For Blood or Money
5. Dark Angel
IT MUST HAVE BEEN AT LEAST 7:00 when I got out of bed this morning. By the time I’d put myself together, I could see Riley on the front walk talking to Mrs. Prior. Maizie was dancing around them, ready to go to the spa to have her nails done and get a shampoo. Mrs. Prior says that Maizie loves to get pretty at the spa.
She’s supposed to be my guard dog, damn it! Pink ribbons ruin the whole effect.
I went downstairs before Riley could push the doorbell and got in her car for the ride to the office. Riley often swaps days when she has class or an advisor meeting with Lars. I really wouldn’t mind if she just took the time off, but she’s got a work ethic that is uncompromising (unless there is a video game that just has to be tried at the office). I told her from the beginning that I’d pay her while she was in school or working on her thesis. But today I was thankful that she was making up the time.
“It’s approved,” she yelled, dancing in her seat. “Lars says it is a good thesis and the evidence is well and carefully planned out. It’s a good thing, too, since I’ve got over half of it written. Another month and I’ll be able to finish this. In January it should be all edited and ready to submit to committee.”
“I’m really proud of you, Riley,” I said. “You’ve worked hard for this and you deserve to get your degree.” I paused for a moment before I plunged ahead. “How would you like to be my girlfriend?” I thought she was going to drive off the road.
“Dag!” she exclaimed in shock. “Are you serious? What about all that quid pro quo stuff you keep spouting at me?”
“I think we can suspend that in the interest of our investigation. I got a lead last night that might take us to a shortcut in finding Simon. I just don’t want to go in without backup, and the only way I can get you in is as my girlfriend.”
“You had me for a minute. I should just have said ‘Yes.’ I’ve had enough of academia and research the past two days. What’s next?” she asked.
“Well…” I hesitated. I’d never sent Riley out on this particular type of assignment before. I’d asked her to keep an eye on someone and given her a couple of interviews to do, but this was going to require a lot more of her than she’d done before.
“You’re not sending me to the library again, are you, Dag?” she moaned to me. I laughed. Okay, she wants field work.
“No, Sweetcheeks. No library for you today,” I laughed. “I want you to go to a party with me tonight—a very exclusive party. We are going in the company of another attractive young woman who gets tips for flirting with corporate executives. We need information about how the place works and who she works for.”
“I’m always up for a party. What’s the scoop?”
I told her in detail what I’d learned last night, without including any reference to the kiss. I filled her in on the whole scenario and the identity that I’d used, the cover story, and what I wanted her to interview Cinnamon about.
“Let me get this straight,” she said at last. “You want me to meet this escort, pretend to be your West Coast girlfriend… Wait, do I know you are married to a woman on the East Coast? Okay, so it’s an amicable arrangement. I’m used to sharing you around. So I pretend to be interested in the party scene for my own purposes so I’ll have something to do while you are out East. Do I have a job or am I simply a kept woman? I find out how she got into this, who invites her, who owns the place, and what she knows about the Missing Man.” Riley paused.
“Yes, but there is one other thing that I want you to be sure of,” I said. “Don’t make any arrangements for a threesome.”
Riley turned in her seat as she pulled up in front of the office and stared at me. Then she shocked me.
“Believe me, Sweetcheeks,” she threw back at me, “if I thought there was any chance, I wouldn’t be sharing.”
“So, while you are occupying Cinnamon, I’m going to try to interview Angel and maybe ask questions of some of the other partiers.”
“Well, this will be fun,” she said. “But just one other thing…” I paused half out of the car and turned back to her. “Was she good?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No personal sniffing, Riley,” I said with a wink.
She parked and came into the office a few minutes later. By the time she got in, I had the laptop out of the vault and sitting on my desk. We were going to launch a two-pronged attack on the computer this morning, but first I had to call Cinnamon. I reached for the phone only to have Riley push my hand down on the receiver.
“Not yet,” she said.
“I told her I’d call this morning, Riley,” I replied trying to get the phone out from under her grip.
