Read Online In Death 38 - Thankless in Death by J. D. Robb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. D. Robb
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New York.”
“Question holds.”
“He’s got to know somebody who knows somebody. He probably bought fake ID before he hit legal drinking age so he could get into the clubs or buy a brew. Who doesn’t?” Peabody slid her glance to the left. “You never?”
“No.” She hadn’t cared about clubs, Eve remembered.
“Trust me, most kids do. So I’d use that as a springboard, shell out some of the money for new ID.”
“Except, back in New York you don’t have the new look.”
“Shit!” Cornered again, Peabody rapped a fist on her thigh. “Let me think. How would you play it?”
“I’d spend some of the time I’m in the apartment with my dead parents researching how to make my own fake ID. I find a dead guy, get the supplies I need for docs that will satisfy the bored clerk at the ID center. And I liquidate everything on Saturday, well before anybody’s issued any alerts. When I leave, I have one easy-to-carry suitcase, backpack, overnight—travel light, travel fast. I don’t need or want all my stuff anyway. I’d pack just enough to get me through a couple days. I wire the money to an offshore account, one that doesn’t report transactions. It’s not that much money; nobody’s going to blink. That gives me all day Sunday to travel. I leave looking like myself, hit a flop—that part works, change my looks to match the ID I’m going to make. Take my own picture to go with the docs I’ve faked. Then I’m going to add some embellishments so I don’t look so much like the guy I’m going to become. Layer my clothes to bulk myself up. Take some of the hair I cut—and saved and dyed—and make myself a little goatee maybe, add an earring, a couple temp tats, maybe washable bronzer. Then I take a bus, a train, juggling transpo, but not to Pittsburgh, to someplace like Milwaukee.”
“Milwaukee? What’s so good about Milwaukee?”
“It just came to me, but it’s away—Midwest. That’s where I scout out the ID centers until I find one that feels right. I change my looks back, go in with my story about losing my ID while I was on a scuba trip in Cozumel.”
Peabody gaped at her. “Seriously?”
“It sounds stupid, and weird, and that’s why they’ll buy it if you play it right. Then I walk out with my new ID, take a shuttle to the Caymans or wherever I’ve wired the money, scoop that up, then I’dcheck into a nice hotel, head to the beach, and have one of those drinks with an umbrella in it.”
“You’re good at this.”
Eve shook her head as she hunted for parking. “Not good enough. It’s not enough money to make it all work, or be worth it. And it’s still leaving a trail if the cops keep sniffing.”
She spotted a second-level spot and another vehicle on the hunt. Ruthlessly, she hit vertical, tipped, veered, and shoehorned her way in.
“We’d follow the money,” she continued when she hopped out. “And we’d find it. He’d have been better off to settle for the cash around the apartment, and whatever he could carry and sell. Then run like hell, change his ID, his looks, his name, maybe settle in Milwaukee and get a nice, nondescript job. But most people are too greedy, too impatient. They want it all, and they want it now.”
At street level she walked the half a block to Ursa’s Fine Jewelry, which hyped their expertise in sales, repair, and acquisition.
She stepped inside to the scent of flowers, the murmur of voices, and the sparkle.
Peabody said, “Ooooh.”
“Stomp that down,” Eve warned.
“The guy with the flowy silver hair and cruise ship tan’s Ursa.”
Spotting him sliding some sparkles on a velvet tray back into a display case, Eve crossed to him. “Mr. Ursa.” She palmed her badge, watched him nod as he sighed. “Lieutenant Dallas, and Detective Peabody. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”
“He looked like such a nice young man.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“He said he’d recently lost his parents in an accident. He
“Question holds.”
“He’s got to know somebody who knows somebody. He probably bought fake ID before he hit legal drinking age so he could get into the clubs or buy a brew. Who doesn’t?” Peabody slid her glance to the left. “You never?”
“No.” She hadn’t cared about clubs, Eve remembered.
“Trust me, most kids do. So I’d use that as a springboard, shell out some of the money for new ID.”
“Except, back in New York you don’t have the new look.”
“Shit!” Cornered again, Peabody rapped a fist on her thigh. “Let me think. How would you play it?”
“I’d spend some of the time I’m in the apartment with my dead parents researching how to make my own fake ID. I find a dead guy, get the supplies I need for docs that will satisfy the bored clerk at the ID center. And I liquidate everything on Saturday, well before anybody’s issued any alerts. When I leave, I have one easy-to-carry suitcase, backpack, overnight—travel light, travel fast. I don’t need or want all my stuff anyway. I’d pack just enough to get me through a couple days. I wire the money to an offshore account, one that doesn’t report transactions. It’s not that much money; nobody’s going to blink. That gives me all day Sunday to travel. I leave looking like myself, hit a flop—that part works, change my looks to match the ID I’m going to make. Take my own picture to go with the docs I’ve faked. Then I’m going to add some embellishments so I don’t look so much like the guy I’m going to become. Layer my clothes to bulk myself up. Take some of the hair I cut—and saved and dyed—and make myself a little goatee maybe, add an earring, a couple temp tats, maybe washable bronzer. Then I take a bus, a train, juggling transpo, but not to Pittsburgh, to someplace like Milwaukee.”
“Milwaukee? What’s so good about Milwaukee?”
“It just came to me, but it’s away—Midwest. That’s where I scout out the ID centers until I find one that feels right. I change my looks back, go in with my story about losing my ID while I was on a scuba trip in Cozumel.”
Peabody gaped at her. “Seriously?”
“It sounds stupid, and weird, and that’s why they’ll buy it if you play it right. Then I walk out with my new ID, take a shuttle to the Caymans or wherever I’ve wired the money, scoop that up, then I’dcheck into a nice hotel, head to the beach, and have one of those drinks with an umbrella in it.”
“You’re good at this.”
Eve shook her head as she hunted for parking. “Not good enough. It’s not enough money to make it all work, or be worth it. And it’s still leaving a trail if the cops keep sniffing.”
She spotted a second-level spot and another vehicle on the hunt. Ruthlessly, she hit vertical, tipped, veered, and shoehorned her way in.
“We’d follow the money,” she continued when she hopped out. “And we’d find it. He’d have been better off to settle for the cash around the apartment, and whatever he could carry and sell. Then run like hell, change his ID, his looks, his name, maybe settle in Milwaukee and get a nice, nondescript job. But most people are too greedy, too impatient. They want it all, and they want it now.”
At street level she walked the half a block to Ursa’s Fine Jewelry, which hyped their expertise in sales, repair, and acquisition.
She stepped inside to the scent of flowers, the murmur of voices, and the sparkle.
Peabody said, “Ooooh.”
“Stomp that down,” Eve warned.
“The guy with the flowy silver hair and cruise ship tan’s Ursa.”
Spotting him sliding some sparkles on a velvet tray back into a display case, Eve crossed to him. “Mr. Ursa.” She palmed her badge, watched him nod as he sighed. “Lieutenant Dallas, and Detective Peabody. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”
“He looked like such a nice young man.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“He said he’d recently lost his parents in an accident. He
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