Cafe Underground Presents
PHACKER
Book 3 -- Chapter 5
The Detective Andi Wicksham Series, by RL Bell
Copyright © 1997 RL BELL
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....author RL Bell
Andi Wicksham's INVESTIGATORY SERVICES
Chapter 5
Ramirez was on time, but even after window shopping and idling shamelessly, Andi arrived early. The waiter bowed her officiously to a table and she looked out the window, toyed with her silverware and got bored with the only couple close enough to eavesdrop on. Flipping open her notebook, she took a sip of water and attacked the complementary baguette. She doodled, read the menu twice, declined wine and apologized to the waiter when he asked if she was ready.
Finally Ramirez arrived--standing a moment by the door before spying her and sliding into the chair across the table. "What'er the specials?"
Andi pushed her notebook aside. "Don' know." she answered through a bite of bread. "I've been eavesdropping instead of thinking food." The waiter interrupted and they ordered. Ramirez the garden burger and Andi, blackened snapper salad. There was undoubtedly a reason for his insisting on lunch. She wondered what the catch was.
Ramirez glanced at his watch, shrugged and smiled. "How late did Max keep you?"
"Almost eleven. The pig."
"Hey," he protested "this is a homicide."
"Max was flexing ego and abusing his authority over the idea we needed to be taught a lesson." She lifted a hand and pointed to him. "I blame you for it, Ramirez. It wasn't justified."
"Well, sorry to hear that." Ramirez smiled indulgently.
"It's harassment. Authority without oversight is abused."
"It's behind you. Let me tell you about what you blundered into. The 50th street victim was a computer engineering student from Miami with a rap sheet two feet long--petty theft, check fraud, accessory...identified as an underling for some crime group. The office was used in a computer crime racket. The feds say they'd been watching it."
"Had they been?" Andi reached for another slice of baguette.
"The Feds?" Ramirez asked conversationally. "They descended like a plague."
"You don't like them." Andi observed impartially.
Ramirez made a face. "They're cops, but act like CIA spy catchers. Phoney names like Smith and Jones...lurking with their noses everywhere...never really helping, but wanting to be in on everything. It's been stressful. Max was taking out his frustrations." Their food came, Ramirez lathered dijon mustard on his bun and stacked tomato and onion and lettuce.
"That's supposed to excuse him or make me feel better?" asked Andi indignantly.
Ramirez waved her question aside. “The feds seized the computers, but we got a copy of the files and Max has our computer folks working overtime."
"No luck with them, huh?" Andi observed nonchalantly.
"Everything's in code. They did freelance corporate espionage, stole stuff and hawked it to competitors." Ramirez nodded sagely. "Judging by the volume, they’d been doing it a while."
“But you don’t know what’s in the files.”
“It’s in some code.”
"PGP encryption." Andi flashed a matter of fact smile.
"What?" Ramirez stopped mid-bite.
"The encryption system. Pretty Good Privacy." she shrugged as if it were nothing.
Ramirez lowered his garden burger back to his plate. "How do you know that?" he demanded a little louder than he wanted to.
"That's confidential."
"Wicksham, come clean."
"Listen, Ramirez, if the police want cooperation from the public they have to rein in their rogue cops and show people respect. You can tell Max that."
"Rogue cops. I like that. I'll tell him." Ramirez grinned from ear to ear. "Tell me, if you weren't mad at him would there be interesting things you could tell me?"
"Might be." Andi admitted primly. "But you got to lay off the harassment."
"Nothing I can do about that, Wicksham. This is a nasty murder case with outside agents watching. Rules get bent." He took another bite of his garden burger and stared calmly into her face, chewing contentedly.
"The encryption codes might be broken." Andi dangled it hoping he might bite.
"The federal boys have top brains and big computers beating on them already."
"I could give you the other numbers I've looked into." It would stretch her ethics a bit, but she could pass him a copy of the binder.
"We have somebody tracing the phone records from that night in the motel." He watched her complacently, waiting to see what else she'd offer.
