Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (32 page)

The rain let up enough for him to hear Maggie’s car pull into the driveway. His relief at her return culminated in a breathy exhale. He wanted to go with her, but she’d come up with so many lame excuses, he quit asking. The Firm abandoned their rumpled beds to greet her at the door.

He had to tell Maggie about his sweet new computer. He did a quick check for any tracking programs Kurt Meyers might have loaded on it, but it looked factory. A full scan could wait. For now, he’d have to trust the guy. According to AreEff, it was a decent bet.

He wasn’t going to tell her about his quasi-promise to Kurt Meyers. She might not take the news well and want to kill him. That could wait until after they found Dad.

Her heels clicked along the floor in concert with eight sets of toenails. He stared at the opening in the kitchen awaiting her entrance. She looked as if she had been crying.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

“I’m fine.” Her smile was tight. “He said he didn’t kidnap Dad.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know what to believe.” Maggie lowered into the nearest chair. “I saw Fyodor in the city. He entered Penniski’s building as I was leaving.” Her hands dropped to her lap. “I sure can pick them.”

“Wow. I’m sorry.”

She told him all the details about her meeting and faking her way into Penniski’s suite.

“You’re a social engineer, Magpie.”

“A what?”

“It’s the most common form of hacking. You don’t break your way in. You charm your way in. Apparently, you’re a natural.”

“I’m a born liar. Like father like daughter. What in the hell are we going to do?”

Travis knew what she was thinking. “We can call the police if you want.”

“It’s all I thought about on the drive back. The kidnapper didn’t even tell us not to. Why?”

“Because we don’t have two million of our own. The only possible way for us to get it is to tap O’Mara’s stolen money.”

“That’s what I think.” She lifted a foot onto the chair and hugged her knee. “Either way, if the police get involved, we’re screwed.”

“As much as I don’t want the police around for other reasons, I came to the same conclusion. Whoever has Dad isn’t worried about us calling the police. We’re expected to have this money.”

“Do we, Trav?” She bit her lower lip. “Do we really have access to that kind of money?”

“I think we do, but I don’t know yet. Ever since we got the call, I’ve been trying to answer that question. And we don’t have a lot of time to dink around.” He blew air up to his bangs. “We need a plan B, in case. You know?”

“Whatever it is, I’m in.”

“If only we were certain who kidnapped Dad,” Travis said.

“I couldn’t read Penniski. Seeing Fyodor there gave me the creeps. But I don’t have that intuitive thing you’ve got going on.”

No. She didn’t. Maggie let her brain flairs rule. Maybe she looked before she leaped, but the landing spot was all that mattered. She didn’t always assess it before committing. And, yet, he was the one with the prison record. Go figure.

“You know. I’m glad I don’t have it.”

He didn’t like the way her mouth flattened into a line. “What do you mean? Intuition.”

“Yeah. Because I’m not sure it matters what we do. Pay two million or ten, they may still kill Dad.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Six

 

 

Kurt Meyers should have gone home, but home was even lonelier than the office. Since his encounter with Travis Fender, Kurt stewed over his next move. The kid projected a confidence that inspired. If he really had access to the O’Mara fund money, Kurt should probably notify Samantha at the SEC, and if he knew for certain, he would be obligated. But he didn’t know for certain, and more importantly, he didn’t want to spook the golden goose. Even Samantha wanted the money returned more than a conviction, and a conviction would be tough now that O’Mara was a corpse.

 

Still, he had to keep Samantha in play to make good on his promise to the Fender kid. Kurt knew her office forwarded calls to her cell phone. If his news were urgent, he’d call her cell directly. But this wasn’t urgent. Under no circumstances did he want her to think this call was urgent.

He practiced saying ‘Hey Samantha’ in a casual tone, lowering his voice slightly in case the pounding in his chest eked out too much enthusiasm to his vocal chords. Casual. No big deal. Just touching base.

Voice mail answered. “Hey, Sam.” Sam. Good move. Even more laid back than using her full name. “Kurt here. Nothing new. I wanted to hear the official reaction now that O’Mara’s murderer confessed. I guess no one’s surprised it was an investor. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up the phone, convinced that she wouldn’t suspect a thing.

