Forget to Remember (28 page)

“Do they have a lot of money to give
away?”

“Just between you and me, they don’t have
much right now. But they’re expecting a truckload of it. My advice
is, come back in six months. They may not have the money by then,
but they’ll have a pretty good idea whether they’re going to get
it. We’re beneficiaries of a large estate. The executor’s supposed
to be looking for an heir, but Katherine said the girl they found
is bogus.”

Oh yeah? Carol had to choke back a retort.
“What kind of a person is Ms. Simpson?”

“She’s okay. We get along fine. You might
think by looking at her that she’d be an airhead, but she’s not.
She’s got a law degree.” Betty looked as if she might say more but
apparently decided against it.

Carol looked at her watch. “You said she’ll
be in at ten?”

“She
might
be. I can’t count on it.
Sometimes she doesn’t show up. She goes to meetings and stuff like
that. You can wait if you’d like. Tell you what, I’ll give her a
call and try to find out her schedule.”

As Betty picked up a phone, the door opened
and a man walked briskly into the office. They both turned toward
him.

Betty said, “It isn’t often that we have two
visitors in one morning. This place is getting to be Grand Central
Station.”

The man held a manila envelope. “Delivery
for Katherine Simpson.”

He was dressed in casual work clothes,
including a sport shirt, slacks, and loafers. His short hair was
graying.
He must be in his fifties.
He wasn’t bad looking,
but his lined face wasn’t quite symmetrical. He wore a mustache
Carol suspected hid some sort of scar.

Betty held out her hand. “I’ll be glad to
give it to her.”

He kept hold of it. “I have to deliver it in
person. When will she be in?”

“Like I was telling
her
,” Betty
gestured toward Carol, “she might be in at ten—or she might not. I
was just about to call her.”

She called a number on the phone she still
held in her hand. She carried on a brief conversation as Carol and
the man eyed each other while pretending not to. Betty hung up the
phone.

“Katherine’s not going to be in until
mid-afternoon, maybe two thirty.”

The man’s voice, which had been very
business-like, suddenly became more conversational. “What’s your
name, young lady?”

Betty looked around as if she were not
certain he was talking to her. “I’m Betty.”

“Well, Betty, as I said, I have to deliver
this into the hands of Katherine Simpson, but since you work here,
I can tell you a little about what’s in it.”

“I’m a volunteer.”

The man smiled a slightly lopsided smile.
“That’s okay. The envelope contains relevant information about the
Sakai estate.”

That got Betty’s attention. “Is it from the
attorney—Mr. Vigiano?”

The man’s voice became lower—more
conspiratorial but he didn’t try to exclude Carol from the
conversation. “Actually, no. It’s from an interested third party
who wants to see justice done. I’ve been instructed to give the
information not only to Katherine Simpson, but to the members of
your board of directors. You wouldn’t happen to have their
addresses, would you?”

Betty shook her head. “Katherine will have
to tell you that information.”

“Time is of the essence here.”

“Katherine will be here at two thirty. Why
don’t you come back then?”

“Well…I’m sure you don’t want them to be
able to say the foundation lost out on millions because of
something you didn’t do…”

Betty’s voice became very cool. “Katherine’s
meeting with a donor, but give me your name and phone number, and
I’ll have her call you as soon as I hear from her.”

The man patted his pants pockets. “Sorry. I
don’t have my business cards with me. My name’s Basil. I’ll be back
this afternoon. I just hope it won’t be too late…”

He paused, as if waiting for Betty to say
something, but when she didn’t, he spun around on one foot, opened
the door, and left the office. Betty watched him go.

“What a strange man. Well, Katherine’s very
clear about not giving out information.”

Carol wanted to stay on her good side. “That
sounds like a sensible policy. Identity theft and that sort of
thing. I’ve taken enough of your time. Maybe I’ll come back this
afternoon also.”

They said good-bye, and Carol left. She
walked down the stairs. Even if it wasn’t necessary for security
reasons, it was good exercise. As she exited the building, she
looked around for the delivery man but didn’t see him. Was he
somehow helping the foundation plot against her?

