Final judgment

SIXTY-TWO

Since Abby moved to Washington, Mason hadn’t had many dinner dates and he’d never had two for the same night. Double booking had not been a problem for his social calendar.

He was supposed to meet Samantha Greer at eight o’clock. It was her birthday and their dinner her only celebration. Standing her up would turn her birthday party into a pity party she would spend staring into the bottom of a bottle.

His relationship with Abby had been revived-again-last night and there was more on the menu tonight than dinner. If he broke their date to keep Samantha company, they would be back to Code Blue.

Being in two places at once with two different women didn’t bother him nearly as much as wanting to be at a third place instead-Cinzetti’s. He wanted to see who walked out of the restaurant wearing Fish’s hundred-thousand-dollar coat.

It was past five as he drove across the Paseo Bridge, taking the south side of the downtown loop, and exited on Broadway before heading south again. The evening rush hour was picking up. People were heading home to families, dinner, and must-see TV. It was a life he’d never had, though one he now thought about having with Abby. He could be late for their dinner, but he couldn’t miss it. He called Samantha Greer first.

“Glad you called,” she said. “We’re shorthanded and I just caught a homicide. Dead body in Troost Lake. You know what I don’t get? Troost Lake is on Paseo, not Troost. Why don’t they call it Paseo Lake?”

“Why do they call it a lake? It’s barely a pond.”

“You’ve got a point. Some birthday present, huh? Not the kind of stiff I was looking for tonight,” she added with a bitter laugh. “Rain check?”

“Sure, Sam. Happy birthday.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting in his office with Blues and Mickey, laying out the day’s events.

“So, I’m supposed to show Sylvia the money in the safe deposit box; then what?” Mickey asked.

“Then you say nice to meet you, enjoy your stay in Kansas City and don’t forget to try the barbecue,” Mason answered.

“What if she tries to make a withdrawal?” Mickey asked.

“Get out of the way,” Mason said. “That’s the FBI’s problem.”

“What if Kelly or Brewer try to make a withdrawal?” Blues asked. “From what you’ve said, the two of them might end up fighting over the money.”

Mason looked at Mickey dead-on. “Duck and get the hell out of there. Any luck finding Mark Hill?” he asked Blues.

“I’ve checked his job, the bar in Fairfax, and a few other places. No luck, but I’ve got a feeling where he is.”

“Where’s that?”

“Thin air, man. That cat is gone. I can feel it.”

“Vertical or horizontal?”

“Flip a coin, you ask me. Either way, he isn’t coming back.”

Mason drew a red circle around Mark Hill’s name on the dry erase board, adding Gone? Where? beneath his name.

“If I was you,” Blues said, “I’d pin the blackmail label on Webb. Rockley’s dead, Keegan’s dead, and Judge Carter is still getting pressured. Webb is the only one left at Galaxy who has a stake in what happens.”

Mason nodded, putting the tag under Webb’s name in large blue letters. “What about you, Mickey?” Mason asked. “Any epiphanies from reading my file or did you just search the Internet for clues and come up with all the answers?”

Mickey laughed. “I haven’t had a good epiphany since I went to Washington, but I have found a better way to get what I’m looking for than the Internet. It’s called the staffers’ network. I’ve been seeing a woman who’s a staffer on the Senate Judiciary Committee. She has a cousin who works at the FBI. By tomorrow, I’ll have a rundown on Charles Rockley, a.k.a. Tommy Corcoran, and Al Webb, a.k.a. Wayne McBride.”

“Whatever happened to privacy and government security? Don’t you have to have security clearances to get that kind of information?”

“There are no secrets in our nation’s capital-just people who know them and people who know the people that know them. D.C. is the ultimate upstairs/downstairs world. All the politicians are busy running for reelection while grunts like me work the information black market finding the stuff that helps them win or lose.”

“Makes me feel better about paying my taxes.”

“I did see one thing in your file that may be kind of interesting,” Mickey said. “This Sylvia McBride works at a call center, right?”

“Right. But you’ve been in D.C. too long if you think working at a call center is interesting.”

“No, man,” Mickey said. “Check this out. Senator Seeley is on the telecommunications subcommittee. A lot of companies are shipping their call center operations overseas because it’s cheaper to hire someone in New Delhi to give bad customer service than it is to hire someone in New Jersey. The committee staff is investigating because outsourcing jobs to foreign countries has become a real voter hot button.”

“What’s that got to do with us?”

“Bongiovanni made a big deal out of the fact that you got Rockley’s employers to give you detailed references for him over the phone. You said Lari Prillman was able to get references over the phone for Johnny Keegan.”

“So?” Blues said.

“So,” Mason explained, “employers won’t talk about their ex-employees anymore because they’re all afraid of getting sued. What are you getting at, Mickey?”

“Okay,” Mickey said. “Here’s how it could work. We know that Rockley and Webb had fake IDs. That means they’ve got to use fake references too. When someone calls the phone numbers for the fake references, the calls are answered at Sylvia’s call center. The operator knows what to say and the caller thinks he’s getting the straight story. Pretty slick, huh?”

Mason came out of his chair, flipped through his file until he found Rockley’s employment application. “Look. His prior employers are in three different states. How would that work?”

“Simple. The calls go through a router set up in the area code for the phone number. The equipment doesn’t cost much, especially if it’s not handling a lot of calls; doesn’t even require an office. You call a number in Ohio and it gets routed to Sylvia McBride’s call center in Minneapolis. She gets a readout that tells her the name of the company being called so she knows who she’s supposed to be when she answers the phone.”

“But I talked to a different person on each call.”

“So she’s got a few people working for her. No big deal.”

“Easy enough to find out if the phone numbers are legit,” Blues said. “Use a reverse directory to find out who owns the numbers. If it’s not the companies on Rockley’s application, I’d say Mickey’s got it nailed.”

“Where do we get a reverse directory?” Mason asked.

“Now that’s what the Internet is for,” Mickey answered. “If you don’t mind spending a few bucks and getting a lifetime of spam.” He opened the browser on Mason’s desktop, did a search for reverse directory, and pushed his chair away from the monitor. “Pick any site you want. Plug in the phone numbers you’re interested in and your credit card.”

It only took a few minutes to confirm that each employer on Rockley’s application was the owner of the phone number Rockley had given for them.

“Shit,” Mickey said. “It seemed like a great idea at the time.”

“Still is,” Mason said. “All you need for a phone number is an address and a place to put the phone or the router to handle the calls. If you’re in the fake identity business, that’s just overhead. Can you use the reverse directory to check out addresses?”

“Sure,” Mickey said. “Put in an address and you get a phone number that goes with it.”

“Fine. Try some addresses close to the ones on Rockley’s application. Start calling until someone answers. When they do, ask them about their neighbors.”

“What about Fish?” Blues asked. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on Judge Carter.”

“And I’m supposed to have dinner with Abby,” Mason said. “We’re both going to be late. I want you inside the restaurant with Fish and Kelly. I’ll be in the parking lot.”

“How’s that supposed to work?” Blues asked. “Kelly will ID me in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll do it,” Mickey said. “I can make the calls in the morning. Kelly and I have never met so she won’t recognize me. Just give me a description of her and Fish and I’ll get lost in the crowd. You guys wait outside. I’ll call you when the money walks out the door.”

“Then what?” Blues asked.

“Follow the money,” Mason said.