“I wonder if he’s even still using Forbes’s identity,” Cohen thought aloud. “Any more background info on Wayne Forbes?”

“Oh, yeah.” Leetch whistled. “Old Wayne is … or was … a real piece a work. Stock fraud was his bag. He’s been banned for eternity plus a year from ever trading on the Chicago Stock Exchange and most others in the Midwest.”

“Any convictions?” Cohen asked.

“Coincidentally, he was being investigated by the Feds two years ago February when he up and disappeared,” Leetch said. “Funny though, Wayne fled so quickly he forgot to take his money with him. Left a couple of flush bank accounts behind.”

Cohen jotted brief notes on the hotel pad by the phone as his partner spoke. “Sounds like a repeat of the Dennis Tyler story?”

“Carbon copy,” Leetch grunted. “Both guys on the wrong side of the law. One day they each vanish, and then show up years later as our mystery dealer and Tara’s sweetie pie.”

Cohen understood Leetch’s point. “Tyler and Forbes sound like white-collar criminals. Not the types to distribute tainted drugs and shoot a couple of pushers in cold blood.”

“But if our guy knocked off the real Tyler and Forbes,” Leetch said, “He probably wouldn’t have huge moral issues with stealing his victims’ identities.”

“Yeah, why not?” Cohen said. “Sounds like no one else is looking for Tyler and Forbes.”

“Hey,” Leetch chuckled. “Maybe he’ll do us a favor and assume Frigerator’s or Mitchum’s identity next. That would get him whacked in a heartbeat. Save us some trouble.”

Cohen snapped his fingers, as an idea hit. “Rome, maybe we should be looking at a list of other ‘disappearances’ that fit the Tyler/Forbes profile. If this is his M.O., he must have helped other sketchy characters vanish. Their IDs would be up for grabs too. He might use one of their names next.”

“A bit of a long shot,” Leetch grumbled. “But, crap, what else have I got to do with my time?”

“And, Rome,” Cohen said, ignoring the complaint, “at some point someone must have filed a missing persons report on Tyler or Forbes. If you speak to the cops involved in those investigations, we might find something useful.”

“Already on it, chief,” Leetch said.

“Thanks, Rome,” Cohen said. “Hey, how are Sophie’s birthday party plans coming?”

“Terrific.” Leetch chuckled. “I think there was less fuss made over Oprah’s fiftieth. And I’m sure that party wound up cheaper than what Sophie’s is gonna cost.” He paused. “But don’t tell Gina I said so.”

“We’ll see.” Cohen chuckled. “Give them both a hug for me.”

By the time he hung up, Kilburn had emerged from the bathroom and Cohen, still feeling sticky from the humidity, headed in to take his turn. When he came out after his shower, Kilburn stood waiting for him by the door. “Neil Ryland,” he said flatly.