Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

My people? He sounded like a king talking about his serfs.

“You don’t seem to take a very active interest in your businesses,” I said.

Ash snorted. “Not worth getting worked up over. Let me tell you, I once had a part interest in an investment with an orthodontist and a tax lawyer. The orthodontist was Mr. Mellow. He decided to retire early. Tightened his last retainer, sold us his third, and took off for a condo in Boca Raton. The tax lawyer was the total opposite—couldn’t seem to wring enough billable hours out of a day. Then he had a heart attack.” Ash snapped his fingers. “Massive coronary. Gone like that. He was only fifty-eight.”

“Wow.”

“I know. That orthodontist had the right idea—take it easy. Gotta live your life while you can.” He dug into his drink, in demonstration of that philosophy.

I watched the heron moving in a slow, stately arc through the shallows. It stopped and cocked its head back, its skinny neck squeezing into an S. With lightning speed, it plunged into the water and came up, a hapless fish caught in its bill. The wind had died, and a faint, musty odor had asserted itself—brine or dead crabs, maybe.

“My client has been charged with identity theft, as well as murder,” I said.

“Where you pretend to be someone else, using their social security number or something?”

“Yeah. Identity thieves often get people’s personal information from business databases—customer records, employee records. There’ve been tens of thousands of dollars stolen this way. And Tom was a computer expert.”

He blinked. “You think he stole information from my databases?”

“It’s possible,” I said, trying to ignore the rotting fish smell. “Tom worked for a local bank, the same one that employed my client. They say my client stole the bank’s information, but it could have been Tom. And he could have done that to your businesses, too.”

He shrugged. “How would I know if he did?”

It was a fair question. The only link the bank had between Melanie and the identity thefts was that box of files, at least as far as I knew. If they’d never found it, would they have made the connection?

“So you’re not aware of any sensitive information about your customers or business associates being released?”

“Haven’t heard such a thing. Even if someone had that problem, how could they be sure the leak came from my end?”

I had no answer to that one either. With major credit reporting companies having problems with database security, why would anyone look to a car dealership or a storage facility as the source of their credit problems? Personal data is everywhere these days—flying through Internet servers, mined by companies for marketing purposes. Makes you wonder if there is such a thing as privacy anymore.

Sunset tinged the clouds on the horizon pink and orange, in stark contrast to the deepening blue of the sky which the bay mirrored. The heron spread its wings and took off, unhurried and stately.

I finished my ginger ale and said, “Well, I appreciate your time.”

“No problem.” He gave me a tight smile. “Hope it helped.”

He walked me to the door. I gave him a card and we shook hands before I left. I wound my way back to the road, replaying the conversation and thinking. If Garvey was an identity thief, he had a potential gold mine working for an absentee owner like Connie Ash. But Melanie said he had trouble paying his bills. It didn’t add up, and that worried me.

I stopped at a Burger King for a quick bite and considered my next move. It was Friday and, as far as I knew, Schaeffer had Friday night off, so I probably wouldn’t run into him while making discreet inquiries at Aces High.

One thing held me back—the thought of walking into a strip joint all by my lonesome. It was ridiculous—you would think a woman who has gone into prisons to interview clients could handle a strip club—but I felt intimidated. Other than the help, would I be the only woman in the place? How many drunks would I need to fend off? The things I do for a client.

If I had a companion ... Normally, I’d ask Jamila, but she was representing the other side in one of the cases. She’d probably refuse anyway. Besides, I’d be better off taking a man along. He could pass for a date. Ray was out of the question for a number of reasons. I thought of various male friends, but they were mostly acquaintances and the thought of asking them to come to a strip club seemed worse than going by myself. Russell already thought I was crazy to be involved in this case. Asking him would probably earn me a lecture. Then I remembered Walt Shapiro.

Walt was my mentor at the public defender’s office. He had the world-weary, hangdog expression and the cheerfully cynical attitude of a man who’s done criminal defense work all his life. He was perfect in almost every way—divorced so he didn’t have a spouse to stay home for, adventurous so he’d be inclined to take me up on a spur-of-the-moment invite, and old enough to be my dad. A man who was like a second father to me, who showed me the legal ropes at the start of my career. My intentions would not be misinterpreted.

Now, when I call Walt, it’s usually in search of something more conventional in the way of professional counsel. I figured when I told him I needed an escort to a nudie bar, it would catch him off guard a bit. I should have known better.

“Sam, you’re a pistol,” he said. His characteristic growl sounded positively gleeful. “Anything for a case. Sure I’ll go.”

“I was thinking about tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. What the hell? I could use a drink, even a bad one.”

I smiled. “I guess the ... entertainment doesn’t hurt either.”

He snorted. “Nothing I ain’t seen before. Dump like that, probably pay ’em to put their clothes back on.”