Andi took a bite and stared back. He knew less than she did, but didn't know it yet. "Maybe there's nothing I can help you with." she smiled.
"In that case, next lunch I'm buying." Ramirez responded expansively.
Andi looked him right in the eye and said. "Tell me the tie in with the hit and run."
Ramirez lowered his voice. "The victim's prints were in the truck." He blinked. "But you were sure he wasn't either the driver or passenger?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. No one else's prints?"
"None but the owner and his kids." Ramirez chewed reflectively.
"So they were together." Andi observed.
Ramirez wasn't going to be led. "It ties them together."
"The truck?" She took a bite. "Maybe stolen to pick up the victim."
"Or something completely different." Ramirez shrugged. "It wasn't a random crime. A more interesting question is, what happened to the other guys?"
"I don't even have a guess." Andi admitted with a smile. "I just want the sleazeballs that killed the kid. If I learn more, I'll tell you."
"Yeah, we all do what we can." He murmured philosophically. "But it won't happen with the little we know now." He looked across the table with a bemused expression--as if plumbing the depths of her soul.
Andi stared silently at her plate, unwilling to meet his eyes. Maybe encouraging Francois might not be bad thing. The image of Gina's limp form hitting the pavement flickered in the shadows. "How's Tanya?" she changed the subject.
"Anxious to have you over. She's got a fish in puff pastry dish she wants to reprise, but it's so fattening we have to be careful who we serve it to."
"Apple pie for desert?"
"Strudel probably. It's a layered fat and starch thing she's going through." he smiled indulgently.
"Sounds tough." Andi picked her teeth with a fingernail.
"I've upped my jogging laps to try to keep even. You want coffee?" He gestured for the waiter.
"Sure, you're not going for dessert?"
"After what I've told you? When do you want to come?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow...Saturday? Six o’clock?"
"Fine, I'll bring Pinot Noir and dark chocolate."
Andi got back to the office to find a note from Lena promising to be back by two--she hoped it was something more positive than JC luring her out. She stared out the window, the hit and run still haunted her. It might be worth illegal excursions into cyberland to nail the bastards. Andi punched in Trafino's number. She deserved to know--after all, it was her money.
"Trafino here."
"It’s Andi Wicksham. I was wondering if we could meet for coffee?"
"You have a problem?"
"More a situation you should be aware of." answered Andi.
"Now?"
"It'll take fifteen or twenty to get there."
"Shall we say quarter to two? At the Tree Frog?"
"Sure." She Tree Frog was an alternative dive mixing rock music with Joyce and Ginsburg. Andi made the entry in her notebook, consciously limiting it to time and place and left a note for Lena.
Trafino was waiting on a high stool, legs crossed at the knee, posed as if sipping a dry martini, not a cappuccino and as if it were a lounge's mirrored wall, not a bulletin board of posters and graffiti beside her. She had style.
Andi glanced around. The lunch crowd had gone, only a couple patrons idled across the room. The counter person glanced up from paperback, shrugged and went back to reading.
"What do you want?" Trafino asked quietly, nodding Andi to the stool beside her and watching as if they were opponents.
"The computer stuff will definitely take unlawful activity."
Trafino took a sip of her coffee. "Is that a problem?"
"That was my question for you."
"Can you do it?" The question of legality slid off the table to be swept out with the trash. It was as if she asked about photographs.
"I have a consultant with the skills. But there's a complication, we've overlapped on a murder and a hit and run. The police and feds are involved. They traced a call we made and hauled me in for grilling."
"Does it involve my situation?"
"Peripherally at least."
Trafino sat back, appraising her coolly. "Do you want to go ahead?"
Andi put on an indifferent expression. "I will if you will. It's your money; it’s going to take a lot of effort."
"How much more?" She stared directly into Andi's eyes with a look that was almost feral.
"At least a couple or three grand in cash to start." Andi consciously mirrored Trafino's style--1940's gum chewing and brassy. Very Sam Spade--urban-retro hip.