“You are so obviously not a party girl,” Riley went on. I sat back. “When a party girl says tomorrow morning, she means sometime after noon—preferably not too soon after.”
“This from a party girl?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not me, but I’ve got friends. Weekends you don’t call them before noon. You don’t know if she’s even gotten to bed yet. Or at least to sleep.”
I couldn’t argue with that and let her sway my enthusiasm for setting things up right away. Instead we turned to the computer.
“How come you’ve got the laptop out?” Riley asked.
“I need you to do some work on it,” I answered. She was definitely surprised. “I want you to do a data recovery routine on it. It struck me, as I was looking at the files, that there were things missing. I think Simon, or someone who knew I was going to look at his computer, took a day to delete information she thought might be too personal.”
“The bee-atch!” Riley exclaimed. “Do you really think she would do that?”
“In a word, yes,” I answered. Riley took the laptop gingerly and went to her desk in the outer office. I knew she would be careful, and that the rewards would be high.
I spent until 2:00, digging into more of Simon’s financial statements. It had occurred to me to check the disk for fuzzed files. File fuzzing is one of the easiest ways to conceal information on your hard drive. Frankly, I use it myself. I figure that if my computer was in the hands of someone with my talents, my secrets wouldn’t be safe for long regardless of what I did. But my worry isn’t about people with my talents. It’s people I work for who would be likely to think that they could walk off with my computer and have all the information on my clients that they want. For them, file fuzzing is as effective as any means of protecting unencrypted data other than not keeping it on your computer in the first place.
It’s a pretty simple technique—just a matter of changing the file extension. The most common would be to rename a word processing file—say it’s a .doc file—to an image file like .jpg. If you try to open the file, you get a message back that says it is not a valid .jpg file. It looks like it’s been damaged.
Most applications leave a code in the file’s header that identifies the file type. So I have a program that examines every file on the computer to see if the file type in the hash matches the extension. If they don’t match, I’ve got a fuzzed file. I also know what to open it with. The process of examining every file, however, is a lengthy one. I set it up to run while I was gone and figured I’d pick it up on Sunday. While I was at it, I set up a file content search for “Angel.” If she was Simon’s mistress, chances are there were e-mail messages, account records, checks, or some odd bit that listed her name.
We called Cinnamon just before we closed up shop at 2:00 and a very sleepy voice answered the phone. She was instantly awake, however, and was happy we would pick her up for the party at 8:00. She gave us an address on Capitol Hill. I asked what Riley should wear and Cinnamon said sexy party clothes. Riley motioned that she knew what to wear and I rang off.
Riley dropped me off at the Swedish American Center in Ballard and then went home to get ready for our date. She was getting into character like an actor ready to go on stage. She leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek when she pulled to the curb in front of the Center and said sweetly, “Bye, Honey. See you later.” Off she drove leaving me on the curb wondering what I’d gotten myself into.
Even though they never allowed me to speak Swedish or to hear them speak it, my mother and father were very firm about keeping in touch with other Swedes. I started coming to the Swedish American Center in the fifties. Barring a few years when I was in my twenties and “knew better,” I’ve been coming back for special occasions ever since. In the past couple of years I’ve found that I’m coming back more and more frequently. These are the people who make me feel like family.
Saturday afternoons I play cribbage with all comers and drink water since I can’t take any more of the black Swedish coffee. There is always a Saturday evening dinner social where everybody brings what they can to share. My stop at the deli for knäckerbröd and herring each week is winked at and deemed an acceptable contribution. Surprisingly, it seems to always be eaten.
Today I was filling time before I could get on with the evening’s investigation. Even though I was going to the party on official business, I couldn’t help but feel squeamish about people possibly finding out that I was “going out” with my assistant. All these kind mother substitutes that I surround myself with on Saturday afternoons would be shocked. Finally, at 7:30, I walked out of the Center and Riley’s car pulled up in front. She waited for me in the car and I worried she was having second thoughts.
