we’re screwed.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “I know. That’s why I really need you on my side.”
“Indeed you do.” His reply gave Helen the merest glimmer of hope. “I’ll be damned if I know what to do. What’s Kuhn’s connection to Santucci? If all the DVDs in his loft document Santucci’s bribery and corruption attempts, they could cause an unbelievable scandal among the powers that be. You didn’t happen to mention this DVD to Aaron Gerrard, did you?”
“If I did, we’d be having this conversation with cold, steel bars between us.” Helen shook her head. “He’s such a straight arrow, he’d never get past how I got the DVD, never mind that I found it in the apartment of La
urel Imperiole’s boyfriend. Not only would he find all these coincidences too hard to ignore, he’d go ballistic.”
“I don’t doubt it. Your Laurel Imperiole is right in the middle of this, isn’t she?”
“She doesn’t even know it. That’s what scares me the most.” There was tension in Helen’s voice. “She’s safe for the moment with Aaron, but I don’t know how to deal with her or what to tell her when she gets back. She’s pushing me for answers and she could get hurt by knowing too much or, worse, knowing too little.” Helen stared at Joe and shivered. “So what can we do? This is too big for us to handle on our own.” Helen waited expectantly for Joe to correct her and tell her there was no us, that she was on her own.
“We’re both private. That makes it tough.” Joe lifted his hands, palms up, in frustration. “It’s going to be hard to get this information out there without getting you jammed up with the cops, or worse.”
He drummed his fingers on the Formica. “I know a guy in the mayor’s office. We go back a ways and I trust him. I’ll give him a call and explain the situation in broad strokes, without naming names. He won’t be happy about me holding back. If he wants to move forward, I’ll have to give him details. And, eventually, the DVD.” Joe gazed into his coffee instead of at her.
Helen understood. Speaking to the guy in the mayor’s office might require telling him about her involvement and that thought made her blood run cold.
“It’s the only proof we’ve got,” Joe continued. “We have to burn a copy before we give it up. Will you do that?”
Helen nodded and thought about the DVD tucked away in the back of her safe. “The sooner I get rid of it the better.” She thought of all the times her mother warned her how her impulsive behavior would get her into trouble one day. Guess that day had finally arrived.
“Yeah, well, don’t let anything happen to it before you dupe it.” Joe’s voice was foreboding as he signaled Voula to bring him the check and fished in his pocket for money. “Try to stay out of trouble today.” He threw her one of his kick-ass stares. “Thinking about it now, you could’ve been right about that limo from Jersey trying to nail you.”