For Blood or Money
11. Partners in Crime
I FELL ASLEEP ON THE SOFA in the office around midnight and Riley mercifully threw a blanket over me and left. I don’t know when.
I used to be able to pull all-nighters without even blinking an eye. A few cups of coffee and I’d be stoked for the night. That’s probably the problem. I’m not drinking coffee beyond my morning espresso and if Doc Roberts knew I was doing that he’d have a hissy-fit. I’m going to have to quit.
I know it.
But at 6:00 this morning when I woke up in the office, all I wanted was a cup of coffee.
Riley left me a note and said she’d stop by my house to pick up clean clothes and Maizie this morning.
Damn.
I let her help me patch up my head, and now she thinks she can just go pick things up for me and make my life pleasant. She’s a sweetheart. I figured I had a good couple of hours before she would grace my presence, though, so I slowly made my way up through the Market to the Eye of Dawn. I went in and ordered a strong Americano and a sweet roll. I sat to enjoy the cup and greet the daybreak.
Eye of Dawn doesn’t make quite as perfect a cup of coffee as Tavoni’s, but I wasn’t about to walk all the way up to Belltown to get perfection. Eye of Dawn looks into the market on one side and out onto the Sound on the other. I could see the ferries all lit up, making their first journeys across the Sound. Out in the middle, there was a huge container ship wallowing deeply, surrounded by four tugs pulling her into the terminal. I was reminded that BKL was expecting a container or some number of them, either in Seattle or in San Francisco. What was the fee warehouse and what was Bradley expecting? Something had gone wrong on a previous shipment.
We don’t hear that much about what comes in and out of the Port of Seattle. Container ships arrive every day, many from China and Japan. This one said Hoisan on the side clearly. It’s funny how I can read the letters on a ship a mile away, but I need reading glasses to see my computer screen clearly.
This ship was probably headed for Terminal 18 where they installed the new heavy duty cranes a couple of years ago. What was it that had happened?
When it hit me I spit coffee out through my nose and nearly choked to death. Two police officers who were eating donuts and coffee nearby jumped to my assistance.
“You okay, old fella?” one of them said to me.
“I’m fine,” I said shortly, still coughing a bit. So much for that shirt.
“Maybe we should get you a cab home. It looks like you had a rough night.” One of them shone a flashlight in my eyes. Damn! It was broad daylight. Then I realized what they were thinking.
“Officers,” I said as politely as I could. “May I reach for my wallet?” One of them moved behind me as the other faced me and nodded. I could feel that a hand was near a sidearm. I pulled out my wallet and handed my PI card to the officer. “It was a long night,” I said, “but I’m not drunk, I don’t need a cab, and my office is just a couple of blocks from here. I just inhaled my coffee.” The officer smiled and relaxed.
“You look pretty rough, pal,” he said. “Can’t be too careful these days. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered. It doesn’t pay to escalate these things. I work well with the cops and I intend to keep it that way. “I understand. Say, do you guys know anything about ships?” I asked.
“Not much,” said the officer on my right. “They come in full, they leave full. Somewhere in between a bunch of guys down on the docks and a bunch of drivers of big rigs have a lot of work to do.”
“That’s about what I know,” I said. “I was just wondering where that big container ship was coming from and what it had on it.”
“The Hoisan?” commented the barista, who had been watching our interchange with interest. “That comes in out of Hong Kong. We see her about every three months. Brings in all sorts of Asian mish mash and takes out mostly grain, beef, and agricultural products. I used to work down at the docks till I killed my back,” he finished.
“Thanks,” I said. “And thanks for coming to my rescue,” I told the officers. “I need to get back to the office. I’m not done with my night yet, I’m afraid.”
They wished me good luck and to take care ‘old man’ and I left. I hustled as fast as I could through the market and got back to the office while the ship was still hanging out in the harbor waiting for docking clearance. I dialed Jordan’s phone number. He was still asleep but came awake fast when he heard my voice.
