The Collector

by Scott Wittenburg

The following morning, Alan ate breakfast then managed to coax the dog into the backseat of his SUV. It was more than obvious she could sense that he was going to take her somewhere and leave her by the way she whined all the way back to the neighborhood where he had found her. The whining made Alan feel guilty and he realized that deep down inside he was sort of hoping he wouldn’t be able to find her owner. He wouldn’t mind keeping the dog, really. It sure wouldn’t hurt to have a companion in that big house.

  He decided to begin his search at Panera and find out if any of the neighbors had ever seen the dog before. His first choice was the house next door to Panera. He went up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. An elderly woman peeked through the window before opening up the door.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I was wondering if you have any idea who owns this pooch here.”

  Alan had fashioned a leash out of an old belt and held the dog at his side.

  The woman shook her head. “No, I have never seen it before. Cute, though.”

  Alan said, “Yes, she is. Very friendly, too. Well, sorry to have bothered you.”

  “No problem. You may want to ask the people a few doors down in the big yellow two-story. They own a couple of dogs and might be able to help you.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that. Have a nice day and thanks for your help.”

  “Good luck.”

  Alan turned and led the dog down the stairs. He saw the house the woman was referring to and walked up to the front door. He could hear barking from inside after he knocked and the moment the door opened, a brown and black terrier appeared at the door along with its owner. The dog was barking its head off so the man shooed it away. All this time, Alan’s canine companion simply sat there quietly and observed the scene.

  “Sorry about that—that little mutt never knows when to quit barking,” the man said.

  “No problem. I was wondering if you by any chance know who owns this dog,” Alan said.

  “Hmm. Nope, I’ve never seen it around. Where did you find it?”

  “In Panera’s parking lot. I opened my car door and she hopped in like she owned the place.”

  The man chuckled. “Sure is a cute one. Let me ask my son—he has a lot of friends that live around here who might know something.”

  “That would be great.”

  The man left for a moment then returned with a boy of around eleven or twelve. He came out onto the porch and looked first at the dog and then at Alan.

  “I saw just this dog yesterday! A mini van pulled up in front of Danny’s house and someone let it out through the sliding door. I saw them push the dog out then pull away. Danny and me chased after the dog but she got away—she can run really fast! I couldn’t believe they just dumped her there like that.”

  Alan said, “So you think they abandoned her?”

  “Yeah, for sure. The way they pushed her out was like they wanted to get rid of her.”

  “Wow, how cruel can you get? And you’re absolutely sure it was this dog?”

  The boy nodded. “This dog is the same size and has the exact same coloring.”

  “Well, I guess that settles that. Thanks a lot for your help. I really appreciate it.”

  The boy’s father said, “So what are going to do with her? Take her to the pound?”

  Alan’s reply came immediately. “No way—I think I’m going to keep her.”

  “That would be a good thing to do. It’s really sad how many dogs at the pound don’t find homes and get put to sleep. I think you’ve got yourself a nice pet, there.”

  “Yeah, I do too. Thanks again, both of you.”

  “Have a nice day.”

  Alan had a broad grin on his face as he left the house. He looked down at the dog and saw that she seemed to be smiling, too. Or was he just imagining that?

  “Looks like you’ve got me, dog,” he said. “Let’s go to the pet store and see if we can find you a collar and a leash. Maybe some tastier food, too.”

  After the trip to the pet store, Alan headed home and was surprised at how much he had enjoyed shopping for his new pet. He hadn’t owned a dog since he was in grade school and had almost forgotten how fun it could be playing fetch and taking them on walks. He realized that he was already attached to the dog to the extent that he was now actually stressing over a name for it, much like a new parent thinking of a name for his newborn child. While he cleaned up the kitchen he ran names through his head, glancing down at the dog from time to time and wondering what name would suit her. Finally, it hit him. Panera! What could be more fitting?

  “What do you think, Panera? You like that name or should we try something else?”

  The dog barked on cue and Alan knew he had a winner.

