“They tried to find her, even hired private detectives. Nolan was not a law student, they found out to their dismay. She didn’t live where she said she lived. She had no past beyond five years, just like your Sara Brickman. He said he would help but don’t count on it. Chase doesn’t want the exposure a full-court press will bring. He said as much. Finn is afraid people would stop using their Chase credit cards, turn them in, go to other cards because Chase doesn’t protect their interests, that kind of thing.”
Lizzie chewed on her bottom lip as she digested her husband’s information. “What’s your gut feeling, Cricket?”
“My gut says Bethany Nolan is your Sara Brickman and all the other names you said she used. My advice would be to fax Finn the woman’s picture and wait to see what he does. I did mention that I heard through the grapevine that the vigilantes were hot on her trail.”
Lizzie found herself smiling at what Cosmo Cricket probably thought was a hushed whisper. “What did Mr. Finn say?”
Cosmo chuckled. “I can give it to you verbatim. ‘Good Christ, don’t tell me that!’”
This time Lizzie laughed out loud. “What did you say to that?”
“I just wished him luck, then he hung up.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Talk to you later.”
Lizzie sat for a few minutes longer as she ran the conversation with Cricket over and over in her mind. When she was satisfied she had it clear, she called Maggie, reported in. She rattled off the information Cosmo had given her. “Just fax the picture to Finn, and call me as soon as you hear something. The fact that the Post is on it might make Finn a little more cooperative. I think I just gave you your next headline, Maggie. And kudos on your following up on the foster child angle. Imagine, twenty percent of those accounts for kids in foster care. Talk about lowlife scum.”
Lizzie broke the connection and called Myra and Annie and relayed the same information, with instructions to call Charles immediately.
Charles Martin looked at the blizzard of papers spewing out of his fax machine. His e-mail pinged and zinged as if vying for attention over the faxes coming through. Two phones started buzzing as they, too, wanted their fifteen minutes of fame. Charles knew in his gut that something was wrong even before he answered the phone or checked his faxes and e-mails. He shrugged; that was what he was there for, to deal with each crisis and resolve it.
He listened to one of Avery Snowden’s operatives, a seasoned professional, as a frown built between his brows. “But you aren’t sure is what you’re telling me, is that correct?” He listened again. “You know what to do, Leigh. Call me when your replacement is in place. Check in with Avery and stay out of sight.”
Charles pressed a button and took the second call. He listened, the frown growing deeper. “If she’s in the garage and about to take her car out, she’s going somewhere. Stay with her. What do you mean she changed her mind? She’s going back to the elevator? Can you see what floor she punched in? Six? Did she act like she forgot something, or is she spooked? Leigh just called in, and she thinks Bonnie is spooked. Said Bonnie looked around, then right at her. A new face, and Bonnie can’t decide if she recognizes it or not. Anything is possible. Where’s Clyde? Usually he’s right on her heels. Okay, stake out the sixth floor, the stairwell, and make sure that the GPS you attached to the vehicle is on good and tight. Can you dismantle the locking system and dust the steering wheel for fingerprints?” He listened a moment longer, then said, “Get someone there to do it ASAP.”