“You wanted a possible connection of a major Seattle holding company to some kind of illegal traffic that would bring them a lot of money,” I said. “I think I’ve got something.”
“Knew I could depend on you Dag. What’s up?”
“There’s a ship docking this morning that has something on it. I think we might have a lead on who it’s registered to.”
“What are the contents?” he asked.
“You remember a couple years ago when a bunch of illegal immigrants were stowed in a container—some of them were dead?” I could hear Jordan suck air into his lungs.
“You can’t mean someone’s trying it again,” he said. “Who’s the container addressed to?”
“I think I’ve got the information here. Riley was compiling a list of names last night. Let me see if she found it.” I went to her desk and searched through the papers she’d left on top. Bad form. I was going to have to talk to her about that. But fortunately for me, the paper I wanted was right on top. She must have found it after I fell asleep. A name was circled in red with the initials FEE written beside it. “Far East Exchange.”
“It’s a fake,” Jordan said, decisively.
“My guess is, an empty warehouse that was leased and may not even exist anymore. These guys don’t need an office.”
“When’s this ship coming in?”
“It hasn’t reached the docks yet,” I said. “I can see it out in the Sound.”
“I’m on it. Thanks for the tip, Dag,” he said. “It could be our break.” He was off the phone and I could picture him rallying troops and tying down the terminal. There would be some unhappy people out there this morning, but in the long-run, it was probably not enough to bring down a huge conglomerate like BKL. I’d bet that they were pretty well insulated from everything but the cash.
I’d just hung up the phone when Riley walked into the office and Maizie came bolting to jump up on my lap.
“What kind of dog is this?” I asked looking her over. She had blue and yellow ribbons tied to her collar and she proudly waved a pink bow from the tip of her tail.
“That’s a champion dog,” Riley said laughing. “Mrs. Prior said Maizie wanted to wear her ribbons to the office to show Dag. She won the costume contest at the doggie day camp yesterday.”
“Do I want to know what she wore?”
“She was a ballerina,” Riley giggled as she watched me scowl at Maizie.
“Who is ever going to take you seriously as a guard dog, sissy girl,” I said rubbing her ears. “And what did they do to your toes?” Each of Maizie’s toes was painted bright pink.
“Mrs. Prior says that Maizie likes to have her nails done,” Riley said. “She went for a manicure and polish after the day camp as a reward.” Mrs. Prior says. Mrs. Prior talks to dogs. Dogs talk to Mrs. Prior. Don’t ask any more questions.
“Well, we’ve got some leads,” I said as I took the clean clothes from Riley. “By the way, how did you get into my apartment?”
“I took the key off your key ring,” she said handing it back to me proudly. “Here you go.”
“I suppose you made yourself a copy,” I said with one eyebrow raised. She looked at me so innocently and startled that I had to laugh. But she didn’t deny that she’d made a key.
“I brought you a bran muffin and a cup of decaffeinated green tea. If you’d like we can go out for breakfast when you are dressed,” she called after me in the bathroom.
“Not now,” I answered. “I want to start triangulating the businesses that you’ve managed to track down so far. We may have a start, but we still don’t have Simon. He may be hiding in one of the business locations.”
“Do you think he’s hiding, or being held?”
“That’s what I really don’t know.”
Two phone calls changed the shape of our day.
The first was from the management company that staffed Simon’s plane. It had landed in New York. According to the manager, the crew had been around the world at Simon’s behest with stops in Tokyo, Singapore, New Delhi, Cairo, Paris, and London. He did not have specifics on the manifest other than it included the pilot, six passengers and crew, and cargo listed as “Asian antiques.” I asked if Simon was on the list and was given a startling bit of information. The flight manifest only requires the number of people, not who they are. Customs and Immigration check the documentation of all arriving passengers. So all we really knew were the name of the pilot and the number of people on the plane.
“Riley, we need to know the most likely destinations for a plane-load of Asian antiques. What can you find from the list of BKL subsidiaries and shells that might be a place where they are headed?”
