“You bought dinner,” I said. “I’m the reason you’re here.”
“She’s getting another drink,” Lionel said. “It looks like he‘s just going to keep bringing them over for her.”
“I had hoped maybe you could ask her to dance,” I said. “He doesn’t look like the sharing type. He looks like the stay away from her or I’ll kill you type.”
“I agree, so we’ll just have to be patient,” he said. “C’mon, let’s dance.”
We found a small table on the other side of the bar where we put our drinks and made our way to the dance floor. Just as we reached the floor, the music changed to a slow song.
“Good,” Lionel said as he took me in his arms. “It’s hard to mess up a slow one.”
“I’m living proof white people can’t dance,” I said as I put one hand on his shoulder and the other one in his hand.
“I’m glad this is a date,” I said. “I like you, Lionel.”
“I like you, too Kitty,” he said as he leaned down and kissed me on the lips.
“That’s just to throw them off,” he said. “You know, convince them we’re not actually interested in them.”
“Maybe we should keep throwing them off,” I said as Lionel bent down and performed more subterfuge.
About that time, the music changed again to a more upbeat song. The moment passed and it was back to business. We continued to dance badly to the faster music. Several minutes later, the band took a break, and we decided to get another drink. The bartender also took a break and came out from behind the bar with a couple of drinks. They ended up sitting a couple of tables over from us. Tina rubbed the bartender’s buff arm in a possessive way and he reciprocated by grabbing her leg under the table.
“Tina looks a little loopy,” Lionel said as the band came back and started playing again.
Tina dragged the bartender to the dance floor as the band started playing a faster song. Unlike our feeble attempts at dancing, they moved with a great deal of precision and agility. We joined them on the dance floor feeling fairly intimidated. Tina really seemed to get lost in the music and didn’t stop even when the bartender went back behind the bar.
Another man approached Tina and they kept dancing. The dance floor was crowded and seemingly in response, the band started up another set of fast songs. Tina seemed lost in her own world, ignoring the man in front of her and everything else. The music reached a crescendo, which caused Tina to climb on the nearest table and escalate all her movements. I pulled out my i-phone and snapped pictures and then a video as surreptitiously as possible.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Roni and I agreed to meet at the office the next morning after she got a phone call from Pete Rizzo, who wanted us to follow a young laborer under his employ. Tim Werther claimed an on the job injury 20 minutes into his first workday at Rizzo Construction. Pete Rizzo, the owner of a huge construction company, was absolutely furious at the recent rash of claims that had been filed against him. He had phoned the adjuster, Emma Collins, at his workers’ comp insurance company and asked about options.
Emma thought it was premature to follow Werther at this point but Pete was adamant. He had been particularly upset about the condescending smirk on Werther’s face when he showed up at Rizzo’s office to collect his first comp check. Emma gave Pete our number and when he reached Roni, he offered a bonus for starting immediately.
I arrived at the office first, unlocked the door, and started the coffeemaker. Roni’s phone call had interrupted a vivid dream that involved Tina Brown dancing on a table with Lionel and I cheering her on. In the next scene, Lionel and I were kissing, which was when my cell phone chirped. Instead of the next scene that I was totally looking forward to, I had to hear Roni’s voice telling me to get up and meet her at the office. I had just started sipping my first cup of coffee when Roni strolled in.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Roni asked.
“Good, how about some coffee?”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds good,” she said as she put her briefcase on the desk and got a mug. “OK, before we get down to business I have to know how last night went.”
“It went well. I got pictures and video of Tina Brown dancing on tables, She’s remarkably flexible for someone with such a bad back.”
“That’s great,” she said. “Now for what I really want to know. How was Lionel?”
“He was really helpful.”
“And,” she said, flailing her hands.
“You’ll be happy to know it actually was a date. I really like him, and I couldn’t spot a single freak flag.”
“Wahoo, now try not to mess it up,” she said as Cindy walked in.
“Mess up what?” Cindy asked as she put her things on her desk.
“Kitty did have a date with Lionel last night,” Roni said. “So, that was my advice.”
“Sounds appropriate to me,” Cindy said as she got some coffee.
“Why isn’t anyone worried about Lionel mucking it up?” I asked.
They both stopped sipping, stared at me, and said simultaneously. “Duh.”
“OK, let’s change the subject,” I said. “So, it sounds like we have a hysterical employer on our hands.”
“I got a phone call from Pete Rizzo this morning, Cindy,” Roni said, glancing at Cindy. “He owns a construction company and has had a bunch of claims recently. One of these workers came to Pete’s office yesterday to get his check. According to Pete, Tim Werther was arrogant and had a big smirk on his face. I think that really pissed Pete off. Big mistake. He wants us to get on Werther right away. Actually, that’s the cleaned up version of what he wants us to do.”
“I thought you were heading down to Cape Girardeau to check out husband number three today,” Cindy said.
“I was, but Pete Rizzo is very persuasive,” Roni said.
“Not to mention the big bonus he offered,” I said. “It’s kind of unusual to have an employer call us. Usually, it’s the adjuster.”
