Dead Wrong (7 page)

“What’s wrong?” Grace asked.

“It’s not mine. How in God’s green earth did I get the wrong computer case? My cell phone is in that case, my flash drives, CDs. Files, financial stuff.” She set the case on the floor by Grace’s feet and took a deep breath, surprised she could breathe at all. Her chest felt as though she’d swallowed marshmallows. Her stomach, too.

When had she put the bag down long enough for someone else to pick it up? She thought back to the cab, paying the cabbie, going inside the airport, her stop at the restroom, the ticket counter, Security . . . Security. The fat man who sat next to her to put on his shoes. The shithead who copped the attitude because her case took up the only available seat.

Oh, no. The fat man has my laptop case!

What if he was on his way to Los Angeles? How would she ever find him? There had to be something inside the case that identified the owner. She unzipped it and methodically checked its contents. A small Toshiba laptop. A brown envelope, fastened only by its clasp. A bundle of one-hundred-dollar bills. A cell phone. Lynnette turned on the phone.

It can’t get much better than this, Sammy thought, as he perused Lynnette Hudson’s brokerage statement. Her account totaled $475,722.37 as of December 31. And the woman had penciled some words labeled “User ID” and “Password” at the top of the page, right next to her account number.
Ditzy broad.
He had to play this right. He had to get his own bag for Mr. O, and he had to clean out this woman’s account before she figured out what he’d done. He held the opportunity of a lifetime in his hand—access to her account and her laptop. One mighty big obstacle lay in his path: he only had about fifteen thou in his bank account. If he suddenly transferred big bucks in, the Feds would be onto him in a flash. He couldn’t get to this broad’s dough without help, and whoever helped him would want a piece. And getting Mr. O’s stuff had to come first. Sammy sighed and shook his head.

He pulled out a pen and lifted a page off the legal pad in Hudson’s bag. From her account statement, he copied her full name, account number, user ID, password, date and balance, as well as the name and address of the broker. He thought for a moment, then made a list of her individual investments as well.

He hadn’t even looked through the second zippered compartment where the laptop was stored. He pulled the top open and felt inside the pockets. In addition to cords and wires, Sammy found Hudson’s cell phone. He could work with that. Thank goodness she didn’t have one of those newfangled contraptions with all their little codes and apps, whatever apps were. He turned on the phone and waited for a signal. Then he called his own cell’s number. The call went to voice mail. Two minutes later, he tried again. Voice mail.

He set the phone on the table in front of him and stared at its nasty little face as he suppressed the urge to slam it across the room. He had to keep his temper under control. He needed that phone. And he didn’t need airport security hauling his ass out of this bar, especially while he possessed the broad’s property and was only a few steps away from transferring her money into his own bank account.

He gulped his drink and signaled the waitress for another by raising his glass in the air and waving it. He pressed redial on the cell phone. Voice mail. The waitress slopped his drink as she set it down, tossed a couple of extra napkins on the table, and hurried away. A muttered stream of obscenities rolled off Sammy’s tongue as he grabbed the napkins and wiped the bottom of his glass. He shoved the wet napkins onto the puddle of watered-down whiskey and stared into space, afraid to let the waitress see how pissed off he was.

He hit redial again. Voice mail. He slammed the phone on the table hard enough to crack the back cover. The bartender glanced his way and moved to the other end of the bar.

The airline announcement blasted from the speaker over his head, and Sammy took the news as though thrown a life jacket. His flight to LAX had been cancelled. The voice instructed passengers to report to the counter at the departure gate to book a new flight. He now had a reason to be in Denver long enough to retrieve his case.

Sammy lumbered to his feet, threw enough money on the table to cover his bar bill, picked up the phone, and hit redial.

Denver, Colorado
Wednesday, January 22

Seconds after Lynnette had turned on the cell phone, it found a signal. Before she could access its contact list, the phone rang. She answered.

She listened for a few seconds before trying to interrupt the man’s diatribe.