“I’m on it,” she chimed in. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get them all researched.”
“You are a treasure, Riley,” I said. “Don’t ever let me forget it, partner.”
“I plan to be a constant reminder to you, partner,” she said.
I went to work on my list of numbers. Something about the accounting records for BKL rang a bell with me. They had bank accounts in different places around the world, which is not unusual for a multi-national company.
International Bank Account Numbers. Every bank in the world has an IBAN routing number. That is how money gets transferred from one location to another. You need a bank, a routing number, and an account. There is a specific formula for determining what country and what bank, followed by the account number. I was seeing similar patterns, though different numbers, between the records of BKL and the bitmap numbers in Simon’s fuzzed files: 76182060023046787 Charles Hammond, said one of Simon’s numbers, and indeed I matched CH76 1820 6000 1030 5696 7 from BKL accounts.
A quick check with the IBAN validator on the Internet and I had the name and address of a Swiss bank. Access to a bank account would require more than an account number, though. I would still need a password and User ID to poke into them.
The phone jangled me out of my excitement and I realized it was already mid-afternoon. During my intent focus, a plate of Thai noodles had somehow appeared on my desk with a cup of tea and, by all indications, I’d actually eaten most of it.
Riley called sweetly from the outer office, “It’s our client, Dag,” in the kind of sing-song voice that told me instantly that Brenda had already been obnoxious on the phone. I put her on speakerphone and waved Riley into the office.
“Have you got anything yet, Dag?” she demanded as soon as I’d answered. I was getting pretty sick and tired of her condescension and decided on the spur of the moment to unload.
“Yeah, I’ve got a boatload of illegal Chinese immigrants and a plane full of Asian antiques. Which would you like to bid on?”
“You are supposed to be finding Simon.”
“I’m a lot closer today than I was yesterday, thank you,” I said. “His partner paid me a little visit and it moved the investigation forward quite a ways. You should have cleared giving me the computer with him.”
“You didn’t give it to him, did you?”
“No. Should I?”
“It isn’t company property. That is Simon’s personal computer from home.”
“Well,” I said, “it seems as though Simon might have had some trouble telling the difference between what was personal and what was company property. Where was he planning to go after Singapore?”
“He usually clears customs in California,” she said. “He claims they know him there and he doesn’t get as much hassle as he does in Seattle. He’s got a warehouse in San Diego that he uses as a base for shipping goods around the country.”
“Anything in the East?” I asked.
“No further than the Midwest,” she answered. “He does a lot business in St. Louis, Chicago, and Minneapolis.”
“That will do,” I answered. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Barnett.” I was already starting to hang up the phone when she practically screamed at me.
“Dag, wait! I made this call to tell you something else. Don’t be rude.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. What did you want?”
“I’m leaving town for a few days. Just a little vacation that I had planned for some time. So I’ll call in a few days. If you absolutely must reach me, here is my cell phone number. I can’t guarantee that it will be on, though.” She rattled off the number and I jotted it down. Height of concern, if you ask me. Missing husband so she is taking a vacation. I was pleased. I’d have a little peace at least.
“Have a nice vacation, Brenda,” I said. “May I hang up now?” The receiver clicked and I assumed that was permission enough.
“Riley!”
“I’ve got it,” she said, rushing back to her desk and returning with a yellow legal pad. “Six companies all told. One in St. Louis, three in Chicago, and two in Minneapolis.”
“So which one is it? Where are they headed?” I mumbled.
“Chicago,” Riley said. I looked up at her. “That’s where Far East Exchange is located.”
“Riley, I love you,” I said enthusiastically.
“Oh, Dag,” she swooned against the doorway in a dramatic pose borrowed from the cover of a bodice-ripping romance novel. “How long I’ve waited.”
“Well, wait a little longer, Sugar. I’ve got another task for you.”
“Damn!” she exclaimed. I looked up at her. That’s my line.
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