Lynne Heitman: The Pandora Key aka The Hostage Room

“He took that money and left the country.”

“Correct.”

“And now, four years after Fratello disappeared, you’ve found a bunch of cash with Harvey’s and Fratello’s fingerprints on it.”

“All true.”

“Rachel Ruffielo, the woman I told you showed up here this morning and sent me on a fool’s errand just before Harvey disappeared, was Betelco’s auditor?”

“She was the partner on her firm’s Betelco account.”

“Which means she knew Fratello.”

“She worked with him closely.”

“Was she involved in the embezzling?” It wouldn’t have surprised me one bit. “How could she not have been? If what you say about Betelco is true, she was either involved in the fraud or the world’s worst auditor.”

“We can’t prove any involvement on her part.”

“And yet you’re trying to connect Harvey to Fratello through Rachel.”

“It’s the prints on the money that connect him, and so far, the facts say that Harvey helped him run, not Rachel.” Ling looked as if he felt bad about the whole situation. Somehow, I didn’t think he really did.

“First of all, that makes no sense. Second”-I ended up behind the wingback, leaning over its high back-“Harvey’s prints on that money prove nothing. Harvey is a forensic accountant. He handles money all the time, and you can’t tell when he might have handled those bundles or for whom. Third, Rachel did this. I don’t know how, and I don’t know what, but things started to go sideways the second she walked through the door this morning.”

“Things went sideways four years ago,” Ling said. He was in the process of shutting down his computer. “Before you were on the scene.”

“So?”

“Think about it. The ex-wife showed up just after the money was found in Brussels and just before we got here, and now the two of them are gone.” He stood up and tucked his computer under his arm. Southern had already headed for the door without bothering to say goodbye.

“What are you saying?”

“Sometimes we don’t know people as well as we think we do.”

“You’re wrong about Harvey,” I said. And yet I couldn’t shake the image of Rachel perched on Harvey’s lap, and the thought of how much it had surprised me. Ling seemed to know it.

“Here’s my card,” he said. “When he comes home, give us a call.”

I WALKED THE TWO SPECIAL AGENTS TO THE FRONT DOOR, mostly to make sure they left. Then I went straight back to Harvey’s office, pulled the regular rolling chair from the corner, and slid in behind his desk. The desk was old and well used, and it showed. The brass door pulls were tarnished in the middle where they had been touched most. There was a similar bald spot in the finish on top where he used to lean over his work.

I sat for a moment to collect myself. I was trying not to freak out. Ling was right about one thing: there was absolutely no sign that Harvey had been taken by force. Maybe he was with someone he knew. I called Dan at the airport.

“Hey,” I said when he picked up. “You haven’t heard from Harvey, have you?”

“Since you called? No. Why, have you lost him?”

I didn’t know if it was the phrasing or the question that choked me up. I had to take a second.

“What’s wrong, Shanahan?”

“He’s not home, and the FBI is looking for him.”

“The FBI? What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything, Dan. Rachel did something and dragged him into it.”

“Jeez, all right. Jump down my throat, why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, but I came home, and his wheelchair was downstairs, and someone had been playing 45s upstairs, and then the feds came in, saying something about a missing embezzler and some cash they found in Brussels that had Harvey’s prints, and it happened four years ago, and-”

“Stop, you’re making my head hurt. What about Rachel? Maybe he’s with her. You said they were making out.”

“He might be with her, but not because he wants to be. That trip she sent me on to Quincy was a setup. There was nothing down there. When I got back to the house, he was gone.”

“Why would she take him?”

“When I find her, I’ll ask her, which brings me to my next point. I need Felix.”

“I think he’s covering a double.”

“Can’t you spring him for a few hours? I need him to run some things down for me.”

“The guy whose shift he’s covering is already out sick, and I’ve got another one on vacation.”

“All I need is for him to run a license plate.” The only useful thing that had come out of my visit to Quincy that morning. “He can probably do it between peaks.”

“You know that’s not how it will turn out. He’ll give you what you need, and then you’ll have more questions about that, and because he’s so fucking good at what he does, he’ll figure out a way to get you something else that you don’t even know you need, and pretty soon the shift will be over, and I’ll have a ramp full of dirty airplanes, a bunch of ticky-tack delays, and a shitload of mishandled bags.”

“Dan, it’s Harvey.”

“Jesus Christ, Shanahan. What do you think I’m doing over here? You of all people should know you can’t run this operation without supervisors. Son of a bitch.”

I waited. I didn’t know where he was. It sounded like the bag room. Wherever it was, I knew he was striding purposely in circles. That’s what he did when he was upset.

“He saved my ass,” he said quietly.

This was a hallmark of a discussion with Dan. Just as he often did quick cuts and maneuvers to speed through a crowded concourse, he often did the same kinds of quick cuts in conversation. You had to pay close attention.

“Harvey?”

“My ex’s lawyer had her convinced I was hiding assets. Like I’ve got assets to hide. I work in the goddamn airline business. If Harvey, God bless him, hadn’t proved to the world just how fucking broke I was, they would have doubled or tripled my alimony.”

Finally, a deep sigh.

“I’ll stay and cover Felix for as long as you need him. Give me a few minutes to track him down. But you’ve got to do one thing for me. You have to call me when you find Harvey so I don’t sit and worry all fucking night.”

He hung up.

Every once in a while, Dan let his big heart show. That’s why I loved him.

Harvey’s Rolodex was on the desk. He had no use for Microsoft Outlook. I pulled it over and found the card for Rachel. When both numbers listed turned out to be disconnected, I called information and asked for a listing under Rachel’s name. No luck. I turned to Harvey’s computer. It was old and slow, with a boxy monitor, but it would still access the Internet, even if it did have to dial in. Harvey and I had subscriptions to all kinds of private information services and databases. I quickly found Rachel’s maiden name-Kleinerer-and tried to find a listing under that name. Nope. While I was in the proprietary databases, I searched for and found her marriage licences and her divorce decree.

While those were printing, I sat down with the list of Harvey’s doctors and therapists that I kept with me. I went through all of them, dialing the numbers and asking if they’d heard from him. None had. It took a while. Then I checked the major hospitals, worried that I might find him there, but maybe more worried that I wouldn’t. I didn’t, so I turned back to the Net.

A homicide detective once told me how to look for people on the run. “Focus on three things,” he said. “Where they’re living, who they’re talking to, and how they’re funded.” With that in mind, I accessed records of Rachel’s real estate purchases, pre-Harvey, the names and addresses of her parents and siblings, and other facts and tidbits that might or might not be helpful.