ColdScheme by Edita Petrick Read Free Book Online Page A

and
waited.
    “Training,” I said. I knew what was running through his
mind.
    “For what?” he whispered.
    “Bigger and better things. Those that probably made him run,
once he had figured out what it was about.”
    We drove in silence for a long time then Ken asked, “Do they
really make an eighty thousand dollar profit on the sale of one those fancy
cars?”
    “Yep. Up to twenty percent markup.”
    “You didn’t check this out on the side, did you?”
    “Nope.”
    “Then how did you know?”
    “I used to own one.”
    He laughed all the way to our office on Fayette, while I
chuckled because that’s all I could get out of my tightening throat.

Chapter Three
     
    In addition to Twain, Brick had carried eight different IDs.
Other than take out ads in all the major newspapers, asking for public
assistance, there was no way to track down the places where he might have
worked.
    His Maryland driver’s license had a Baltimore Highlands
address. I checked in five different street guides and couldn’t find Grange
Street. Neither could I find the Norwin Peaks co-op. Ken ran it through our
database. There was no such address.
    The Vehicle Services confirmed that Brick’s Maryland
driver’s license and car ownership, with the Grange Street address, were in
their database. The other five licenses were for New York State, Virginia and
DC.
    I started with Washington. I used to live there.
    “It’s half right,” the clerk said. “The names are valid. The
two applicants were issued driver’s licenses at the addresses you gave me but
not with those numbers. These are in our ‘pool and recycle’ database. Both have
been cancelled due to permanent license suspension. I will report this to our
Fraud Unit.”
    I phoned the Virginia Vehicle Services and got an identical
story. Mr. Peter Bolt and Mr. Collin Hawley, residents of Ashland and Richmond,
Virginia, owned driver’s licenses that corresponded to the addresses I gave but
the registry numbers were wrong. They were retired when their owners went to
prison for a roadkill orgy of pedestrians. I hung up before the clerk mentioned
a Fraud Unit.
    I dialed New York.
    The trip through the electronic screens was exhausting. One
message away from being sanded down to screaming frenzy, I got a break. I was
invited to try the internet. I could pass this delightful duty to Ken.
    “David Luxman lives in Brooklyn and holds a valid driver’s
license but not with the numbers I entered,” he reported when his query came
back.
    “Get out of the Vehicle Services site before they start
asking questions,” I warned him.
    He wasn’t fast enough. He had to enter his phone number or
the query would have been rejected.
    Half an hour later, he was still on the phone, trying to
convince New York that he was a Maryland police officer.
    “The number I gave them apparently belonged to a serial
killer. He’s locked up in the Great Meadow penitentiary,” he explained gloomily
when he hung up.
    He went to get coffee, while I checked a credit card.
    The Gold Visa had been issued to Martin Svenson, a DC
license holder. I asked the Cross National Bank and Trust how the credit card
was delivered to the recipient. Brick’s Cross Visa had Martin Svenson but no
address. I was curious whether the real Svenson had ever applied for a credit
card and whether the bank didn’t find it strange that someone would want to
duplicate this expensive service.
    I spent five minutes battling electronic screens and
prompters and five more holding, while the bank checked my credentials.
    “You issued a Gold Visa, with a twenty thousand dollar
credit line, insurance coverage, a medical and a frequent flier plan to a
customer who didn’t have a bank account at your bank?” I raised my voice.
    “The customer applied for a business card that would be used
for business purposes, office supplies and equipment, travel and related
expenses.”
    “Did he have a business account at your bank?”
    “The applicant