Fishing—with dollars for bait

There’s an old adage in detective work: if you can’t find a lead, follow the money. Riley’s question about where the money goes got me thinking, and it kept gnawing at me all night. In that odd way that the mind works, I found myself in a very hot dream with an unidentified model-quality date. But at every “important” point in the dream, my date would vanish and a sign would pop up that said “please deposit fifty cents more.” Most of the dream was occupied with trying to get fifty cents to deposit.

When I woke up, it was crystal clear to me that I had been looking for the wrong kind of clues on Simon’s computer. I resolved to start checking bank and financial records and find out where the money was going.

I’d told Brenda that with the computer in my possession I would have access to all the personal information that was on it. That’s only partly true. In order to get into bank records, you need not only the computer’s password, but the bank password. This can be a real problem unless the user has stored the password on the disk, like Simon did. It’s a pretty common fallacy. They enter a user name and password and the operating system pops up a window that asks if you’d like to remember the password. Well, who wouldn’t. Remembering passwords is a pain in the ass. Creating and remembering secure passwords is even harder.

Of course, when you select the option to remember your password you get a little warning that anyone using this computer might be able to access the information you are protecting. But who ever thinks of anyone else using their personal computer in their home. Of course no one else has access to your computer—unless your wife brings it to a computer forensics geek and tells him to have at it. Getting into Simon’s bank accounts was as easy as looking up his web history of places visited and revisiting them. Auto-sign-in and remembered passwords did the rest.

I don’t know what I expected to find, but it wasn’t this. His bank account was neat as a pin. It showed regular paychecks from the firm, normal utilities, and a mortgage payment. Groceries were bought. In general, a couple living within their means. There was a satisfactory balance in the account and the check Brenda wrote to me was already posted. I scanned the checks that had been paid and noted that most of them were signed by Brenda. Simon didn’t seem to do much with this family account.

The bank account led to credit cards and these, too, seemed in perfect order. But they showed a lot of different locations. Simon and Brenda traveled a lot. Dinner in New York, shopping, theater in DC. Next day, hotel in Vegas. Didn’t they ever stay home?

One account leads to another and I discovered that there were often charges made in geographically different locations on the same day. A hotel in Orlando on the same night that one was paid in Acapulco. They traveled a lot, but not necessarily together. Then I came across the first of what I’ll call Simon’s personal accounts. This account showed mainly cash deposits and cash withdrawals. Normally, if there aren’t checks you don’t know where the money goes, but with ATM records, you can tell the route it went to get there. It was obvious that Simon had some favorite spots to get money. That could only mean that he visited those places regularly. And that he spent a lot of money while he was there.

As I continued to investigate the accounts that the laptop was revealing to me, it was like finding little piles of virtual cash stuck in nooks and crannies all over a house. The diversity in business that Riley had spotted yesterday seemed to be reflected in the diversity of Simon’s accounts as well.

I found myself having pulled on a pair of surgical gloves that I wear when I’m pulling apart a computer. But I wasn’t doing more than reading the private accounts of a one-time friend. It was like handling his dirty underwear. I didn’t really want to touch any of it.

Riley was off all day Friday to go to school. Her dissertation in Criminal Justice on the implications of file encryption in criminal cases is well under way and I’ve done my best to help her keep school her priority over getting involved in cases, but over the past several months I’d begun to grow dependent on talking things out with her when I was puzzled. She also kept me reminded that it was time to eat or take my heart meds. Today I had to depend on Maizie to remind me that she needed to go out and I needed to eat.

It’s still drizzling in Seattle, a gray, cold, wetness that feels like it has settled in for the season. It gets down into my bones and I decided there was no remedy but a bowl of Phó from a Vietnamese shop up at the market. Maizie and I wound our way through the maze of tunnels and elevators that would get us from the waterfront up to the market and I ordered at the counter. They at least had an awning over the street so customers who sat on the outdoor stools were sheltered. Unfortunately, I can’t go inside with Maizie.

