You Think You Know Me Pretty Well

by David Kessler

  “But you can tell them about the abortion.”

  15:48 PDT

  David was feeling bothered by his father’s reaction to the verse that he had discovered. The verse might not have been particularly relevant to their investigation, but they had to work with what they had and David had felt that having found it, it was his duty to pass it on.

  However, David wasn’t one to take it personally. It was just that the reaction showed what enormous stress his father was under. He had just over eight hours to save a man’s life and they had found very little. In any case, his father was right. Poems were not going to help them. They needed cold, hard, solid facts – like the fact that she had bought a ticket to England, or the fact that she had downloaded a PDF brochure of a private health center in London.

  What they didn’t have was any proof that she had actually got there. And this kind of proof would be very hard to get from the United States. Or would it?

  If Dorothy had gone to England, she would have had to use money when she got there. Unless she went to some cloistered nunnery she would have had to function in the real world. Of course she had the jewelry, but she could hardly have used that as a negotiable instrument in day-to-day transactions. The fact that she had liquidated her trust fund and bought the jewelry was moderately compelling evidence of her intention to flee. But would she have traded the jewelry for money and risked having a lot of bulky cash on her in London? Or would she had opened a new bank account where her money would be safe and readily accessible when she needed it?

  The answer was probably the latter. And, given sufficient time, they could probably get court orders and search through banking records to find her. But time was of the essence. They had only discovered late in the day that she had even been contemplating going to England. Would the courts give them the time they needed now to prove that she actually did? Or would they take a more stubborn and intractable line, on the grounds that the defense should have done this before?

  Clayton Burrow had become a pariah and the courts had shown no particular desire to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even David had little regard for Burrow. But they were now seeing faint signs that he might be innocent after all, at least of murder. He couldn’t ignore that, even if the courts could.

  The only question was, how to make progress. Assuming that Dorothy had opened a bank account in London, how could he go about finding it and proving it quickly? Well the first thing to do was to work out where she might have banked. The Finchley Road Medical Centre provided a useful starting point. She probably didn’t know London and would likely open a bank account somewhere near where she was staying or where she had some interest.

  Using Google as his first source of reference, he searched for British banks. Then, armed with a list of names, he searched for “Finchley Road” in conjunction with various bank names.

  It was the first stage of what he suspected would be a long and arduous process.

  15:53 PDT

  Alex was crossing the Golden Gate Bridge when the call came through.

  “Hi, Juanita.”

  “Hi, boss. I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

  “Give me the good news.”

  “They told me what treatment Dorothy had at the medical center.”

  “What?”

  “She had an abortion.”

  “An abortion?”

  “That’s what they told me.”

  “Why would she go all the way to London for an abortion?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, so what was the bad news?”

  “They refuse to tell me anything else. They said they can’t send us any written confirmation of the date she arrived or tell us the date she left.”

  “So they’re giving us the opposite of what we asked for.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And they refuse to give it in writing?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe so, but I don’t think she was lying.”

  “No, I accept that, Juanita. It just seems rather strange.”

  “Something’s occurred to me, boss. Maybe it was Clayton who got her pregnant, maybe she tried to blackmail him.”

  Alex remembered that he hadn’t told Juanita about the poem.

  “You think he killed her to silence her?”

  “Maybe someone else killed her to protect him.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like his mother.”

  “When I suggested that, Juanita, you ridiculed me.”

  His tone was chiding.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, boss. But now I’m not so sure.”

  15:58 PDT

  Nat felt the warm, humid air as soon as he stepped out into the open. After the air conditioned airline office, it was like stepping into a steam room.

  He had just served the court order on the local office of the airline and he had to walk half a block to get to his car. He waited for almost a minute in the car while the air conditioning kicked in. Only then did he take out his cell phone and put in a call to Alex’s number.

  “Hi, Nat,” Alex answered.

  “I served the order on the local office. They looked kind of … shocked.”

  “Do you think they’ll comply?”

  “Probably not. They seemed a bit afraid, but I don’t think they can. I think they couldn’t get the information that quick even if they wanted to.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “I’ve got time to get it back to the office and still make it to the hearing.”

  “Are you sure?” Alex asked.

  “Positive. I’m only five minutes away.”

  Alex knew that five minutes could mean anything from two minutes to twenty. But he didn’t want to micro-manage – especially not someone as dedicated and motivated as Nat.

  “Okay, just drop it off there and let Juanita deal with it. Just make sure you’re at the District Court when the ADA gets there.”

  “Okay.”

