Forgive Me(45)

Obtaining bank and financial records is a big no-no without a court order, but some legal maneuverings were available to her and others in her trade. UCC statements might be on file in Washington or another state if Markovich put any personal property up for collateral. There might be civil litigation, probate and corporate filings. Maybe he had something on file with the SEC. Was he invested in a non-profit? Markovich might use shell companies for what those in the know called asset protection. Money and property could also be placed into trusts. It usually wasn’t a problem to get a court order to obtain trust documents, but Angie had seen cases where a company in Delaware owned the trust, with no name attached. The game was to erect financial barriers to keep the diggers out and the lawsuit liability to a minimum. All of it was legal, too.

She had a gut feeling about Markovich. His interaction with Nadine and the predatory behavior she’d observed at the mall had sealed it. What she needed was something concrete, something that might lead her to the young runaway.

The hours dragged on and the waiting became tedious. Markovich hadn’t left the apartment. Twice she had snuck into a nearby Starbucks to use the bathroom and got lucky. Markovich’s car was still in the garage when she got back. A second set of eyes was the only way to run this stakeout, and those eyes showed up just when she needed to use the bathroom once more.

Mike Webb wore a typical outfit for him—plaid shirt with khaki pants—and was out of breath when he tapped on her car window.

She lowered her window and smiled at him. “How far away did you park?” It had to be a mile away, judging by how hard he was breathing.

“A couple blocks from here,” Mike said, hands on his knees. “I ran because you said to hurry. Sorry, just have to catch my breath.”

Angie arched an eyebrow. “I think we may need a fitness standard for the agency.”

He held up a bag from Subway with what Angie guessed were two sandwiches inside.

“Let’s start now, ’cause I’m thinking of ‘fit-n-ess’ this meatball sub into my mouth.”

Angie laughed. “I think I saw that on some Internet meme.”

“I get all my jokes recycled.” His breathing less labored, Mike sat in the front seat beside Angie and fished her sandwich out of the bag.

“What are you doing?” Angie asked. “We can’t both sit in the car. It’s a bit conspicuous, don’t you think?”

“You said you had to go to the bathroom. I was just going to hang out here until you got back. If he flees while you pee, I gotta fly, right?”

Angie returned a wink and made sure the keys were in the ignition. “Leave my sandwich on the seat. I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t think you can call lettuce, tomato, pickles, and olives a sandwich. It’s more like a salad on bread. It’s like a salwich.” Mike looked impressed with himself. “Hey, do you think that’s trademarked?”

“I think you should stick to PI work and bouncy houses. Though I should say thanks for coming down here on such short notice. This stakeout will be a lot easier with you here.”

Angie made the bathroom run, but didn’t hurry. She stretched her legs and took in some fresh air. The sun had beat away the morning chill and a warm breeze carried with it all the fresh smells of spring. It was hard to trade the cloudless afternoon and scented air for the stench of her Taurus, but that was the job and she was prepared to do whatever it took.

When she returned, Mike had a strange look on his face. Angie got settled, unwrapped her “salwich” and noticed that he had devoured half of his sub. Evidently the new “fitness” program was off to a strong start.

“Got a present for you,” he said.

“I was wondering what that weird look of yours was all about.”

“The mother at my rental gig on Saturday has a brother who’s an ENT.”

“You mean EMT?”

“No, I mean ENT as in ear, nose, and throat doc. He was at the party for his nephew.”

A tickle of excitement came over Angie. She thought she knew where this was headed. “And?”

“We got to talking and I mentioned I had a case involving a girl with a deformed ear. I didn’t give him all the details or anything. He just told me to e-mail him the picture and while you were taking care of business just now, I got a response back.”

Angie’s excitement spiked higher. She had planned to follow up with a doctor on this very subject, but the Nadine search had sidetracked her. She was grateful Mike had taken the initiative. It was an important discovery. A medical issue, something possibly documented, could be useful as they tried to make a positive identification.

“What did he say?”

“He can’t be definite because he would have to see the girl in his office to be sure.”

“Understood. Just tell me what he said.”

“Okay, okay. He said it was”—Mike glanced at his phone—“Microtia-Congenital Ear Deformity.”

“What the heck is that?”

“I’ll read you his e-mail. ‘Hi Mike, nice to meet you at Audwin’s birthday.” Mike lowered his phone and made a look of disgust. “What’s up with these names today anyway? Who names their kid Audwin? ‘Oh what a cute little baby. I think I’ll name him—Audwin.’ What’s wrong with—I dunno—Mike or Jack, Billy, David, or something, you know, normal.”