Middle Of Nowhere

C H A P T E R

25

Squeezed by Seattle's prosecuting attorney, Newmann Communications found itself facing the possibility of a federal investigation into interstate fraud if it failed to cooperate with Seattle PD.

With the Sanchez case still belonging to Matthews, she and Boldt were dispatched to Denver to confirm the role of a phone solicitation campaign in the string of burglaries and, if possible, identify the particular employee responsible for tipping off the burglar back in Seattle on which homes to hit.

Hoping they might accomplish the task in a single day, both Boldt and Matthews nonetheless packed overnight bags and booked hotel rooms, believing two, or even three days more likely. Police work rarely went off like clockwork.

Newmann Communications occupied a four-office suite in a mud-colored cement block building that housed KSPK, a conservative talk radio station, and Irving's Red Hots, a diner featuring hot dogs. The sausage odors fouled the building.

The employment flyers in the firm's reception lobby—a room that reminded Boldt of a department store changing room—gave away its game—Earn Money While Staying At Home! Internet Opportunities, Retail Management, Adult Entertainment. Printed on green construction paper, the small flyers fit well in the human palm—perfect as handouts on downtown sidewalks and college campuses.

Phillip Rathborne listed President/CEO on his office door. The oily scalp, bad complexion, and knockoff Armani suit suggested a man in his forties or early fifties, but the degree on the wall from North Florida Junior College put his graduation just six years earlier, meaning he had not yet crossed thirty. The office tried too hard to imply money but reminded Boldt instead of a room found in a truck stop motel with a heartshaped bath. The clock, phone and desk lamp had been bought through the Sharper Image catalog, but the desk was granite veneer, chipped at the edges, and the jungle plant in the corner needed a serious vacuuming. The computer looked authentic—its monitor screen was large enough to be a window, something the office lacked; the screen saver played images of fairways at Pebble Beach and Augusta.

Boldt was all business. "You received a call from the Colorado Department of Justice," he began. Boldt had called the office and had been informed that the count had increased: Seven of the nine burglary victims recalled the phone solicitation offering free movie tickets and had accepted the offer. Lawsuits seemed certain to follow. Newmann Communications could anticipate leniency in return for cooperation. Boldt expected nothing less.

"I did," Rathborne confirmed. The man seemed preoccupied with Daphne's silence and her intense beauty, a common enough occurrence. Useful to interrogations, her looks could be used as a means of distraction. She wore a scarf to hide the neck scar where a knife had cut her a few years before, and a blouse buttoned to the top. The less skin the better—unless she needed something from someone. Her job this time around was to play the silent, powerful type. When she finally chose to speak, she would be the more difficult of the two, leaving Rathborne surprised that ice could flow from such heat.

"And they suggested you cooperate."

"They did." The man had the annoying habit of wincing or grinning after every comment, expressions that somehow did not belong on his face, like those obscene reproductions of the Mona Lisa that change the smile.

"You run pay-per-call numbers out of here," Boldt said, indicating the flyer in his hand. "Area code nine hundred numbers." He wanted the man on his heels, wanted him thinking in the wrong direction. "Stroke lines?"

"Adult entertainment. All perfectly legal."

"I don't see any phone banks."

"The beauty of technology, Lieutenant. Our sales representatives operate out of their own homes for the most part. Through a computerized switching terminal we receive and reroute all calls."

"College coeds?" Boldt asked.

"Housewives, mostly." He waited for Boldt's shock to register. "The woman moaning on the other end of the phone is doing her ironing in front of the television half the time. Cooking dinner. Playing solitaire on the computer. It's all about role playing, Lieutenant. The men call to be turned on, and to hear what they don't hear at home."

"At eight dollars a minute," Boldt pointed out.

"Supply and demand."

"And the Internet site?" a repulsed Boldt inquired.

"Some soft porn shots," he said, directing this at Daphne, "to get the juices going. Our nine hundred numbers are promoted there. Someone wants to hear a human voice. For a credit card number, the photos go video and get a hell of a lot hotter. We grossed sixty thousand last fiscal quarter off the site alone. Wave of the future."

"The Pantheon theater group?" Daphne asked.

"We handle a wide range of telemarketing needs for our corporate customers. Special promotions, like the Consolidated/Pantheon campaign; travel reservations; catalog sales. Our rate sheet is typically about forty percent less than our competitors, and our service just as good if not better. Keeps business brisk."

"Lower labor costs?" she asked.

"Look around. Low overhead translates to customer savings."

"Housewives again?"

Rathborne affected that same grimace. "Telemarketing campaigns are much more difficult to facilitate because of the need for networked computers and a shared database. If we used isolated individuals for the telemarketing, the technology requirements would kill us. No, we subcontract. In the case of Consolidated, they're working strictly off demographics. The computers target households based on income and real estate value. The sales rep sees a name, phone number and address on his or her screen. It's slick. Consolidated Insurance owns the Pantheon theater chain. They've installed these new electronic ticket kiosks nationally and wanted to use this campaign as a synergistic way to introduce their targeted insurance sales customers to their theater chain simultaneously. It was my idea, actually, and we've hit a home run, I'm happy to say."

"Subcontract?" Daphne pressed. "To whom?"

"The justice department didn't tell you?" Rathborne asked Boldt. "I assumed that was why you were here. You're Washington State, right? I thought you were looking to model our system out there in Washington . . . something like that. The state benefits as much as we do."

Daphne said, "Nothing like that. We're Crimes Against Persons. We're working an assault investigation—"

"Now wait a minute here!" the man objected, slipping out of his corporate image. "No one said anything about this. I was told you'd have some questions for me about the Consolidated Mutual campaign," the man said. "I assumed—"

"We have no intention of charging you," Boldt said quickly, "nor anyone else at Newmann Communications. It's more than likely one or two of your employees—these subcontracted sales reps—that we're interested in."

Daphne suggested, "You may have a bad apple."

Another waft of frankfurter-and-mustard invaded the space. Boldt felt sick to his stomach. He clarified, "We would like to speak to this subcontractor. You put us in touch with him and we're out of here."

Daphne repeated, "We have no intention of involving your company in any of this, as long as you cooperate."

"It's all about labor costs—this business. All about putting people on one end of a telephone. The automated programs suck. And Denver? In this boom? You try finding people willing to work on commission."

Daphne inquired, "What are you trying to tell us? All we need is the name of the subcontractor on the Consolidated Insurance campaign."

"I don't understand why they didn't tell you when you talked to them," an irritated Rathborne said. "We've used them for three years now. Never once had a problem."

"When we talked to whom?" Daphne pressed. "Consolidated passed us on to you."

"No! Not Consolidated. The justice department should have told your guys. We use correctional facilities, state prisons, inmates." Rathborne explained, "Our subcontractor for all our telemarketing campaigns is the Colorado Correctional Services."

"Inmates," Boldt mumbled, stunned by the announcement.

Daphne clarified, "You have inmates making your phone solicitations."

Rathborne replied, not without some pride: "Technically, it's part of their rehabilitation."