Trafino smiled and raised her cup. "It's a pleasure doing business with you. Was that all you wanted?"
Andi shook her head. "The intruders were an organized ring. If you're approached to buy pilfered information it might give us another point to work from."
"I'm approached every week." Trafino said cynically.
Andi glanced up, surprised. "What do you do?"
"Some I take, some I don't. It depends."
"Can I get the names of those contacts?"
"I wouldn't risk losing the sources." Trafino shrugged nonchalantly. "Sorry, it's business." She gave a lopsided smile and finished her coffee.
Andi stared at her a long moment. "How much do you want to find Eugene?"
Trafino straightened in her seat and looked across levelly. "Enough to spend a fair amount of money in the attempt, but keeping my contacts is the cost of doing business. I'm not naive enough to think we'll clean up the industry. Gene's disappearance bothers me a lot. I want you to find him or find out what happened." A momentary flicker of vulnerability flashed across her face--gaping open a brief moment, then snapped tight. "If you want to continue, I'm in."
"And reports will have to be limited to legally gathered information."
"All reports?" Trafino queried carefully.
"The written ones." Andi smiled. “But I'd advise caution."
"Thanks for the advice, Toots." Trafino smiled.
"We want to get into Eugene's computer."
"Ask Eileen." Trafino slid from her stool and straightened her skirt. "I have to get back to work."
Andi watched through the window as Trafino crossed the street and rounded the corner. Revisiting Eugene's apartment and had to wait twenty minutes to slip in on the coattail of a tenant, then had to pause to let the tenant go on ahead. Then she ascended the stairs and knocked at 227. There was a shuffling sound from inside. Andi took a step back and waited.
"Who is it?" The male voice sounded from the other side of the door.
"Jerry, my name is Wicksham, Andi Wicksham. I'm looking for a friend of your's, Gene Trafino." She sensed him watching through the peek-hole.
"So, why would he be here?" The door didn't open.
"He hasn't been to work in a week. His aunt asked me to find him. Do we have to talk though this door?"
The chain and latch were released and the door opened a spare six or seven inches. Andi made a point of keeping her hands in view and not stepping closer.
"I'm having trouble finding people who knew him. Did he say anything about leaving town? Did he travel?"
"He went back east a couple of months ago and to Dallas for a weekend." Jerry opened the door a bit wider. "His job sent him on business."
"How about in the last couple of weeks?"
"He mentioned some big break. I think a new job."
"What did he say?"
"Computer something and lots of money."
"Do you know other friends?"
"No." Jerry answered sullenly.
"There's some chance he might be in trouble." Andi extended carefully.
"He's on probation." The door swung toward closed.
"Here's my number." Andi fished out a card. "Please call if you think of anything that might help...friends, things he said, anything at all."
"OK." Jerry responded, staring myopically at the card. He didn't look up again. The door closed and it's latch clicked shut.
Andi climbed the stairs to the third floor and knocked at the apartment to the left of Eugene's. No answer. She tried the one on the other side. A thin, greying, middle aged man in a neat white shirt and bow tie answered.
"Hello? You didn't ring. Do you live in the building?" he asked.
"No sir, your neighbor seems to have disappeared and I've been hired by his family to find him. Eugene Trafino? I was hoping you could give me something that might help."
"Who are you?" he asked politely.
"My name is Andi Wicksham, I'm a private investigator working for his aunt." She held out a card.
"Gene next door? He's nice, but he keeps odd hours."
"Has he said anything about going out of town or anything he was working on?"
"We're only neighbors."
"Did you see him with anybody? Friends, colleagues?"
"Every now and then. Middle of last week I saw him coming up the stairs with another man. They came in and I heard computer sounds when we turned off our TV. Gene works at night."
"Middle of last week?" Andi drew out the question.
"Maybe Wednesday." he sounded unsure.
"What time was that?" Andi tried to keep her voice conversational.
