Truth - Romig Aleatha - Страница 22
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In the past twenty-four hours, Phillip learned a lot about Claire Nichols: She’d applied for her birth certificate and social security card – all matters of public record. She opened a bank account with a deposit of $100,000 from an unknown source – not public record.
He also discovered, just yesterday, her account received a life-giving infusion. Phil wasn’t the investing type, but from his scan of the information, Claire Nichols had an impressive investment portfolio. The notable wealth came from a wire transfer. The originator of the transfer was an account in Switzerland. To most people that would be the end of that transaction. Phillips’s sources were not that easily deterred. The monies came from a high-end gems and jewelry broker named Pulvara operating in San Francisco. Phil planned to visit his business Monday.
He gave Ms. Nichols credit. She’d tried to remain under the radar, even using a post office box at the Palo Alto Post Office. It would have worked, except the federal government, as well as the Indiana state government, didn’t accept P.O. Box numbers as an acceptable address to send official documents. Ironically, Ms. Nichols adherence to domestic laws led Phillip Roach to the corner of Forest and Gilman.
Phil wasn’t willing to relay all of this information to Mr. Rawlings. First, he wanted to visit Mr. Pulvara to learn more before he jumped to conclusions on her recent windfall. Second, he wouldn’t divulge the exact address without visual conformation. After all, she could have deceivingly listed a friend’s address. Or perhaps, she paid someone for the use of their mail box. Phil glanced between the large luxurious building and his laptop, as he worked to compile a detailed report. He planned to say he was getting closer to pin-pointing Ms. Nichols’ whereabouts when he saw a petite brown haired woman suddenly visible through a large window on the fourth floor. He strained to see the woman, stories above. Yes, it looked like Claire Nichols.
Reaching for his camera with the telephoto lens, she walked away from the plates of glass, and he lost sight of her. Momentarily questioning his vision, he debated adding her address to the report. Then like a gift from the surveillance gods, Claire Nichols stepped through the front doors of the building.
Wearing a jacket to protect her from the spring wind, the brunette turned toward the northeast. Phil watched her bury her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. The breeze blew back her hair, exposing her face and slender neck. Utilizing the long telephoto lens, he zoomed in on her features. Due to the wonders of technology his camera’s illumination element diffused light, creating the illusion of daytime even in dusk.
Despite the brown hair, Phil’s intuition told him this was the same woman in the photos he’d studied. Without question, the surveillance gods had offered him Claire Nichols. Depressing the button on his camera, multiple photos snapped in seconds. Phil pulled his car out of the concealed parking space and slowly eased his way along Forest Street. He drove ahead of where she seemed to be going.
In his rearview mirror, he watched Claire progress along the sidewalk, only feet from his newly parked car. He snapped her photo. She clearly appeared absorbed in her thoughts. Forcing her into his automobile would be easy, but that wasn’t Mr. Rawlings’ request. Mr. Rawlings wanted information.
An investigator’s job was not to question. Therefore, he would never do so aloud. Yet, internally, Phillip Roach wondered why, if Mr. Rawlings was concerned about the woman who reportedly tried to kill him, he only wanted facts. As Phil observed the attractive lady his instinct told him he hadn’t been hired to keep Mr. Rawlings safe. No, he’d been hired to report the every move of a woman Mr. Rawlings wasn’t willing to emancipate.
As Claire passed, Phil pretended to look down. Once she passed, he eased out of his car, onto the sidewalk and fell into rhythm with her steps.
Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many. The intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.
—Phaedrus
Chapter 9
Phillip Roach reread his email:
To: Anthony Rawlings
Date: March 23, 2013
Subject: Claire Nichols
From: Phillip Roach
Mr. Rawlings, due to the late hour in Iowa, I’m emailing the information I’ve acquired thus far:
I had visual confirmation. Claire Nichols has been located – her address: 365 Forest Ave. Unit 4 A, Palo Alto, California. She recently obtained a copy of her birth certificate, social security card, and a driver’s license. She isn’t employed. Her bank account is healthy, opened with the deposit of a $100,000 Cashier’s check. This was traced back to a bank in New York; it was purchased with cash. I have some top notched associates working on this, but it seems to be a dead end. It was purchased the week before her release.
She spent much of the original money on necessary items: a car (2011 Honda Accord LX), clothes, personal items, telephones, computer, etc.
Her bank account recently received another deposit of $50,000, and she created an investment portfolio worth near $750,000. The source of this money is still being investigated. I hope to learn more Monday. I have confidence this information will be obtained.
Attached are photos taken Saturday night.
I will await your directives for continued observance and will remain completely devoted to this case until you instruct otherwise. Phillip Roach
Phil double checked the attachment: Multiple photos of Claire walking along a street, the close-up views were quite detailed. He continued to click. The numerous photos gave the illusion of Claire Nichols literally walking down the street. He slowed his clicks; she now sat on a park bench. Next she held an iPhone. The conversation changed her expression – relieved, happier. A few more views of her on the bench and then there’s someone with her. Click, they’re talking – the other person who wore a jacket and baseball cap was a man. Although the hat concealed his features, Claire’s expression suggested familiarity. The next shot showed the two of them walking from the bench to a waiting car. No physical contact, however both of their expressions appeared relaxed and casual. As Phil clicked, Claire opened the passenger door of the blue Mustang while the man opened the driver’s. The last photo showed the license plate.
Phil smiled; satisfied with his report and hopeful Mr. Rawlings would feel the same. SEND.
*****
The cool clear water refreshed Derek Burke as his plane descended toward Boston. Below the clouds and between the buildings he saw sprouts of green. As April began so did spring on the East coast. He’d been gone two weeks, making five weeks since he and Sophia were in the same city. He knew it wasn’t either of their preference, but after accepting Shedis-tics job offer, he worried it’d be their future.
Relishing flying first class with wider seats and increased leg room, Derek closed his eyes and nervously awaited their reunion. The anticipation combined with apprehension obscured the roar of engines. He considered Shedis-tic’s final offer... the next time he flew from coast to coast it would be in a private Shedis-tic’s plane. They offered him unlimited access and ability to fly from Santa Clara to Provincetown in hours, without the hassle of commercial flights.
The enticement package was incredibly appealing. The salary alone was more than Derek had ever considered requesting, and the signing bonus would alleviate most of their debt. Sophia’s larger studio could become a reality sooner, rather than later.
Throughout the negotiations he’d done what he promised and called Sophia discussing each offer. When he explained the financials and necessary living requirements, she was on board. However, her attitude changed when he mentioned the travel component. Not just traveling to and from the west coast, but weeks and months traveling outside the country. It was inferred, most of his travels would take him to the Orient, the location of the world’s major software players. After all, Shedis-tics didn’t expect to overcome the competition by watching from afar.
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