Kiss of death

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I CAN’T IMAGINE why Miranda would say she was going to marry Rod Babcock. What do you think?”

Whitney was sitting in Trish Bowrather’s gallery and eating a salad. She’d come here directly after leaving the attorney’s office. She’d walked Brandy again while Trish ordered lunch. Lexi and the other dogs were safely locked inside the cottage.

While she’d exercised Brandy, Whitney kept asking herself: Why? Why? Was Miranda in some kind of trouble? Could she be running from an abusive boyfriend? Debtors?

Whitney ruled out creditors. There hadn’t been any dunning phone calls or collection agents hovering around. True, they could still appear, but Whitney doubted it.

What was so wrong that Miranda couldn’t share it with Whitney? She’d poured her heart out to Miranda and told her the details of Ryan’s betrayal. Miranda had never mentioned any problems and seemed really happy about her upcoming “wedding.”

Of course, Whitney now knew why Miranda had never introduced her “fiancé” and why she wanted to keep the honeymoon secret. If Whitney hadn’t been prompted by her encounter with Ryan and Lexi’s disappearance, she never would have gone to see Broderick Babcock. She wouldn’t have missed Miranda for at least another two weeks. Had Miranda been buying time?

Trish toyed with the romaine leaves in her chicken Caesar salad for a moment before replying, “I can’t even begin to guess why your cousin would make up such a bizarre story then disappear. You’re sure she took all her clothes?”

“Yes. I helped her pack them. She put books and office stuff and-I don’t know-junk in the garage.” She thought a moment. “She took her laptop computer, too.”

“If she took all her clothes and her computer, she planned to relocate somewhere. She left in her car, right?”

“Yes.” Whitney remembered her cousin driving off at dusk in her Volvo.

“Miranda must have car payments and credit card bills. I think there are ways of checking on the Internet but I’m not sure how.”

Whitney nodded slowly. She thought Adam would know how to track down her cousin. How could she impose on him yet again?

“Don’t make Miranda’s problems your problems,” Trish cautioned.

“You’d think she would have told me something.”

“Not necessarily. You said you two hadn’t been close in some time. Maybe she didn’t want to involve you.”

“Anything’s possible,” Whitney admitted. She remembered how she’d felt in bed last night with the dogs. There wasn’t much in her life except Lexi. She’d counted on reconnecting with Miranda, but now that seemed impossible.

“What’s Rod Babcock like?” Trish asked, unexpectedly changing the subject.

“He’s older. Mid-forties.” As she said it, Whitney realized this was about Trish’s age and hoped she hadn’t insulted her. When Rod and Trish each smiled, little fanlike lines appeared at the corners of their eyes. She rushed on. “Attractive. Really smart. It was nice of him to agree to check over that document for me.”

“It’s been my experience that men-especially lawyers-don’t do anything without expecting something in return.”

Trish’s horrendous experience with her ex-husband had clearly made her distrustful of all men. Perhaps that was why she’d never remarried. It certainly wasn’t her looks; Trish was strikingly attractive.

Trish rose, went over to her desk and returned with several envelopes. “Here are some invitations to my next exhibition this Friday evening. You were admiring Vladimir’s work. Come meet him at the opening.”

“Great,” Whitney said. The Russian artist who used just one name had painted the malevolent eye she’d once associated with Adam. The enormous eye was watching her even now.

Trish handed her the envelopes. “Bring a friend, and give one to Rod Babcock. I’d like to meet him. I’m sure he can afford Vladimir’s work.”

“I’ll try,” Whitney replied. “I’m not sure I’ll see Rod again. Someone on his staff-”

“You’ll see him. Mark my words.”

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN Tyler returned to the office. Sherry had told Adam that his partner had been out on “reviews” with several homeowner associations.

“Yo, Adam.” Tyler stuck his head in Adam’s office door. “You wanted to see me?”

Adam looked up from the computer analysis of security equipment that he’d been reviewing. “Come in and shut the door.”

“Uh-oh. Sounds serious.” Tyler closed the door, then sat in the chair beside Adam’s desk. “What’s up?”

“The guard at Ocean Heights walked off his post last night. I-”

“I know. Sorry about that. Doesn’t happen often.”

“Shouldn’t we have guards on call?”

Tyler smiled sheepishly. “It’s hard on that shift, but I think I’ve got it worked out.”

“Good.” Adam didn’t ask any more questions. The guard business was Tyler’s baby. He’d developed it and worked with the accounts. “You were right about corporate security. We would need a lot more capital.”

“It might be possible later,” Tyler replied, but he didn’t sound all that interested.

“I have another idea. We could go for it right now.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Protecting buildings and offices has become a huge business since 9/11, right? I’m not talking about security personnel. I’m referring to security barrier systems like concrete barricades.”

“Gotcha. We’ve had people call to see if we have things like that in stock.” Tyler nodded slowly. “We might be able to move in that direction.”

“I’ve located a company up north that makes swinging security arms like the ones we already have at guard kiosks and parking garages. Instead of being the lightweight type we use now, these are reinforced steel. They can stop a five-ton truck going seventy miles an hour. No one can just barrel in and blow up a building.”

