Dominion (80 page)

“Bad news,” Ollie said to Clarence over the phone.

“What?”

“My cop buddy went to the addresses for Robert Rose and Jerome Rice. Guess what he found?”

“They moved away and nobody knows where they are. Or they were phony names?”

“Robert Rose and Jerome Rice are real guys all right, and they used to live at those addresses. We’ve even got their forwarding addresses. Problem is, they’re cemeteries. Robert died two years ago, Jerome fourteen months. Two law-abiding black males in their twenties.”

“Then how—”

“Fake IDs. Assumed identities. Our perps are well connected. If my theory about the Sacramento payoff is right, maybe the money man pulled off the ID thing with access to official records. Who knows?”

“It’s not that tough to do.” It startled Clarence to hear Manny’s voice on the line. “The Hispanic drug lords have turned fake ID into an art form. It’s done with illegal aliens all the time. Maybe some of the black gangs are getting into it.”

“Uh, hi, Manny. So, how do you assume someone’s identity and get all those papers?”

“You watch the obituaries,” Manny said, “or check out fresh graves and get the name from the tombstone.”

“You’re kidding,” Clarence said.

“Then you call in, say you’re so and so, that you’ve had all your ID stolen, and you apply for a duplicate Social Security card.”

“Social Security doesn’t know when somebody dies?”

“If they’re over sixty-five they usually know,” Manny said, “although you still have people drawing other people’s Social Security benefits twenty years after they die. But if it’s guys in their twenties, it’s not that hard to assume an identity. Once you’ve got that one card, it’s your ticket to brand new photo IDs, driver’s license, credit cards, everything. If you’re good, you can pull off a birth certificate.”

“You just have to be sure there aren’t warrants out for the dead guy’s arrest,” Ollie said. “I knew a case where some petty burglar, a white guy, got fake ID from a dude who died in a traffic accident, then he went out and did an armed robbery. Next week he gets pulled over for a speeding ticket, thinks he’s cool with his fake ID, and the cop arrests him for murder. Took this guy and his lawyer the better part of a year to convince everybody he was only guilty of armed robbery.”

“We seem to keep going back to ground zero,” Clarence said.

“Not ground zero. If it’s a real picture on the photo ID, we’ve got that much. If it isn’t, we know it had to be a close match, so it beats a police sketch. We’ve still got the temporary stickers on the new car, the Mercedes. I’m running the temps to see if our friends have racked up some more violations for us to look at. I’ll let you know. Lunch at the deli tomorrow, right? Meanwhile I’ve got something else to check out.”

Dani saw it as having the rich sense of history of a museum and the natural beauty of Victoria’s Butchart Gardens, multiplied a thousand times. It was both indoors and outdoors. As she walked, she enjoyed varieties and colors of flowers she’d never imagined. She read accounts of lives lived out on earth, then watched them as they actually happened. It reminded her of a hall of fame where you press the button to see old film footage, except here she was seeing the events on earth as they actually happened.

She expected to see great historic dramas, evangelistic rallies, large stadiumpacked events, well-known musicians, athletes, writers, and speakers. She saw some of those, but not nearly as many as she anticipated.

What she did see were innumerable people she’d never heard of. More than anything, she saw old women on their knees. She looked through the portal and listened to their prayers. Most often they prayed for sons and daughters, husbands and brothers and grandchildren. They also prayed for pastors and missionaries. She saw a familiar dress, a woman on her knees praying for Dani and Clarence and Marney, Harley and Obadiah and their pastor. And especially for Ellis.

“Mama!” Dani half expected the old woman on her knees to stop praying and look up at her, but of course the portal only worked one way, and it was her mother praying not now but those many years ago.

Watching her mother day by day, Dani witnessed innumerable acts of faithfulness, seldom seen and seldom appreciated, but each kept track of carefully by Elyon, the Watcher and Rewarder. She continued to walk through this place, fascinated by the people she saw. Many of these faithful old women were black. A disproportionate number, it seemed to Dani. Perhaps because these women knew how to suffer, they also learned how to hope. Perhaps because they had so little earthly power, they felt more compelled to call upon heavenly power.

Clarence arrived at the deli ten minutes early, thinking that for once he’d get there before Ollie. Wrong. There he was, sitting in the corner with coffee and pastry.

