Sex, Lies & Serious Money

24

A couple of days later Laurence got a call. “Hello?”

“Mr. Hayward, this is Chris, from Strategic Services.”

“Good morning, Chris.”

“I wanted you to know that we’ve completed your installation, and when you return, I’d be happy to come back and take you through it.”

“That may be a while.”

“In that case, let me e-mail you a short video that you can watch on your cell phone, then I’ll call you back and walk you through installing the app to operate it.”

“All right.”

“Just hang up, and when you get it, tap on the arrow.”

Laurence did so, and a moment later he was watching a tour of his apartment, featuring close-ups of nearly invisible cameras and a voiceover by Chris, showing how to operate the system. He hung up and waited, and Chris called back.

“I hope that gave you an idea of the system’s capabilities.”

“It certainly did.”

“If you’ll give me a four-digit code, I’ll program the system to allow you to operate it.”

Laurence gave him a code.

“Now let me walk you through downloading the app to your iPhone.”

Five minutes later, Laurence was in full control of the system. He switched from one room to another, zoomed in and out, and watched Marge at her desk. Theresa looked over his shoulder.

“That’s amazing,” she said.

He called Chris back. “It worked beautifully,” he said. “Now, I have two other houses, one in Palm Beach and one in Santa Fe. Can you install the same system in both?”

“We certainly can,” Chris replied. He wrote down the addresses.

“We’re in Santa Fe now, so you might do that one first.”

“We’ll be there the day after tomorrow,” Chris said.

Laurence hung up. “There, I feel better now.”

Except he didn’t feel all that much better. That afternoon, he drove into Santa Fe to a gun shop he had passed before. After a few minutes of looking, he chose a small 9mm pistol and filled out the form for a background check. While he waited for a response, the salesman took him to the shop’s indoor firing range and taught him the basics of using the weapon.

“Any other advice?” Laurence asked.

“Yes. Don’t shoot anybody. Even if you’re right, and if you remain safe, you’ll be in for a lot of bother, and it’s not worth it. That’s unless the other guy shoots you first, then you don’t have a choice.”

Half an hour later, Laurence left with his gun in a hip holster and a box of cartridges, an extra magazine, and a cleaning kit in a bag.

Once home, he put the pistol and cartridges in the back of a bedside drawer, where Theresa would be unlikely to see it.

Almost simultaneously, an editor at a tabloid, the National Inquisitor, took a phone call in his Miami, Florida, office. “This is Pat Bolton,” he said.

“Hi, this is Chip, in Santa Fe. Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, Chip, you helped us out on that junkie actress last year.”

“That’s me. I’ve got something else for you.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You know the guy who won the Powerball a few weeks back?”

“L. B. Hayward? Right. We haven’t been able to pin him down.”

“I got him in Santa Fe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Bolton was skeptical. “Tell me exactly how you tracked him down.”

“My mother is friends with a lady who sells real estate, Diana Zill. She came over the other night for a drink, all excited. She had just sold this big spec house out on the north side of town.”

“And you think Hayward bought it?”

“Well, it’s like this — the guy wrote a check on the spot for the full amount and moved in the same day, so he had no shortage of ready cash.”

“And that was Hayward?”

“Diana showed my mom the contract, and I got a look at it. The name of the buyer was Theresa Crane.”

“Not Hayward?”

“Haven’t you seen the spread in People?”

“Not yet, I guess.”

“Hayward’s got a girlfriend.”

“Ahhh,” Bolton said, “now that’s good work, Chip. Did you get any photographs?”

“Not yet. I was out there, but I got rousted by a guy with a flashlight, so I guess he must have some security around the place.”

“Well, I’m going to need at least one good photograph, Chip. You got the balls to get that for me? There’s a grand in it for you, if you do.”

“Oh, I got the balls, and a camera with a long lens, too.”

“That’s the boy! E-mail it to me.” He gave him the address. “How soon can you get it for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Go get him, Chip!” Bolton hung up. “Sheri, bring me the new People.” She did and he flipped through the magazine and found the article. He read it twice, and there was no mention of a Theresa Crane. “Shit!!!” he screamed.

“What’s the matter, Pat?” Sheri asked.

“I’m on the hook for a grand, and the girl’s name isn’t in the piece.”

“What name?”

“Theresa Crane.”

“Who’s that?”

“You know the Powerball guy we can’t find?”

“Hayward?”

“Yeah, Hayward. This Crane is supposed to be his girlfriend, but she’s not in the People piece.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean she’s not his girlfriend, does it?”

“I guess not.”

“And if I know you, you’re not on the hook for a grand, unless she is.”

“Right. And until I get a photograph of Hayward, too.”

“So relax, either you get it or you don’t.”

“‘I don’t’ is not an option. We’re short of really good stuff this week, and Hayward is really good stuff. If he’s in Santa Fe, that would be a solid gold scoop for us. This guy won over six hundred million bucks!”

“Wow,” Sheri said. “That’s big cabbage!”

“No, it’s big bucks. That’s what our readers go nuts over.”