  Nat pressed the red button and put the cell phone in the glove compartment. As he did so, a picture fell out. Nat reached down and picked it up. He always carried the picture round with him, ever since he’d found it … a reminder. It was a picture of a young man, one of those spontaneous, frat party pictures where the alcohol-fueled revelry is interrupted when someone pulls out a camera and starts taking pictures. In this case, it was just a snapshot of a young man raising his glass and smiling. The previous picture in the sequence had been a reverse angle shot of the young woman who had taken this picture, evidently taken by the man. She too was smiling with delight. But that picture wasn’t here now. He kept it at home.

  Whether the two people loved each other or were just posing was anyone’s guess. It took a bit of supplementary information to answer that one.

  16:09 PDT

  “A restraining order?” said the warden incredulously.

  “It’s only temporary. They’ve scheduled a full hearing at four thirty that my assistant is going to handle.”

  “Then why did he issue it? The execution isn’t scheduled until a minute past midnight.”

  The warden didn’t sound angry, just puzzled.

  “I think the reasoning was that if the DA convinces him to let it go ahead then a TRO is easier to rescind than a fixed stay but, on the other hand, if we convince him to halt the execution, then the order’s already in place.”

  “Okay, well I’m at the mercy of the system as much as your client,” said the warden, amiably. “I guess what happens now is in the hands of the court.”

  “Yes. Look, I need to see Burrow to let him know where things stand.”

  “Of course.”

  A few minutes later, Alex was face to face with his client. He told him about the verse of the poem that David had found.

  “A poem? You came here to ask me about a fucking poem?”

  Burrow was incredulous.

  “No, I came to
tell you about the temporary restraining order.”

  “Which may get torn up in the next ten minutes.”

  Alex just stared at him. It was like a Mexican standoff. Except that the threat and counter-threat weren’t physical. In fact there was no counter-threat. Alex owed Burrow nothing but his best professional services. And it was up to his client to be honest with him.

  “Did you rape her, Clayton? Is that what she’s talking about?”

  “You know nothing, Alex! You don’t know what it was like as a kid, surrounded by friends, cheering you on every time you found an easy target.”

  “I know about bullying, Clayton.”

  “You don’t know how easy it is, when everyone’s telling you what a great guy you are!”

  Clayton was visibly distressed. But he kept the tears at bay by shouting. He was hiding his sorrow and regret behind a wall of anger. Anger was all he had left.

  “Is that why you did it? For the plaudits?”

  “What?”

  “For the approval of your peers. You bullied her because everyone else was egging you on and giving you their approval when you did it?”

  “Take a hike! Look, you’re not going to save me. We both know that. So why bother? Why not just get the hell out of here and forget about me?”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Why? ‘Cause I’m your client?”

  “Partly.”

  “I can always sack you! Then I won’t be your problem any longer.”

  “Yeah, you can sack me. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to forget you.”

  “You might as well. There’ll be nothing in it for you.”

  “If you’re talking money, there’s not a cent in it for me now. I’m doing this pro bono.”

  “Well stop!”

  “That’s not the way I work.”

  “You’ve done your best. I’ll write you out a satisfied customer statement before they strap me down.”

  “What are you trying to hide, Clayton?”

  “To hide?” He wasn’t even trying to conceal the tears anymore. “They’re going to kill me in less than eight hours – whatever that restraining order says. You think I’ve got something to hide?”

  “No, I think you’ve got nothing to hide! ... But I think you’re trying to hide something anyway.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I think you’re trying to hide something from yourself. I think you’re trying to avoid facing up to what you did.”

  “You think I’m a murderer? So why did you put in all this effort for me?”

  “Did you rape her, Clayton?”

  “Yes I raped her! I raped the goddamn motherfuckin’ dyke bitch! And I’ve regretted it ever since!”

  16:14 PDT (00:14 BST)

  The voice changer program worked better than he’d expected. That was just as well because he didn’t have the time to go out and buy one. The hardware type were probably not as good anyway. Technologically, they were never up to date. This one was dead easy to use, was free and he’d been able to obtain it without getting up from the desk in the office that they had let him use. All he’d had to do was log on to a software download site, read a few customer reviews and download the one he wanted. He didn’t have to buy the full version, because he wasn’t going to save any files, just change his voice as it came out the other end.

  The banks in England were all closed at this time. But the major high street banks all had helplines. Some of these closed down at 20:00 or 22:00. Others worked till midnight, while a few even operated 24/7.

  David was steadily working his way through these, logging on to various banking websites, phoning up using Skype, pretending – through the voice-changing software – to be Dorothy, explaining that “she” hadn’t used the account for a long time and had forgotten her log in details. If he had known at least some of the account details – like the account number or card number – he would have been able to do this online. But as he didn’t have any of these details, he had to do it by phone, where the security checks were supposed to be more rigorous. Of course the reality was that they were not. And that was what he was trying to take advantage of in this exercise in social engineering.