“Clarence. I’ve just got fifteen minutes, so I’ll cut to the chase.” Ollie was unusually brisk. “I didn’t tell you I called the four big Portland abortion clinics. They weren’t very cooperative. Had to get warrants to see their records. Looked them over yesterday afternoon. Turns out Leesa Fletcher was scheduled for an appointment at the Lovepeace Clinic August 23. So I see this little notation next to her name. When I pressed them on it, I found out she didn’t make the appointment herself. Someone else made it for her. From what I gathered, sometimes the girl’s parent or the boyfriend or the boyfriend’s mother or sister or somebody makes the appointment and tries to talk the girl into coming. Well, they couldn’t tell me who made the appointment for her, except the receptionist thought maybe she remembered it was a man and assumed it was her boyfriend or father. Anyway, Leesa never showed up for this appointment—thanks to your friend Sue running interference. And there’s no record she ever got the abortion anywhere else, not in this city anyway. The medical examiner who did the autopsy is out of town, so we have to wait on that mystery.”

“Something else has been bugging me,” Clarence said. “Let’s say Harper paid these guys for the hit. First, would he really pay them before getting confirmation they’d done the job? And if he did pay them, wouldn’t he demand it back when he found out they hit the wrong house?”

“The thing is, what could he do?” Ollie said. “Take them to court because they killed the wrong people for him? These are politicians, not Mafia bosses. They can’t afford to demand justice from everybody. They mess with the guys they pay and maybe those guys will turn on them. Who knows? Politicians can afford to lose other people’s money. But they can’t afford to have the people who do their dirty work get unhappy with them. I figure they just wrote it off as a loss.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Clarence said.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Ollie said. “The week before the murder, we’ve got two voice calls and one fax from Norcoast’s private line to Harper’s. There’s no documentation of what’s said in a voice call unless someone records it, which in this case is highly unlikely. But a fax, now that’s worth pursuing. Where there’s a fax, there’s a good chance there’s still a record.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, whether you print out hard copy and hand fax it or you send it directly through a fax modem, if you type it on a computer it’s likely been saved to the hard disk, if not deliberately, by an autosave feature.”

“I’ve been in Norcoast’s office,” Clarence said. “Don’t know how much he uses it, but he has his own computer.”

“Of course I can’t get to it without a warrant. But I’d sure love to explore that hard disk.”

“If you had access to it, what would you do?” Clarence asked.

“First, I’d look under the word processing program and see if there’s a ‘fax’ or ‘letter’ subdirectory. I’d see if any letter was saved on the dates the faxes were sent, August 27 and 29. In fact, I’d check any file anywhere saved on those dates. Then I’d use a global search program. Look for all text files containing the name Harper. Then I’d search for his fax number. If that didn’t turn up anything, I’d use Norton Utilities or something similar to unerase every file I could, even the partials.” Ollie looked at Clarence’s scribbling hand. “Why are you taking notes on this?”

“I’m a journalist. I can take notes whenever I feel like it. You’re sure you can’t get legal access to that computer?”

“No way I’ve got probable cause for the warrant. It’s circumstantial evidence and hunches. That’s enough in a dictatorship, but this is the land of the free. Bummer, huh?”

“I think,” Clarence said, “tomorrow I’m going to pay a visit to Norcoast’s office.”

Ollie raised his hands in the air and stood up. “I don’t want to hear anything about what you’re doing tomorrow. This conversation is over. Have a good lunch.” He walked away. They still hadn’t ordered. Clarence had never seen Ollie turn his back on a meal.

“Councilman Norcoast’s office, Sheila speaking.”

“Hi, Sheila, this is Clarence Abernathy from the
Trib.
Listen, I’m wanting to do a column on some of the highlights of Councilman Norcoast’s career.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. This would be a positive column, right?”

“Oh, sure. I’ve been spending time with Reg lately, and I feel I owe him some good press. But I’d like this to be a surprise. Reg is out of town, right?”

“Yes. He won’t be back until Saturday. Mr. Gray’s with him. And Jean’s at a seminar in Salem. It’s kind of a ghost town here today. Just me and a part-time secretary. Do you want me to fax you some information on Mr. Norcoast’s accomplishments?”

“Well, with all his accomplishments there’s probably quite a bit to sort through, isn’t there? Tell you what, if it wouldn’t be an inconvenience, how about I just come over and look through what you have? I could bring my laptop computer and maybe work on the column there. Would that be all right?”

“Oh, sure. That would be just fine.”

“Great. I’ll be over in an hour. And remember, let’s keep this a surprise until the column’s done, okay?”