She walked between two cars in the first
parking row to the driver’s side of her car in the second row. A
Jeep was sitting to her right, backed into the parking place. She
noticed the driver’s window was open. Careless. Then she saw a
slight movement in the front seat of the Jeep.

Fear gripped her gut as she opened the door
of her car. A voice from the Jeep said, “Turn right out of the
parking lot and go to the Starbucks, two blocks on the right. Wait
for me there.”

Carol quickly got into her car and closed
and locked the door. It was the voice of the delivery man—Basil, or
whoever. She looked in her outside mirror, but she couldn’t see
inside the Jeep. Did he know who she was? She had to get out of
here.

She backed out of her parking place, forcing
herself not to panic and cause an accident. As she passed the front
seat of the Jeep, she caught a glimpse of Basil. He was apparently
talking on a cell phone and ignoring her. She drove to the parking
lot exit and was about to turn left when she suddenly realized who
he was. He was the private detective Paul hired.

She changed her mind and turned right. Sure
enough, in two blocks she saw the familiar Starbucks sign. She
pulled into the driveway. This time she backed into a parking space
as Basil had done. It would allow her to make a faster escape. She
was learning how to be a detective. She went inside and purchased
herbal tea, the cheapest item on the menu, and then went outside
and sat at one of the tables.

It was cloudy and cool, but she was wearing
her raincoat. Its airtight construction kept her warm. The constant
din of the urban area assailed her ears, mostly from cars, trucks,
and an occasional bus passing on the street. A few people went into
and out of the coffee shop, but nobody sat close to her. The
distance from others, plus the noise, would mask anything she and
Basil talked about.

His Jeep pulled into the lot in about five
minutes. He backed into the space beside her car again. He got out
and walked toward her without seeming to look at her. He sat on the
bench adjacent to hers. Both were attached to the round table. He
didn’t look at her. Carol felt as if she were in a spy movie. She
decided she wasn’t going to be the first to speak. After a minute
of nervously sipping her tea, this resolution became difficult to
keep, but she stuck to it. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Did you find out anything?”

“No more than you did. Katherine will be in
this afternoon. I take it Paul sent you.”

A barely perceptible nod. Carol decided
silence wasn’t going to educate her. “How did you know who I
was?”

He grinned as if this were a joke. He was
holding the envelope he had carried into the foundation office. He
undid the clips, opened it, and pulled out a computer-printed
version of one of the pictures Rigo had taken of her.

“Paul must have e-mailed this to you.” She
felt stupid. “Is this what you were going to show Katherine?”

He finally looked her in the eye. “I wasn’t
going to show Katherine anything.”

A light dawned. “You knew she wasn’t there.
The envelope was a ruse. You were trying to get information from
Betty.”

“Give the girl a silver cigar. I called the
office ten minutes before to find out whether Katherine was there,
disguising my voice. What about you? Did you know where Katherine
was when you went strolling in?”

“No.”

“What name did you give this Betty?”

“Aiko.”

“At least you didn’t tell her your real
name. But don’t you think Katherine would have recognized you in a
nanosecond if she’d been there?”

“As far as I know she’s never seen me…oh,
you mean because of Michael. He would have a picture…”

“Paul told me to protect you, but if you
don’t smarten up, I don’t know if I can.”

“Basil—”

“My name is Ivan.”

Of course. “Ivan, you’re right. I was
stupid. I’m sorry. You were trying to get the addresses of the
directors, but Betty wouldn’t give them to you.”

“It was worth a try. Might as well take the
simple approach first.”

He smiled. He actually had a nice smile,
even though it was lopsided.

“Why did you want their addresses?”

“Let’s focus on the objective, which is to
find Michael Sakai. There is no Michael Sakai associated with the
foundation. That makes sense because he’s supposed to be dead.
Therefore, if he’s connected with it, he must be using an assumed
name. It’s likely he’s a director under this name. There are five
directors, including Katherine. One of the other directors is a
woman. That leaves three male directors. I already know the
addresses of two of them.”

