An Absence of Light

Downstairs Graver went straight to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee while Paula dumped the overnight bag out on the kitchen table and began going through the documents. When the coffee was going, Graver sat down across from her. Paula had laid out six false Texas driver’s licenses, all with Heath’s picture on them-in a few she wore blond wigs-but with different names, birth dates, and identifiers, including licenses for Irene Whaley, who subscribed to magazines at Heath’s house, and Frances Rupp, who had bought the Corvette. There were bank account cards for each of the licenses, all at different banks, all of them containing money. All of the accounts together totaled nearly three hundred thousand dollars. “In-credible,” Paula said.

Chapter 47

“I met Don C. about three years ago,” she said, cradling the coffee in her cuffed hands as she sat at the foot of the bed with her legs crossed yoga-style. Her white blouse was unbuttoned low enough to reveal the long cleavage of her weighted breasts. “Met him in a bar. I was coming off a bad marriage, a bad marriage, and I was depressed and broke. Don struck up a conversation with me, heard my story, and said he could use a kind of gofer girl to help him do his little stuff. That’s what he called it, his ‘little stuff.’ It didn’t take any convincing, that’s for damn sure. Shit, I jumped at it.”

She shook her head, remembering. “Truth is, I would’ve worked for that guy for nothing.” She looked at Lara who was sitting in a chair across from her as if she thought Lara would understand. “Guy’s”-she nodded and lifted an eyebrow wryly-”a stud. A real one. Not some Happy Hour Yuppie, but a guy who’s got muscles and never went to a gym an hour in his life.” She shook her head. “Anyway,” she said, glancing around at Graver who was sitting at the head of the bed with a tape recorder, “all I did was, I went to parking garages and malls and places like that and took manila envelopes from people-it was usually women but sometimes guys-and gave them envelopes of cash in return. I knew it was cash. Don told me. And I knew it wasn’t drugs… I mean, flat manila envelopes? Besides, I opened the ones that weren’t sealed good and looked. Sometimes it was microfiche or computer printouts or just photocopies of documents.”

“What kind of documents?” Neuman asked. He was sitting on the floor leaning back against the wail, his legs straight out on the carpeted floor. He was taking notes on a steno pad.

“Lots of time they were bank records. Sometimes it was corporate information, uh, market research, product development research, sales figures, financial reports, billing records. Anything, everything.”

“Did you always give the money to individuals?”

“Oh, no. Most of the time not. At first I did because Don wanted me to get familiar with them, but not later. Don would give me a key and the money. If the key was to a car trunk in a parking garage, he’d give me the license plate number too. I’d find the car, open the trunk, leave the money, and take the envelope that would be there. Sometimes the key was to a locker at an airport or a mailbox at the post office. A few times even a safety deposit box. The drops could be anywhere. Whatever you could think of.”

“How much money were you paying out?” Paula asked. She was sitting in a chair too, near Lara, her crossed leg swinging nervously.

“Sometimes hundreds sometimes thousands… per person. As much as thirty thousand, as little as a couple of hundred. But I was picking up from the same group of people all this time, same five or six people, so they were turning some serious cash.

“This was kind of my training. I did this for maybe six months before Don got around to talking to me about it, telling me what he was doing and how he was doing it He said he had a client who gave him a shopping list of information he wanted. It was this guy who furnished the money to buy the stuff. Don found the people who could get the information, and then he started running them.

“Anyway, eventually Don turned these people over to me, and I’m still doing it. He passes me information lists, and I pass them on to the right people, make all the buys. It’s so damn easy. The amount of money I get out of it goes up and down sometimes because I get a percentage of what my sources get and what they get depends on the kind of information Don is asking them to come up with. I can’t always count on a certain amount every month, but it’s always cash, for me, for them, all around, and there is so damn much of it it doesn’t matter. I never had so much money.”

“Do you put it all in one account?”

“Oh, hell no. Don taught me how to set up bank accounts all around, spread the money, never deposit more than eight thousand at a time in any one place. That’s his personal, rule-of-thumb cutoff, eight thousand. The thing is, he didn’t want to get the banks suspicious, thinking we were selling drugs, and report us to the cops.”

“He got you the forged driver’s licenses?” Graver asked.