Blue jiggled Lynnette’s arm and shook her head.

The man on the other end of the phone continued to speak as though he had little interest in anything she had to say. “Your name is Lynnette Hudson, and I know everything about you. If you don’t stay exactly where you are, and protect my case and its contents with your life, I will slice your throat from ear to ear. There is no way you can escape—nowhere to go. I will find you.” His threats became even more graphic until finally Lynnette, pale and breathless, ended the call and turned off the phone.

Everything she had in her case identified her by her maiden name, Lynnette Hudson. He had her financial records and all the information in her cell phone and laptop. This was identity theft waiting to happen—if it hadn’t happened already.

She held the man’s cell up and examined the keys. Looked like a new phone. Even had a photo feature. “I suppose this has one of those GPS trackers,” she said. She looked at Blue. “Do you know anything about this stuff? Does the GPS work when the phone is turned off?”

Blue nodded. “It might. Depends on the phone and how the owner set it up.”

“If I throw it away here, whoever tracks the signal will know I took the bus.”

Blue shook her head. “He wouldn’t know for sure where you went from here unless he knows how to use mapping software and you still have the phone. Why don’t you throw it in the trash? Or give it to one of these people?” She waved her hand toward the collection of passengers now lined up at two of the boarding doors.

Lynnette turned her back on Grace and leaned closer to Blue. “He threatened me. He said if I touched anything in the case, he’d kill me. He said if I gave the case or anything in it to anyone else, he’d still kill me and then he’d kill whoever I gave it to. He said he might kill me anyway, just for stealing his case.”

Blue held out her hand.

Lynnette started to give her the phone, but changed her mind. “What are you going to do? I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”

“I won’t give it to anyone. I’ll destroy it.”

“No. That’s not a good idea. I need to put it back in the case. He said to protect all the contents of the case with my life.”

Grace tapped Lynnette on the shoulder. “What happened, Lynnette? Who called?”

“Just a guy. The guy who wants his stuff.”

Oh, God, thought Lynnette. She had to take charge. She didn’t dare get rid of the fat man’s case, but she couldn’t risk putting the teen and the kid in danger. She’d have to ditch them. Her skin felt very cold, her shoulders heavy, her eyes watery. The phone felt warm and sweaty in her hand. She laid it on the table.

Damn you, Carl. This is all your fault.

Blue leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “This guy you stole the case from—did he say if he’s still in Denver?”

“I think so. Maybe he’s at the airport. He can’t be in the air because he used the phone. And I didn’t steal his case, Blue. Mine looks almost the same as his. He grabbed the wrong one when he left Security.”

“He thinks you stole it, but here’s the deal. If he’s in Denver and he knows you were on your way to L.A., then he knows you’re either still at the airport or you took a bus or a shuttle or a cab. What if you took the case back to the airport and left it with baggage claim? You could call him . . . oh, nuts, how would you get your own bag unless you waited there and did the exchange?”

“How could she go to the airport?” said Grace. “Our bus leaves in a little bit.”

“Never mind,” Lynnette said. She turned to Blue. “Why not do the exchange here? I could have the security guard hold this one, and ask him to exchange the bags because this guy scares me and I don’t want to see him again. My cell phone is in my case. If he keeps it with him and turns the phone on, I can call my own number from his.”

“Check it out, see if he answers.”

Lynnette picked up the phone, then laid it back down. “I still wouldn’t be able to get on this bus. And you two can’t be here.”

“I’ll take Grace to Fort Collins with me. You catch up with us as soon as you can.” Blue pulled a ballpoint pen from her backpack and wrote two phone numbers on a clean napkin. She pushed the napkin toward Lynnette and said, “The top one is my cell phone. The other one is the landline at the house. We’ll be fine if we wait there.”

Lynnette had second thoughts about dumping Blue and losing the benefit of her many talents. On the other hand, she had plenty of reservations about turning Grace over to Blue’s care. She left the phone on the table, but moved the fat man’s laptop case to the floor between her chair and Grace’s.

