Damaged Goods

Chapter Forty

I speed-dialed Nick again to see what he had learned from his sources. According to his DOJ contacts, artifact smuggling was not only linked with the Mob, but was definitely being used to finance terrorist activities. All the federal intelligence agencies—CIA, NSA, Homeland Security (that big umbrella that seems to include everyone else)—were on this.

"Here's a hypothetical," I said. "Suppose someone involved in ripping off terrorists wanted to disappear. Any idea who could help them do that?"

"Other than witness protection?" Nick said. "There are actually people who do this for a living. Help other people stay under the radar, that is."

"I know that." A hint of annoyance crept into my voice. The words that came out of my mouth were sharper than intended, so I stopped for a few seconds and then continued in a more reasonable tone. "Do you know anyone in particular who does this?"

Nick gave me the name of a private eye in DC—Alex Kingsley. I had to give the woman props in the cool name department. Alex Kingsley, P.I. Could have been a new Netflix series. I gave her a call.

After introducing myself and explaining who had referred me, I told her I needed to find someone who I suspected was taking great pains to stay hidden. "I've done a bit of skip tracing and repo work, but I could use your advice as someone who helps people stay off the grid. Any tips at all on how to discover them."

"I tell them time and again not to stay in touch with anyone from their old life, but they do it anyway," she said. "The problem is people really don't want to leave their old lives. They're usually running away from something they'll never escape—themselves."

Figures.

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I decided to take a bit of a risk. I'm not on Facebook or Twitter, so my clients come to me by personal referral only. And I can't think of a soul I'd want to connect with through social media. But I took the plunge and opened a Facebook account under the slightly different name "Melinda Blaine", using the photo Melissa's father had provided as the profile picture. Then, I searched for her old friend Katie Saunders, verified her status as a teaching assistant at Columbia University, and sent her a friend request. I waited, but not for long.

My request went unaccepted, but within a day, I got a message back: WTF?

The response spawned numerous guesses. Time to nail down the truth.

ϕϕϕ

With advice from Alex Kingsley, I did a bit more poking around. Then I called Nick to thank him again for the referral. "Just so you know, I'm leaving town for a while."

"What's up? Where are you off to?" he asked.

"Better you don't know."

"Erica." Spoken like a warning. "What are you doing now?"

"It's about that case I had. There's unfinished business."

"Are you sure you don't need help?" Nick said.

I laughed. "I'm never sure of that. But I should probably manage this alone."

Nick grunted what might have been assent. "Okay, but don't forget. I'm willing to help."

"I won't forget," I said. "You're on my phone as my emergency contact. Please don't forget about me."