  “Panera it is, then. Maybe Pan for short?”

  Another bark as Pan jumped up and licked his cheek.

  “Tomorrow we’ll take you to the vet for a check up. Get you some tags, too. Then you’ll be official.

  His iPhone suddenly rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Charlie Ling.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  Charlie said, “I’ve got something for you."

  “Let’s hear it,” Alan said.

  “Well, I was wrong about the e-mail source—it’s not out of the country after all. Apparently this company, Meigs Enterprises, has paid someone a lot of money to make its employees' e-mail addresses super-secure. Not unusual, really, but sure makes you wonder what it is they do that’s so secret, right? But as you know, it would take an awful lot of layers to keep yours truly from slicing through all of them.”

  Charlie’s gloating was typical. He always started out like everything was so difficult to execute but once he was successful, he never failed to let you know how great he was.

  “Okay, Charlie, don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Whose e-mail address is it?”

  “I’ve got more than a name for you, my friend. I’ve got a location, too.”

  “Jesus, already? That’s awesome!” Usually narrowing down the identity of an e-mail account owner was just the tip of the iceberg. Finding out the actually name and geographical address of the person was a hurdle that usually took much longer. Charlie was indeed an amazing hacker.

  “Well, don’t get too excited just yet. I have the address of the parent company of the addressee but not the actual person. Yet. But I thought you might want to know what I have so far and that I should be able to get you a name by this evening at the latest. Just have to get inside the company database, that’s all.”

  He said this as if it were like jumping off a log, which was scary. To think that Charlie could hack his way into a company’s records at will reminded Alan of the potential power his computer genius friend had; not to mention how illegal all of this was.

  “I can live with that. So where is this Meigs Enterprises located?”

  “New York City. They have branches in all five boroughs, posing a minor setback to nailing down which one of them our mystery person works out of.”

  “So you’ve got to hack into no less than five separate data bases?”

  “Not necessarily. Once I nail down the corporate headquarters, I can immediately begin the scouring process of its data. They should have all of the data we need in the company’s core computers.”

  “Excellent. You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

  “I know. I’ll give you a call when I have the identity—I’m working on it as we speak. By the way, how’s the pooch doing? Did you find its owner?”

  “Nope. Some asshole dumped her out on the street and drove away. So I’ve basically adopted her.”

  “Awesome. Maybe she can help raise you out of your funk.”

  “Didn’t know I was in a funk. At any rate, it will be nice to have someone guarding the house whenever I’m out.”

  “Yeah, they are good for that. Wait a minute—bingo! I’ve just located the core computer.”

  “Great! So how much longer?”

  “Just gotta
nail down the e-mail directory. Let’s see here . . . this looks like the employee base, no. Hmm. Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back. This isn’t gonna take much longer.”

  “Okay. I’ll stand by.”

  “Ciao.”

  Alan disconnected the call and went to the fridge for a can of Coke. He popped the top and realized that he was feeling very antsy all of a sudden. Finally, he would have something to act upon in this strange case—finding out the ID of the person whose e-mail account was used for Ellen’s plea to Beth could be the break he’d been waiting for. From the beginning, the thought of simply shooting an e-mail back to the owner of the e-mail account had been tempting but Alan had resisted it. Although he wasn’t sure why the mysterious Ellen had insisted that no reply be sent, she apparently had her reasons and it would be too risky not to comply.

  Now perhaps he could at last get to the bottom of all of this.

  He sat down on the recliner chair in the family room and Pan jumped onto his lap. As he petted her, he considered what his next move would be once Charlie gave him the identity of the e-mail account owner. He would have to somehow contact the person and then get a quick feel for the person’s situation before going any further. He had to try to determine under what conditions Ellen had used the person’s e-mail address to reply to Beth’s website form. This could be really tricky—calling someone out of the clear blue and pumping them with questions about this situation. Now that he thought about it, he may not be any better off than he had been before getting the person’s identity.

  He would just have to wing it. One thing at a time.