“Pete Rizzo said he looked into Tim Werther’s eyes,” Roni said. “He said he knows he’s lying, and he wants us to prove it. He doesn’t care how long it takes or how much it costs.”
“Our dream client,” I said.
“Only if we can actually catch Werther doing something,” Roni said. “I told Pete we would give it a day or two and call him with an update. Werther has an appointment with Dr. Carson this morning.”
“Why don’t we take two cars,” I said. “I know Carson’s secretary fairly well. I’ll go in the office and figure out what Werther looks like. Then I’ll send you a text description. I’ll get what I can after he is seen, and you can follow him after he leaves the office. We can meet up after that.”
“That sounds good,” Roni said. “We should probably get going.”
Dr. Marshall Carson’s office had recently relocated to a smaller office in the hospital complex due to his dwindling practice. Forbidden from doing surgery any longer, and nearing retirement, Carson had decided to become a complete hack for the plaintiff attorneys in the area. Truth be told, there were hacks on both sides, groups of doctors who gave insurance companies what they wanted and those who gave plaintiff attorneys what they wanted. Roni and I tried to avoid anyone from either group.
I entered Dr. Carson’s fifth floor office and approached the front desk. I could see Tim Werther was already signed in so I took a seat where I could watch the six patients seated in the room. I pulled a book out of my briefcase and pretended to read as I studied the others. Only two of them looked to be young enough to fit the general description. One was tall and very buff, wearing a tee shirt a couple of sizes too small to accentuate the Pecs. The other was average everything. Average height, weight, and appearance except for the huge pair of black glasses that seemed to cover his whole face. My money was on Mr. Muscles so I was surprised when the secretary called Tim Werther’s name and Mr. Average responded and was escorted back to see Dr. Carson.
I texted Roni a description of Tim Werther and pulled out my
laptop to complete a few reports. Thirty minutes later, Tim Werther came out of the inner office and left. I sent Roni another text and went to the desk, where the secretary greeted me warmly. She told me Tim Werther had a follow up in two weeks and was supposed to start therapy the next day. I left Carson’s office, retrieved my car, and called Roni.
“Hey,” I said when Roni answered. “Where are you?”
“I’m watching Tim Werther getting take out from the Taco Bell on Olive.”
“The one right down the street from Carson’s office?” I asked.
“That’s the one. I’m in the lot in the front.”
“I’ll head over there.” I said. “Does he seem to be paying attention?”
“Not that I can tell. If you get here before he leaves, I’ll let you take over for a bit.”
“OK, I’m only a block away,” I said.
“He’s in an old red Silverado truck. The license number is 346-NCO. He’s just pulling out of the drive through and getting in line to leave.”
“I see him,” I said. “I’ll pull in behind him.”
Thirty minutes later, Tim Werther pulled into the lot of West County Orthopedics, exited the truck and entered the single story building where 10 orthopedic surgeons had their office. I snapped several pictures of Tim Werther as Roni scrambled to follow him into the office. I parked near the exit to the lot and waited. I was surprised when I got Roni’s text.
“There’s no Tim Werther on the sign-up sheet. I’m really confused. He’s sitting here apparently waiting to be called. Maybe you should have your brother run the plate and see who owns the truck?”
My brother, David, is a detective with the Major Case Squad, which is a unit assigned high profile murder cases in the region. He is not above doing a favor for his baby sister. I called him and he agreed to run another plate for me because after all, that was more important than catching murderers. I told him he was finally getting his priorities right. He hung up on me just as Roni sent another text.
“They just called Max Watson and our guy walked back into Dr. Cantor’s office. What the hell is going on? I’ll stay when he leaves and get what I can. You follow him, OK?”
I got another text from Roni when Max Watson, or whoever he was, left Dr. Cantor’s office. I followed him when he left the parking lot. The red Silverado was three cars ahead of me on highway 64 when Roni called.
“Hey, this is nuts,” she said. “I know the nurse at Cantor’s office. She told me Max Watson has a work-related injury from about two months ago. He has a different employer and SSN than Tim Werther.”
“That’s not the worst of it.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I called my brother Dave and he called me back. The truck belongs to a guy named Thomas Sloan.”
“So, who the hell are we following?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
I continued to follow the multi-identity driver of the red Silverado until we got on Highway 270 South. At that point, Roni passed me and pulled in four cars behind the driver. What a confusing mess we had stumbled upon. I was wondering where the mystery man’s next destination would be and how many identities he actually possessed.
The late afternoon traffic presaged the horrendous rush hour to come. Our loosely constructed plan involved tailing the driver to his next destination and figuring it out from there. Our man took the I44 East exit and then the Lindbergh South Exit. I took over the lead as Roni fell back again. The driver did not seem to be checking his mirrors or exhibiting any other indication he was worried about being followed.
Our next stop was a bank. Thomas/Tim/Max put on a red Cardinals hat, sunglasses, and carried a small backpack as he exited the truck and headed for the front door of First Federal. Ten minutes later he exited the bank, jumped in his truck, and took off. Several miles later, he made a turn into a residential neighborhood. After several blocks, he pulled into a driveway. I continued down the street and grabbed my cell phone.