I sat there eating the hot soup and stirring bean sprouts and hot sauce into it, still caught up in the puzzle of Simon’s accounts. One of the cash machines that he frequented was located right here near Pike and First. I looked around, trying to picture him coming down from his penthouse office in the financial district to get cash, lots of cash, near the market. What kind of business was around here that he would want cash for. He certainly didn’t buy that many groceries in the market.

The lights changed and in the fashion peculiar to that intersection in Seattle, all traffic stopped and pedestrians crossed from every corner at once, some straight across the street and some diagonally between the corners. That was when I realized that one of those corners was still occupied by one of the old strip clubs in town.

Suddenly I was wishing I was still wearing those latex gloves. Was that where Simon’s money was going?

Back at the office I called Lars Andersen at Venture University. He got me into this business and manages to know about almost everything that is going on in Seattle. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew I was investigating Simon’s disappearance. Riley was meeting with him today to go over her thesis plan.

“Lars,” I greeted him when he answered. “Do you have a minute to give me some information?”

“Working on the Simon Barnett case?” he asked nonchalantly. I wasn’t even going to ask how he found out. A grunted “yeah” was all he got. “What kind of information are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for places a wealthy and high-ranking business man would go to spend a lot of cash. Locally.”

“You want a strip club.”

“Is Riley with you right now?”

“Don’t worry. Your protégé is outside my door waiting for this to be finished so I can pass on her outline.”

“Make sure you do. She’s worked like a demon to put it together.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Do you really think a high profile businessman would go to a strip club? It’s a little risky isn’t it?” I don’t frequent these places myself, so I’ve always assumed that if you walked in one you were tagged and identified as a pervert and the whole world would know. I suppose it is possible to be more discreet.

“I’ve heard of a place that caters exclusively to your kind of clientele,” Lars answered. “I’ve got a friend who owes me a few favors. Let me see if he can help you out.”

“I’d rather keep a rather low profile if I can,” I answered. God! I do not need to be seen in a strip club!

“I’ll be discreet. Do you have any alter egos I can use?” That was a good idea. I’m so seldom in the field that I haven’t spent much time doing false identities, but under Lars’s tutelage a number of years ago I’d manufactured three or four “alter egos” as he called them if it was ever necessary for me to go undercover.

“Let’s use Jeremy Ferris,” I answered after a moment.

“Okay. Jeremy Ferris here for a little R&R. I’ll see what I can set up.” I thanked him and we disconnected.

I kept sifting through the files on Simon’s computer, but I was too distracted now to concentrate on it. I locked up the office and Maizie and I caught a cab for home.

Friday night is Maizie’s sleep-over with Mrs. Prior, my landlady. I swear those two were made for each other and I am barely tolerated at times. We live in an upper/lower duplex on lower Queen Anne. In her part, Mrs. Prior lives with an assortment of animals. Birds, rabbits, and even a snake. She says that Maizie loves all the animals, but I think Maizie sees them as an endless buffet that she can’t taste. She absolutely drips saliva when I ask her if she wants to see Mrs. Prior.

Mrs. Prior is a pet psychic. That portion of her day that is not taken up in caring for her own animals is spent caring for or communicating with others. She greeted us at the door and carried on a conversation with Maizie that complete excluded me. Finally, Mrs. Prior turned to me and said, “Maizie says she worries about you because you aren’t eating right. She says you need to have more fish in your diet and less red meat. And you should sleep more.” A large pink feather stuck through the back of Mrs. Prior’s tied up gray hair bobbed up and down with each sentence like a huge exclamation point. I told her that I would definitely have fish for dinner and not to worry. “Salmon,” Mrs. Prior called after me as I mounted the stairs to my unit. I didn’t answer as Lars was ringing me back on my cell phone.

“Dag Håmar,” I said into the phone automatically.

“Sorry, I’m looking for Jeremy Ferris,” Lars intoned. “Look, if you are going to adopt an alter ego you have to put it on completely. No holes. Are you sure you are up for this?” I assured Lars that I was ready, which I most definitely was not.