  His cell suddenly rang and Alan checked the caller ID. It was Charlie again.

  “Hey Charlie, did you find it out?”

  “Yup, I got it. I was actually a little surprised how easy it was to scour their database once I was inside. Apparently this firm has spent most of its security resources on the initial protection of their ID data and left everything else to chance. Big mistake. Extracting this info was a piece of cake.”

  “So what did you get?”

  “Everything but this guy’s shoe size, basically. The holder of that e-mail address is one Jonathon Banner. His residential address is 25-97 Newport Street in Long Island City, New York. He works out of the Queens branch of Meigs Enterprises on Steinway Street. How much more you need?”

  Alan was elated. “Does he have a wife or any family living with him?”

  “Let me see . . . Nope, apparently he lives all by his lonesome.”

  “Hmm. How about his work address, the phone number and his home and cell phone numbers?”

  “Got a pen? Probably not a good idea emailing any of this, considering the means of procurement."

  Alan stood up and found a pad and pencil. “Yeah, give me all you’ve got there.”

  Charlie repeated the addresses and read off all of the phone numbers where Jonathon Banner could be reached. After he jotted it down, Alan said, “Great. This is a huge help, Charlie—you are amazing.”

  “I know. Sorry I haven’t gotten very far on that URL you’re waiting on but I’ll keep chipping away at it and let you know when I get something.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks again, Charlie.”

  Alan sat down and read over the info Charlie had just given him. He checked the time and decided that now was as good a time as any to give Jonathon Bannon a call. He was most likely working on a Monday so he would try his cell phone first. Alan mentally rehearsed what he was going to say and after taking a deep breath, punched in the phone number.

  “Bannon,” a voice said after a couple of rings.

  “Er, hello. Is this Jonathon Bannon?” Alan said.

  “Yes, may I ask who is calling?”

  “This is Alan Swansea. I’m a private investigator in Columbus, Ohio. I hate to bother you but I’m hoping you can help me on a case I’ve been working on.”

  “A case involving what? How did you get my phone number?” Bannon snapped.

  “I got your number from the New York Department of Motor Vehicles. I’m investigating an auto accident.”

  “Oh, I see,” he said, his relief evident. “How can I help you, Mr. Swansea?”

  “Well, my client was the victim of a hit and run in New York last week. He was visiting relatives up three and somebody smacked his car while it was parked on Steinway Street.”

  “That’s where I work.”

  “Exactly. And that’s why I’m canvassing people who live or work in the area that might have some information relevant to the accident. My client didn’t notice the damage to his car until he returned to Ohio, believe it or not. There was only a dent in his bumper but the impact was enough to damage his transmission. It’s going to cost him a small fortune to repair and his insurance won’t cover it without a comprehensive accident report.”

  “I see. Well I can tell you right now that I didn’t seen any accidents like that. Sorry.”

  “Listen Mr. Bannon, I’m going to be up front with you. There is another reason why I am contacting you personally in reference to this incident. Someone using your e-mail account e-mailed the New York DMV claiming to have witnessed the accident. The e-mail was anonymous, however. Any thoughts on how that could have happened?”

  There, he’d thrown him the bait. Alan crossed his fingers and awaited Bannon’s reaction.

  “Whoa, now wait a minute! I never emailed anybody at the DMV. I—uh . . . Well I’ll be goddamned! That bitch in the coffee shop must have done it!”

  “Excuse me?” Alan said.

  “I just remembered that I caught some woman using my laptop at a wifi enabled Starbucks last Thursday after I went to take a leak at lunch. I ran back to my table but she tore out of the place before I could catch up to her. She must have been the one who e-mailed the DMV."

  Yes! Alan thought. Now we’re getting somewhere! He recalled that that the original email Beth had forwarded to him had been dated Oct. 5, last Thursday. “I see. Had you ever seen this woman before?”

  “Actually, yes. One other time. I think she’s a hooker.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The clothes she was wearing for one thing—very sluttish. Also, I saw her hanging out in front of a neighborhood bar one day like she was hooking. Not sure of course, but why else would a young woman wearing clothes like that stand out in front of a bar in broad daylight?”