“That’s really impressive.” Tyler thought a moment. “If the arms are so much heavier, the motor that lifts them will have to be more powerful. It would mean changing our existing motors and buying new ones. I’m not sure homeowner associations-”

“I was thinking of businesses and the military installations around here, not gated communities.”

“Doesn’t the military have their own contractors?”

“Yes, but a lot of them have been diverted to Iraq. There’s a serious shortage here,” Adam replied. “I think we should start with bollards.”

“What are they?”

“Knee-high cement posts that prevent cars or trucks from driving too close to buildings. There’s a new type that can be temporarily removed if someone needs to access the building to move in or out or install large pieces of furniture or equipment.”

“Okay. I know what you mean now.”

“I’m going to start right away by getting us certified and arranging for security clearances. Could we use your father for a reference?”

Tyler cleared his throat, then replied, “I’m sure he’ll agree. We actually had breakfast together, and he mentioned your uncle. I guess they met in Istanbul sometime last year. My father put some of his business info on your uncle’s computer because his wasn’t working. He’d like to retrieve it, but I told him the computer had been stolen. Any chance there’s a backup disc somewhere?”

“I doubt it. I’ve been checking all the software the burglars left behind. There isn’t much. What they did leave seems to be just discs for software installed on the computer like QuickBooks and Excel.”

“Could you keep looking?”

Tyler sounded a little anxious. Adam knew his friend’s relationship with his father wasn’t very good. Obviously Quinten Foley must be upset about the theft and pressuring his son. “Sure. I should finish going through his office tonight-” he thought about Whitney “-or tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’ll-”

The buzzer on Adam’s phone interrupted them. He picked up the receiver.

“There’s a Max Deaver here to see you,” Sherry told him. “He says it’s important.”

“Thanks. Send him in.” Adam hung up. “I’ve got to talk to this guy. Let’s touch base tomorrow.”

Tyler nodded and left without another word. The forensic accountant hired by the attorney handling Calvin Hunter’s estate entered Adam’s office as soon as Tyler left.

“Hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I have a client in the Halstrom Building next door.”

“Not at all.” Adam waved Deaver to the seat Tyler had just vacated. “What’s up?”

Deaver sat down, his expression grave. “I’m still chasing your uncle’s offshore accounts all over the place. It’s a first-rate shell game. Best I’ve seen since I’ve been in the business. He might have had a pro help him.”

“Really?”

“It’s very likely. Most guys who show dogs wouldn’t-”

“Remember, my uncle was in military intelligence before he retired. He might have learned these maneuvers in the service.”

“It’s possible.” Deaver shifted in the chair. “That’s not what’s bothering me. Yesterday, twenty-five thousand dollars was withdrawn from one of his offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands that I did manage to locate.”

“How could that happen? I thought you needed the account number and a password.”

“You’re right. That’s exactly what’s necessary. Someone knows about this account. Whoever it is has his special password, too.” Deaver leaned forward slightly and his tone became even more serious. “As far as I can tell, that Cayman account is the end point of the shell game. It was harder than hell to find. Your uncle deliberately shifted all his money around and around so that it would be nearly impossible to discover where it was.”

“Yet someone has found it.”

Adam stared out his window at the ocean in the distance. The late-afternoon light reflected off of it like a mile-long mirror. “I can’t find any of his account numbers. They don’t seem to be listed on anything in the house. Of course, it was burglarized. The account numbers and passwords might be on his stolen computer.”

“Could be, but it wouldn’t be a very smart move for a man in the intelligence field. People tend to write down passwords and hide them. With an estate this large and complicated, the access numbers might be in code or something.”

“Whoever withdrew the money knew exactly where it was.”

“That’s the only explanation, and if they were testing, as I suspect, they now realize the password is correct.”

“Is there anything I can do to stop that person from withdrawing any more money?”

“You could contact the bank. As heir to his estate, they might put a hold on the account, but it’s unlikely. Secret accounts often have partners who wish to remain anonymous. Banking establishments honor those relationships.”

Adam thought for a moment. “It seems to me that I read somewhere that secret partners in Swiss accounts are often terrorist groups.”

“Exactly. Legitimate organizations or individuals deposit money in Swiss accounts, then funds are withdrawn by God-only-knows-who. That’s why the Swiss have come under such scrutiny. Going into this, I doubted your uncle’s money would be in Switzerland. Too many prying eyes. He moved his cash from there to several other banks in the Maldives and Panama. They aren’t as closely watched by the Feds looking for the sources of terrorists’ funds.”

Adam thanked Deaver for his time and the forensic accountant left. Uncle Calvin had been a very secretive man. Adam couldn’t imagine him trusting anyone with such important information. The code must have been on his stolen computer. The thief or thieves had been after the code. It certainly explained why nothing else had been taken from the house.

Adam decided to talk to Quinten Foley. He might know something that would help. If not, whoever had the code could drain his uncle’s remaining assets. Then Adam would be left with his uncle’s bills and little money to pay them. He would run out of money in no time.