“Okay, look. This is what I’ve set up. You are a business broker representing a small electronics firm in Minnesota. You are looking for venture capital or an outright purchase. You’ve got some IP that you understand better than I do, so make it good. The guy I’ve got you set up with is a major personality in the computer biz.” When Lars told me who it was I couldn’t believe that I was going to a private strip club in this man’s company. At least we didn’t know each other personally which is always a danger in a technical community as small as Seattle’s. “You’ll meet in the lobby of your hotel, the W, at 8:30 sharp. He’s not going to want to hang around a hotel lobby any more than a strip club, so don’t be late. You’ll have to watch for him as he doesn’t know you.”

“Okay, I can run with that,” I said. At least this was a guy that I could talk to and speak the same language.

“Oh, and Dag,” Lars continued just as I was ready to disconnect. “No electronic devices on your person. They check. They’ll take your cell phone while you are inside. If I were you I’d take a clean one, or none at all. These guys aren’t dummies and they may be checking your contact list while you are inside enjoying yourself. Take money. Between $500 and $1000 should be enough to show you are serious and not be enough to really get carried away. Keep your stories simple. The fewer clues they have to try to track you with the better. And jacket and tie,” Lars concluded, “not that I have to remind you of that.”

“Thanks Lars. It’s been a long time, but I think I can handle it.” I snapped the phone closed and went on in to get dressed. Since I was going to be downtown and had promised Maizie I would eat fish, it seemed like a good idea to eat at the Madison Fish House just across the street from the W. I changed into a dark suit with a clean shirt and tie and pulled ten crisp hundreds out of my emergency safe. I was definitely billing this to Brenda. That was the only good thing I could think of at the moment. I pulled Jeremy Ferris’s wallet out of the safe and checked the contents to be sure they were current. New York driver’s license, credit cards, a couple of photos of people who looked like they could be related or just friends. I called a cab and headed downtown.

Tom Mason was president of one of the few dotcoms that had survived the bubble. As a result, he was a very wealthy man, and one who was well-known in the community as an advocate for all manner of good causes. I guessed, in fact, that he probably served on at least one committee or board with my employer. He was definitely not the kind of man that you would expect to be frequenting any kind of place of ill-repute. I guess we all have our dark side.

He greeted me in near silence and motioned me to his car waiting at the curb. His driver pulled into traffic as soon as we closed the doors.

“I don’t know your game,” he said bluntly. “This could just be a training exercise for all I know. I owe Lars big for work he did before the bust than enabled me to stay on top. But I’ve never taken anyone else to the condo and I expect that you will not in any way make me regret it.”

I smiled at him calmly, “Lars said he would set me up where the players go to relax. I just want to meet a few people in an informal environment and see if there is interest out here in my little firm. Don’t worry about me being uncouth. I live in New York at least half the year. We’ve got private parties there, too.”

“Then maybe you will return the favor next time out in your part of the country,” he said relaxing. I smiled and handed him a business card that I’d printed up that afternoon.

“Just look let me know,” I answered. The car pulled into a parking garage on the lower floor of a building not more than four blocks from my office overlooking the waterfront. The driver took us straight to the elevator in the back of the garage and the driver got out and pressed the call button. When the elevator doors opened Tom and I left the car and went directly through the open doors. He inserted a security card in the slot and pressed the button for the penthouse.

It was a fast trip and we were greeted by security guards when we exited on the top floor of the building. True to Lars’ information, they scanned us for electronic devices and took our cell phones. The devices were tagged and we were given claim tickets. Then a maitre ‘d escorted us to the only door I could see on the hall.

Inside the mood was relaxed and we were greeted by a hostess who called Tom by his first name and introduced herself to me. I started to give her my name and she put a finger to my lips and said “First names only in here, Jeremy. Let’s see if Cinnamon won’t show you around. Tom, Sienna is waiting for you in the lounge.” Tom thanked her and moved off unceremoniously leaving me in the hands of an voluptuous young woman who took my arm and guided me first to the bar. I told her I don’t drink much which is true and ordered a Perrier. I was digging in my pocket for some cash, but Cinnamon pushed my hand down and said, “Just leave a nice tip before you go, Jeremy. Okay?”

Hmmm. I wondered how nice you had to be for a glass of water.