  “I see your point. Can you give me a description of the woman?”

  “Let me see. Blonde hair, long and straight, thin body—almost anorexic—nice face, though. Early twenties, average height. Almost looked Scandanavian, or Russian. You know, she had that sort of foreign look to her.”

  Alan jotted down the info. “Great, that’s a big help, Mr. Bannon. Just a couple more questions if you don’t mind. Could you tell me the name of the bar where you saw her hanging around?”

  “Uh, let’s see, what’s the name of that place? Stoke, Stokes—no, Stokleys. That’s the name. Stokley’s Pub. It’s a few blocks north of the Starbucks on Steinway.”

  “Excellent. And would you mind it if I contact you again in case I need a positive ID of this woman?”

  “You mean off the record? I mean, I wouldn’t want to go to court or anything.”

  “Of course it would be off the record. It would just be for my own use in the investigation.”

  “In that case, yeah. I can do that.”

  “That’s very kind of you. Well, thank you for all your help, Mr. Bannon and I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Hey, no problem. I hope you catch the perp. I’ve had my car hit a half dozen times and know how your client feels. You just want to track down the bastard and beat him to a pulp!”

  “No doubt. Thanks again and have a nice day.”

  Alan was elated—now he had a lead on the mysterious Ellen.

  It had been a huge gamble alluding to Bannon that someone had used his e-mail address, but it was the only way he could think of to get to the truth without pot
entially putting Ellen in danger. Alan figured that if Ellen stood to get into any kind of trouble with Bannon for having used his e-mail account, the DMV ruse would effectively flush out the information he needed without posing any real threat to her. After all, she had only theoretically contacted the DMV to report an auto accident—innocuous enough. But he’d had a gut feeling all along that Bannon wasn’t involved with Ellen personally—that she was indeed a total stranger—and his hope had been that Bannon would recall a stranger being in a position to use his computer without his authorization.

  And as it turned out, that had exactly been the case.

  So now the big question now was why? Why had Ellen used Bannon’s laptop to go to Beth’s website in the first place? And why had she been so afraid of being caught doing so? Granted, she was not doubt afraid of Bannon catching her sneaking onto his laptop at the Starbucks but there had to be more to it then that. It just didn’t make any sense, now that he knew the circumstances. If Bannon wasn’t a personal threat to her, then who or what was?

  He needed to call Beth Lindsey. Maybe she could offer some insight into this.

  Alan clicked on his contacts, found Beth’s number and hit CALL.

  When she answered, Alan said, “Beth, it’s Alan—how are you?”

  “I can’t believe this, I was just thinking of you!”

  “Good thoughts, I hope.”

  “Mostly,” she laughed. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d had a chance to give that weird e-mail message I forwarded to you any thought. What did you think?”

  “Funny you’d ask—that’s exactly why I’m calling you. At first I figured it was some kind of hoax. I mean, it was just so crazy and random. But after giving it some thought, I started thinking that there might actually be some validity to it. Like you had mentioned, it was so brief and desperate-sounding that it just didn’t seem like something a prankster would do.”

  “And what about that website? What did you make of those paintings?”

  “There’s something fishy about that, too. They aren't paintings but actually manipulated photographs."

  “You’re kidding! I would never have thought that. They looked too, uh, painterly to have been photos. How can you tell?”

  “Didn’t take much to figure it out once I magnified them. This guy is apparently obsessed with re-creating works by Edgar Degas with a camera and then manipulating the images in Photoshop to look like impressionist paintings. He’s pretty damn good at it, too I might add.”

  “That seems kind of crazy. Why do you suppose he’s doing it?” Beth said.

  “I have no idea. All I can say is that if the mysterious Ellen’s sister is indeed one of the girls in his photos, she could be in trouble.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I just have a feeling about this guy. Like he’s some kind of fanatic who is not all there, if you know what I mean. Those types can be dangerous.”

