by Charles Ayer
“That’s right. And the search engines and the sites you log onto will do that unless you expressly disallow them. That way they can target news and local ads that are relevant to you.”
“Okay. So what’s the point?”
“The point is that I think I recall you telling me that when you visited David’s office his laptop wasn’t there, and that Angie Forrester told you that he always took it home with him.”
“That’s right.”
“So what if he took it with him wherever he went? And what if he’s been logging onto it?”
“I never thought of that.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Matt, but I never would have expected you to. But I damn well should have expected myself to.”
“So, can you find out if he’s been using his laptop?”
“Yes, I could, but I’d prefer to do this on the up and up if we can. That’s a pretty serious form of hacking and, frankly, it would be faster and easier to do this by the rules.”
“So how do I do that?”
“You go to the Orange County Bank and Trust and ask for their cooperation. You won’t have a search warrant, of course, but perhaps they’ll be willing to help you out.”
I looked at my watch. “Angie Forrester will be there by now. You want to come with me? I don’t know if I’d be able to ask the right questions about all this stuff.”
“Uh, sure,” said Lacey, after only a brief hesitation.
“Good,” I said, taking a final sip of my coffee. “Let’s go.”
******
Angie Forrester came out to greet us looking spectacular in a close-fitting red dress, a simple string of pearls, and a pair of black heels that made her taller than I was. It was probably unprofessional of me, but I couldn’t help noticing that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, a detail I hadn’t noticed before. It could have been because my detecting skills had improved since the last time I saw her. It also could have been because the dress ended above her knees and her legs looked terrific.
Joanne hadn’t seemed as pleased to see me as she had been the last time, probably because I’d shown up without an appointment. Or perhaps it was the faded jeans and Todd Rundgren tee shirt that Lacey was wearing. In any event, she had reluctantly agreed to ask Angie if she could spare a moment for us, and a few moments later she had returned, grudgingly, with Angie.
Angie greeted us both warmly, apparently not offended by Lacey’s tee shirt –perhaps she was a Rundgren fan – and invited us into her office. She offered us coffee, which Lacey immediately accepted, but I declined. I’d already had two cups and I didn’t want to have to make an embarrassing mid-conversation dash to the men’s room.
“I was hoping,” she said, while she poured the coffee, “that you’d come with good news about David, but judging by your expressions I gather that’s not the case.”
“I’m sorry to say that you are correct,” I said.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “It’s been over a week now, and that can’t be good. Do you have any leads at all?”
“The only lead we have is that it might involve money somehow.”
“That doesn’t sound like David,” said Angie.
“No, it doesn’t,” I said. “I hate to ask you this, but can I assume that he hadn’t applied for a loan here in the past couple of months?” I said.
“Yes, you can. I know that because it is strictly against bank policy to loan money to employees.”
“He might have been desperate and asked anyway,” I said.
“If he had, it would have been reported to me. He absolutely did not apply for a loan here. But I could have answered that question over the phone, so I’m assuming you didn’t drive all the way over here just to ask it.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I asked Lacey to come with me because we have a request to make regarding David’s computer equipment, and Lacey has some expertise in that area that I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” said Angie. “Hang on a second.” She made a quick phone call, and in a few minutes a disheveled looking young man wearing worn khakis and a shirt and tie that didn’t match entered her office.
“This is Brad Schmidt, our Chief Information Officer,” she said. “Brad, I’d like you to meet Matt Hunter and his sister, Lacey.”
“Nice to meet you, Brad,” I said.
“Nice to meet you, too,” he said. He then turned to Lacey with a wary expression and said, “Lacey.”
“Brad,” said Lacey, her face set in stone.
Angie and I exchanged a glance.
“Brad,” said Angie before things could get worse, “David Chandler apparently dropped out of sight about a week ago. Matt has been hired by his wife to find him, and he came here looking for our assistance. He brought his sister with him because she has expertise in the area of computers and computer networks.”
“Apparently,” said Brad. He and Lacey eyed each other like two boxers circling each other in the first round of a championship match.
“Brad,” said Lacey, “We’re here to ask a favor.”
“How lovely,” he said.
“Brad, look,” said Lacey. “We were wondering if you would be able to tell us if David Chandler has logged on to his computer in the past week, and, if he has, would you be able to backtrack his activity and tell us where he was when he was logged on.”
“We normally don’t provide that information,” said Brad.
“We’re not looking for any of his personal information or any network information related to his computer or the bank’s network. We just want to know if he’s logged on to the computer and where he was when he did.”
“How charming of you to ask,” said Brad.
“Brad,” said Angie, “it’s completely up to you, but I would appreciate it if you could help them.”
He stared at Lacey a few seconds longer and then turned to Angie. “Okay. May I please use your computer?”
“Go ahead.”