After I got my water and Cinnamon had a glass of Chardonnay, she took me on a grand tour of the apartment. It was hard to judge how many people were there. The evening was still young at 9:00 for many of these guys, though and I imagined that they weren’t more than finishing dinner and cocktails. Soft music played throughout the apartment, just loud enough that it was difficult to hear anyone who was more than a few feet away, but not so loud that you had to shout at your companion. The apartment was a penthouse condo and was immense. The living room was set up with several intimate seating areas, each of which by nature of its high-backed furniture provided a modicum of privacy. The kitchen provided the bar area and a variety of cold hors d’ oeuvres and finger food were displayed where they were easily accessible. I assumed you needed to “be nice” afterward for eating as well.

Various bedrooms were set up with more intimate settings and had locks on the doors. Finally there was a rooftop deck that was complete with walking paths through a garden and a hot tub that was currently unoccupied in the drizzling rain. A canopy kept the falling water separate from the whirling water.

“Would you like me to introduce you to someone?” Cinnamon asked. “Or would you just like to sit and talk to me? Or if you don’t like me, I’ll introduce you to one of the other girls if you want.” She looked genuinely worried about the idea that I might not like her. I decided that I needed to lay it on now or I’d be discovered for the rube that I was.

“No, honey, you suit me just fine,” I said. She responded by looping her arm through mine and giving it a squeeze.

“Do you want a hot tub, or a massage?” she asked.

“No, not just yet. Why don’t you find us a quiet place where we can sit and talk to each other for a while. I’ve been hoofing it from office to office all day and I just need a nice place to relax for a while.” I hoped that I wasn’t using any code words. I wasn’t sure how “nice” I could be. It proved to be okay. Cinnamon was a very nice girl. I estimated she was in her mid-twenties. She wore a low cut evening gown that hugged her like Saran Wrap. When she led me to a quiet corner of the living room that no one else was occupying and sat down, I realized that the skirt was slit nearly to her waist on one side. I had to remind myself not to get too distracted. It would be easy to do.

“Why don’t you just sit here next to me and lean back while I rub your shoulders,” she purred. “If you want to talk go ahead, or we can just finger spell.”

Her fingers were definitely weaving a spell as she started massaging my shoulders. I asked her about herself and found that she was employed in a pharmaceutical company in marketing, but that she worked here at the Condo Friday and Saturday nights to supplement her income. I asked if it was a good supplement.

“It’s fun,” she said. “I get to come to a really nice place, meet nice guys who are very rich, learn all sorts of interesting things about their businesses, and go home with spending money for the week.”

“Spend a lot during the week?” I asked. I was afraid I might have crossed over a line, but she didn’t pause.

“Oh, around a thousand a week,” she said. “And who knows, maybe I’ll meet Mr. Right up here. That’s why most of us come here. These are some of the best catches in Seattle.”

I looked around. It didn’t seem like much of a future for a young woman. Most of the men I’d seen were at least forty. Maybe they hoped to marry rich and old and that he’d die soon. Well, I was a perfect candidate, I thought grimly.

“How about you, sweety,” she asked. “Do you live here in Seattle?”

“Part of the time,” I said. “I’m bi-coastal.”

“That’s okay, sweety,” she said stroking my hair. “I do both boys and girls, too.”

“No, no,” I hastened. “I mean I live on both coasts. Part of the time in New York and part of the time here in Seattle.”

“Aw. I bet that makes it hard to hold down a relationship, doesn’t it?”

“Not so much,” I said. I was getting into this and weaving stories that I wasn’t sure I could maintain. “I have a wife in New York and a girl friend in Seattle. They both maintain pretty well.”

“Are you rich?” she asked bluntly.

“Well enough. I live on other people.”

“Like expense accounts?”

“Yes, like that.”

“Are you on an expense account now?”

“Mmm hmm.” Damn her fingers had found a particularly nasty knot in my neck and I was enjoying this entirely too much.

“I like men on expense accounts,” she said leaning forward and brushing my ear with her lips.

I leaned forward abruptly. I was going to have to change directions on this, but Cinnamon had other ideas.