"Oh, maybe nine when I saw him. We turned off the TV at eleven."
"What did the other man look like?"
"Thin, patch of whiskers below his lip like young men wear now-days." He pointed self-consciously at the front of his chin.
"Long hair, short hair? Age, height?"
"Fairly tall, dark hair, long like Neil Young. Black rimmed thick glasses...as bad a dresser as Gene." The man blushed.
"Do you know anybody who would have a key to his apartment?" she asked hopefully.
"I think my wife does." the man said vaguely. "She waters his plants when he’s out of town."
"Is she home?"
"At work." the man said pleasantly.
"When do you think I could speak to her."
"She's home at five-thirty."
Andi gave him a warm smile. "Should I just come by?" It would get her in the door at the very least. "What's her name?"
"Harriet." the man answered. "We'll expect you then." After the door closed Andi leaned against the wall and made notes. "Harriet _______, apartment 318--after 5:30."
She tried two other doors without luck. She'd spent the time she could spare. She walked downstairs, copied the name Arbuckle from beside button 318 at the front door, and drove back across the river.
Lena was back when Andi returned. She smiled a greeting. "I saw Francois, he's on the job. Say's he's into it for the art, but he'd like to talk."
"To me?"
"He'll call this afternoon."
"Why not?" Andi reached for the next file. "Anything else?"
"He's excited about something."
"The body in the office left fingerprints in the hit and run truck." She pursed her lips.
Lena paused, her hand halfway to the telephone. "Francois’s peeking into the kid’s hit and run and that torture thing?"
"Think he'll stay onboard?"
"No doubt about it."
Francois called an hour later.
Lena answered. "Investigatory Services." She looked up to catch Andi's eye. "Sure, OK." She nodded and smiled at Andi. "Yeah. OK, bye." She hung up and said, "Meet him down 37th--a block south of Hawthorne."
"Now?" Andi asked, a touch cross at not being asked.
"You got something more important?"
Andi shot her a glare, but retreated out the door.
Francois waited in a dusty Subaru, opening the door as she walked up.
"This project has grown interesting."
"I need to tell you something." Andi held up a hand to interrupt him. "There are two people dead already, one of them tortured before he died. The guy we're hired to find might be dead too. You don't need to continue if you don't want. I don't know what we've gotten into."
"Thanks for sharing." Francois gave a jaded smile, then looked back to the road. "I'm more concerned with cops than bad guys."
"I talked to our client about money."
"Cool." his eyes lit up. "Expenses have increased." He looked nervously in the side mirror and turned away from the window as a car pulled past. "I want to tell something about what I found. Most of the stuff’s in PGP encryption, some DES."
"Hold it, I'm already lost. Lena mentioned PGP."
“DES stands for the federal Data Encryption Standards. It's the ‘officially sanctioned’ system that’s not very sophisticated and guaranteed that the feds got keys. PGP’s semi-underground and more sophisticated. The feds regulate it like bomb parts."
"Why should anyone need code?" Andi was frustrated.
Francois shrugged. "When privacy is outlawed only outlaws will have privacy. Computers allow surveillance on a massive scale, storage is easy and telecommunication companies are required to provide special remote wiretap ports so the FBI can work without the embarrassment of being asked for warrants."
"Big Brother?" she responded sarcastically.
"Not necessarily." Francois observed. "Big business, arms merchants, drug dealers and credit card companies too. If the Fortune 500 thinks they need it, maybe you do."
Andi was noncommittal. The idea of putting things in code just to send them cross-town was revolting.
"Anyway, the issue's not who needs it, but that our documents are encoded."
"Why would Eugene do that?" Andi leaned back in her seat.
"Why do people collect stamps? Why climb mountains? Eugene downloaded coded files and used the number crunchers to pick the codes."
"What did he find?" asked Andi impatiently.
"We’re just scraping the surface? We need his computer."
"I couldn't get into it."
Francois twirled an imaginary moustache. "Never fear, my dear, there are ways."
