names of the accounts in those banks. Their security might be too much for me. I was hoping Jock’s people could get into them.”
“I’m sure they can. Was there anything on Nigella Morrissey?”
“Yes. I got into the foundation bank account records. She shows up on the payroll the first time when the payroll account was opened with the bank about five years ago. The payments were being sent to a bank in Macon, but in mid-June of this year, that changed. Her pay is now electronically transferred to an account in a Sarasota bank. Ten thousand dollars a month. The last payment was transferred overnight Sunday. It was in the account at the opening of business yesterday.”
“You’re sure? Sarasota?”
“Yes. I ran her Social Security number through the databases. I wanted to see what else I could turn up on her. The number was never issued to anyone named Morrissey. Turns out it was issued to a friend of ours.”
An icy chill ran up my spine, an augury of dread, the presage of knowledge I didn’t want. “Who?”
Debbie let out a long slow breath. “I’m sorry, Matt. The Social Security number belongs to Jennifer Diane Duncan.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
I closed the phone. I sat quietly, staring at the passing cityscape, trying to get my thoughts in some sort of order. J.D. couldn’t be dirty. Not the J.D. I knew. She was a professional law enforcement officer, a woman of strong ethical and moral values, a strength of character that glowed like luminous radium, somehow always letting the world know that she was an upright human being with no character defects.
“What’s up?” asked Jock. “You look like somebody died.”
“It turns out that the elusive Nigella Morrisey is J. D. Duncan.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Debbie tells me that Morrissey’s paychecks go into an account in a Sarasota Bank. Morrissey’s Social Security number is identical to J.D.’s.”
“Uh-oh. That’s not good.”
“Something’s not right. J.D. isn’t dirty.”
“I want to agree with you, podna. But we’ll have to follow the facts.”
“Deb says she has a number of banks where the money has been shifted from the Otto Foundation account. Can your people get those records?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
By the time we reached the airport Jock had called his agency and then called Debbie and asked her to e-mail the bank information to an agency geek who would get into the accounts and find out where the money went. Jock told the computer guy to look first at the Sarasota bank and an account in the name of Nigella Morrissey.
We landed at Sarasota a little after two o’clock. Fred Cassidy said that he and the copilot had been instructed to lay over at the Hyatt Regency again in case I needed the plane. Jock called his contact in the agency office in Washington while we drove back to Longboat Key.
He closed his phone. “It doesn’t look too good, Matt. Morrissey’s account gets nine thousand two hundred thirty dollars each month. That’s the ten grand less the Social Security and Medicare withholding. She doesn’t withhold any income taxes. There have only been three checks written out of the account, each one on the day after the money is transferred in and each one for exactly nine thousand dollars, payable to J.D. Duncan. The checks are cashed at the bank on the same day. The last one was cashed yesterday morning at nine forty-five.”
“That’s pretty neat,” I said. “If the checks are cashed for less than ten grand the bank doesn’t have to report it to the government. I wonder if the bank has security cameras that can identify the person who cashed the checks.”
“Bill Lester can get that for us.”
“I don’t want to involve Bill in this just yet. He’ll have to take some action and then the word will get out that J.D.’s on the take. Even after we prove she’s not, the stain will still be there.”
“Look, podna,” Jock said. “I know you’ve got feelings for J.D, but you can’t let that cloud your judgment. Things don’t look so good for her right now. Bill’s your friend and J.D.’s boss. He needs to know about this.”
“I don’t want to lie to Bill, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
“Unless J.D. is dirty, and then a load of crap is going to fall on the chief.”
I was quiet for a moment, thinking it over. Bill truly was a good friend, to both J.D. and me, but he also had responsibilities to his department and the town that paid his salary. He