“That’s it,” she said. “My turn.” She turned her back to me and swept her hair off her neck and pinned it to the top of her head in a move so smooth I couldn’t tell where the pin had come from. “A girl gets tight shoulders and neck muscles from spending too much time in front of a computer. Why don’t you start right there,” she said pointing at the base of her neck. I probably should have made an excuse and ended the encounter right then, but I succumbed to the offered neck and shoulders and was soon doing my best to relax those “tight shoulders.”

“How’d you find out about the Condo,” she asked as I was getting into the feel of her sweet flesh beneath my fingers.

“A friend of mine said to look it up,” I said. “His name is Simon.”

“Oh!” Cinnamon straightened up and turned toward me so fast that my fingers were nearly caught lingering in the wrong places. She didn’t seem to mind. “You know Mr. B? That’s wonderful! Is he here with you?”

“No,” I answered. “He said he’d meet me here, but I haven’t heard from him for over a week. Has he been in?”

“No,” she answered. “Angel’s getting really worried, too.”

“Who’s Angel?” I asked innocently as Cinnamon relaxed back and settled into my arm. There was something incredibly distracting about the way she took my hand and stroked it against her cheek.

“She’s Mr. B’s special hostess. She’s not here tonight, but she said she’d be in tomorrow night. You should come back and meet her. She’s so sweet. But she’s really worried about Mr. B.” Cinnamon seemed to be all but dissolving against my side. She reminded me of a cat that could fit in any space as if she had no bones.

“I think I’ll do that. I’d love to meet her.” This was the first thing that felt like a real lead since I started this case. I mean the idea of meeting Angel, not the pussycat that was purring in my arms. She pulled my hand around her slim waist and rested it against her stomach just brushing the underside of her breasts.

“You’ll never want to see me again after you meet Angel,” she sighed. “Why don’t we go take a hot tub.”

“I didn’t bring a suit,” I laughed.

“Don’t be silly,” she laughed. “We don’t wear anything.”

All right. Deep breath. Retract arm. Regain my composure. This was not what I came here for.

“You know, I’ve got a great idea,” I said. “My girlfriend would be really good at this. Would you mind meeting her and telling about how you get a job in a place like this? It would give her something to do when I’m in New York.”

Cinnamon looked at me with a creased brow as if I’d just suggested a threesome. Is that what she was thinking?

“Well, okay I guess.” She was looking just a little crest-fallen and I decided it was time to show her how “nice” I was.

“I want to give you a little present, Cinnamon,” I said. “I know you could do better with one of the really rich guys, but here. How about four hundred for sitting and talking to me and being such a beautiful hostess, and another hundred if you’ll meet with my girlfriend tomorrow for lunch?”

Cinnamon didn’t hesitate to take the offered bills and discreetly slip them away… Well, I’m not sure where she put them, but they disappeared. She was all smiles again. “If you don’t want a hot tub we could go into one of the private rooms and I could finish that massage.” I started to respond but my mouth and the words weren’t in synch. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you’ve already been nice enough.”

I stood where I was and shook my head. “I don’t want my girlfriend jealous,” I lied. “Why don’t you give me your phone number and I’ll have her call you in the morning. How does that sound?”

“It sounds okay,” she answered, “but then you’ll have my phone number.”

“I wouldn’t think of misusing it,” I smiled.

“Oh please do,” she said. “Maybe if I hit it off good with your girlfriend, Jeremy, we might all three get together. You think?”

“I’ll definitely suggest it,” I said. Riley would probably kill me for setting her up like this, but I had a feeling that there was a lot to be learned about this place and about Simon that I couldn’t get simply because I was a man. It affects the way we relate.

I extracted myself from Cinnamon after a long hug that almost resembled a dance. She let go of me in small stages as if she were extracting herself from a hot sticky embrace. I found Tom and told him that I was going to have to leave, but I’d like to come back tomorrow night if I could. He motioned to the maitre‘d and in a few moments I had a key that would operate the elevator the next night. I stepped out the building’s ornate front door and directly into the taxi that was waiting.

I didn’t know where the money was going, but I knew that it passed this way.