Invasion of Privacy - Jeremiah Healy (31 page)

Loiselle seemed to look within herself. "All
right, I accept that. I don't really care about what you know. What I
care about is finding Olga."

"Or just making sure she's safe?"

Again puzzled. "What do you mean?"

I chose my words carefully. "From what I've
found out, I it's at least possible that Olga and Andrew Dees have
taken off together."

“
Taken off where?"

"I don't know."

Another inward look. "No. No, Olga wouldn't have
left without her PDA, without packing things at her apartment?

"Maybe she didn't think she had time."

From puzzled to exasperated. "Now what do you
mean?"

"It may be that Dees and Olga had to leave
suddenly on Thursday night."

Loiselle said, "Thursday? Why?"

"One of the things I can't share with you."

A shaking of the head, slowly at first. "Olga
would have called me."

Basically what Uncle Ivan had said, too. "Maybe
she didn't want to give anything away."

"Give anything . . . ?" Loiselle crossed
her arms, hugging herself. "And here I thought hiring you would
make me feel better about all this."

"I'm sorry, but while there are some things I
can't tell you, I don't want to lie to you, either."

She watched me for a moment, then turned to her
computer. "Where would they have gone?"

"No idea."

"How?"

“
How?"

"Yes," said Loiselle. "How would they
get wherever they were going?"

“
Car's the most anonymous, plane's the fastest."

Nodding, she began punching buttons quickly. "Plane
would mean airport, and the closest with the most flights is Logan."

"Not necessarily."

Loiselle stopped. "Explain?"

"If they left from Plymouth Mills, Providence or
Hartford might have been faster for them."

Back to the computer. "It shouldn't matter for
what I'm checking?

"Claude, they probably wouldn't have used their
own names."

Studying her monitor. "What?"

"If you're checking the airlines somehow, they
probably used different names."

"Not for the ATM. Olga may have been in love
with that jerk, but I can't believe she wouldn't have hit up an
automatic teller some place to have cash before she went anywhere
with him."

It was a good point. "You can check that on a
Sunday?"

Loiselle gave me a withering look, then went back to
her screen. "Motherfucker!"

"What's the matter?"

"Blocked out."

"Can you call that guy for the password again?"

"Different. Hold a minute, let me try . . .
Yes!"

"You found it?"

"Olga uses the same code I do, to keep prying
eyes at the bank from getting into her account. I think . . . there
we go." Smiling triumphantly, Loiselle rotated the monitor so we
both could see the screen.

A series of chartreuse ledger sheets on a black
background. I said, "Nothing since Tuesday, right?"

Realizing what that might mean, Loiselle stopped
smiling. "And even before that, basically just lunch-money level
of withdrawal."

We sat in silence for a moment. Then Loiselle swung
the monitor toward her, attacking the keyboard again.

"Now what?" I said.

"I'm breaking the law."

"How?"

"By violating the commercial privacy of one
Horse's Ass."

After a moment, she said. "Andrew Dees pulled
six thousand six-fifty out of a business account on Thursday
afternoon at three-forty-five."

Consistent with what Tangela Robinette had told me.
Loiselle clacked some more. "And another nine thousand live out
of a personal account at . . ." She lowered her voice. "Fifteen
minutes later."

"Cleaned out both accounts?"

"The business one, yes. Still a few thousand in
the personal one."

"Why would he leave any?"

"Banking regulations. He goes over ten thousand
cash withdrawal, there'd be a paper trail."

"But you found a trail anyway."

Loiselle looked at me. "Yeah, but only because
I'm searching for it, and illegally at that. The over-ten trail would
go to the federal government, tip them to . . ." She hardened
the look. "Is that why Dees is running, he's in trouble with the
feds?"

"I can't say."

"Or with those guys who roughed you up?"

"Same answer."

The harder look got stony. "Is hiring you going
to be worse than dealing with the police?"

"There are all kinds of frustration, Claude."

"Yeah, tell me about it." She turned away
from the computer. "Okay now what?"

"Can you check on Olga's bank accounts every few
hours?”

Loiselle just snapped her lingers. Then, "Dees
would be tougher."

"If he's running, he's not going to risk giving
away his new location by trying to access a few thousand in a bank
account."

"Makes sense. So what are you going to do?"

"Drive out to Logan."

"But I thought you said—"

"That they'd have used phony names. Right. If
they're smart, they even took different airlines to different hubs,
planning to match up again in a day or so at another airport."

The lowered voice. "Assuming they're still
together."

"Yes."

Puzzled once more, Loiselle said, "But then why
are you going to Logan at all?"

“
Because it's the closest to where I am now, and
they had to get to any airport somehow."

She looked inward. “Their car."

"His or hers, but maybe at least one of them."

"And if you find it?"

"Then maybe it'll tell me something. Or maybe
somebody will remember seeing them."

"Do you need any money now?"

I told her how much, and how many days of my time it
would buy.

As Loiselle was writing out a check the old-fashioned
way, I said, "You wouldn't happen to know Olga's license plate,
would you?"

"Of course not, but the computer will."

"The computer's tied into the Registry of Motor
Vehicles too?"

"We make car loans, so it's a convenience to be
able to access their records. Even on a Sunday," the last a
little sarcastic.

"While you're at it, get the tag for the brown
Toyota Dees drives as well."

Handing me the check,
Claude Loiselle snapped her fingers again.

* * *

At Logan International Airport, there's short-term
parking closer to the terminals and long-term parking farther away.
The short-term is exorbitantly expensive, but I figured that people
in a hurry would choose closer, especially if they weren't expecting
to come back for their car. Starting at the first terminal after the
airport on-ramp, I pushed the self-service button for a time-logged
ticket, the Prelude going under the rising bar and over the tire
treadles. Five minutes later, I was out again, paying the exit
attendant for an hour's worth.