  “No doubt. Is there anything we can do to find this girl?”

  “I’m working on it. Of course, it would be nice to know which one of the girls in the photos is her sister—it’s real big plus knowing what the person looks like that you’re trying to save. At any rate, I have found out something about this Ellen woman, though—I think I have, anyway.”

  “You’re kidding! How did you do that?”

  “It’s hard to explain exactly but let’s just say I have a source who has been able to track down the guy whose e-mail address was used by her on your website. In fact, I just spoke to this guy a few moments ago. He thinks he knows who this Ellen is, or at least what she is.”

  “What do you mean, ‘what she is?’”

  “He thinks she’s a prostitute—in Queens, New York.”

  Beth let out a gasp. “Tell me everything.”

  “Well, apparently Ellen visited your website is short order while this guy was taking a bathroom break at a Starbucks. The place was wifi enabled and he had left his laptop unattended at his table just long enough to take a leak. When he came back, he spotted Ellen using his laptop and she immediately flew out of the place like a bat out of hell when she saw him coming. He couldn’t catch her but he told me he had seen her around the neighborhood once before in hooker mode. He gave me a general description of her and the name of the bar where she may be soliciting. That’s about all I have now.”

  “Alan, that’s so amazing! And this is so typical.”

  “What do you mean by so typical?”

  “If this Ellen is indeed a prostitute, it would explain why she was being so secretive and didn’t want anybody to find out that she had been on my website.”

  “Now you’ve lost me,” Alan said. “Why would a prostitute be secretive like that?”

  “Because, my dear, most prostitutes have pimps who keep a very close eye on them. Ellen was probably taking a huge risk by running into the coffee shop and getting online like that. If her pimp found out what she had been doing, she would most likely have to pay dearly for it.”

  “Jesus, why would a pimp care about her going online in a coffee shop?”

  “Alan, it appears that you don’t know so much about the oldest profession.”

  “Whoa, now wait a minute—it’s not like I’ve been living under a rock! I know all about pimps and how they dominate their girls— I just didn’t realize that they watched them that vigilantly.”

  “You’d be surprised. Since my website is geared toward women’s rights and female repression, I get quite a bit of mail from prostitutes. Women who are physically and sexually abused by their husbands and boyfriends are not the only victims of these deplorable crimes. In fact, prostitutes are probably the most abused victims of all statistically, not just by their clients but their pimps as well.”

  “I guess I never thought of that. So why in the hell do women get into prostitution in the first place if it’s that bad? I know there’s a lot of money in it, but it hardly seems worth it.”

  “Most women aren’t prostitutes by choice, Alan. They are often either tricked into it or so desperate for money to pay off their drug habits that they see no other options. Or all of the above. Unfortunately, society as a whole thinks that prostitutes sell themselves for the big money or because they are nymphomaniacs or sex addicts. Statistics have proven this simply isn’t the case. Most women are forced into prostitution and can’t get out because they are afraid to.”

  “Afraid of what? Having to work a real job to pay the bills?” Alan asked cynically.

  “God, no Alan—they are scared to death of their pimps! Pimps have control over virtually every aspect of their lives. They get them hooked on drugs and then force them to prostitute themselves in order to feed their habit. The pimps end up with all the money and the girls are left with nothing but diseases and serious drug problems. It’s a horrible vicious circle for a lot of these poor women.”

  “I guess I didn’t realize it was that bad and so prevalent. So it’s safe to assume that if this Ellen woman is indeed a hooker and that she visited your website on the sly, it increases the odds that her plea for her sister is valid. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, by all means,” Beth replied. “Listen, Alan. Now that we know all of this, is there any chance you will take this case? I know that you’ve given up your practice but could you please make an exception just this once? I will pay you personally if I can’t get the money from one of the foundations. What do you say?”

  Alan paused a moment before he replied. On one hand, he had already decided to get involved in this case even before he had called Beth. Not only was he curious but also intrigued by the very nature of the case.