“Who are you, Blue? Are you really a student? Why should I trust you to watch out for Grace?”

Blue reached into her backpack again and pulled out a woman’s wallet. She lined up her driver’s license, voter’s registration card, two credit cards, and a photo identification card from Colorado State University. All were in the name of Teresa Young.

Grace pulled the driver’s license closer and peered at it. “You’re twenty-three years old?” She stared at Blue. “Are these fake?”

Lynnette took the driver’s license and examined it carefully. She set the license on the table and looked at Blue. “Well? Are they fake? I figured you were about sixteen.”

“No. They’re real.”

“Then why all this?” Lynnette waved her hand up and down to indicate Blue’s makeup, tattoos, piercings, and clothes.

“You don’t look like you’re twenty-three,” Grace added. “And you don’t look like you ever went to college, either.”

“It’s a long story.”

“You better start telling it,” Lynnette said with a quick glance at her watch. “I’m not letting you take Grace anywhere unless I’m sure she’ll be safe.”

“Okay. I’m a grad student at CSU. Sociology. I’m working on a thesis about crowd behavior, so I go places where crowds hang out. I go to concerts and political rallies and—”

“Looking like that?” Lynnette said.

Blue sighed, reached up to grip her black hair at the crown, and pulled off her wig. Her short reddish-brown hair clumped close to her head. She dropped the wig on the table and ran her fingers through her hair to fluff it up. Then she stuck her index finger in her mouth, wet it, and rubbed the tattoo of a heart on her forearm. The color faded and disappeared.

“Wow,” Grace said. “Aren’t any of them real? They look real. Can I get one like that little dragon on my leg?”

“I need more,” said Lynnette, ignoring Grace’s excited chatter. “Do your parents live in Fort Collins? Who are they? Do you live at home? Do they know you’re wandering around the country like this?”

“Yeah, I’m officially living at my home. That’s the address on my I.D. My dad lives just outside Fort Collins. He knows what I’m doing, but he’s not super happy about it. I check in with him about five times a day so he doesn’t worry so much.”

“Your mom?”

“They’re divorced. She lives in San Francisco. I spent summers out there until I got my bachelor’s degree. When I started on my master’s, I decided to take summer classes, too. Working on the thesis gives me a little more freedom to go around, do research, you know?”

Lynnette glanced at her watch. Time was running out. She looked at Blue’s collection of cards again before pushing them across the table along with the napkin. “You can put the cards away. Write down your address, just in case.”

She turned to Grace. “Will you feel safe with Blue?”

“Sure.”

“Will you do everything she says?”

“Sure, unless it’s something bad.”

“I won’t tell you to do anything bad,” Blue said. “You’ll be fine.”

Lynnette turned on the fat man’s phone. When she had a signal, she dialed her own number. The guy answered on the first ring. He sounded furious. Lynnette imagined him, flushed with rage, a gun in his shoulder holster and a knife at his waist. That was ridiculous. He couldn’t have carried a gun and knife onto the plane. She had to stop with the crazy thoughts.

“You turned off my phone, you bitch. I been trying to call you.” The guy’s voice increased in volume until he yelled, “If you touch anything in that case, I will not only kill you, but I will cut you up in little pieces first! I’ll find everyone whose name and address is on your phone or in your email and I’ll kill them all!”

Lynnette had the passing thought that she would be a lot better off if the first person on her email list, Carl, died. Then she thought of the people she loved who wouldn’t see this guy coming and would never understand what they had done to deserve a horrible death. And it would be her fault.

“Look, buddy, just listen a minute. I want to return your case and everything in it. I’m sorry about the phone. I panicked and turned it off. I won’t touch anything. But I don’t want to meet you. You scare me. I’m in downtown Denver at the bus station. I’m going to turn your case over to a security guard and explain the mix-up. You need to come here and find the guard. You show your I.D. and make the exchange. I’ll come back later to pick up mine.”