“Hey, just pull over where you are,” I said. “He just pulled into a driveway. I went by and I’m down the street. He’s getting out of the truck and going into the house.”
“What do you think?” Roni asked.
“He’s at the address listed on Thomas Sloan’s drivers license I got from Dave.”
“So, you think he really is Thomas Sloan?” Roni asked.
“Or not. Dave was going to fax me a copy of Sloan’s drivers license and his record. He has a couple of shoplifting arrests and a juvenile record that’s sealed.”
“He looks so young,” Roni said. “How old is he?”
“He just turned 19. Dave said he’s a suspect in a Radio Shack robbery last New Years. They think he may be involved but they can’t prove it. The store was completely cleaned out. The hard drives from all the surveillance cameras in the area were removed and there were no prints.”
“He’s really a busy boy,” Roni said.
“Supposedly, he lives at this address with his mother. He doesn’t seem to be heading out right away. Why don’t we go back to the office and see if we can figure out if we have been following Thomas Sloan all day? We should be able to tell from the picture on the driver’s license. We can also look up Werther and Watson on the State workers’ comp website, and do a background check on all of them.”
Thirty minutes later, we were staring at the faxed picture of Thomas Sloan’s driver’s license, wondering how many other aliases he had. I did a couple of other computer checks on Tim Werther and Max Watson. Roni had checked the workers’ comp site, made a few phone calls, and then we sat down to compare notes.
“Max Watson was hired six months ago at Mercury Manufacturing,” Roni said. “On his fourth day, he was asked to change some light bulbs in the break room. He was alone and claimed he fell off the ladder. He’s been off work and getting his checks and treatment ever since. They don’t really even seem suspicious.”
“Who did you say you were?”
“I told them I was a physical therapist,” Roni said. “I told them he missed a session. They said it wasn’t the first time.”
“I did the bureau of records search. The real Max Watson has the same birth date but unfortunately, he died when he was 10 years old. Same for Tim Werther, only he was only 5 when he died.”
“Classic identity theft,” Roni said. “Get a copy of the birth certificate and then get other ID like an SSN and/or a driver’s license.”
“It just amazes me someone this young has the nerve to try and pull this off. You have to wonder how many claims he has going. We’ll have to check the therapy records, but I bet he only goes when they threaten to cut off his checks.”
“Do you think he plans to ride it out till the end?” Roni asked. “To actually get a settlement on these claims?”
“He’s got a brass set, that’s for sure. We should call Pete Rizzo and tell him what we have. It’s certainly enough to end Werther’s claim against his company.”
“And probably send him to jail for fraud,” Roni said as she picked up the phone and began dialing. “I agree. We should let Pete decide how he wants to proceed.”
Pete Rizzo was at a construction site, so it took another call to his cell phone to make the connection.
“This is Pete Rizzo,” he said.
“Mr. Rizzo,” Roni said, “I’m here with my partner, Kitty Talty. You’re on speaker phone. We followed Tim Werther today and we wanted to give you an update.”
“Call me Pete,” he said. “I need to walk back to my truck so just hold on a minute. OK, It’s good. What have you got?”
“Tim Werther is an alias,” Roni said. “His real name is Thomas Sloan. He also has at least one other claim as someone named Max Watson.”
“I knew it,” Pete said. “That little punk.”
“We already have enough to end his claim against your company,” I said. “He’s using a stolen identity. If you want, we can call the insurance company and give them the info and they can take it from the
re.”
“How many aliases do you think he has?” Pete asked.
“There’s no way to know unless we keep following him,” Roni said. “I don’t think he would admit more if we confronted him. He’s obviously not stupid.”
“What will the insurance company do?” Pete asked.
“They will end his claim,” I said. “They will probably turn the information over to the state fraud unit.”
“Will they prosecute?” Pete asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “It’s a small unit and they seem reluctant to prosecute most of the time.”
“That’s not good enough,” Pete said. “I want you to keep following him and figure out how many false claims he has. Then we can take it to the County Prosecutor. I want this kid to do jail time.”
“Well, why don’t we give it a go again tomorrow?” Roni asked. “Then we can call you back and reassess. It’s going to be hard to follow him every day for any length of time. We don’t want him to see us, and we have other commitments.”
“I understand,” Pete said. “You’re doing a great job. Like I told you in the beginning, I don’t care how much this costs. Maybe it’s my Italian heritage, but I find Tim, or whoever the hell he is, offensive. I refuse to let him get away with it.”
“We understand,” I said. “We’ll call you tomorrow.”
I was about to make a comment when my cell phone emitted its little jingle. I checked the screen and said. “I’d better get this. Hi, Meadow, what’s going on?”
“Kitty,” Meadow Knull said, her voice breaking with emotion. “Can you come to the hospital? I need to talk to you.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Billy Diamond looked at the stakes with small red flags that had been placed on their lot overlooking the river. Late September had arrived with the same hot temperatures that had characterized their summer. Billy couldn’t remember the last time they had such lingering heat for three straight months. The leaves on the trees hinted at some subtle color changes, but Billy figured fall would be late this year, perhaps holding off until Thanksgiving.
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