I repeated the sequence twice more before reaching
the fourth lot, waving to the slim, Latino attendant as I drove by
him. He didn't wave back.

I'd gone down only one row before spotting it, tucked
into a corner space near the terminal. I checked the plate against
the registration Claude Loiselle had printed out for me, but I almost
didn't have to.

How many orange Porsches have you ever seen? I parked
behind it and got out. The lock buttons on both doors were down, a
decal on the vent window advertising an alarm system. From outside
the vehicle, I couldn't tell if the system was activated.

"Hey, man?"

I turned to the attendant walking toward me. He wore
a maintenance jumpsuit—something like Paulie Fogerty's, only
brown—the name ELMER stitched on the flap of the left breast
pocket.

He said, "Plenty spaces, two rows over."

"I'm more interested in this one, Elmer."

"My name is pronounce 'El—mare.' " A
confident grin, like he'd been in this situation before and knew how
to handle it. "Plenty people is interest in this car, man. Real
hot, you know it?"

"Kind of stands out."

"Definitely."

I showed him my ID. "Mind telling me who's been
interested in it?"

"Oh, everybody. Kids, couple middle-aged guys,
think they have all the young chicks, they get a hot car like this
one."

"Sounds like you're kind of watching over it."

"Me?" Elmer looked defensive. "No,
man. Just keep an eye on the lot, don't want nobody break no windows,
steal the radios."

I nodded. "You wouldn't have been here when this
one came in?"

"Yeah, I was here."

Bingo. "When was that?"

"Thursday night, maybe nine, nine-thirty. I work
nights, weekends. Need the money, you know it?"

"You see who was in the car?"

The confident grin. "That is worth something to
you, man?"

I took out my wallet and held up a twenty.

The grin broadened. "There two people in it,
that is forty, no?"

I brought out another twenty. "Description?"

Elmer took the bills, put them in his chest pocket.
"Guy and his woman."

"What did the guy look like'?"

"I don't know, man. Dark hair." A shrug.

"White, black?"

"Not black, I don't think."

I gave him one of my photos of Andrew Dees. "Could
this be the guy?"

Elmer held it up, moving his hand back and forth like
a trombone player, and I felt a little twinge.

"Could be, man. Dark hair, and your guy here, he
is tall, no?"

"How do you know that?"

"I don't see him too good when the car go past
my booth. You don't need me to get in, just to get out, you know it?"

"Yes."

"So I counting the money in my drawer, and I see
this Porsche come in. I watch the guy take it to the space too, hot
car like this."

"The man was behind the wheel?"

"Like I said."

That didn't sound right. When I first met Olga
Evorova in my office, she told me no one drove the Porsche but her.
"You're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. He park the car over here, then
they get out, with some luggage. The guy look over to me, and he
wave."

"He what?"

"He wave to me, like you did before, man."

That didn't sound right, either. "The woman
wave, too?"

"No. I don't really see her too good. It is
dark, and she is behind the other cars, walking.”

"Walking?"

"With one of the suitcases. To the terminal."

I looked around. "So he was over here when he
waved to you."

"By his door."

I gestured toward the lot entrance, a hundred feet
away.

"And it was dark, and you were at your booth."

"Like I tell you, man."

"Elmer, tell me something else."

"What?"

"You need glasses?"

A sheepish grin. "Kind
of." He tapped his chest pocket. "What I maybe use your
forty for, you know it?"

* * *

Inside the terminal, I showed my photo from Plymouth
Willows to skycaps, ticket agents, and custodians. Unlike Elmer, most
of them hadn't been working Thursday night, but even those who had
said they didn't recognize Dees-DiRienzi. On the way out, though, I
noticed a mailbox next to a coin-operated stamp dispenser.

I stopped in my tracks. If Evorova was running with
"Andrew Dees," he probably would have told her that he was
really Alfonso DiRienzi. He also might have warned her against using
any telephones. But maybe, just maybe, she would have mailed me
something from the airport, something that wouldn't arrive till long
after they were gone but still let me know that she was all right.
Thursday night mail from Logan could have arrived at my office on
Friday, but Saturday was more likely. And I hadn't been there since
late Friday afternoon.

I walked out to redeem my car from Elmer's lot.

Driving back through the Sumner Tunnel, I went over
what I had so far. Alfonso DiRienzi fears his cover might be blown
after I pay him a visit Wednesday at the photocopy shop. He doesn't
run that night, but he's nervous enough the next day to leave work in
the afternoon and withdraw most of his money. About the same time,
I'm telling Olga Evorova from Vermont that "her Andrew"
isn't on the level. According to Filomena, DiRienzi doesn't come back
to work Thursday afternoon. That night, when the Robinettes are off
at a band concert, a woman argues with DiRienzi in his townhouse at
Plymouth Willows loudly enough for both the Stepanians and Norman
Elmendorf to hear. Probably the woman is Olga, since Steven Stepanian
notices “Dees" loading luggage into a car like hers around
eight o'c1ock. Between nine and nine-thirty—or about driving time
from Plymouth Mills to Logan that late at night—Elmer the attendant
sees the orange Porsche arrive, a man and a woman getting out. He
can't see well enough to really identify the man as DiRienzi, and the
"tall" is probably more reliable than the "not black"
and "dark hair." Elmer says the guy was driving, which
doesn't sound like something Olga would allow, and the man waves to
Elmer, which doesn't sound like something anybody on the run would
do. Also, if DiRienzi and Evorova are taking off together, why leave
the more conspicuous Porsche at the airport rather than the drab
Toyota? I looked through my windshield, maybe twenty cars ahead. It
was a little brighter at the far end of the tunnel, but somehow that
didn't make anything clearer.