"So what now?" asked Andi.
"That trucking firm in Eugene's notebook? He put a lot of time into it. That got my attention, so I broke in."
Andi gave him a dirty look.
"Whoever sysops the thing’s a schlock...the thing's a sieve. The point is: Eugene thought them important enough to put a program in to sneak out their e-mail." He shook his head. “I set up a program to search for key words. They mentioned the 50th street office three times." Francois looked across at Andi, purse-lipped, as if daring her to respond.
"Our 50th street?"
"Complaining about not getting what they wanted."
"Oh." How could she tell Ramirez without admitting what they were doing? "I need a copy of the files and the password and phone number."
"For the cops?”
"Make sure there's no way to track back to you."
"I'll have it next time we meet." he responded stern-faced.
"Thanks. I owe you."
Francois smiled. "I'll keep in touch. Get Eugene's box and whatever storage he worked with. And be careful on the phone. Don't say my name."
"Sure." Andi said stiffly. "Anything else?"
"You want me to drive you back?"
"No, I can walk. Vayo con dios, mi amigo."
He gave her a quick glance. "Da nada, amiga. Manaña." He gave a thumbs-up and pulled away.
Andi called Eileen to tell her she was coming for the computer, trudged back down the stairs and drove back across the river.
Eileen led her to Eugene's desk describing the visit of two men claiming to be Eugene's friends wanting “to see if he left anything." She’d led them to a vacant cubical and let them look through the drawers.
Andi flipped open her notebook. "Two guys? Tall..short..ages..hair color?
"Medium height, hip white-trash, mid-thirty's, blue collar. That's what made me suspicious. All of Gene's friends are closer to twenty and geeky. Brown hair, clean-shaven, scruffy...thin faces--real thin. Dark eyes."
Andi nodded. She’d give odds it was the men in the truck. The fact that they'd been there chilled her. "What day was that?"
"Wednesday afternoon." Eileen said neutrally.
"Could you describe them to a police artist?" Andi asked carefully.
Eileen eyed Andi cautiously, "Sure."
"Desk been used since then?"
"Lord, yes, it's the desk where we assemble projects."
Andi wondered if it was worth calling Ramirez in to try fingerprints. Eileen got a cart while Andi unplugged the computer and collected the floppies. One peripheral drive was plugged into his PC. They pushed the cart to the elevator. Andi wondered if the building was watched. No one lurked in the shadows--no one on the sidewalk seemed interested. Andi thanked Eileen and turned to go.
"Oh, this is for you." Eileen said in a quiet voice. She passed over a small flat candy box wrapped with yellow paper and a bow, tossed out a "Tootle, Darling" and whisked away with the cart.
Andi, chuckled, got in her car and tossed the box on top of the tangled computer cords. Unless she had her signals wrong, it held the cash to pay Francois.
Andi returned to her office and she and Lena lugged the equipment upstairs.
Ramirez called. "I just met with Max. Seems your friend James Johnson, AKA Francois is on the lam. He hasn't been by his apartment and doesn't answer the phone." He paused meaningfully. "How do I find the guy, Wicksham?"
"I honestly don't know his phone number or address. Never been to his place. I only met him a couple of times."
"So, put your side kick on."
Andi looked across the room to Lena. "She's stepped out the office for a minute, can I have her call you back?" Lena mimed slapping her thigh and laughing herself silly.
Ramirez's voice dropped to a menacing lower octave. "Wicksham, you better not jerk me around. The phone company says there isn't a billing record for that night of long distance we both know you did. Max thinks you might take the fall for stealing long distance services. Could be felony theft...easy."
"We were watching a soccer game...and it's not my problem if the phone company doesn't keep good records. Besides that, I don't have the skills to steal long distance service and have years of bills to prove it. There's no case to make."
"Wicksham." Ramirez's voice graveled with disapproval.
"Back off, Ramirez, I got something else you need to know."
"Yeah?"