  In case after case he was being told that they couldn’t find any trace of that name or account, and, once he was satisfied that that bank or branch could be eliminated, he told them that the account was over fifteen years old. The reason for this was that he had already established that if it had been left untouched for that period, the account would have become classified as a dormant account. That enabled him to end the conversation without arousing too much suspicion.

  The trouble was, there was no way he could be sure of his assumption that she would have opened an account at a branch near the medical center. His reasoning was that she would probably have found a place to stay near the center and opened a bank account nearby. But what if he were wrong? What if she had found a place further out, which would have been cheaper? She could have been living anywhere in Greater London.

  But he still hadn’t exhausted all the banks and branches on his list of the Finchley Road area, so he wasn’t on the verge of giving up. It was actually a huge list. Finchley Road was a long road and there were other major streets round it.

  Finally, his luck started to change. He got hold of a bank and branch, explained about “her” “old” account that he thought “she” had just used “six years ago” – and was told by a young woman with an Indian accent that they had to go through some security checks before they could reactivate her account and give her the details.

  “No problem,” said David, confident in all the information that he had assembled from Juanita for this part of the exercise.

  “First of all, I need your date of birth.”

  “April 1, 1980,” said David, the software disguising his voice and giving it that soft, feminine touch, enhanced by the deliberate nervousness that he was injecting into it.

  “Next, I need to know your mother’s maiden name.”

  “Segal.”

  “Finally, the answer to the security question you set yourself. The question was, ‘Dog’s name.’”

  A queasy feeling gripped David’s stomach and a column of heat rose up inside him. His cheeks flushed bright red. This was one question that he hadn’t prepared for. He couldn’t just end the conversation and then come back. That would just set off alarms. Even if he got through to a different operator at the call center, which he probably would, they might well have flagged the account by them.

  He had to answer now and he had to answer correctly. But how? He didn’t have a clue what her dog’s name was. In fact he couldn’t even imagine her owning a dog. A dog could be a friend to someone who is otherwise friendless. But David’s father had told him that, according to Esther Olsen, it was Dorothy’s computer that was her friend. She never said anything about a dog, or at least his father hadn’t mentioned anything.

  He had to play for time, or at least give himself an excuse for failure that would not arouse suspicions.

  “I’ve actually had several dogs in the past ten years. I can’t remember which one it was when I opened the account.”

  “Well I have to have an answer before I can give you the account details and password.”

  David was frantically running dogs’ names through his head: Rex? Rambo? Toto?

  Toto!

  The dog from The Wizard of Oz! Dorothy’s dog! It had to be.

  “I think the dog I had at the time was called Toto,” he said.

  “I’m afraid that’s not the one I’ve got here.”

  Damn!

  Now he had blown it for sure.

  “If you don’t remember, we may have to do some sort of written verification. That’ll only take seven working days.”

  They hadn’t closed the door! He still had another chance!

  “I really do need it sooner if possible.”

  “Can you not remember the name?” asked the gir
l at the call center sympathetically, as she were almost willing “Dorothy” on to get it right.

  Why would she choose this question for a security question if she didn’t have a dog? thought David. It made no sense. And then he remembered something.

  The girl hadn’t said “Your dog’s name” – she had simply said “dog’s name.” In other words, the name of a dog.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to hurry you,” said the girl.

  What name would Dorothy Olsen associate with a dog?

  “Clayton!” David blurted out.

  “That’s the one,” said the girl triumphantly.

  16:17 PDT

  The guard outside peered in, as if concerned that Clayton’s flare of anger was going to erupt into physical violence. Alex signaled him to back off. The guard sat down and returned to his newspaper.

  Clayton was now avoiding the lawyer’s eyes and there was a break in his voice, as if he couldn’t trust his throat to hold it together.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  He didn’t want to talk about it, but Burrow had finally broken and they both knew that he had to.

  “It was on April the first … her birthday … her eighteenth birthday. I told her it was a birthday present… a coming-of-age present. It was my idea of a joke.”

  “I presume she didn’t see the humor.”

  Alex silently cursed himself for saying it. It sounded judgmental – which it was. But it was the wrong time to say it. Judgment was the one thing that Clayton was running away from.

  “She didn’t show any emotion at all. She begged and pleaded at first … and then she just stopped. Silence. Like she didn’t feel anything … or didn’t want me to know what she was feeling.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I think she may have been crying … but you know … like … crying silently.”

  “And how did you feel?”

  “At the time … or now?”

  “Stop jerking my leash, Clayton.”

  “I’m not – ”

  “You are!”