by Kristi Rose
I waited until Troy was out of the parking lot before I went into the building and followed the signs to the administration office. Such as it was. The center’s office was a glass window in a wall in the main hallway. Through the window, there were several desks arranged in pods.
A pleasant-looking woman about my age was manning the front desk closest to the window. She had earbuds in and was focused on whatever she was typing. To her credit, she didn’t look startled by my appearance and slid the glass open so we could talk.
“I was wondering if I could speak to the instructor of the Recode and Reshape Program,” I said. I knew Josh was the instructor and was dead. But I wanted to see where this got me.
She grimaced. “The instructor who typically does the program is no longer with us.”
I raised a brow and ignored the slight ache that came from the pull of skin across the cuts. “Something I should know about? I’m thinking of requesting this as an alternative for my son’s probation, but maybe it’s a bad idea.” I touched a cut on my cheek, hoping she would infer the wrong meaning and think my son had done this to me. “But if the instructor can’t stick around, that makes me wonder…”
She shook her head and leaned forward. “He died.”
“Oh,” I said. “Hopefully not by one of the students.”
She shook her head again but wouldn’t meet my eyes. So, she knew Josh died of suspicious causes but wasn’t going to elaborate further.
“Is the program not an option then?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s still going. We have another faculty member facilitating the class until we know if the company that offers the program will send another instructor or not.”
I smiled with false relief. “Can I speak with that person?”
She pointed down the hallway. “Room one-oh-seven. Kalan Johnson is the instructor.”
I gave her a thumbs up. “Thanks.” I shuffled off in the direction she pointed.
Room 107 was a large classroom with three rows of tables seating six to a row with computers in front of every seat.
Kalan Johnson was sitting at a computer clicking madly between pages on the screen. He was a slight man, like he didn’t know what a carb was. The kind of guy weight seemed allergic to sticking to. His skin was the Pacific Northwest pale. His hair was blond and spiky.
I rapped on the doorjamb and said, “Knock, knock. You Kalan Johnson?”
He said, “Yeah,” never once looking at me.
“Mr. Johnson. My name’s Samantha True.” I walked over to him and looked at the screen over his shoulder. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Josh Chapman and the program here.”
That got Johnson’s attention. He spun in his chair to face me. “You a cop?”
“Private investigator,” I said, reaching for my identification. Something on the screen caught my eye. Pay Forward For the Kids, Josh’s company. “That’s a dummy site.” I tapped my finger on the screen.
Johnson turned back to the screen. “It’s not actually. Because it’s doing business. I thought it was a dummy at first, too.” He pulled out the chair next to him and gestured for me to sit.
I did. I leaned into the screen.
He said, “What made you say it was a dummy site?”
I wasn’t sure what I could share. “I’ve seen it before. I’ve been looking into Chapman, and this site came up.”
He faced me. “I’m the IT guy here. I teach coding, website building, and all sorts of other stuff in adult ed courses. I know nothing about this Recode and Reshape Program, but they put me in here because they said Chapman was teaching the kids basic coding. How learning to code will keep a kid out of jail is beyond me, but here I am.”
“I think it was more about them learning to work to a schedule and finding skills outside of whatever crimes they’re committing,” I offered with a shrug.
“Except many of these kids’s parents are wealthy. The students have opportunity at their fingertips. It’s the ones trying to get by that need the skill.”
He had a valid point. “So you come in to teach coding, and you found this website?”
Johnson leaned back in his chair and let out a derisive laugh. “What I found was kids writing code to set up new products on the website.”
“What kind of products?”
“Chromebooks, textbooks, and some were non-tangibles like service fees. Chapman gave each kid a list of code to write.” He pointed to a stack of papers by him. “Then the kid uses mom’s credit card to test the ability to purchase the products. Small amounts. Nothing major.”
Warning bells were ringing in my head. “Small amounts that add up over time, I’d bet.” To purchase products that were never delivered.
He gave me the trigger fingers to indicate I’d said the right thing “And you’d be right. What I can’t find is the code that reverses those purchases or codes them as dummy purchases and not charge the card.”
“So… all this is going into the coffers of,” — I tap the business on the screen — “this company, which is really Chapman.”
“Yup,” Johnson said. Took me half the class to realize what was going on. These kids just come in, take their sheet, and get to work.”
“Do they know what they’re doing?” This could explain Troy’s mood.
Johnson gave my question thought. “I think many of them do.”
“Why didn’t they stop when Chapman was killed?” I wondered out loud.
“Lots of different instructors came in. I’m guessing the kids didn’t know where the con started and stopped. For all they knew, Chapman was the middleman. For all I know, that’s true, too.”
One thing I knew was there was at least one more person involved, and that person tried to run me down. “Was there anyone else working with Chapman? Someone who said they were an employee of this company?”
“An IT person.”
“I thought you were the IT person.” I was pretty sure of his answer but needed to hear it out loud.
“I’m IT for the community center. This woman was IT for this company.” Johnson tapped the screen.
