Missing You(75)

Kat waited for him to press another button, so the screen-saving bimbo would disappear. But he didn’t. Kat looked at Chuback. Chuback nodded.

“Wait, are you saying your cousin went away with her?”

“That’s what he told my mother.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“That’s what I said. I mean, Gerard’s a nice guy and all, but a chick who looks like this? Way out of his league. See, my cousin can be rather na?ve. I was concerned.”

“Concerned in what way?”

“At first, I thought that maybe he was being conned. I’d read about guys who meet girls online who get them to carry drugs to South America or do something stupid. Gerard would be the perfect mark.”

“And you don’t think that anymore?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Chuback said. “But when he made the transfer, he told me that he’s very much in love. He wants to start a new life with her.”

“And that didn’t sound like a con to you?”

“Of course it did, but what could I do about it?”

“Report it to the police.”

“And say what? My weird client wants me to transfer his money to a Swiss bank account? Come on. Plus, there was still financial confidentiality.”

“He swore you to secrecy,” Kat said.

“Right, and in my business, that’s like confessing to a priest.”

Kat shook her head. “So you did nothing.”

“Not nothing,” he said. “I filled out an SAR. And now here you are.”

“Do you know the woman’s name?”

“Vanessa something.”

“Where does your cousin live?”

“It’s about a ten-minute drive.”

“Do you have a key?”

“My mom does.”

“Then let’s go.”

? ? ?

Chuback unlocked the door and ducked inside. Kat followed, her eyes scanning ahead. Gerard Remington’s home was indecently neat and clean and organized. It looked more like something behind glass—something for show—than a true human habitat.

“What are you looking for?” Chuback asked.

It used to be that you would start opening drawers and closets. Now searches were often simpler. “His computer.”

They searched the desk. Nothing. They searched the bedroom. More nothing. Not under the bed or on the night table.

“He only has a laptop,” Chuback said. “He may have taken it with him.”

Damn.

Kat started going old school—that is, opening drawers and closets. Even they were impossibly neat. The socks were rolled, four sets in each row, four rows. Everything was folded. There were no loose papers or pens or coins or paper clips or matchbooks—nothing was out of place.

“What do you think is going on?” Chuback asked.

Kat didn’t want to speculate. There was no actual evidence that any crime had been committed, other than maybe fuzzy monetary laws on moving sums of money to a foreign account. There were oddities, of course, and activities that one might deem suspicious, but right now, what could she do with that?

Still she had some contacts at the FBI. If she learned a little more, she might be able to run it by them, get them to take a more serious look into it, though, again, what would they find?

She had a thought. “Mr. Chuback?”

“Call me Chewie,” he said.

“Right, Chewie. Can you e-mail me that picture of Vanessa?”

He winked. “You into that kind of thing?”

“Good one.”

“Lame, right? But hey, he’s my cousin,” he said as though that explained everything. “I’m weirded out here too.”

“Just send it to me, okay?”

There was only one framed photograph on Gerard’s desk. A black-and-white shot taken in the winter. She picked it up and took a closer look.

Chuback came up behind her. “The little kid is Gerard. And the guy is his father. He died when Gerard was eight. I guess they liked to ice fish or something.”

They were both dressed in parkas with big, fur bomber hats. There was snow on the ground. Little Gerard held up a fish, a huge smile spread across his face.

“You want to hear something weird?” Chuback said. “I don’t think I ever saw Gerard smile like that.”

Kat put down the photograph and started checking the drawers again. The bottom drawer contained files, again neatly labeled in a handwriting that could have been a computer font. She found the bills for his Visa card and pulled out the most recent.

“What are you looking for?” Gerard asked.

She started to scan down the row. The first charge that stuck out was for $1,458 to JetBlue Airways. The charge gave no further details—where he planned on traveling or when—but she could trace that back pretty easily. She snapped a photograph of the charge and e-mailed it to Chaz. He could look into it. JetBlue, Kat knew, didn’t offer first class, so odds were, that amount was for two round-trip tickets.

For Gerard and the buxom Vanessa?

The rest of his charges seemed normal. There was the cable company and his cell phone (she might need that information), electric, gas, the usual. Kat was about to put the bill back in the drawer, when she saw it near the bottom.