When I got in the car I was shocked with what I saw.
It was only her car that convinced me that it was Riley sitting in the seat next to me. She wore a straight black wig with bangs cut straight across her eyebrows. The plunging neckline on her silk blouse drew the eye downward to the skin-tight shiny black pants she was wearing. Over this was a waist-length jacket with three-quarter length sleeves. Her makeup accented her eyes and lips. She could easily have been one of the women I saw in the private room at the casino last night. I was staring, I confess.
“Don’t you think you took the get-up a little far? You don’t actually have to go to work there. I just wanted you to interview the hostess.”
“I need to look like I could go to work there. How else are we going to find out what is going on?” I handed her $200, much to her surprise.
“These girls expect to get tipped for their time,” I explained. “Don’t be afraid to be nice to them… within limits.” I tried not to watch as the money disappeared into her outfit. I swear I don’t know how women do that. There was no room there for a pocket.
Cinnamon greeted us warmly and after taking one good assessing look at Riley, hugged her and gushed, “Debbie! I’m so glad you came! This is going to be so much fun!”
Before I slipped into the back seat behind Riley she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You told her my name was Debbie?”
“Well, you look like a Debbie tonight,” I laughed. There was definitely vengeance in her eyes when she responded.
“I hope you like the threesome then.” I nearly swallowed my tongue as she closed the door behind me.
We parked a block away from a Seattle high-rise and walked parallel to the hill. In Seattle a Waterfront high-rise is all of twelve stories. The elevator took us to the entryway of the penthouse where it opened up to a burly security guard who blocked our paths.
“This party is by invitation only,” the guard said folding his arms across his chest.
“Back off, Davy,” Cinnamon said pushing him gently aside. “They are my date tonight—approved by Mr. Jonathan.”
“All right,” Davy said. “But I’ll need your electronics, please,” he said, holding out an envelope for us to drop our cell phones into. After signing a receipt and getting a claim ticket, we were allowed to pass through a metal detector and into the main part of the condo.
Inside, the mood was relaxed and we were greeted by a hostess to whom Cinnamon introduced us. I started to give her my name and she put a finger to my lips and said “First names only in here, Jeremy. Cinnamon will show you around.” Cinnamon ushered us first to the bar. Riley and I both ordered a tonic and lime, and Cinnamon had a glass of white wine. 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 remembered my tip to her last night and wondered how nice you had to be for a glass of water. I wasn’t sure I’d given Riley enough money.
After we got our drinks, she took us on a grand tour of the condo. It was hard to judge how many people were there. At 9:00 the evening was still young. 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 penthouse was immense, occupying the entire top floor of the building. 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. A variety of cold hors d’ oeuvres and finger food were displayed where they were easily accessible.
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.
I wasn’t sure how to go about getting the answers we needed, or how to bring up the idea of meeting Angel. Trust Riley to jump into the breach.
“So what do you get out of being here?” Riley asked bluntly. “It looks like a pretty quiet party.”
“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?” Riley asked. I was afraid she might have crossed over a line, but Cinnamon 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. Compared to most of the geezers here, I was looking young. Maybe the ladies planned to marry rich and old, hoping he’d die soon. Well, I was a perfect candidate, I thought grimly. Except for the rich part.
“Over here,” Cinnamon said. “I know Jeremy wants to meet Angel, and I’m dying to get to know you better, Debbie.” She pulled us down the hall to a game room in which several young women were playing pool with two older men “helping” them with their shots. There was a great deal of wiggling and giggling going on. Sitting on a stool with a glass of wine and a sour look on her face, it was evident that one lady at least was not having fun. Before we got around the table to approach, Cinnamon whispered in my ear. “By the way, I think Debbie is just adorable. We’re going to have so much fun! I’m sure we could all three have a good time together. Don’t throw away my phone number.” Then we were next to Angel and Cinnamon was bubbling.
