Will Staeger - Public Enemy

Laramie, day care instructor that she was, rotated her attention to the cop.

“Mostly people do it at first,” he went on, “then give in after a while. Eventually, they all want to confess-in one way or another.”

He seemed to leave it at that, Laramie getting the idea he didn’t intend to go on.

Knowles spoke, brimming with sarcasm again.

“And?”

Cole shrugged.

“I think it happens because everybody’s carrying secrets around,” he said, “and in their everyday lives they’ve grown used to keeping them stashed, like cash under the mattress. In a murder investigation, we’re basically turning lives upside down and shaking, so we can see what falls out. At first, people try to hold on to their secrets at all costs. I’m talking the stupid ones-totally unrelated to the murder most of the time. Like how many times a guy who’s married says he’s talked to a girl he likes. But once you call their bluff and break through the first layer, they tend to get suddenly comfortable, and start confessing everything they’ve ever lied about. Like they’d paid for the interview by the hour. Like all along they had to get it out.”

Laramie waited for more, but Cole appeared to have completed his train of thought. Knowles-strangely, Laramie thought-began nodding with some enthusiasm.

“You’re saying Achar didn’t appear to reveal who he was, but that maybe he did,” he said. “To somebody.”

Cole nodded without looking over at Knowles.

“Guy’s whole life was a lie. He had to want to tell at least some of it to somebody. Even if he didn’t plan to leave any bread crumbs besides the so-called suicide mistake, chances are he left some anyway. And if we’re right about the flare-gun theory, he probably tried more than one way to tell us about what he was up to. I’d like to get my eyes on all the videotape you have on him too, get a look at the man in life-but where I’ll be able to do my best work is to conduct, or re-conduct, all relevant interviews myself.”

Laramie said, “You mean anybody interviewed by the task force?”

“Yes. Everybody. Nothing against the FBI, CIA, the rest of the task force, or you, but when I can, I prefer to do my own work. I might be able to learn what he was trying to tell us if I talk to the people he told-I’ll have a better chance at it anyway as compared to reading transcripts.”

“I’ll see if we can get you started today.”

Laramie stood, and on the dry-erase board wrote two lines in its upper-left corner: Internet-2 image search and Re-interview all.

“I’ve got a few other thoughts,” Cole said, “in case you want to hear them.”

“You’ve got a lot of thoughts,” Knowles said.

Cole didn’t acknowledge the author’s comment. Laramie had a fleeting thought that the day care dynamic was only going to get worse once Rothgeb showed up. Considering the much sharper turn for the worse things would undoubtedly take were she to plug Cooper into the equation, she quietly thanked herself for keeping their “operative” compartmentalized.

“Have at it,” she said to Cole.

“Birth certificate thefts,” he said. “I’d start in Mobile, where Achar got his, then maybe expand outward. Didn’t see anything about the task force looking into it, though I can’t believe they wouldn’t have.”

“Not sure,” Laramie said, then, climbing the learning curve on Detective Cole, figured she ought to finish the thought Cole was likely to leave hanging. “So you’re saying we check and see whether more than one birth certificate was stolen from the place where he grabbed his?”

“Yeah. And other places. Problem is, when the kind of birth record he used is taken, sometimes there isn’t any record of it being there in the first place.”

“We should go the other way and look at the deaths,” Knowles said.

Cole rotated his head to take in Knowles, considered what he’d said, then nodded.

Laramie wasn’t grasping it yet.

“Little help?” she said.

“What-”

“It-”

They’d both started speaking at the same time, then stopped. Laramie almost flinched in anticipation of the argument she figured would ensue.

“Go ahead,” Cole said.

Knowles nodded. Laramie raised her eyebrows.

“It doesn’t do any good for our kind of guy, a sleeper,” Knowles said, “if he’s stolen the identity of somebody who’s alive. The way it’s done-at least the way I understand it-is you swipe the birth certificate, or just use the Social Security number, of a dead person.”

Catching up, Laramie said, “Nobody’s around to argue that you don’t exist.”

“Yeah.” Cole took the baton. “The most effective way to do it is by stealing the Social of somebody who died young. Would just make the most sense either way for it to be somebody born twenty-five or thirty years ago.”

“So there isn’t anybody still, what, actively grieving for him?”

“Well, yeah, that too, but what I’m talking about is the records. Last couple of decades, most jurisdictions have been keeping an electronic copy of birth certificates and death records in the same system. Before that, you could be born and die in the same town and the only record of either event was buried in separate files in different buildings. Plus you’re getting the age right on the Social Security number. But maybe the most important thing is, if we’re talking an early death-such as the real Benjamin Achar’s death from SIDS-there isn’t any significant record of life that’ll register with the federal government based on the Social. In many cases, Socials weren’t issued to children until they were six, eight, ten years old. Not until recently.”

Laramie considered this.

“So if you’re Achar, or his employers,” she said, “you steal a birth certificate from some town hall, making sure the person whose certificate you’re stealing died young. Preferably before the electronic-records era. And then, what, you apply for a new Social Security card using the birth certificate?”

“That’s right,” Knowles said. “Or get a new one. Say you lost yours-or they never gave you a number to begin with. And what we’re saying is we could find some Socials to check up on, doing it the same way Achar might have chosen his-by digging out names of people who died young in the same time period as the real Benjamin Achar, and checking to see whether their Socials have, after a long gap, eventually popped up on recent credit reports or tax returns.”

Laramie reached back and wrote Birth certificate thefts-dead-Mobile/other as their third note on the board, but was already thinking through some of the problems presented by this investigative strategy before she finished writing the words.

“Lot of dead people to check on,” she said, “in a lot of places. Plus we’ll need to find the deaths how? From town halls?”

“Libraries would be better,” Cole said. “In old newspaper files stored on microfiche.”

“Whole thing adds up to one hell of a thought, Detective,” Knowles said.

Laramie almost laughed out loud at these guys. She said, “Might test the resources of the support personnel we’ve got at our disposal, but it certainly is an interesting idea.”

Laramie noticed the salmon-colored hat first. She then realized what it was-her guide was standing in the doorway between the rooms.

“Headed for the airport,” he said, then thrust a thumb over his shoulder. “I set up some coffee and bagels in twelve. Door’s open.”

“What,” Laramie said, “no doughnuts? We’ve got an officer of the law here this morning.”

Cole swiveled his head to observe her guide-interested, Laramie thought, in the answer, and thereby confirming the truest of all stereotypes.