Chapter 8: Just the Facts, Ma’am

RILEY PICKED UP MAIZIE AND ME in the morning and we went to vote before we got to the office, which meant that I missed my morning espresso again. Riley dropped us off at the office and said she had a couple of new leads that she was following up today. If I needed her I could reach her on her cell phone. She’d prefer if I text messaged her as she’d probably be in the library.

Well, that was okay. As soon as she left, Maizie and I went up to the Market and got a cup of coffee at the Eye of Dawn coffee shop. It was closer than trying to walk all the way back to Tovoni’s, and there was an elevator that goes from Waterfront level up to the Market. After I’d read the paper we went back to the office. My old friend, Jordan Grant, was standing outside my office door. It wasn’t too much of a surprise; I tore down a computer for him a couple of weeks prior and the case was scheduled for court on Thursday. We went into the office to chat and Maizie headed for her bed in the corner.

When Jordan and I were learning to be good detectives under Lars—a class we called Gumshoe U—we were always teamed up on the exercises that Lars gave the group. We worked well together, and when Jordan joined the FBI’s cybercrimes unit, he became a great source of business for me. Now he works for the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network, or FinCEN. That’s a division of the U.S. Department of the Treasury that is primarily interested in financial crimes like embezzlement, money laundering, and identity theft. The case we were to go to trial with on Thursday was a botched embezzlement that yielded evidence of kiddie-porn. It was going to be tough to prove that we were authorized to search for porn on the guy’s computer instead of only evidence of embezzlement. I was interested in how Jordan was going to manage the case.

“We’re going to drive a bargain,” Jordan said. “The stuff on that guy’s computer is disgusting, and I’d like to nail him. But if we attempt to introduce it as evidence, his lawyer will be all over unlawful seizure of property. At the very least, it could drag out for months before we even get a ruling on the porn stuff. But the guy has heard what happens in jail to those who take advantage of children. He’d be lucky to survive the first year of his sentence. So he’s motivated to keep that information out of court. He can do that by pleading guilty to the embezzlement charges. He’ll do the same jail time, but won’t have the kiddie-rap in prison.”

“I think someone should leak the information into the prison once he goes up,” I said. “He deserves the added benefits.”

Jordan laughed and we relaxed in the comfy chairs looking out at Puget Sound.

“Well, I tell you, I’m glad I’m chasing money launderers and not child pornographers,” Jordan said. “It would be hard to deal with that crap every day. It’s bad enough with the money games. I’ve got one I’m working on now that I’d like to put paid to, but it looks like it could go on for months.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I’m investigating a big Seattle holding company. It looks like they could be laundering a lot of money. All the signs are there, but I can’t put my finger on where the money is coming from. I know they are on the take from some small time Midwestern hoods, but they simply aren’t big enough operations to handle the volume of cash these guys carry.”

“Sounds like big game,” I said noncommittally.

“Yeah. If you hear anything about big money moving around Seattle—say maybe while you are attending private parties in a particular penthouse suite—you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

Damn.

Jordan and I are friends, but I don’t want him mixing in my investigations. I daresay he would feel the same way.

“I’ve been trying to get someone in there for months,” Jordan continued. “If there’s no conflict of interest with your client, I’d like to piggyback on your assignment.”

“As far as the condo goes, I think I’ve finished there. My quarry isn’t attending at the moment. All I’ve got is a ghost-trail of where he’s been, but not where he is.”

“Well, if there is any way we can help each other, Dag, you know I’ve always been fair.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Jordan. If I pick up anything I’ll let you know,” I answered.

Jordan left and I started going over my notes on Simon’s forty-two fuzzed files. It wasn’t impossible that I’d find something that would help Jordan, and I’d surely have to let him know. But I was solving a missing person case, not financial misdeeds.

It was a bit before noon that I had another visitor. This guy was a block of a man carrying a ten-year-old laptop—one from the era when you needed a really big lap, and he had one. I met him in the front office and he set the laptop on Riley’s desk.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“Broken,” he answered shortly. I couldn’t quite identify the slurred accent on so few words, and he wasn’t volunteering to talk more.

“I don’t repair computers,” I answered. “I can give you the names of a couple of repair shops if you’d like.”

“No,” he said. He seemed to be struggling for words. This hulking man was not used to communicating with people in words, that much I could tell. “Stuff inside. I want it on a record.”

“A record?” I realized that I was dealing with a man who wasn’t stupid, but didn’t speak English all that well. “You mean a CD?” I reached into Riley’s top drawer and pulled out a CD to show him an example. He nodded his head vigorously. “You want me to get the data off the hard drive and burn it on a CD?” Again he nodded and then shook his head.

“Not burn. Give me.” I nodded this time.

“It’s just an expression,” I answered. “What sort of data am I looking for?” He didn’t seem to understand. “E-mail? Word processing? Spreadsheets?” He nodded at all of them then held up a finger and after struggling for a few minutes shot out another word.

“Favorites.” He grinned as though he had just solved the New York Times Crossword.

“And Favorites,” I affirmed. “Okay. Just fill out this form. I’ll need your name, address, and phone number. Then sign here. This is a release form that says you permit me to copy all the information in your computer for you. My estimate is that it will be about $300 if the computer isn’t too badly damaged. If it looks like it will go over $500, I’ll call you before I proceed. If I can’t recover the data, it will be a $50 service fee for checking it out. I’ll call when the CDs are ready, probably Friday.” While I was talking he busily filled out the form with a meticulous care that I found inconsistent with the slow-talking hulk that could barely hold the pen in his ham-sized fist. He pushed the form toward me and I read off his name.

“Okay, Mr. Oksamma. I’ll need a deposit of $150. Would you like to write a check or credit card?” He reached in his wallet and pulled out two crisp hundred dollar bills and laid them on the desk. Money talks. I reached in my wallet and dug out two twenties and a ten and handed them to him. I signed the receipt and gave that to him. “Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Oksamma,” I repeated. “I’ll call on Friday.”