“Angel sweetie, I want to introduce you to Jeremy. He’s quiet and shy, but really nice.” Angel groaned almost audibly and Cinnamon dropped her voice. “He’s also a friend of a friend of yours. You might have a lot in common.” Angel’s attention sharpened and focused at those words. “Well, toodles!” And then Cinnamon was off around the table to coach another girl on what shot to make. Riley kissed me on the cheek and said, “Have fun!” She wiggled herself around the pool table to join Cinnamon.
“Hi Angel,” I said. “Can we sit and talk for a while?”
“I don’t know, QuietandShy. Maybe we should go someplace where we can lock a door behind us. I don’t want to be interrupted by your girlfriend. What did you want to talk about?” She might have been angry or depressed a minute ago, but she was every bit a professional when she took my arm and smiled. She led me out of the game room. At 6'2", there are not too many women who look me in the eye, but when Angel stood up, I looked up at her. I guessed her heels were three or four inches high, but she was still at least six feet tall. She was bottle blonde, and I figured other parts of her were artificially enhanced as well. Her face was so perfect that I guessed she’d had a nose job at one point. When we crossed the room together conversations paused as people watched.
“I’m looking for Simon.”
The expressions washed across her face like water, one after another. But the one I caught most was fear. Her eyes darted around the room and it was clear she was deliberately not looking at the overhead security camera concealed in a casino-like bubble.
“Shhhh.” She said placing a finger on my lips and letting a smile fill her face as if I’d made a perfectly naughty suggestion. “Not here. Let’s get our coats.” She ushered me to the door and we retrieved our coats and I signed for my cell phone. “Mr. Jeremy wants to take me dancing at the Colorbox, Davy. We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she said to the security guard who stood in front of the elevator. He looked angry, but held his tongue as he stared at me before stepping aside to allow us to enter the elevator.
We didn’t speak until we were out the massive front doors of the condo building.
“There’s an all-night coffee shop two blocks from here on Olive,” I offered. “Unless you were serious about going dancing at the Colorbox.”
“The coffee shop will be just fine,” she answered. “I just don’t want to talk about Simon up there. You can’t tell who is listening.”
I’d forgotten that the designated coffee shop was uphill from the Condo, so I was unable to carry much of a conversation while we walked. Angel was polite and concerned, but not much help. It was all she could do to make the climb herself in those ridiculous shoes. Once there, however, we settled into a pair of chairs next to the window and sipped our beverages. Then she launched in before I was able to start.
“Where is he?” she began. “He was supposed to call me Monday with instructions on where and when to meet him. And nothing. Nothing all week. I’ve been worried sick.”
“I was hoping you would be able to help me on that front, Angel,” I said. “I’m looking for him, but this is as fresh a trail as I could find.”
“Why do you want to find him?” she asked, suddenly defensive.
“Because he asked me to find him,” I answered. “It’s an old game we used to play called ‘Simon Says.’ I got a note along with his laptop computer that said, ‘Simon Says Find me.’ If I can, that is exactly what I’ll do. When did you last see him?”
“Simon Says?” Angel asked.
“Simon Says,” I confirmed. She visibly relaxed. If Simon Says, then it must be okay. That’s the way it has been for as long as I can remember.
“He spent part of the night with me on Saturday two weeks ago. He had to leave and go home to his bitchy wife half way through the night. He was going to fly to Singapore on Sunday and then he’d send me instructions on where to meet him. Since then nothing.”
“Are you his mistress?” I don’t know any way to ask these questions subtly.
“I’m his soul-mate, his inspiration, his conscience, and his guardian angel,” she said.
“Sounds like a tall order.”
“I’m a tall woman. Or didn’t you notice? You’re pretty tall yourself.”
“Not many women can look me straight in the eye, I confess,” I said. She really didn’t answer my question. I was going to have to figure another way to ask it.
“Yes, I’m his mistress,” she supplied bluntly, catching me off-guard. “I hate the word. It does absolutely nothing to describe our relationship. I rescued Simon at a time of moral crisis,” she continued. “He didn’t know what to do and I helped him.”
