The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,132
challenge to get them into a disaster area even after things have settled down; and I assure you our professionals face more than enough risk in the course of their work.”
“Now, an adjustor could access private information filed in support of a policy—and that could include sworn, notarized statements. Or am I wrong?”
“Correct. If a policy statement is based on fraudulent declarations, the contract is null and void, and the client isn’t entitled to compensation. That’s in the fine print of every contract. The client signs to certify the accuracy of the information provided.”
“All right, that’s perfectly clear. Then tell me, do adjustors need any sort of special authorization to access that information?”
“Adjustors are experienced agents, very senior people, so they have full access to any policy we accept.”
“The person we’re looking for might be between fifty and sixty years of age,” Amaia informed him.
“That doesn’t refine your search much. Most of our adjustors are in that age range. The AIA appreciates dedication, but we value expertise even more. It takes years of field experience to qualify. We may have one or two who are younger than that, but they’re the exceptions.”
“If I had to refine it a bit more, I’d probably be looking for someone who was about fifty-five years old. He’d be married with three children, most likely two boys and a girl. And, well—I don’t know if your files are this detailed—one of the boys might be named Michael.”
“Our information is comprehensive, since we require our employees to take out a policy with us. Come to think of it, about five or six years ago we set up a database with the birthdays of our employees, their spouses, and their children. It’s always a nice touch to send them a birthday card.”
“Tell me, is your office in Washington?”
“We have regional offices as well, of course. In fact, the Washington office is purely administrative. Our personnel are based out of New York or Austin, Texas.”
The connection was obvious. New York was close to Cape May, New Jersey; Galveston, Killeen, and Alvord were in Texas; Brooksville, Oklahoma, was probably an easy day’s drive from Austin. Getting from Austin to Florida or New Orleans would be simple. An adjustor could take a flight to somewhere within reasonable driving distance of a forecast disaster.
Amaia hazarded a last request, not expecting much of it. “Mr. Landis, I’m going to forward to you a list of some significant recent disasters, including New Orleans, where a disaster is striking even as we speak. I’m down here helping out after Katrina, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to phone you again, but I’ll do my best to get back in contact. But it may be extremely important for our ongoing investigation to establish which adjustor—or adjustors—visited those specific locations and when. And if any happened to be on leave on those dates. Oh, and if any of them has been on vacation for the past couple of days.”
“Um-huh,” Landis responded, certainly taking all that down.
She had a sudden inspiration. “And could you also provide the birthdates of any adjustors who fit those criteria?”
“I can.”
“How long do you think it will take to gather all that information?”
Landis was quiet for several seconds. Amaia was hoping against hope that he could have it quickly.
“Some of this I can have for you today, but for most of it I’ll need to check with our regional HR departments . . . oh, let’s say, probably by noon tomorrow.”
Agent Stella Tucker noticed that her left leg was numb. She stretched it as much as she could, which wasn’t much. She had to get out of the seat in the back of the van, then bend a long way over to stretch her legs. She glanced back at the five men with her in the van and caught every one of them except Emerson quickly looking away and pretending not to have been staring at her butt. Her FBI colleague, seated in the other jump seat, was staring at nothing. She rolled her eyes and massaged her calves to get the circulation going.
The SWAT team leader’s voice came through her earphones loud and clear. “He just moved. Still got his hands on the steering wheel, but he’s looking up.”
“Everybody stay put!” she responded. “Remember, unless something unexpected happens, we wait for him to enter the house. If we arrest him now, even if he’s armed, the DA will make mincemeat of us. We wait until he goes inside.”