"I think the driver and passenger of the red truck visited my client's firm looking for Eugene."
"You sure?" he asked incredulously.
"I'd like you to note that I'm volunteering this without even a prompting question."
"Three more brownie points on your tally. How do you it’s them?"
"Description...and who else would come looking for Eugene? You want the number? She says she can describe them to an artist."
"Let’s have it." Ramirez used his Joe Friday voice. "Thanks" he offered grudgingly.
"Any luck tracking Frank?" Andi rolled her eyes and smiled at Lena.
Ramirez took the bait. "Some kids hanging out on Hawthorne said they know him, but nobody's nailed it down. You know, it's funny you and a friend with a record of sophisticated computer crime getting some kid who doesn't leave fingerprints to do your work. It strains believability."
"What can I say? Francois just stopped by. Didn’t stay long. Why even bother him?"
"It's the way it's done, whoever’s involved, we talk to them."
"Talk being Max’s euphemism for harassment and threats."
"Come up for air, Wicksham. You're in too deep to be snotty."
"You been watching old movies?" Andi paused to shift the telephone to her other ear and tried a different tack. "What can you tell me about the missing person's case on Eugene Trafino?"
"We focus on crime in the police department, Wicksham. It's what we do. People have a right to be missing sometimes."
"So what does somebody do when their nephew goes missing?"
"They hire an investigator if they can afford it."
"Thanks for the reassurance. I'll see you at dinner and bring you a present."
He hung up. Andi looked over at Lena. "He wants you to call so he can ask about Francois."
Lena made a face.
"He'll be mad if you don't."
"OK." Lena replied grudgingly, "How long do you think I'd be out?"
"Fifteen, twenty minutes. What are you going to say?"
"Well I haven't actually seen Francois since that night at the motel. I'll answer his questions saying ‘seen.’ You and Francois meet without me. How tenacious is he?"
"He'll probably back off as other things come up. But watch yourself, giving anything encourages him and shining him on hurts his ego."
"Francois has a meeting with his probation officer next week. He's afraid the cops will waylay him."
"They probably will." Max would exploit Francois for the sport.
"Is he in trouble?" asked Lena.
"If they want to get him, they will." replied Andi cheerlessly.
Lena looked down a list. "We're going to need help looking through Eugene's floppies."
"Anybody in mind?"
"Your friend Sonny."
"Sure," Andi smiled. "Got her number?"
Lena favored her with an impish smile. "I called her Saturday."
Andi gave her a look of exasperation. "We'd need another computer."
"Francois is lending one." she smiled a pleased-with-herself smile.
"Fine." said Andi with a distant smile. She shut her eyes to focus--shifted gears and dialed Berg & Trafino.
"Berg & Trafino." Eileen answered.
"Eileen, I told my police friend about your visitors. You can expect a call."
After a moment of silence Eileen responded guardedly. "I suppose it’s necessary."
Andi let a four beat bar tick by. "You said something before, about Berg & Trafino’s turnover? Tell me about it.”
There was another pause before Eileen’s answer. "No, I'm sorry I couldn't do that at the moment. Perhaps we could meet and discuss the matter."
"OK." Andi answered carefully. "After work?"
"That would be fine." responded Eileen curtly. At The Forum a little after five?"
Andi lowered the receiver and chewed her lip.
Eileen swept into The Forum Cafe with an oversized bag on a shoulder strap, and the expression of a person relieved to have the day behind her. “I'm not quite sure why I’m here." She made a little self-depreciating shrug and scooted her chair close. "Regarding the turnover at B&T...it’s low morale and bad attitude. Advertising's a glamour job so laborers don’t make much, so there's always the usual shrinkage; pens and paper, long distance calls and slacking." She leaned her head to touch a finger to her pink hair. "But recently there’s sabotage."
"Sabotage?"
"Well, maybe that's a little strong. There's outright theft."
"More than the computer files?" Andi leaned to an intimate distance.
