Collateral Damage A Matt Royal Mystery - By H. Terrell Griffin Page 0,99
got the routing numbers off the endorsements on the back of the check and traced that to a bank in Atlanta.”
“And you hacked their computer.”
“Damn right. Marsh wrote a check to the trust account of a law firm in West Palm Beach for guess how much.”
“One million dollars.”
“Bingo.”
“And you found out what it was for.”
“Law firm computers have notoriously bad security. This one closed on the Bahamian property for Marsh LLC.”
“Where is the property?”
“It’s a house in Marsh Harbour. In the Abacos.” She gave me the street address.
“Damn, you’re good,” I said.
“That’s not all I got. Victor Chaffin died five years ago. He’s listed in the Social Security death index, and I found his obituary in the Columbus Dispatch. He was the founder of Chaffin Consultants, an engineering firm that was one of the first bought by Desmond Engineering Consultants when it started expanding.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“Bye.” She hung up, and I related the conversation to Jock.
“If she’s able to hack into bank computers, she’s better than I thought,” he said. “The agency’s hackers are the best in the world and they have trouble with bank computer security. Does she have any particular training in this stuff ?”
“No. It’s just something she got into and developed a real talent. She’s usually too wired to sleep when she gets home from work, so she stays up and trolls the Internet. I think she’s made some friends who spend their entire lives breaking into other people’s computers. It’s like a big game. Get in and get out. As long as they do no damage, they figure it’s all in fun.”
“But they can find a lot of private information on people. That could be dangerous if they mess with the wrong folks.”
“I agree, but she doesn’t listen to reason sometimes.”
“Maybe because you’re the enabler,” he said. “You seem to ask her for help on a regular basis.”
I got another cup of coffee, sipped it. “You may be right. I’ll be more careful about what I ask her to do in the future. But for now, what the hell is the connection between a house in the Bahamas and what we’re looking into?”
I went to my computer and put the Bahamian address into Google maps. I found the place, but it wasn’t in Marsh Harbour proper. The house sat alone on a small island off the northern tip of the peninsula that held the town. The only access to the island would be by boat. It was isolated and secure. A good place for people who didn’t want to be bothered.
My computer pinged, letting me know that an e-mail had arrived. I opened it. The message was: “I’m OK. Your buddy Tripp would love this place. Trust me.”
“Jock,” I said. “Look at this.”
“Damn. At least she’s okay or says she is. Who’s this buddy of yours, Tripp?”
“Tripp Harrison. He’s an artist. I’ve never met the man, but I love his paintings.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I’ve got three of his works, two limited-edition prints and one original oil. They’re all here in the house. J.D. likes them as much as I do.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“All three of the paintings are of scenes in the Abacos.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
“She’s in that house,” said Jock. “If we knew who sent you the e-mail about Marsh LLC we’d know a whole lot more.”
“None of this makes sense. Why would J.D. be in the Abacos and who the hell is she with?”
“And there’s also customs to worry about,” said Jock. “If she landed in the Bahamas, she had to clear customs. There’ll be a record.”
“Can you run that down?”
“Real quick,” he said as he opened his cell phone.
When he finished his conversation, he said, “Apparently they’re real slow about getting information into computers at Bahamian customs. We might not get the information for several days.”
“If somebody took her there against her will, I doubt they’re going to want to be anywhere near a customs officer.”
“What about going by boat? You’ve made that trip several times.”
“It’d be a pretty easy trip. You’re supposed to stop at the first port of entry and clear Bahamian customs, but boats go there all the time without stopping. There’re so many American boats in Bahamian waters during the summer that the Defense Force can’t keep up with them.”
“It’d be a pretty long trip, wouldn’t it?”
“Not that bad. If I were taking a big go-fast boat over, I’d leave from Lauderdale, stay north of Bimini into the Northwest Providence Channel, skirt the southern tip of Abaco, and come