X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

“How do you know he’s looking for anything? He took a bunch of crap to the dump.”

“You don’t know that. All you know is he’s taken it off your hands. I’m asking you to consider that the arrival of this flier was more than serendipitous. What if Lowe was looking for something in those cartons? No luck, so he comes back around posing as George Dayton from the IRS. The letter specifically asked about Byrd-Shine, insisting on documents and records from 1978. That seemed nutty on the face of it, and I said so at the time.”

“You told me there weren’t any Byrd-Shine records, so I turned around and told the IRS guy the same thing.”

“But suppose he didn’t believe you. ‘Dayton’ told you he talked to Pete last spring and Pete swore he had paperwork in storage, which may or may not have been true. Pete might have been bullshitting, or maybe he was too lazy to actually hunt up the files in question. Whatever the case, ‘Dayton’ assumes you’re holding out on him. As a last resort, he breaks in and has a go at it himself.”

“George Dayton’s a real guy. Honestly. I didn’t create him out of whole cloth. I talked to him myself.”

“But you never met him, and I bet you never saw any IRS identification. You don’t even know what that would look like. What’s he got, a badge? A business card? You received a notice on IRS letterhead with an address and phone number, but that could have been faked. The day the two of you are finally supposed to meet, he’s a no-show.”

“That’s true,” she said reluctantly. “On the other hand, I don’t have anything of value. They can search all they like. One man or three. Who cares?”

“I don’t think it’s about you at all. I think it’s about Pete.”

“Crap. Now you’re back to the theory he was shaking someone down.”

“If you’re so sure Dayton’s on the up-and-up, call the local IRS office and ask for him.”

“Here we go with the calls again.”

“I was right about the first one.”

“Okay, I’ll call, but what am I supposed to say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just ask for him. I want to know if he’s legitimate. All you have is his word he works for the IRS. We assume people are telling the truth, so most of us wouldn’t dream of calling to verify employment, but what if he’s lying through his teeth?”

“Why would he do that?”

“How do I know? If he’s a real IRS agent, then at least you find out for sure, and if he’s not, you’ll learn that as well.”

“What if he’s there?”

“Then ask why he missed his appointment with you. I can’t believe I’m having to spell it all out. Use your imagination.”

“What if they ask who’s calling? Am I supposed to give my real name?”

“Of course. You can use a fake name if it makes you feel any better. Don’t you know how to lie?”

“I can’t believe you’d ask. I don’t lie to people.”

“Well, no wonder you’re so ill at ease. Lying’s a skill. You can’t just open your mouth and expect a convincing lie to flop out. It takes practice.”

Ruth laughed.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“Oh. Sorry. Let me scare up his letter and I’ll call.”

“Not that number. It might be rigged to an answering machine. Here.”

I moved a potted African violet that was sitting on the telephone book. I paged through the listings in the front: city offices, Santa Teresa County offices, California State offices, United States government offices. I ran a finger past Agriculture, Air Force, Army, and Coast Guard, whizzing right along until I reached Internal Revenue. There I had my choice of Taxpayer Assistance Center, Need a Tax Form, Checking on a Refund, and ten variations on a theme. All were 800 numbers except the last, which was designated the Local Area Office. I circled the number and turned the book so Ruth could see it. I picked up the handset and held it out to her.

She took it and punched in the number, tilting the phone so I could hear both sides of the conversation. The line rang four times.

A woman picked up, saying, “Internal Revenue. This is Christine Matthews. How may I help you?”

Ruthie said, “Hiiiii. Could I speak to George Dayton?”

“Who?”

“Dayton, like the city in Ohio. First name, George.”

“You have the wrong number. This is the Internal Revenue Service.”