“How did you get them?”

“The Internet. For most people, if you have
a name and approximate location, finding an address on the Internet
is easy. You can also find out phone numbers, e-mail addresses,
what organizations they donate money to, and then look at the car
parked in their driveway with Google Earth.

“That’s scary.”

“You bet it is.”

“But if you already know their
addresses—”

“I couldn’t find one for the name Jake
Zimmerman. Sure, there are Jake Zimmermans, but not the correct
one. There are a few references to a Jake Zimmerman as a director
of Weatherford but no address for him except a P.O. Box. It’s the
P.O. Box for the foundation. No phone numbers to cross-reference.
He apparently doesn’t even have a driver’s license.”

“So you think he might be Michael?”

“That’s my suspicion.”

“How are we going to find him?”

“I heard the ‘we.’ Okay. If I’m going to
protect you, it’s better if I keep you in sight. Do you mind riding
with me?”

“I’m not afraid of you if that’s what you
mean. Michael has tried to kill me four times. It’s him I’m afraid
of.”

“Fortunately—or unfortunately—there’s no
reason to be afraid of me. Okay, you can park your car at my
office. It’s not far. The last thing we want to do is run around in
a vehicle with a North Carolina plate.”

CHAPTER 36

Ivan also had computer-printed pictures of
Michael and Katherine. In Michael’s picture his hair was brown and
fairly short, but the facial similarities to the man who’d attacked
Carol dispelled any lingering doubts she might have had that they
were the same person. Katherine was a blond beauty. She wouldn’t be
difficult to spot.

They went to the homes of the two male
directors Ivan had addresses for. Both were in the affluent
residential areas of Fairfax County. They parked down the street
from the first house. Carol volunteered to go to the door.

“I look more like a census taker than you
do.”

“What if Michael comes to the door?”

“We agreed that finding him here is a long
shot, but if it should happen, you’ll come running to my
rescue.”

“I’m not Superman.”

“I want to get a good look at him. I doubt
that he’s going to shoot me at his front door.”

Carol prevailed over Ivan’s reluctance. She
rang the doorbell, carrying a clipboard supplied by him, and when a
woman answered, she called the woman by her last name and said she
was gathering pre-census information for the two thousand ten
census.

Fortunately, the woman didn’t ask to see her
badge. Carol asked how many adults and how many children lived in
the house. The answer was two adults and three children. The woman
was holding one of the children in her arms. Carol was able to get
inside the door, and she saw a family picture in the next room that
appeared to verify what the woman said. In any case, the man in the
picture wasn’t Michael.

At the second house, nobody was home,
although there was a car in the driveway. Carol copied the license
plate information. She went to the house next door, gave her spiel,
and after the woman had told about her own family, Carol asked how
many people lived in the house she had just been to. The answer was
a man, a wife, and a child.

Back in the Jeep, Carol reported to Ivan.
“I’m certain Michael doesn’t live here with a wife and child since
he’s never been married although, you can check the car ownership
if you want to.”

“I’ll do it just to cover all the bases. I’m
sure it will show the car is owned by…” he glanced at his pad
“…Stuart Jackson, the director. That won’t tell us anything new.
Let’s get some lunch and figure out what we’re going to do
next.”

***

According to Ivan’s GPS, Katherine Simpson’s
home was on a cul-de-sac at the end of a one-block street. They
followed the directions of the imperious female voice, which led
them to the subdivision where they cruised slowly along the street
in question and spotted the roomy, two-story house with vinyl
siding and many windows. The two garage doors were closed, and no
cars were in the driveway.

Ivan shook his head. “We obviously can’t
park here. We’d stick out like burqa wearers at a nude beach. The
highway is on the other side of that sound-suppression fence. Maybe
we can come in from there.”

Carol could hear the traffic going by on the
other side of the fence. The tall wooden structure, painted brown,
had been built, as Ivan said, to muffle the sound and also to
isolate the residents from the rest of the world.