Play Dead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,80
the superintendent of the complex ever heard of Stacy Harriman, and they didn’t recognize her picture.”
“How many people did you ask?”
“At least two dozen,” he says. “All people who have been here for years. She never lived at this address, Andy.”
“What else did you find out?”
“She never went to the high school, either. No teachers ever heard of her, and she’s not listed in the yearbook.”
“But she has a transcript,” I say.
“The school administration wouldn’t talk to me about it; they said the records are confidential.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“That’s what I told them, but they weren’t impressed. But the bottom line is that unless she was invisible while she was here, then her background is faked.”
“Have you got documentation?” I ask, knowing that he must.
Kevin confirms that he has a folder full of documents and sworn declarations that we can use in court as evidence for what he has found out, if we get the opportunity. “Andy, I never thought I’d say this, but I think Reggie was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Richard is innocent.”
“Absolutely. And you should get back here fast so we can figure out how to get him out of prison,” I say.
“I’m on a two o’clock flight.”
“Take care of that ear. And keep an eye on your nose and mouth; everything’s connected.”
“Wise-ass,” he snarls, and hangs up.
It doesn’t pay to be concerned about people.
I hang up and call Sam Willis, who says that he had just been ready to call me. Sam presents more of the same; the further he digs into Stacy’s background, the more obvious it is that her real history has been completely concealed.
“And this isn’t run-of-the-mill stuff, Andy. “We’re talking driver’s license, voter registration card, passport, social security number—all issued in fantasyland.”
“Let me ask you this,” I say. “You’ve been able to access all this stuff on the computer. Could somebody as good as you, or even better—”
“Better?” he interrupts. “Better?”
“If such a thing were possible, could somebody as good or better have created all of this? Some citizen with a computer?”
He thinks about it for a few moments before answering. “No. Maybe some of it, but not all the stuff that I’m looking at. The effort involved would be unbelievable, and even then it wouldn’t be this thorough. This has to be bigger than that.”
This seems to be the prevailing view, and it’s one I share. Another factor that also supports this conclusion is that as far as I can tell, Stacy Harriman never went around trumpeting her background. She was always pretty quiet about it, speaking in vague generalities. If she had gone to all the trouble of creating it, she would have held it out there more.
It’s not until nine o’clock at night that Laurie calls to add her voice to the chorus. It’s a sign of how exciting my life is that I’m already in bed, watching television.
Laurie has spoken to her friend at LAPD, though she gave him only generalities, not specifics. “He says it has to be WITSEC,” she says.
She’s talking about the government agency that handles witness security. Contrary to common perception, it is not run by the FBI but rather by the U.S. Marshals Service.
I tell her about my conversations with Kevin and Sam, which only reinforce her conclusion.
“Is your friend familiar with any cases in which they’ve been forced to provide information about one of the people they’re protecting?” I ask.
“As far as I know, that never happens.”
“You doubt my powers?”
“Never. But you might want to utilize Kevin’s powers on this as well.”
“Good idea.” I had already planned to meet with Kevin tomorrow, and I’ll leave him a message to that effect when I get off the phone with Laurie.
“Any word on Reggie?” she asks.
“No. Pete says every cop in the area has been notified, but no sign of him.”
We commiserate about this for a few minutes, and then she asks, “What are you doing tonight?”
“I can’t decide. I was thinking maybe a movie and then stopping for a drink, or there’s a terrific new jazz club that just opened.”
“You’re in bed watching television,” she says.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“Because I know you better than you know you.”
“You make me feel naked,” I say, in mock protest.
“If I were there you would be.”
Kevin is over at ten in the morning. He brings his own tissues, since occasionally in the past I’ve only had paper towels to give him when he needed to blow his nose. He blows his nose a lot.
Kevin also brings some