change-of-address section on the third bill and had future ones sent to a fictitious business manager named Stewart Hoffstedder, C.P.A. One of Mr. Hoffstedder's services was paying clients' bills. He had a post office box in New York City to receive the bills, and he issued neatly typed checks from a large New York bank to pay them. The imaginary Mr. Hoffstedder was so reliable that each year most of his clients would have their credit limits increased.
Sometimes Jane would grow a different kind of credit card. It would begin with her opening a joint checking account for herself and her husband, who was so busy that she had to bring the signature card home and have him sign it and return it by mail. Months passed while the husband paid for his mail-order goods with the checks and got his credit card. Then Jane would close the joint checking account and make sure the imaginary Mr. Hoffstedder got her imaginary husband's bills. She could use the man's card to pay expenses if she made reservations over the telephone, and when traveling let people guess whether she was wife, lover, or colleague without having to give herself any name at all.
After Katherine Webster checked into the hotel, she bought the San Diego newspapers, went directly to her room, ordered dinner from room service, and made the preparations she had planned during her long trip across the country. First she ordered a rental car by telephone, the keys to be delivered to her room for Mr. William Dunlavey, and the car left in the hotel parking lot. She spent a few minutes reading the society page of the
When the alarm woke her, she checked the name she had found on the society page again: Marcy Hungerford of Del Mar, co-chair of the Women of St. James Fund-raising Committee and honorary chair of this year's ball, was headed for the family's eastern digs in Palm Beach. That was the best name in the columns. Honorary chairs were either famous or had money, and Marcy Hunger-ford wasn't famous. She was doing fund-raising and was active in that world, so she might have one telephone number that people could find. Jane checked the telephone book and found it listed, with the address beside it.
Jane took the stairs to the swimming pool, went out the garden gate, and skirted the building to the parking lot. She had no difficulty finding the rented car. She had told the woman on the telephone that Mr. Dunlavey liked big black cars, and this one had a small sticker on the left rear bumper that had the right rental company's name on it. She walked farther along the line of cars until she found one with an Auto Club sticker, peeled it off with a nail file, and stuck it over the one on her car's bumper.
She drove out to the Golden State Freeway, headed north to the first Del Mar exit, went over a high mesa and came down onto the road along the ocean. The houses on the west side of the street were big and far apart, and she could see vast stretches of flat beach on the other side of them. When she found Marcy Hungerford's house she was satisfied. It was two stories with a long, sloped roof and stilts on the beach side, a four-car garage under it on the street side, and about eight thousand square feet in the middle. She drove past it at thirty miles an hour and studied the exterior. The establishment was too complicated for Marcy Hungerford to have given all of the servants the week off or taken them with her, but they would cause no trouble. By the time they realized something was wrong, it wouldn't be wrong anymore.
At nine a.m. Jane found a little shop in San Diego that rented post office boxes, and she took a key and paid for a month in the name of Marcy Hungerford. Then she drove back to Del Mar and found the post office. She filled out a change-of-address form and had all of Marcy Hungerford's mail sent to her new post office box beginning the next day.
At ten a.m. Jane went to a pay telephone in a quiet corner of Balboa Park and dialed a Los Angeles number. As she put the coins into the slot, she checked her watch again.
'Hoffen-Bayne,' said the receptionist.
'I'd like to speak to a representative for new customers, please,' said Jane.
'Your name?'
'Marcy Hungerford.'
'Please hold and I'll transfer you to Mr. Hanlon.' There were a few clicks and a man said 'Ronald Hanlon' in a quiet, calm voice. 'What can I do for you, Ms. Hungerford?'
Jane said, 'It's Mrs. I'm considering new financial management and I'm shopping around. I'd like to know more about Hoffen-Bayne.'
Mr. Hanlon said, 'Well, we've been in business in Los Angeles since 1948 and handle a full range of financial affairs for a great many people. We offer investment specialists, tax specialists, accountants, property-management teams, and so on. If you could give me a rough idea of your needs, I think I could give you a more focused picture.'
That was the money question. 'Well,' said Jane, 'my husband's affairs are managed by Chase Manhattan.' This established that she wasn't somebody who had just dialed the wrong number; banks seldom managed anything less than a few million. 'But I have some assets I like to hold separately.' She kept her voice cheerful and opaque. Maybe there were problems with the marriage, and maybe not. If there were, California was a community-property state, and this meant she might be talking about some money the husband didn't know about and half of what he had at Chase Manhattan. She was giving Mr. Hanlon a small taste. 'I'm interested in having somebody I trust manage my money conservatively so that it pays a reliable income each year.'
'Conservative' meant she didn't need to gamble to make more, and the income was another hint of divorce.
Hanlon rose to the bait slowly and smoothly. 'Yes, that sounds wise,' he said. 'That would mean setting you up with our accountants and tax people, and a financial planner.'
'And property management,' she added. 'Do you have arrangements to handle foreign real estate? France and Italy?'
That did it. He wasn't talking to a lady with a couple hundred thousand in passbooks. 'I think the best thing to do would be to make an appointment and we can talk it all over in detail with advisers from some of our departments. When are you free?'
'That's a problem,' said Jane. 'I live in San Diego and I'm leaving for Palm Beach today.' She checked her watch again to see how long she had been talking.
'When will you be back?'
'I'm not sure. It could be a month. I'm asking for information from several companies. I'm going to look it over while I'm away, and when I'm back I'll have the choices narrowed down.' The element of competition would help. 'I'd like to have you send me whatever material you've got that will help me know whether your company is the right one for me.' She decided Marcy Hungerford had no reason to be vague, and making her naive wouldn't help. 'I'd like to know the backgrounds and qualifications of your investment people, financial planners, and so on.'
Mr. Hanlon seemed a little surprised. Maybe she had gone too far. 'I think we have some things we can send you. What's your address?'
'It's 99.233 The Shores, Del Mar, California 91.182.' She glanced at her watch again. She had only twenty seconds left before the operator came on and asked for more quarters.
'Phone?'
Jane gave him Marcy Hungerford's telephone number. The answering machine or the maids would tell him she was out of town.
'Got it,' he said. 'I'll get that right out to you.'
Ten seconds left. 'Fine. I'll watch for it. And thanks.' She hung up and walked across the lush green grass of the park in the direction of the zoo. She felt satisfied. Hanlon would make a serious attempt to impress her with Hoffen-Bayne's operation. The main issue would be whether he had caught the hint about backgrounds. Whoever had gone after Timmy Phillips had been in the company seven years ago and was still there.
The next morning when Jane went for her run on the beach, she considered the ways of taking the company apart so that she could see what was inside. If Hoffen-Bayne had been around since 1948, then they had almost certainly been sued. She could drive up to U.C.L.A. and hire a student to research the county records for the cases. The least that would give her were the names of the people at Hoffen-Bayne who had been served with subpoenas, and almost any lawsuit would provide a lot more.
But that would mean dreaming up another story to tell the law student that would make him feel comfortable about doing it but not comfortable enough to talk about it freely. It would also place the student in a public building where someone might notice that he had an unusual curiosity about one particular company. He might be helping somebody build a case. That sort of information might easily get back to Hoffen-Bayne. Certainly when Dennis
