Whoever coined the phrase “never a dull moment” must have been thinking of me, Helen thought. Her day was a whirlwind of activity even before she left the house.
It started with her usual morning call to Joe. As they said their hellos, she realized both of them had calmed down a bit since the receiver-banging episode of the day before.
“Nothing to report today,” she said. “Ralphie hung out at the Three Aces until the crew left about two a.m. From what I could see, they played cards and did shots all night. Suave Sal and his cronies never showed. Maybe they headed down to Atlantic City for a little R and R.”
“Yeah, well, I hope the bastards lost their shirts at some crooked roulette table,” Joe said. “They deserve it. This case is making me crazy, and it’s gotten a lot bigger than Ralphie and the stolen ring. The Feds are all over my ass about this since the little tête-à-tête with the Jersey family you witnessed the other night.”
“A lovely ass it is, too.” Helen chuckled, knowing Joe would turn red at the intimate reference to her knowledge of her former lover’s anatomy. Now that they were just good friends, Helen was more inclined to tease him when the opportunity arose, although he didn’t always appreciate it. “Listen,” she continued more seriously, “I’m sorry I hung up on you yesterday, but I’m certain that car was heading right for me. I’m sure it was the Mafia’s.”
“Can’t be. The guys at the Organized Crime Unit swore on their mothers they didn’t give up your name to anyone. In fact, they’re bringing over their tapes from the club so I can listen and make sure your name wasn’t mentioned at all.”
“Those guys haven’t got mothers,” Helen said. “There’s no other explanation. Tapes can be altered. I appreciate your efforts. I’m going to check out some contacts of my own and see what I can find out. I’m also going to spend a day away from Ralphie. I know I said I’d make time, but today I need to take care of a few other things and do a little digging for my other assignments.”
“No problem. I’ll put Jack on it. He’s been doing a lot of Internet investigating lately and is getting a little too cozy with his office chair.” Jack was Jack Kleinman, Joe’s chief assistant. “It’ll do him good to get off his butt and go out on the street for a few hours.”
“Oh,” there was a touch of levity in her voice, “is his butt as nice as yours?” She hung up before Joe could reply.
Helen sat back in her chair and flexed her now unbandaged hand, which felt much better. Dressed in her favorite gray cashmere sweats, which were obscenely expensive and sinfully comfortable, she stretched her arms overhead, enjoying the softness against her skin. The sweats reminded her of her old boss, Richard Volpe, and his ideas on how people should dress and behave. “Richard’s Rules of Relationships” is what the group at his detective agency called these pronouncements of his. Sweats, even cashmere ones, and even worn only in private, were a definite no-no. So were sneakers and many other items.
“Women and men should look their best for each other, treat each other well and not take their relationships for granted,” was how this man who had been married three times so aptly put it. Must be experience talking, Helen thought at the time. He also believed in buying only the very best, always booking the most expensive room you could afford for a vacation and eating at each new restaurant that opened in the city. Of course, all this could become very costly. As he also explained, “That’s what credit cards are for.”
Helen smiled at the thought of this elegant man, who she still spoke with on a regular basis. As she got up from her desk and headed to the kitchen, she wondered what he’d make of her current assignment. She made a pot of Gevalia coffee and slathered a big dollop of Fortnum & Mason raspberry preserves on a croissant she had heated while the coffee was brewing. Placing the breakfast on her wicker tray, she took it back into her study.
Helen loved good food and bristled at the memory of her lunch the day before strewn on the sidewalk like so much litter. She took a bite of her croissant, deftly catching the preserves that dripped from its end and licking the jam off her finger. Thank God for her good metabolism or baggy sweats would be all she fit into.
She took a sip of her coffee and dialed Laurel’s work number. They needed to discuss Matt. Laurel’s voicemail picked up. Helen left a message saying she’d try again later.
Time for the nitty gritty. Helen laid the pages Laurel gave her out on her desk. Laurel was thorough in organizing the information she received from Anne about David Adams, but there were still a lot of holes. Most of it was based on what David told Anne during the months they were together and there was no way of knowing what was true and what was fabricated.
Name: David Adams
Age: 30
DOB: April 21, 1983
Last Known Address: 80 Old Dublin Pike, Doylestown, PA
Description: 5’11”. Dark brown hair, brown eyes. 170 lbs., athletic build.
Distinguishing Marks: Crescent-shaped scar (about 1”) on right hip.
Car: 2000 Toyota 4Runner leased from Rogers Toyota of PA.
Employment: Investment Associates, 89 Brook St. Doylestown, PA. Employed as a Financial Advisor.
Origins: Midwest (was never specific about city or state)
Relatives: Parents names unknown; no known relatives.
Education: Spoke about attending The Kelly School of Business at Indiana University (not known for certain).
Aliases: John Collier, Kenneth Martin, Jason Pitt, Robert Laird.
Has set of identification for each alias including Social Security card, passport, driver’s license, credit card and bankbook.
No photos available.
As Helen read over the memo, she made notes. What a piece of work this guy is. She wondered if any of the aliases would be his real name or if he stole them from people he encountered in his various incarnations. I have to get a copy of all the socials he’s using with the aliases and check those, as well. She checked again; the notes did list the social security number associated with the name David Adams. Helen scribbled away. I wish I had a set of prints to run. I’ll have to remind Laurel to ask if Anne took anything with her that belonged to the guy.