Kurt turned on the contaminated computer at his desk. Thoughts of Vladimir Penniski eddied through his head. Every keystroke was still Vladimir’s for the taking. But Kurt now had a plan for revenge. Not really a plan. It didn’t rank up there with an actual plan. More like a juvenile prank, and he sure as hell wasn’t above those. It was slightly better than surfing for yachts to make Vladimir jealous. Kurt laid the first plank, now it was time to turn the screw.

He considered what he was going to type before committing the key strokes. With Vlad and his thugs monitoring every one, he wanted to make certain this communication looked legit. He edited it on paper until he was satisfied. The terse email he composed contained enough information to convey the threat.

 

MUST OPT OUT OF THE CLASS FOR THE CLASS ACTION LAW SUIT. Otherwise, the decision will be expen$ive! Trust me. Delete email upon receipt. Do not call me. Details in person ONLY!

 

Replacing the ‘s’ with the dollar sign made him giggle like a fifth grader. Juvenile indeed. Kurt addressed the email to an obscurely-named Yahoo account that he’d owned since college and hit send. He hadn’t accessed the account since arriving in San Francisco, so he knew it was safe. Kurt only hoped that Vladimir’s keylogger would recognize the screaming capital letters. The sonovabitch.

Kurt browsed through his emails. Vladimir couldn’t read anything in his inbox, only Kurt’s replies. He took great care to leave the bones bare. All the investor inquiries went through Stephanie. Mostly they wanted to know that someone was working to ease their burden.

Responses to O’Mara’s death ranged across the spectrum. Some people figured it for instant karma. Some still felt they’d lost a friend. Others openly rejoiced at news of his death. A few felt that his death left them completely hopeless. No Patty. No money.

Stephanie tried to reassure people that even O’Mara couldn’t take it with him. Like everyone else, he left this side empty-handed and butt-naked. But most of the investors sought justice. If not their money returned, then an honest day in court. They’d be happy to hang his room-temperature cadaver.

The phone’s ring quieted to an echo before Kurt answered. He was glad for the diversion from his now gloomy thoughts. “Kurt Meyers.”

“Hey.”

He’d recognize Samantha’s voice in a din. His spirits kicked into high gear. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight. Miss me?”

She laughed in a way that made him think he might have a shot. Someday. Someday when this case wasn’t their primary concern.

“It’s Sunday night, Kurt. You’re not fooling anyone.”

His stomach tightened. She can’t know anything. “What do you mean?”

“I know you don’t know anyone there. I get it. You’re lonely. But c’mon you’re in San Francisco of all places. A successful, good looking, straight guy. The single women ought to be building you a statue by now.”

He slid an elbow across his desk. “You think I’m good looking?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Sure. In an East Coast, corporate, tight-assed kind of way.”

“Says the woman who works in D.C. You think my ass looks tight?”

This laugh was more like the ones he remembered. “I’ve got the game on here. What do you want?”

Kurt glanced at the ceiling trying to remember his cover story. “What’s the reaction at the SEC to the poisoning?”

“No one’s surprised that it was an investor if that’s what you mean. Any other perp would have been a non sequitur.”

“True. There were plenty of suspects.”

“And the fact that it was a woman was expected.”

“I hadn’t considered that. But you’re right. A guy would have blown his head off.”

“Or used it for batting practice.” He heard rustling in the background. “Still, it leaves us without a man to convict and an angry mob of jilted investors.”

“The reaction on this end has been mixed. But it will eventually level out as anger. You guys worried?”

Other investment fund managers had long doubted the honesty of Patty O’Mara due to the renowned rate of return. They deconstructed various market trade scenarios to determine what might have allowed him to sustain such amazing profits. They decided it wasn’t possible and called upon the SEC to investigate. No one ever did. Not until a low-level investor couldn’t get his money out. Seems the guy’s wife’s cousin was head of the Senate banking committee. Until that moment, Patty O’Mara got a bye every round.

Samantha’s voice lowered. “No one wants to say it out loud, but the Chairman implied that she expects O’Mara’s investors to sue the SEC. And frankly, they should. I’ve seen the files. O’Mara used some obscure little accounting firm to rubber stamp his audits each year. That’s what we call a red flag. His rate of return wasn’t mathematically possible. But, the guys assigned to review complaints against O’Mara were too busy surfing the web for skin to be bothered with ensuring the public trust.”