Eileen looked nervously over her shoulder, her lips and eyes narrowed. "The Grace account is up for re-bid...one of my accounts. We worked two weeks on it, then Wednesday the entire package disappears. Disappears! Then this morning I get a call from a friend that it turned up at Franklin-Burns...competitors. It had to have been someone in the office."
Andi sat quietly. Restless and under paid troops? Tantalizing as it was, it didn't relate to Eugene and Trafino undoubtedly already knew. "Who had access?" she asked professionally.
"Alea Speer and Jason Hobbs wrote text, Leesa Takahashi did paste up, but anybody in the office could have spirited it."
"When?"
"Wednesday afternoon it was on my desk, but I was up and around all afternoon. Alea couldn't find it at four--we turned things upside down until five thirty and searched again yesterday."
"You didn't feel safe talking in the office. I thought you were Mrs. Trafino's right arm?"
A shadow flickered across Eileen's face. "Things are tense there at the ranch. The business is boom or bust and there’ve been no bonuses, no raises, little praise and no security." Her lip made a disgusted curl. "Just because it's artsy doesn't mean it's not a sweatshop." Eileen casually examined her bracelets. "I think Gene could have jumped ship. He said he had something ready to break. It certainly wasn't his job. He talked about the east coast and Texas."
Andi gave a bemused shrug.
"Funny huh?" Eileen gave a dismissive shake of her head. "He mentioned going to Texas for a weekend, but I figured it a joke."
"That’s a long way for a weekend and expensive."
"That's what I thought. But he had money."
"I thought wages were low?"
Eileen gave a superior smile, leaned forward and whispered. "He has a scam tracing people calling 900 numbers and charged businesses a percentage for tagging a few extra calls to each number. Figures drunks wanting phone sex either wouldn't remember or wouldn’t have the moxie to challenge the bills."
"How much money?" Andi asked.
"Maybe a grand or so a month. Pin money." Eileen reached for her oversized bag.
"Did you know of a friend of Eugene's named Jerry? He lived a floor down from Eugene?"
Eileen shook her head. "We weren't social friends." she said archly. There was an awkward pause. “I'll see you round." She gave a seductive, Marilyn Monroe smile and left Andi at the table.
Andi shut her notebook, glanced at her watch and rose to her feet. Time to visit Eugene's neighbor.
At the outer door to the apartment building Andi pushed the button labeled 318--Arbuckle.
There was a crackle of static, "Who is it?" a woman queried.
"Andi Wicksham, to see Harriet Arbuckle about Eugene Trafino."
The door buzzed and Andi pushed her way through. The door of number 318 opened as she came up the stairs and a middle aged woman in a green dress stood waiting.
"Ms. Wicksham?"
Andi nodded.
"I'm Harriet Arbuckle." the woman said simply. "Won't you come in. How can I help you?" She sat rigidly, at the edge of her chair.
“We’re trying to trace your neighbor’s movements last week. You heard him in his apartment last Wednesday?”
“We don’t listen in on neighbors.”
“Inadvertently heard his computer?”
“Perhaps.”
“That was Wednesday?”
“Was it?” Mrs. Arbuckle raised an eyebrow.
“Your husband mentioned seeing Eugene and a friend in the hall, he thought it might have been Wednesday. It may be important, he disappeared soon after.”
“It could have been Wednesday.”
“Have you seen any friends with him?”
“I rarely see him with friends.”
“Perhaps with a dark-haired friend with glasses and a blues patch.” Andi pointed to her chin.
"We’re only neighbors."
"Your husband mentioned you water Eugene's plants when he’s out of town."
Harriet's eyes never left her face. "That's right."
"Are you doing so now?" Andi asked.
"He hadn't asked me."
“But you did when he went back East?”
“When he traveled on business.”
Andi took a breath, trying a smile to give the question a friendly spin. "I was hoping you could let me to look for signs of foul play or evidence that could help find him. He hasn't been seen for more than a week. His aunt's very worried."