Next, Helen reviewed the information Laurel had provided on Matt. It was just as well that she hadn’t actually reached her friend earlier, before she’d read this stuff. There was more to go on, but as she went through it, Helen thought about Laurel and the confusion she showed when they discussed Matt. Laurel didn’t have the experience to understand fully what she was doing by digging into Matt’s past. Helen’s work had taught her some things were better left unknown. She hoped Laurel’s first inclination was right and Matt would turn out to be a stand-up guy, the standard by which all the Women Now readers could measure their partners. Or at least something close to that.
Helen made another trip to the kitchen and refilled her coffee mug. Sitting at her desk once again, she took a bite of her croissant and read over her info on Matt.
Name: Matthew George Kuhn
DOB: December 10, 1979
Age: 34
Address: 361 Crosby Street, NY, NY
Description: 6”1”. Sandy colored hair, blue eyes. 165 lbs. athletic build.
Distinguishing Marks: Small mole on right side of lower lip.
Car: BMW Z4 Roadster, purchased from BMW Motors, W. 87th St., NY.
Present Employment: New York branch of ZurichBank AG, 25 E. 53rd St., NY, NY.
Division Manager, Corporate Client Group. Origins: Born Basel, Switzerland.
Relatives: Parents deceased in alpine skiing accident when a young boy. Raised by mother’s sister in Zurich.
Education: From age six to sixteen, attended La Sylvain, bilingual boarding school in Villars-sur-Ollon, Switzerland.
College: Institute de Investissement et Management and Swiss Finance Institute der Universität, Zurich.
Languages: English, French, German, Italian, Arabic.
Previous Employment: Worked for the UDB Bank in Basel, Switzerland, and London, England, as well as Arabia National Bank in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, before accepting present job in New York.
Other: Travels extensively for business and pleasure. Sails and skis.
Photos attached.
Well, well. Helen put down Laurel’s notes and picked up the photos. Matt certainly was a busy boy and, based on the one time she saw him and these photos, a handsome one as well. With his chiseled features, sensual mouth, and broad shoulders, she saw why Laurel was attracted to the good-looking Swiss.
In most of the shots he turned his face slightly away from the camera and raised an arm in front of it as if he were reaching to brush back his hair or he tucked his chin downward. They weren’t gestures you might recognize as evasive unless you were observing closely. Helen was.
The only straight-on shot was one of Matt and Laurel sitting at a table at what appeared to be a family dinner. They weren’t smiling, but the looks on their faces seemed to indicate that they were listening to someone sitting opposite when the photograph was taken. Matt probably didn’t notice whoever was holding the camera and so didn’t have time to turn away.
Okay, Helen, don’t let your overactive imagination get going. Find out the facts first.
Helen continued to review Laurel’s notes. Matt also had the kind of background that could be difficult to check and easy to manipulate to suit his needs. Getting school records from the Swiss wouldn’t be a whole lot easier than getting banking information. Forget about his employment with the Saudis. They made the Swiss look like a bunch of chatterboxes, especially these days when it was an American who wanted answers. Helen would have to call a contact she had at Saudi Air and ask him to help her get in touch with the right person. Her guy there, an American who had worked with them for over twenty years, would probably have the name of someone at the state-run Arabia National Bank who’d be willing to help, for a price.
Finishing the last of her coffee, Helen tossed around a few options on how to proceed with this assignment.
First, she’d call Maxine Litvinoff, her assistant at the Twenty-third Street office, and get her started with LexisNexis Internet searches of both men. She’d also ask her to run their social security numbers through a few of the investigative services the agency subscribed to. It was a good way to establish if they were stolen or borrowed from people who never worked. Maxine was a master at getting people to volunteer information they didn’t even know they had. Maxine could also call the BMW dealership on Eighty-Seventh Street, posing as a credit bureau associate with a question regarding Matt’s purchase of the roadster. I bet she’ll get some juicy information on Mr. Matt Kuhn and his little James Bond sports car, Helen thought.
While Maxine ran the background checks, Helen would take another tack. She’d check with the police, starting with Aaron Gerrard. As the department’s expert on identity fraud cases, he was the go-to guy. The problem was, as Laurel’s ex, he probably wouldn’t take kindly to looking into the background of her present boyfriend. Well, Helen wouldn’t tell him Laurel was involved unless it was absolutely necessary.
She’d try to reach Laurel again and finish their discussion about Matt.
Helen reached for the phone and began to punch in Laurel’s number but hung up the receiver just before the call went through.
An interesting thought occurred to her. It was a beautiful day and she hadn’t been to SoHo in a while. She could stop at some of the trendy clothing stores on Spring Street, buy a fresh loaf of bread at Provence Sud Bakery, and look in at the Italian glass gallery on Crosby Street, which was right down the block from Matt’s apartment. Hmm, she thought, I ought to take a look at his place, just to see where he lives. I hope he really is out of town.
Helen left the study and walked upstairs to her bedroom. She pulled a few articles of clothing out of her closet and tossed them on her bed—a long black sweater, matte jersey pants and comfortable soft-soled shoes. Just the thing to wear for an afternoon jaunt downtown, especially if the jaunt included a little snooping.
After dressing, she was “good to go,” as they say in the military. As she was just about to open her front door, she changed her mind and went back to the study. It’s also good to leave your options open. She smiled and reached into her desk drawer. Her set of lock picks was nestled in a small compartment on the right-hand side, exactly where they were supposed to be. She fished them out and tossed them into her purse.
Whoever said you couldn’t combine business with pleasure didn’t know Helen.