That was another thing he admired about Samantha. To her it wasn’t just a job. It was a public service. As it had been for the late Daryl Betts.

“I heard that Daryl Betts started an investigation into O’Mara’s fund, but Catherine Boson shut it down after his death. She’d been cozy with O’Mara for years. If that’s true, the good Chairman might have a bigger problem on her hands.”

No comment. She knew something. But for now, he had her hooked. Time to reel her in. “What’s your best case scenario, Sam? Find the money.”

“Hell, yes. Finding the money is always the best case. Do you think it’s out there?”

The trampling in his chest picked up speed. “Out there as in sitting around waiting to be found? I can only hope. My bonus depends on it.”

He heard her tsk-tsk in disapproval. “Like your lifestyle would change. What are you going to do? Buy another blue suit?”

His temper spiked. “Hey. If I earn a bonus by finding the money it means Mrs. Marjorie Stackhouse can afford to pay for her back surgery. Amelia Jackson’s daughter can attend college. My bonus comes out of Spencer Thornton’s pocket, not theirs. Same team here, Sam. Remember?”

“Sorry. That was a cheap shot.”

“Back to the money. What if we find it? Do you guys drop the case?”

“We don’t have a perp. With O’Mara dead, who’s left?”

“Just the SEC.” He laughed this time.

“What a slaughter that would be. I may have to slip back into private practice before then. You hiring?”

“In a heartbeat. But if the money turns up, the clamor for blood would disappear. You guys would look like heroes.”

“And you.”

“And me.” Kurt liked the way this conversation was flowing. “You could live with that right?”

Her voice was softer, friendlier. “You’d be insufferable.”

“Ah, but I am now.”

“True.”

“So if I find the money, I save all your asses.” Hers was worth saving.

“You find the money, and Catherine Boson will come out there and build that statue herself. Though, she’s not your type.”

“What about you, Sam? Am I your type?”

“Quit blowing sunshine, Mr. Investigator. Find the money, then we’ll talk.”

“I’ll consider it a date.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Seven

 

 

At the doorbell’s chime, The Firm scampered to the hallway at full bark. Maggie and Travis flinched at the noise. She raked her hair. “I can’t do company now. Unless it’s someone with news, get rid of them.”

 

They hurried to the foyer. Travis peeked out the curtain while Maggie tried to quiet the dogs. “It’s Barbara Carter.”

“Crap. I forgot. Can you get rid of her?”

“You asked her to come.”

She couldn’t believe she had to explain herself. “That was before I got a freakin’ call for ransom.”

“We’re letting her in. We don’t need to keep her long. Just ask your questions and let the woman be on her way.” When he strapped his arms across his chest, Maggie knew it was pointless to argue.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Maggie collected her frayed wits while Travis attended the door. She still wore the shirtdress, but felt the need to kick her heels into a corner. By the time the door opened, Maggie had stifled her urge to scream.

Travis spoke first. “Hi, Mrs. Carter.”

She took in both their faces. “I’m so sorry to hear that your father is missing. You must be worried sick.”

Maggie might have to cut her some slack. The woman buried her husband and still had some leftover empathy. “Please. Won’t you come in?”

When she entered their home, Barbara lowered her chin and kept it down as if in church. Maybe in deference to the strangeness of their meeting, or perhaps because her husband’s actions appeared to launch the first domino in this disaster. Either way, Maggie suspected she was in a mood to help. If only she could.

The three stayed silent until they reached the kitchen. Maggie led the woman to their table. It seemed more intimate. Travis and Barbara found chairs.

“Would you like some iced tea?”

“I would. Thank you.” Barbara watched Maggie. “It’s funny, when someone dies, everybody brings food to your house. It’s been nice because I don’t have to worry about feeding all my relatives. But I don’t have much of an appetite myself. I’m just really thirsty.”

“Grief causes stress. Everyone reacts a bit differently to heartache.” Maggie poured a couple of tall glasses and returned. She sat in front of her computer. “I appreciate your coming. I don’t know how much Travis told you, but I wanted to talk to you about the money you said your husband received.”