Lean Mean Thirteen

'That's heavy,' Connie said. 'Reserved clients are those with at least ten million in assets. What else do you have on that list?'

I pulled a chair up to Connie's desk and gave her the list. 'The three numbers on the sticky page came from a piece of paper in Joyce's desk. The rest came from her phone.'

'Doing some breaking and entering?'

'Only entering. Her door was open. I'd like to get into that account, but it asks for an account number.'

Connie looked at the sticky page. 'Joyce isn't smart. If she had to write the phone number down, I'm guessing the rest of the information is there too.'

'The top number is the phone number. The second number I don't recognize, and the last number is Dickie's social security number.'

'And they were written in this order on her pad?'

'Yep.'

Connie punched the Smith Barney phone number in. The automated voice asked for the account number and Connie gave it the second nine-digit number. The voice asked for the access code and Connie punched in the social security number. Access denied. Connie went through the routine again and gave it just the last four digits of the social security number.

'I'm in,' Connie said. 'There's a zero balance. And the last transaction was a forty-million-dollar withdrawal. That was two weeks ago.' Connie hung up and looked at me. 'That's a shitload of money. Whose account is this?'

'I don't know.'

'It can't be Joyce's,' Connie said. 'She'd be in the Bahamas buying men and goats. The access code is from Dickie's social security number, so the logical assumption would be that it's Dickie's account. But I don't know how Dickie would get that kind of money. That's a lot of billable hours.'

No kidding. When Joyce said Dickie was worth money, I wasn't thinking this kind of money. 'Maybe he stole it from the guys who snatched him, and they got cranky.'

Connie took the list of numbers I'd lifted from the phone, typed them into her computer, and plugged them into the by-phone number program.

'After we get rid of the dupes, there are sixteen numbers,' Connie said. 'I'll run them and print them out for you.'

I watched the information come in. Five calls from the law firm in the last two days. And Joyce got an incoming call at one in the morning from 'Peter Smullen right after Dickie disappeared.

'Isn't Smullen a partner?' Connie asked.

'Yes. That's kind of weird that he called Joyce at one in the morning.'

'Maybe there's something going on with them.'

Yuk. What would that mean for my meeting? I thought Smullen wanted to talk to me about kidnapping and murder. It would be horrible if it turned out he wanted to talk about sex. Maybe he didn't notice the bug. Maybe he noticed the cleavage.

The rest of the list looked benign. I took the printed copy from Connie and shoved it into my bag.

'Gotta go,' I said to Connie.

Connie reached into her top drawer, took out a box of rounds for my Smith & Wesson, and tossed them to me. 'Just in case.'

I left the bonds office, settled myself in the Cayenne, and called Ranger.

'Yo,' Ranger said.

'I took your advice and went to talk to Joyce, and 1 learned there's a Smith Barney account that has Dickie's social security number as an access code. It has a zero balance and the last withdrawal was forty million dollars.'

'Joyce shared that with you?'

'More or less. When you went through Dickie's house, did you search his home office?'

'No. I wanted to see the crime scene, and I didn't have time for much else. I slid in between police investigations.'

'Maybe it would be a good idea to poke around in Dickie's office and see what turns up. I'd like to prowl through his law office too, but that feels more complicated.'

'Where are you now?'

'I'm at the bonds office.'

'Pick me up at RangeMan.'

Range Man is located on a quiet side street in downtown Trenton. It's a relatively small, unobtrusive seven- story building sandwiched between other commercial properties. There's a number on the front door and a small brass plaque, but no sign announcing RangeMan. Parking is underground in a gated garage. Ranger's private apartment is located on the top floor. The whole operation is very high-tech and secure.

Ranger was waiting outside for me. I pulled to the curb and placed his hat on the console. He got in and put the hat on.

'Do you feel better now?' I asked him.

'A friend gave this hat to me just before he died. It's a reminder to stay alert.'

I glanced over at him. 'I thought you wore it because it looked hot.'

That got a smile from him. 'Do you think I look hot in this hat?'

I thought he looked hot in everything. 'It's a pretty good hat,' I told him.

When I reached Dickie's house, I did a slow drive-by. The crime scene tape had been taken down, and the house no longer felt ominous. No cars in the driveway. No lights shining from windows.

'Park in front of the house,' Ranger said. 'We're going in like we belong here.'

We walked to the door, and Ranger tried the handle. Locked. He took a small tool from his jacket pocket, and in twenty seconds the door was open. I suspected the tool was for show, and if I hadn't been watching he'd say abracadabra and the door would unlock.

I followed Ranger in and the ominous feeling returned. There were still bloodstains on the floor, and the house had been tossed.

'Did it look like this when you were here?' I asked.

'No. Someone's been here looking for something, and they weren't subtle.'

We went room by room, not disturbing the mess that had been made. Drawers were open, contents thrown onto the floor. Cushions were on the floor too, and some of them were slashed. Mattresses ditto. His office was more orderly only because it had clearly been carefully picked over. His computer was missing. His files were also missing. No way to know if they'd been taken by the police or by whoever ransacked the house. All messages on the answering machine were from Joyce.

'Time's up,' Ranger said. 'We need to get out of here.'

We left the same way we came in. Ranger slid behind the wheel of the Cayenne, and we drove away. I checked my watch and realized I was due for dinner at my parents'.

I reached Morelli on his cell. 'It's Friday,' I said.

'And?'

'Dinner?'

'Oh crap,' Morelli said. 'I forgot. I can't make it. I'm tied up here.'

I didn't say anything. I just sat on the phone.

'It's my job,' Morelli said. 'You can't get mad at me for doing my job.'

And that was true, but I didn't want to go to dinner without Morelli. I was afraid I'd get relentlessly grilled about Dickie if I didn't have Morelli on board to distract my mother and grandmother.

'Is that Bob barking?'

'Yeah, Bob's with me.'

'So what kind of job is this?'

'It's a secret job.'

'And when is this secret job going to be done?'

'I don't know. Hopefully soon.'