Immerson wandered through the bull pen in a state best described as nervous euphoria, his emotions simultaneously being stretched in two opposing directions. On the one hand, with Kane temporarily somebody else’s problem the office was the emotional equivalent of a placid, garden pond. On the other, dropping a bottle of nitroglycerin like Gregory Kane into the middle of a Secret Service operation was unlikely to end well and Immerson felt himself tensing in anticipation of the eventual explosion. At least Kane’s errand-boy new partner seemed busy. Rosewood’s desk was covered with stacks of folders and documents and Rosewood himself was industriously pounding away on his keyboard, apparently looking for more.
“Want to bring me up to date, Danny?” Immerson asked. The kid jerked around and for a moment a hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression clouded his face then, just as quickly, vanished.
“Uhhh, yes sir. I’m working on the Albert Brownstein disappearance.”
“I assumed you were. Do you and Kane have any other open cases?”
“Uhhh, no sir.” It came out half as an answer, half as a question.
Something’s going on, Immerson thought but decided that he probably didn’t want to know what.
“So, what’s all this?” Immerson gestured toward the paperwork covering Rosewood’s desk.
“Well, uhhh, we noticed a suspicious person near Mr. Brownstein’s apartment before he went missing and Agent Kane thought he might have recognized him so I’ve been going through the suspect’s credit cards and phone records from the time before he disappeared.”
“The time before Brownstein disappeared?”
“No, before the subject disappeared.”
“Wait.” Immerson waved his hand, confused. “The ‘suspicious person’ that Kane recognized has also disappeared?”
“Yes sir.”
“Around the time that Brownstein went missing?”
“No sir. About two years before that.”
“This is someone who Kane knew from Baltimore?”
“Yes sir.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ Just, ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without the ‘sir’ will be fine.” Rosewood seemed confused but Immerson pressed on anyway. “Who is this ‘suspicious person’?”
“He’s a Baltimore County Deputy Sheriff, Mearle Farber.”
“What would a Baltimore County Deputy Sheriff have to do with a missing HHS Director?”
“I don’t know, s–.” Danny sputtered to a stop.
“Have you located him?”
“Not exactly, but I think I might be closing in.” He waited for another question but after a moment’s pause Danny figured that he was supposed to keep talking. “Agent Kane gave me some tips about things I should look for and they’ve paid off. You know,” Rosewood said, suddenly enthused, “Agent Kane really knows his stuff. I mean, he taught me more about how to track down people in one hour than any of the books I’ve read.” Danny gave Immerson a smile then, chastened by his boss’s silence, turned back to his piles of documents. “Well, anyway, this Farber had a Safeway Club Card that gave him a discount on gasoline. I checked his regular credit card transactions and nothing special popped up, but then I subpoenaed his Club Card records and I found a bunch of gas purchases at stations nowhere near his house or work,” Danny pointed to a file on the upper right corner of his desk, “so I got the station’s records for that time and date,” his hand patted the next pile down, “and I matched the purchase amount on the Club Card to a credit card in the name of Benjamin Prentiss.”
“Were you able to link Prentiss and Farber together?”
“Yes, I was,” Danny said proudly. “I got Prentiss’ driver’s license and the picture matches Farber’s.”
“Do we know where Prentiss is now?”
“Oh, no. He went off the grid pretty soon after Farber went missing.”
“And?”
“Oh, well, I’ve been going through Prentiss’ credit card records,” Danny patted yet another of his piles, “looking for links to bank accounts, email addresses and cell phone purchases. Prentiss paid his credit card bill by an automatic transfer from an account at the Eastern Federal Bank in Laurel. That account’s dormant now but there were some pretty big deposits made to it. I think he was dirty and that’s where he put his payoffs. And I’m following another lead. Agent Kane called it a ‘thread.’ I just have to find the link that ties Prentiss to the name he’s using now. I think I’m getting close.” Danny gave his boss a hopeful smile.
Good God, now I’ve seen everything, Immerson thought. Kane had managed to piss off just about every trained agent in the office and now he partners up with a wet-behind-the-ears kid and it’s all cotton candy and rainbows. I wonder how long this honeymoon’s going to last? he asked himself, then decided to just enjoy the peace and quiet as long as he could.
“Well, good work, Rosewood. Keep at it and let me know if you track this Farber down. Make sure you keep Kane up to date.”
“Yes, sir – uhh, sorry. I’ll email him my report before I go home tonight.” Danny turned back to one of his printouts and began making notes.
It was a little past seven and Danny was just about to quit when he found the crucial link. At first he couldn’t believe it. He just sat there and stared as if it might disappear if he looked away. It had started out as such a small mistake but Danny knew what that mistake meant right away. It was the loose thread Kane had told him to look for and Danny had pulled on it for all he was worth.
The Prentiss credit card had been used for some on-line purchases, nothing shocking, no shotguns or tear gas or anything like that, but the vendor had required an email login. Prentiss had used a Gmail account in some cryptic name. No big deal. But then Prentiss had wanted another, equally cryptic, Gmail account for something else and he’d had to give an existing email address to open the new one. He used the first fake-name email account to open the second one. That’s where he screwed up. The records of the first account led Danny to the second one and the records of the second email address took Danny to a PayPal account and the PayPal account records led him to payment for a private mail box. The address on the private mail box matched the address on a newly issued VISA card in the name of Paul Conklin. A DMV check turned up a registration for a Toyota Camry and Paul Conklin’s Virginia driver’s license. When Danny accessed the driver’s license he recognized the picture immediately, no question, none at all. The deadpan face on the Paul Conklin license belonged to Mearle Farber.
I’ve got you, you son of a bitch! Danny thought, then reached for the phone to call Kane.