Forget to Remember, page 21
part #1 of Carol Golden Series
The trees in the countryside Carol passed through on her drive north had started to change color in a few places but were still predominantly green. The traffic became heavier and slower as she approached the Washington, D.C., area on I-95. Families were returning home after weekend trips.
The weather was warm and dry, and the drive was easy for Carol, who, according to her English friend, Janet, had driven under far worse conditions when she was teaching there. Carol, or Aiko as she had been known in England, had a reputation for clicking outside mirrors with parked cars on the narrow roads.
Carol went over the same territory for the umpteenth time, trying to determine whether they were doing the right thing. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Michael was dead. That should give her an advantage in looking for him. He would feel secure in his anonymity. Perhaps he’d even convinced himself she hadn’t recognized him with his red hair. After all, she had amnesia.
If they wanted to talk to the police, who would they talk to? The Chapel Hill police? It was almost certain Michael wasn’t in Chapel Hill. The FBI, because multiple states were involved? Wouldn’t someone leak word to the media, alerting Michael to the fact he’d been outed? The situation could get very complicated and take an enormous amount of her time, and there would be no assurance any law enforcement group could find Michael, even if Carol’s story were believed.
She checked into a motel in Fairfax County where she’d reserved a room by phone. It was part of the economy chain of the motel she’d stayed at in North Carolina and looked like it. This gave her a moment of anxiety, but she rationalized there was no way Michael could know she was here. The security leak had been stopped, and she hadn’t told anyone where she was going to stay, not even Mrs. Horton. Nevertheless, she asked for a second floor room and took the stairs up and down, eschewing the elevator.
Carol ate dinner in a small restaurant and strolled through the large mall at Tysons Corner. She’d read Fairfax was among the most affluent counties in the country on a per capita basis, but she’d seen the same upscale stores in Los Angeles. There must be a lot of government money here because of its proximity to Washington. Where else would government employees be likely to live? That meant taxes were paying for the affluence. Since she was about to become wealthy, she’d have to start worrying about things like taxes. She wondered if the money was worth the stress.
She went back to the motel and walked up the stairs, making sure nobody was on the landing above her. Once inside her room she locked all the locks and watched a two-star movie on HBO until she became sleepy.
CHAPTER 35
Carol drove to the Weatherford Foundation. It was a suite in a small office building. She got there early and parked in the parking lot with her car facing the entrance. Even though the car was considerably older than the average model here, it blended in well with the others and was not particularly noticeable, although the North Carolina license plates might be. That prompted her to change parking places, so there was a row of cars between her and the entrance.
She could still see everyone who went into and out of the building. She had a vague plan of watching to see if Michael showed up. As the workday started, a number of people went into the building and a few came out. No Michael. She was sure she’d spot him, especially with his long red hair, unless he’d changed it because she’d seen him. Her success in finding him depended on him not having been alarmed.
She had no idea what Katherine Simpson looked like. About nine fifteen she decided it was time she found out. She locked the car and walked into the building. On Saturday she’d purchased a knee-length blue business skirt and a compatible white shirt. She could pass for an office worker.
Carol scanned the list of tenants on the wall until she spotted the Weatherford Foundation. It was on the second floor. She was still wary of elevators; she walked up the open stairs. The door with Weatherford Foundation painted on it was closed. Was it locked? She paused in front of it long enough to take a breath and then tried the door handle. It turned. She opened the door and walked in.
She was surprised at how small the office was—just one room, containing two desks, file cabinets, and a few chairs, but none of the kind usually found in a waiting room for visitors. Maybe they didn’t have visitors.
The only person Carol saw was a woman dressed in slacks and an unbuttoned sweater over a casual top. She wasn’t young or old, but Carol was certain her hair, which was all a single shade of brown, had been dyed. It didn’t look natural. She was placing a folder in an open file drawer. She didn’t look up when Carol entered.
Carol waited for the woman to notice her. She glanced around, seeing the usual office gear: computers, phones, and papers on the desks, with swivel chairs behind them. Something was missing. She figured out what it was. The office had no outside window. This must be the cheapest office in the building, not befitting a soon-to-be-well-endowed foundation. Or at least that was apparently Michael’s hope.
The woman rolled the metal file drawer closed with a rumble and a clank and turned toward Carol. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” Carol had a pitch planned. “I’m Aiko Murakawa. I have a small nonprofit that works with disadvantaged girls. Like any small nonprofit organization, we’re always looking for money. I’ve heard your foundation makes grants—”
“You need to talk to Katherine.” The woman snapped a stick of gum she was chewing. “She’s the big cheese. She usually wanders in about ten. I’m just the volunteer.”
“Katherine…?”
“Simpson. Young gal—beautiful—that is if you like platinum blonds.” She laughed, harshly. “But she’s pretty smart.”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Betty.”
“If you’re a volunteer, you must be dedicated.”
“Yeah, well my kids are grown and I was looking for something to do to help people. I heard about this place. They do good, and the work’s easy—answering the phone, writing letters, filing.”
“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.
