“Good. What happened in the beginning?”
“It begins with Lisa, like me, being assigned to work on the Morris Networks account.”
“And they probably chose you two because of your lack of competence in corporate finance.”
“A good assumption.”
“Because they’re lawyers and because Barry definitely-maybe Cy, possibly Bronson, and perhaps others-knew that Morris was cooking its books. None of them wanted their fingerprints on it. They wanted a patsy to take the fall, in the event a fall ever needed to be taken.”
Following that line of thought, I said, “And if it came to light, the firm could shovel the crap in our direction. The partners would say they had patriotically volunteered their services for this Army program, and never realized how stupid and incompetent JAG officers are.”
“But like you, Lisa probably discovered it, and she had to be eliminated.”
“Right.”
“But how did they get onto her?”
“Well, when I became curious, I faxed the audit to my brother, who’s a business wizard. He interpreted the spreadsheets and told me what I should worry about.”
“Back to Lisa, please.”
“We’ve never left Lisa. The other victims, what were their jobs?”
“A TV news personality, an accountant, an SEC attorney… oh, shit.”
“Right. Lisa stumbled onto something suspicious, something she didn’t understand, and she gave financial data to Julia Cuthburt, an accountant, and Anne Carrol, an SEC attorney, for inter pretation.”
“But how did the firm find out?”
“Hal Merriweather, I think.”
“Why?”
“Hal gets printouts from the server twice a day. I’d guess that when Lisa e-mailed Cuthburt and Carrol, Merriweather recognized the SEC and Cuthburt’s accounting firm from their Internet addresses.”
“What about Fiorio?”
“Maybe Lisa was using her to expose this thing. I don’t know what her role was, or why she was murdered.”
And of course, Janet then asked, “And me? Lisa and I never discussed a word about this.”
“Well, I’ve thought about that.”
“Go on.”
“In Lisa’s e-mails to you, Cuthburt, and Carrol, she mentioned packages. I think the packages were the audit, and I think Merriweather presumed you got one, too.”
In fact, I was speculating wildly. I was connecting dots in midair. But the dots did connect.
After a moment, Janet said, “So they sent a hit man after Lisa, and the rest of us, to bury it.”
“Yes.” Then I said, “Incidentally, did you call your friend in Boston and ask him to check on Grand Vistas?”
“I did. I should call him back now, shouldn’t I?”
She should, and we agreed she’d call me right back. I returned to the living room, where Spinelli and his buddies were seated on the couch, shotguns in their laps, eyes glued to an old rerun of Miami Vice. Cops love their cop shows.
We spent a few moments surveying the preparations. This began with an incisive dissertation by Charlie about the vulnerabilities and ports of entry to my home. My apartment complex had been built some fifty years earlier, when construction techniques included heavy steel girders, cinderblock walls, and super-thick layers between floors. Were the building newer and less sturdy, he informed me, intruders might blow their way through walls or ceilings, but that wouldn’t happen here. I informed Charlie that this was exactly the selling point that drew me here. He thought that was very funny.
He next showed me an electronic device he had installed on the floor of the tiny porch off my living room: a dark pad that operates like a dog fence, except the current is triggered by touch and vibration. Were I to, say, accidentally wander out onto my porch, Charlie assured me, I’d be fine. I’d get some fried hairtips and loose teeth, but the voltage was designed to be incapacitating, not lethal. My windows were covered with dark paper and wired with motion sensors. A miniature camera in a filament had been run underneath the door, displaying the hallway. Four metal shooter’s shields of the variety favored by SWAT teams had been erected in the living room, facing the door.
After we inspected all these little treats and nasties, Bill asked me, “What makes you think he’ll come soon?”
“A hunch.”
Charlie asked, “How does he even know you’re here?”
“Because they’ve been following Janet and me for days.”
“They?” Spinelli asked. I guess I had failed to mention this part to him.
“Yes, they,” I responded. “Inside the files in the rental car were multiple photos of Janet and me. Janet, for instance, was photographed the same day Lisa died. The picture was taken in Boston. Think about that.”
“No shit.”
“He’s not acting alone. He has an accomplice who handles the research, probably handles logistics, and helps set up the kill.”
He shook his head. “That’s how the asshole kills so many, so quickly.”
“We should assume they saw me leave the firm and come here.”
The phone rang and I returned to the bedroom.
It was Janet, and she informed me, “I caught John at home. He says there’s nothing in his database about Grand Vistas.”
“Is that odd?”
“For privately owned internationals that do little business in the States, no. So he called the U. S. consulate in Bermuda. The consulate found an address and sent a man over to check. Grand Vistas occupies a small office on Hamilton Street. The consulate man spoke with the landlord and was told Grand Vistas has rented the office the past four years. The landlord says he rarely sees anybody enter or leave.”
“Meaning what?”
“John was guessing, but the office might contain a phone switch. The office fulfills the residency requirements; calls come in and are rerouted somewhere else.”
“Isn’t that odd?”
“Not according to John. Corporations that want the tax benefits of Bermudan registration set up these empty shells fairly frequently.” She added, “He then called the SEC and asked some contacts there if they have anything on Grand Vistas.”
“Did they?”
“They never heard of it.”
“Anything else?”
“One more thing. The SEC sent an open inquiry to their counterparts in every European country. It was marked expedite, so hopefully they’ll respond soon.”
There was a long silence, then Janet said, “Sean, it’s time to tell George about this.”
“Is he there?… With you?”
“No. He dropped me off and immediately left to attend to some business. He left me his cell phone number.”
“We will not tell him. Not yet.”
“What are you worried about?”
“Did I mention who runs the backbone of the FBI’s data and Internet needs? Morris Networks.”
“This is scary.”
She was right. It was scary.
But I was also pleased that the pieces were finally falling into place. It was all coming together-the killer, the motive, the accomplices-all the who, what, and how stuff that solves a crime. Right?
Wrong. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something, something big, that in making everything fit