Johnson had said this woman. This woman. Was Johnson on the up and up? Or had I walked in on something, and he was in on the con? He was of slight enough frame that he could have rented the car. This woman could be a lie.
I asked. “What did you have the kids do when you figured this out?”
“I had them watch Minecraft videos and talk about what types of coding were used in the making of that game. I couldn’t think of anything better.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Jeez, now what do I do?”
I pulled my phone from my backpack. “I know who you should talk to.” I dialed Leo.
18
Friday
With the help of Johnson, Leo and I were able to track the money trail to a specific bank. Getting the bank info would require a warrant signed by the courts.
For the average man, that was.
I had Toby, IT spy extraordinaire on my payroll.
I stepped into the hallway to make the call. We were after high time so I knew he’d get right on it. When I got back into the room, Leo was on the phone with Officer Gee, helping him write out a warrant.
I texted AJ and asked him to do a quick add up of all the charges on his card that came from Pay Forward For the Kids and to get that number to me ASAP. Wishing I could get it in minutes, I knew it might take hours. The life of a second-string quarterback was demanding, apparently. Whereas I had visions of him just tossing a ball on the field all day long, apparently that wasn’t the case. There were films to watch and meetings to attend and runs to practice. I was surprised when he texted back five minutes later with a screenshot of the charges.
I showed the screen to Leo. “Based on this, my client has been scammed out of about three grand. His brother, Troy, has been in the program for three weeks. So averaging a grand a week. The program is twelve weeks.” I turned to Johnson. “How many kids in the program?”
He shook
his head in disbelief. “Twenty per quarter.”
I asked, “And it runs every quarter?”
Johnson nodded. “Yeah, there are enough troubled teens to keep it going. In fact, Amy at the front said we have a waitlist.”
Leo gave a low whistle. “That’s almost a million dollars a year.”
I said, “My client said he was told there would be some expenses throughout the program. What tipped him off was there was nothing to show for those expenses. When he asked his brother what he was getting for these charges, the brother couldn’t give a direct answer.”
Leo took my phone and studied the screen. “When you glance at this statement, it doesn’t look to be a lot because all the charges are small enough. But when you add it up…” He shook his head. “Quite the scam.”
“And your friend Levi is in this program, too. Your still-vaping friend Levi,” I said with a pointed look.
Leo eyed me while he pulled out his phone. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.” He swiped his finger across the screen a few times then held the phone out so I could see it. He was calling Laura Danner on speakerphone.
“Danner Pest Control, Laura speaking.”
“Hey, Laura. It’s Leo Stillman.”
“Officer, how can I help you?” She sounded wary.
“You’re on speakerphone, Laura, because I have a quick question and in the room with me is the IT manager for Vancouver Community Center and a PI for a client that would like to remain anonymous. I’m calling about the Recode and Reshape Program. Is it okay if I keep you on speaker?”
A long enough pause that had each of us looking at each other.
She sighed. “Ask your question first, and I’ll let you know.”
“We were wondering if you had some charges on your credit card from a place called Pay Forward For the Kids Educational Services that are related to the program here?”
“I did. I asked Levi what they were. He couldn’t explain it so I asked Josh. He explained they were startup costs for the program.”
Leo asked, “Was it just the one week or every week.”
“Just the one.”
Leo looked at me, and I shrugged.
He said, “Okay, Laura. Thanks. Make sure Levi comes to football this weekend.”
“Will do, Leo,” she said and disconnected.
From Officer to Leo. She was definitely someone on the defense, but his simple and not threatening questioning had put her at ease. I made a note in my PI handbook to master that skill. Wheel of Fortune, my rear end.
Johnson was typing away on the computer and pulled up a screen with lots of numbers and letters on it.
He said, “I logged into what Levi Danner has been doing in class, and it’s not what the others are doing. He sits in that corner.” He pointed to the last row, farthest corner. The screen was turned at an angle that made it hard to see. “And it looks like all he did was surf the net.”
“What sites?” I asked.
“Typical kid stuff. Bands and YouTube videos on gaming. But a few weird ones. The workout schedule at Wind River Fitness center and some newspaper articles.”
Leo asked, “Articles?”
Johnson pulled them up. They were the articles on his dad’s death.
My phone chirped. Toby.
“What did you find out?” I asked, stepping aside so not to talk over the guys.
“The account was cleaned out yesterday and transferred to another account in the name of J. M. Chapman.”
Ugh, not again. “Any idea who this is? Don’t tell me someone named Josh.”
“Okay, I won’t. Because it’s not. That account was opened a few days before the transfer. I’ll send you the picture of the ID they scanned into the system.”
“Thanks, Toby. You’re the bomb.”
“Yeah, dudette. I know,” he said before disconnecting. A second later, a picture of Jenna Miller popped up in my messages. J.M. Chapman was Jenna Miller.
I called Toby back. “Where does Jenna Miller’s tracking device say she is?”
He tapped a few keys before he said, “Home.”
“Okay, thanks.” I disconnected and called Precious. “You free?” I asked.
“For what?”
