The Caller

Eighty-One

His wristwatch read 11:23 p.m., when Mr. J’s cellphone rang again.

‘Brian, tell me you’ve got something.’

‘I’m not really sure.’ The fatigue in Brian’s voice was evident. ‘It could be something, or absolutely nothing.’

‘Give me whatever you have.’

Mr. J heard fast keyboard clicks coming from the other end of the line.

‘OK,’ Brian began, ‘what you told me got me thinking. Cory Russo, Michael Williams, whatever name this guy is using, he’s now probably on the run, right? And in America, you can’t run without money.’

‘You flagged his credit cards.’

‘I flagged everything under both names,’ Brian confirmed. ‘Credit cards, bank transactions, money withdrawals, the lot, so unless he has some hard cash stashed away somewhere, this guy won’t be able to buy a pack of gum without my computer screen turning into a Christmas tree here.’

‘And did you get a hit?’ Mr. J asked.

Brian breathed out heavily. ‘I did, but not on any of his cards.’

Mr. J made a face at his phone. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Well, I didn’t put a flag only on his credit cards and bank transactions...’

‘You extended it to family and known friends too,’ Mr. J said, catching up with Brian’s line of thought.

‘Well, that was the idea,’ Brian admitted. ‘But unfortunately all we’ve got on Cory Russo are two distant relatives, both living in Oregon, and no known friends, but then I thought of something else.’

‘And what was that?’

‘Three years ago, when Cory Russo was released from prison, he didn’t take the prison bus. He was picked up.’

A smile threatened to appear on Mr. J’s lips. ‘And you have the name of the person who picked him up.’

‘That I do.’ Brian’s voice sounded triumphant.

‘And who is he?’

‘His name is Toby Bishop. He lives in Monrovia in San Gabriel Valley, and here is where it gets good. About twenty minutes ago, he withdrew twenty-five hundred dollars from his account. I’ve checked his withdrawal history going back two years. He has never withdrawn anywhere close to that amount, so unless he decided to buy a car this late at night...’

‘Do you have an address?’

‘You should be getting an email right about now.’

Mr. J heard a bell coming from his laptop. He killed the call.