Brad sat down at Angie’s computer and started to tap on the keys. His typing didn’t have the same confident speed and rhythm that Lacey’s had, but he didn’t hesitate, and he seemed to know what he was doing. In a few minutes he looked up.
“Sorry,” he said, “David Chandler hasn’t logged on to his computer since last Wednesday, and all that activity took place while he was here in this building.”
“Could you tell us,” I said, “if any of the activity looks like it could have been non-bank related business? Does any of it look suspicious to you?”
Brad looked at Angie, who nodded silently. He then spent a few more minutes clicking and tapping, then looked up.
“No. It’s all just mundane bank stuff. I went back a couple of days, too. Still nothing. The guy wrote almost no emails, and he received even fewer.”
“Is it possible that he had a private email address that nobody but he knew about?”
“Of course it’s possible. But if he logged on to it using his company computer, I would have been able to see the activity. As I’m sure your sister would know,” he added, giving Lacey a dirty look.
I was starting to think that the sooner I wrapped this up the better.
“Thank you so much, both of you,” I said. “I have just one last request. Could you check periodically and tell us if there is any activity?”
Brad looked at Angie one more time. She gave him another silent nod.
“Sure,” he said. He gave Lacey another hard stare. “It’s not like it would matter all that much, would it?”
“Cut it out, Brad,” said Lacey.
“All right then,” said Angie. “Brad, thank you so much.” He nodded to her and to me but not to Lacey. He left the room quickly.
I thanked Angie profusely and got us out of the bank as quickly as possible.
“What the hell was that all about?” I said, when we were back in the car.
“What was what all about?”
“Come on, Lace. Don’t play games.”
Sh
e turned away from me and looked straight ahead.
“You know the rules,” she said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I GUESS I SHOULDN’T BE SURPRISED,” said Allison Cooper as she stared at me through the screen door. It was raining out, the first rain since I’d gotten back to Devon-on-Hudson, and my stomach was killing me.
Despite my devotion to a simple, health-oriented diet, I also believed firmly that variety is the spice of life. So I’d skipped McDonald’s that morning and gone to a local diner instead to satisfy my periodic craving for poached eggs and corned beef hash. I’d ordered rye toast and a side of home fries to balance out the nutritional content, and now I was paying for it. It must have been the onions in the potatoes. My stomach didn’t seem to tolerate onions the way it used to. But what are home fries without onions?
“Hi, Allison,” I said, suppressing a belch. “Long time.”
“Long time,” she said, making no move to invite me in.
“I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk.”
“I’m sure you were,” she said, still making no move to open the door.
“I won’t take much of your time.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Allie, please.”
“Okay,” she said, after making me wait a few more long seconds. “I guess I can’t leave you standing out there in the rain. And besides, you look like you could use some Tums.”
“How could you tell?” I said as I stepped into a tall-ceilinged foyer.
“Are you kidding me? The way Kenny eats and drinks, I buy the stuff by the case. His snoring is bad enough, never mind having him getting up every half hour because of his heartburn. I’ll be right back.”
She looked pretty good walking away. Allie had always been one of those slender people that you just knew would never gain any weight. She was small, and she’d never had any bust to speak of. But her hair was still the jet black of her youth; her face was unlined and still pretty in its own way, and whatever she’d had twenty years ago that had made her attractive was still there. A disturbing image of her and enormous Kenny in bed together settled into my imagination and wouldn’t go away. She returned with a glass of water and three Tums.
“I’d offer you coffee,” she said, handing me the glass and the tablets, “but I don’t think I’d be doing you any favors if I did.”
“That’s fine,” I said, looking around the house as I chewed on the Tums. “I really don’t mean to stay long, anyway.”
“Come on in and sit down,” she said, leading me into a spacious living room.
It was a larger home than I’d expected. Not in the same category as David and Doreen’s house by any means, but it must have cost a pretty penny.
“What? Did you think we’d be living in a double-wide?” said Allie, catching me as I glanced around.
“No, no. I was just taking in the place. It’s nice.”
“Thanks, but you’re thinking we can’t afford it, not on Kenny’s pay.”
“I have no idea what Kenny’s being paid as A.D., but I assume he’s doing pretty well. It’s a big job.”
“Give me a break,” said Allison. “Big job? There never was such a thing as an Athletic Director before they made up the job for Kenny.”
“I know there wasn’t one when I was here,” I said, trying to ignore the implication, “but I thought that maybe with the size of the school district now, they decided they needed one.”
“What they decided was they had to get Kenny out of the head coaching job before he completely destroyed the football program. Nobody had the heart to fire him, so they created the job.”
“Does Kenny know that?”
“You’d have to ask Kenny what he knows or doesn’t know, but I doubt it. Kenny’s in his own world, you know?”
“Do they at least pay him well?”
“They pay him squat.” She pulled out a pack of Newport cigarettes and lit one up, something I’d never seen her do. She took a long drag and looked me in the eye. “Which brings us to why you’re here, doesn’t it?”