“With sex?” I asked. “That’s always an effective resolution to a moral crisis.” Okay, I was being a little judgmental.
“You’ve got a lot of gall, don’t you?” she said flatly. My cheeks were stinging as if she’d slapped me. And I’d have deserved it. I needed to recover the situation fast.
“Sorry,” I said. “That’s not about you. I’ve known Simon in situations of moral crisis before. Somehow his solution always seems to be the same. I’m sorry I reacted like an ass. I haven’t spoken to Simon in thirty years. I’m still trying to figure out why he contacted me to find him.”
“Simon discovered that a lot of his wealth was not particularly legitimate,” Angel continued after a pause to acknowledge my apology. “His partner has been making unauthorized investments. The whole thing stinks. Simon wants out.”
“And you believe Simon is clean?” I asked. “Granted I haven’t seen him in a long time, but his deals were always on the edge.”
“Simon has made his share of mistakes,” she answered, “but down deep he is a man with a conscience and sincere regret for his past indiscretions. I simply had to help him see a way to make amends.”
“It sounds like you’ve been very busy. How long has this been going on?”
“About a year.”
“And how is Simon making amends?”
“We’ve researched hundreds of foundations over the past few months and Simon is getting ready to transfer all his wealth to charity.”
I was stunned. I could not imagine Simon giving anything away. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The Simon I knew in college was altruistic to a fault. But by the time we parted company, that idealist was already a memory. The Simon that had always been in my peripheral vision had only one goal in mind: to dominate the world one dollar at a time.
“So Simon wants to give away all his money?”
“Well, not exactly all of it,” Angel said. “He can’t let the bitch-wife die in poverty can he? And we’ll need a little to live on. But you can’t imagine how much there is to give away. We can make a real difference.”
Angel had a genuine fervor. I softened my judgment of her and began to think that perhaps there was more to Simon than I had given him credit for. Maybe that was why he’d left the message for me. But I’d found nothing yet that indicated the kind of wealth that Angel was referring to. Wealth, yes, but not the kind that would allow you to endow several charities and still have enough to keep Brenda from living in poverty. From the look of it, I had to guess that Angel wasn’t exactly low-maintenance either.
“Is there any reason that you can think of that Simon would disappear?” I asked.
“Well, yeah,” she sang at me with that unique tonality that reminds you of a teenager. “His partner, his wife, the mob, and God knows who else. Jeremy, please find Simon for me.” A tear collected in her eye and she dabbed it away before it could run her mascara.
“I’ll do my best, Angel,” I said. I gave her one of the cards I’d had printed up with Jeremy’s name on it and my newly purchased cell number. “Just give me a call if you hear anything will you?”
“If Simon Says it’s okay, then I’ll call,” she answered. “And if I hear anything from my clients, I’ll let you know, too.” We got up and left the coffee shop to walk back to the condo. It was nearly 11:00—my pre-arranged time to meet Riley. Angel slipped her hand through my arm and I wasn’t sure if she was just being companionly or if she was actually thinking I could support her as we headed back down the hill.
“You mentioned clients. Do you have another job besides being a party hostess?” I asked.
“I’m a travel agent,” she laughed. She pulled up closer to me and whispered in my ear. “I could take you around the world—for a price.” I was stunned to silence by the implied offer. We’d no more than hit the curb when a late model sports car pulled up and Davy the security guard jumped out.
“We’re not doing this again,” he yelled at Angel.
“Davy, it’s okay,” she started.
“It’s not okay. Get in the damn car.”
“Hey!” I said stepping up to Davy. Angel was obediently getting into the car. “Just back off and leave the lady alone.” He turned on me with a snarl.
“The lady is my business,” he yelled in my face. “And you better keep away from her if you know what’s good for you.”
“Don’t make threats at me, champ,” I answered pulling up to my full and most intimidating height. He didn’t answer. He just hauled off and slugged me. Hard. In the face.
I heard the car squeal away from the curb as I hit the pavement.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