  On the other hand, he had not considered doing this as a paid private investigator. Although he still had his license, he had made a vow to himself (and to Julie) that he would not go back to investigative work in any size shape or form. Not only was it potentially dangerous, web designing is a much safer and profitable line of work to pursue.

  He finally said, “I’ll tell
you what I’ll do. I’ll take on the case but only as a favor to you—pro bono, so to speak.”

  “No, Alan—I insist on paying you! I have a vested interest in this from both a humanitarian aspect and as a writer. You will be doing both Ellen and myself a big favor and deserve to be paid for your time.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you cover my expenses. But the rest is on me. Take it or leave it.”

  “Alright, if you insist. I just want you to know how much this means to me. If you could hear some of the awful stories these poor souls tell me you would know what a desperate situation they’re in. Prostitutes come from all walks of life but did you know that human trafficking for the sex trade is one of the fastest growing crimes in the world right now? The victims are literally modern day slaves who have been bought and sold just for sex—it’s a horrible reality that very few people are even aware of.”

  Alan was beginning to see just how dedicated his old friend had become to her cause. “I didn’t realize that. You’ve already enlightened me on prostitution, Beth, and I’ll never look at a hooker quite the same way now.”

  “If more people knew the facts about this exploitation, they would quit encouraging the practice all together,” she said bitterly.

  “I’m afraid that that will never happen, Beth. Sex for sale will be around until the end of time and you’re fooling yourself if you think that it’s going to suddenly disappear.”

  “I know that I’m being overly idealistic. But it’s just not right to encourage the large scale sex trade that is happening right now like so many countries are doing. These are countries that not only allow prostitution but actually encourage it! It’s big money for the criminals and brings in huge revenues for the countries that tax it. I’m not talking third-world countries here, either. I’m talking Canada, Germany, England, Brazil, the Netherlands—even the state of Nevada! My argument against prostitution isn’t a moral one—I am in fact all for the decriminalization of prostitutes that have been arrested who were forced into the trade. It is the slimy, brutal gang of thugs that exploit these women by robbing them of their freedom and dignity for huge profits that need to be crushed!”

  “Wow, Beth—you have obviously done your homework on this. And I’m beginning to get a feel for why Ellen may have chosen your website in particular to post her plea after hearing what you’ve just told me. It is in fact looking like she may have pre-planned the whole thing out from the beginning. After all, she couldn’t have had more than a few minutes to case this guy out at the Starbucks on the off chance that he would abandon his computer long enough for her to get on it, locate your website, post her message as well as either type out or paste in the URL for the photographer’s website. Not to mention doing all of this with a pimp possibly outside somewhere waiting to pounce on her. This clearly wasn’t something that was done randomly. Nor lightheartedly.”

  “Now you can see why I felt her message could have been sincere. Her utter fear and desperation was hiding somewhere between the lines. You just don’t do what she did and take all of those risks unless you are really desperate,” Beth said. “Which is why I hope we can act on this before something really horrible happens. What do we do now, Alan?”

  “Well, I’m going to have to make a trip to the Big Apple, it appears. Track down Ellen and see if I can talk to her—find out all I can about her sister. Then take it from there.”

  “How do you plan on talking to her, if you’re lucky enough to find her?”

  “I’ll have to play that by ear. And it could be dicey finding her in the first place. The guy with the laptop works in the area yet he said he’d only seen her once before in front of a neighborhood bar. No law says she will still be in the area now.”

  “Well if anyone can find her, you can.”

  Alan chuckled. “I’m glad you have all of this confidence in me! Do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve played Columbo, Beth? And when I was looking for something or someone, it wasn’t in a city of eight million people over five hundred miles away.”

  “You’ll find her. And you’ll find her sister, too. I just know it.”

  “Hmm, we’ll see. At any rate I’d better get going. I will keep you up to speed as soon as I learn something.”

  “Great. Thanks so much, Alan. I owe you big time, now!”

  “No problem. I’ll give you a call soon.”

  “Thanks again.”