“A road trip back to Seattle to visit our friend, Jenna.”
Precious ohh’d. “What’d she do?”
“I’ll fill you in on the way. I’m close to you so I’ll come to your place.”
“Give me fifteen,” she said.
“Done.” After hanging up, I shared with Leo everything I’d learned.
“How you obtained the information would not hold up in court. I can’t do anything with it.” He pressed his thumb against the spot between his brows, as if trying to ward off a headache.
“Not yet. You’ll be able to when you get the warrant, but for now maybe we can be a few steps ahead. I’m headed to visit Jenna myself in a minute.”
He took me by the elbow, worry furrowing his brow. “Samantha. Don’t go. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I can ask her why she tried to run me down. I can ask her what she thinks she’s doing. What game she thinks she’s playing.”
“And then what? When she pulls a gun on you and says she’s playing the game of get-rich-quick, what are you gonna do?” he said in his haughty cop voice.
“I can’t sit around here and do nothing. Am I supposed to watch TV or something while we wait for the warrant to come in? And how long will the bank take to get you the information? That will take what? Hours? Days?”
He stuck his hands on his hips but said nothing because he knew I was right.
“I just want to follow her. See what she’s about.”
“Do nothing else,” he said sternly.
“I’ll be careful. I promised I would when you told me I would have to clear myself, remember that? I’m on the hook here.”
He pressed his lips together in frustration then said, “That was until you got hit by a car.”
I patted his shoulder. “Cost of playing with bad guys. We were always dealing with a killer, Leo. Just one we underestimated.” I winked and pulled away. I said to Johnson, “Thanks for all your help.”
He looked between me and Leo. “Yeah, sure. I think. He looks worried.” He nodded to Leo.
“He shouldn’t be. I have a stun gun, and I’m not afraid to use it.” I patted my bag. Following a flash of a smile, I split.
Precious was sitting in her SUV, engine idling when I pulled up. As we sped toward Seattle, I told her everything I’d learned at the community center. Including how the money trail ended with the money going into an account for J.M. Chapman, our Jenna Miller.
“Do you know she emailed me once the other day and thanked me for being so kind and for talking about silver linings. She even said she read one of the books I recommended and enjoyed it. I actually questioned my impression of her. Wondered if I was wrong.” Precious’s face screwed up in anger. “When we get there, I’m gonna—”
“Do nothing because this girl is a killer. She likely killed Josh, is probably the one who ran me down, and we now know stole a crap ton of money. We need a plan that involves more than you pushing her to the ground like you did last time.” I tapped the console where the clock was. “And we’ve got only two hours to perfect it.”
Precious sighed heavily and pushed back in her seat in frustration. “We should have stopped by Mrs. Wright’s before we left.”
In hindsight, that would have been a smart move.
“Let’s talk through some options that go beyond us walking up to the door and pounding on it,” I said.
“All I got is we stop and get a pizza and we knock on her door like we’re delivering pizza but to the wrong address,” Precious said.
“And then what? I zap her and hold her there until Leo gets a search warrant and can call the Seattle police to come get her? But I like the pizza idea. Let’s eat one while we think it over.”
We got two custom large pizzas from Mod Pizza loc
ated a handful of miles from Jenna’s apartment. Then we sat in Precious’s car and stared up at Jenna’s apartment looking for signs of life while we ate.
Call me crazy, but the vibe I got from the place was that it was empty. She wasn’t home. There didn’t seem to be any movement in the place. Lights weren’t going on or off. The curtains were open, and I hadn’t seen shadows or someone moving around within like I did in the place below hers.
“She’s not there,” I said and smacked myself in the forehead with the cardboard pizza box twice. “Why would she take all that money and stay in that dump of a place? She split.”
Precious was out of the car before me. We took the stairs two at a time.
She stopped to rap on the door, but instinct told me to go all the way. I turned the handle and found the front door unlocked. The door swung open to an empty apartment. Everything was gone. On the counter that overlooked the tiny kitchen was a donation slip from the Salvation Army with a list of itemized furniture they’d collected. Not the computer stuff, of course. She either took that or sold it elsewhere. But she hadn’t left it behind for the cops to confiscate. The ankle bracelet, still blinking like it was attached, sat next to the donation slip.
I pointed it out to Precious. “That’s disturbing.”
“What do you make of this?” Precious said and jerked her thumb to a picture on the wall that hung in the exact spot Precious had suggested. It was a tropical scene, lapping waves with foamy tips breaking on a sandy beach, footsteps imprinted in the sand. Some were in stages of disappearing as the waves were washing them out.
Hanging from the corner of the frame was a small 3x5 Post-it note. Precious stepped closer. “See what visualizing and setting goals can do? You were right,” she read, admiration in her voice.
“There’s nothing to admire about a killer.”
Precious harrumphed. “I’m admiring the determination. Because that gets results.” She handed me the small yellow note.
It took a lot for me to not roll my eyes.
On the back Jenna had written, Thanks for all the advice. I found my silver lining and plan to enjoy every dime. She signed it with a J that she made look like a dragon.