Severe Clear

23

Harp O’Connor looked through the two employment applications Jimmy Chang had filled out, one on joining the company, another two years later, when the document was expanded. The first told her little, except his current address. She would start with that, but first she read the later document.

This listed his parents’ names and addresses, in two different California towns, San Mateo and San Rafael, both in the San Francisco area. It also listed his previous employers, but she didn’t reckon they would have any idea where he was, and she didn’t think that his parents were likely to rat him out; they would be a last resort. She phoned Chang’s attorney’s office, got the man on the phone, and requested Chang’s current location and phone number. She was stonewalled, so she took a cab downtown to Chang’s most recent address. She found a six-story apartment building with an “Apartment for Rent” sign outside. A man was standing on the doorstep, looking at his wristwatch.

Harp paid the cab and walked up the steps. “Good morning,” she said.

“Hi. You here to see the apartment?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Are you with John Trefford?”

“No, but I’m interested in the apartment.”

“Well, he’s late, so I’ll show it to you.” He unlocked the street-level door and they stepped inside and took the rickety elevator to the top floor. Some paint cans and folded drop cloths and a ladder were in the hallway outside the door.

“The painters will come back for that stuff,” the man said. “They just finished yesterday.” He opened the door for her, and they stepped inside. It was a very nice two-bedroom apartment with high ceilings, windows overlooking a planted garden, and a good kitchen. It was devoid of any evidence of the previous occupant. Even the wastebaskets were empty. The man told her the rent.

Harp sighed. “Too rich for my budget,” she said, “but thanks for showing it to me.”

“Maybe you’ve got a friend who’s looking for a place?”

“I’ll think about that.” She accepted the man’s card. “Say, did Jimmy Chang live here?”

“Yeah, that was the guy.”

“He’s a pal of mine. Do you know where he moved?”

“Nope. I just got an e-mail saying he was moving out at the end of his lease. That was three, four days ago.”

“Where did you send his security deposit?”

The man produced a notebook. “To his mother, in San Mateo, California.”

Harp already had that address. “Thanks again,” she said, and took the elevator down. A young man was waiting on the front stoop. “He’s up on the sixth floor,” she said, holding the door open for him. She looked around the front of the building for trash bags, but none were in sight.

Harp walked slowly down the block, checking out the shops along the way, until she came to a small but invitingly decorated restaurant. It was getting on toward lunchtime, so she went in and took a seat at the bar. She ordered a club sandwich and a beer, and watched faces as the place started to fill up.

The bartender sidled over. “You new in the neighborhood?”

“Yeah,” Harp replied. “I just looked at an apartment a few doors down.”

“I’ll bet that was Jimmy Chang’s place,” he said.

“That’s how I heard about it,” she said. “I got an e-mail from Jimmy.”

“You know Jimmy?”

“Yeah, we went out a few times a while back. You know where he moved to?”

“Out of the neighborhood,” the bartender said.

“How far outside the neighborhood?”

“About three thousand miles.”

“Ah, West Coast. Silicon Valley?”

“How’d you guess?”

“That’s where those computer geeks go, isn’t it?”

“It sure is. Jimmy said he doubled his salary.”

“No kidding? He was pulling down half a million at the old place-what’s it called?”

“High Cotton Ideas. They’re so damned hot, I’m surprised he walked.”

“Who would pay Jimmy a million a year?”

“He told me,” the bartender said, staring at the ceiling. “It’ll come to me in a minute.” Then he looked at Harp. “Hey, why do you want to know?”

Harp laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not carrying his baby.”

The bartender laughed. “Yeah, Jasmine wouldn’t like that.”

“Yeah, she’s the new girlfriend, isn’t she?”

“Right.”

“What’s her last name?”

“Shaz something or other-something like Shazam.”

“Did you think of where he’s working?”

“I got it: TIT.”

“What?”

“Technology Investment Team. They’re whatchacallit… venture capitalists?”

“Right.”

“A name like that should have been easier to remember. They’re where that big college is.”

“Stanford?”

“Right. And it’s Shazaz-Jasmine’s last name. The place is owned by her brother. She got Jimmy the deal. They’re investing in his new start-up.” The bartender moved along to help another customer.

Harp wrapped up her sandwich and put it in her purse. She left cash on the bar and headed out to look for a cab. While she was waiting, she called Herb.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Okay, I nailed the guy. The whole thing took less than an hour, including downtown.” She related her conversation with the bartender. “So he’s in Palo Alto. What’s your pleasure?”

“Pay him a visit and get him back here,” Herbie said. “You need an advance?”

“Yeah, put ten grand in my bank account.” She read the account number from her checkbook. “I’ll need to buy him a ticket home.”

“Keep in touch,” Herbie said.

“Will do.” She hung up and threw herself in front of a cab. She gave the cabby the address of her apartment, then went on her iPhone and booked a flight to San Francisco, departing in two hours. When the cab arrived, she said, “Keep the meter running. I’ve got to grab a bag, then we’re going to JFK.” She ran to her apartment, grabbed her ready bag, and ran back to the cab.

“That was fast,” the cabby said.

“I’m nothing if not fast,” Harp replied. She got back on her iPhone and Googled TIT. An address in Palo Alto, a clip from some electronics trade magazine about a potential investment, and that was it. Technology Investment Team must be very new, she thought.

She booked a rental car and a hotel room online.