“Look, Allie, I’m sure you know by now that David’s been gone for more than a week, and you probably know that Doreen’s hired me to find him.”
“Yeah, Kenny told me.”
“And in the course of our conversations, it came up that you’d gone to David over the years for some, you know, financial assistance.”
Allie was quiet for a long time. She took one last long drag on her cigarette and stubbed it out hard in an ashtray. “Your conversations with Doreen?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, Allie. I’m confused.”
“I thought the loans were a private matter between me and David, that’s all. He knew I didn’t want Doreen to know. I thought maybe you found out about them by looking at his bank records or something. He’s the big shot banker with all the money. I guess I thought he’d worked it all out without Doreen knowing.”
So Doreen’s secret had been well kept.
“I’m sorry, Allie.”
“It’s just, you know, it’s kind of humiliating, that’s all.” She wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Allie, did Kenny know about the money?”
“Of course not,” she said, her eyes suddenly dry, the hard façade returning. “Kenny’s completely stupid about money. He actually believes that we can live the way we do on his salary.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“So you needed the money to maintain your lifestyle?”
“Something like that.”
“Doreen told me that a few months ago you asked David for more money than you’d ever asked for in the past. She said you asked for $150,000. David seemed to imply to her that Kenny had gotten himself into gambling problems. She also told me that David turned you down.”
She looked at me in shock. “She said that?”
“Yes, she did.”
“What a bunch of crap.”
“What?”
“I said that was a bunch of crap. What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“I meant,” I said, trying to remain patient, “were you referring to the part about the gambling or the part about how David turned you down?”
“Kenny doesn’t gamble; he never has. He spends all his free time drinking beer with his buddies. Gambling doesn’t interest him, I think mostly because it confuses him.”
“So, what did you need that much money for?”
“Personal expenses,” she said.
“What do you mean, ‘personal expenses’?
“I mean personal expenses,” she said, giving me a look that said, “Move on.”
“Did you ever go to anyone else for money?”
“Of course not.”
“Why, ‘of course not’?
“Because remember what that bank robber used to say when they asked him why he robbed banks?”
“It was Willie Sutton. He said, ‘because that’s where the money is.’”
“Correct. David makes a ton, and, besides, Kenny’s his best friend, especially since you got out of Dodge. Why shouldn’t he share?”
“Allie, $150,000 is a lot of money, even for David,” I said, perpetuating the fiction.
“Perhaps.”
“So were you disappointed when he turned you down?”
Allie took another cigarette from the pack, lit it, and took a long drag, expelling the smoke slowly. She gave me a long, level look.
“Who said he turned me down?” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LACEY LIVED IN A LOFT over a small factory out near where Interstate 84 and the New York State Thruway intersect. The company operating the factory was called MainLine, Inc., and it manufactured fuel injection systems for high-performance cars. It looked busy and prosperous, but the name made me wonder how my sister had gotten to know the owners. I decided I didn’t really want to know. The loft was really nothing more than an open area with a massive comp
uter workstation, a bed that would make a cot look comfortable, and a couple of chairs that looked like they’d been stolen from Goodwill. But it was well lit by a large skylight and Lacey kept it immaculate. The air conditioning from the factory floor kept it cool, although some of the machinery noise leaked in. Lacey didn’t seem to mind.
“So, Lacey,” I said, looking around, “where do you cook and, you know, shower?”
“I eat out, Matt,” she said. “At the time in my life when I should’ve been learning from Mom how to cook I was kind of otherwise engaged. As for the showers, the owner has a full bathroom suite attached to his office, and he lets me use it.”
“Pretty Spartan,” I said.
“It suits me fine,” said Lacey.
“You say so,” I said. I didn’t have any idea what Lacey made, but I’d hoped it would be enough for her to live a little better than this. “So, anyway, how do you think David got that kind of money?” I said, after I’d told her about my visit with Allison Cooper.
“She could be lying, you know,” she said.
“About what?”
“About everything. She was clearly lying to you when she said the only reason she needed the money was for ‘personal expenses.’ There has to be more to it than that.”
“I don’t know, Lace. They live in an awfully nice house in an expensive neighborhood.”
“That’s my point,” she said. “It just doesn’t make sense. Why would David Chandler hand over that kind of money, year after year, just to keep his friend in that kind of lifestyle, especially when he had to go begging to his wife to get it? It seems to me that there are limits, even to a close friendship. If David were really a friend, he should have talked to Kenny and told him that he should sell the fancy house and live a life more in line to his income.”
“Kenny didn’t know about the money, Lace.”
“That’s what makes the whole thing smell even more. Why did this all happen between Allie and David?”
“I think they were both trying to protect Kenny, that’s all.”
“I don’t know, Matt. It just doesn’t sound right to me. And why did Doreen put up with it for so long?”