"Mrs. Arbuckle rose to her feet, crossed into the kitchen and returned with a key on a yellow plastic tag. Eugene’s apartment rang with stale abandonment. Andi pushed the half-open bedroom door with the back of her wrist, revealing a twin bed with rumpled blankets and chest of drawers. The closet stood open showing two shirts and a half-dozen empty hangers and the floor was littered with dirty clothes.
Three drought-distressed plants waited on a bookcase set squarely before the window. Mrs. Arbuckle clucked with concern and retreated to the kitchen for water. The living room held a couch and desk with three office chairs pulled around it. Andi slowly surveyed the scene. A stereo system waited on a coffee table with a scattering of CD's, two empty pizza boxes lay on the couch, a disconnected telephone lay in the middle of the floor--she traced the cord from the wall to where it lay waiting beside the desk. A printer stood at one edge, its connecting wires dangling.
A trail of popcorn led to a kitchenette. Two cups and a dirty plate lay in the sink and an overturned soft drink can lay on the counter in a small puddle already drying around the edges. Andi carefully pulled the refrigerator door with the back of her knuckles; soft drinks, a quart of milk, mustard, catsup and pre-cut cheese slices waited on the top shelf. She carefully looked through the cabinets--scratched aluminum pots, a mismatched assortment of dishes, a pile of microwave popcorn, a two boxes of macaroni and three cans of spaghetti.
Returning to the living room she told Mrs. Arbuckle, "If you’d like to help, we're looking for address books, calendars, any scribbles that might help find him." With that license to snoop, Mrs. Arbuckle moved to the desk as if on the payroll. Andi dumped the all-but empty wastepaper basket onto one of the pizza boxes, gingerly picking up papers by their edges, checking each scrap as she put it back.
The lap drawer held nothing but candy bar wrappers and a pad of post-its. The bottom drawer held a second phone, a selection of wires, a screwdriver and a much abused telephone book. The front section of the top drawer was bare, but the back section contained a computer disk and index cards bound with a rubber band.
Andi reached for the cards. Neatly printed phone numbers and strings of letters were noted in pencil. She slipped them into her notebook without comment. Harriet Arbuckle picked up the disk and Andi murmured "thanks" as she opened her notebook to receive it. In the bedroom, she poked into the bedroom's dresser without finding much of interest; no check stubs, credit-card bills, or correspondence. The closet was empty except for four short-sleeve shirts on plastic hangers and a brown leather brief-case.
Andi tried the latch--locked. She wiped off her prints and left it, looked under the bed and chest of drawers, then under the couch and desk. Then they left the apartment to its stillness. She drove home deciding on salad and raviolis in a spicy Alfredo sauce.
Her home phone machine said otherwise; Francois wanted to meet at seven-thirty and it was already almost seven. She smeared peanut butter into celery stalks, checked her face in the bathroom mirror, and dashed back out the door.
Andi found a parking space half a block down, Francois had snagged one right before her door. "The police are looking for you." Andi offered as they trudged the stairs with the computer he was lending.
"My probation appointment’s a week a way."
"Too bad." Andi struggled with her keys and unlocked the door. She pointed at the pile of boxes and cables from Eugene's office. "Anything else we need to do?"
"Nothing but letting me check it out. I'll let you know."
He picked up Eugene's computer and staggered toward the hall. Andi grabbed the hard drive and followed. Before he pulled away, Andi extended a fat envelope of twenty dollar bills. "Here's a grand to keep you going. Call me...I want to hear anything interesting."
Francois, met her eyes. "Sure." He pocketed the money and handed her a file folder. "Here's the trucking firm on a platter. Hidden bookkeeping, correspondence and passwords. I added instructions on getting in."
Andi nodded and watched him drive away. She glanced at her watch. Eight o'clock. It wasn't too late for Alfredo sauce. She got back in her car, tossed the file on the passenger seat, turned KMHD's jazz up loud and buzzed on home.
Go on to Chapter 6
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