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Camouflage(21)

By:Bill Pronzini


“As soon as I talk to Virden,” I said.

Only I didn’t talk to Virden. My call to his cell went straight to voice mail. I left an urgent call-back message, but it didn’t get returned.

* * *

Tamara had another surprise for me when I walked into the agency Wednesday morning. She came out of her office while I was shedding my overcoat and said without preamble, “This McManus thing gets weirder and weirder. Far as I can find out, the other woman doesn’t exist.”

“What other woman?”

“Jane Carson. City business license for Canine Customers lists R. L. McManus as sole owner and operator, no employees. Real estate outfit that handles the lease doesn’t have any record of a Jane Carson living at the Twentieth Street address, and neither does any other source.”

“So she could be living somewhere else.”

“Uh-uh. Lot of Jane Carsons in the city and the Bay Area, and none of ’em match.”

“Could be she recently moved here from out of state, hasn’t been here long enough to trace.”

“That’d make her a new hire then, right?”

“Or a new roomer. McManus rents out rooms, with or without the property owner’s knowledge and permission; there’s a sign on the fence in front.”

“Carson’s not either one,” Tamara said. “You told me she handled that Rottweiler like a pro. Can’t just walk in off the street and take over handling a big trained watchdog. Takes time, plenty of patience. Woman has to’ve been working or living there for weeks, if not months.”

I conceded the point.

“So if her real name’s Jane Carson and she’s had experience with dogs, I should’ve been able to get a hit on her on one of the real-time sites. Wasn’t even a hint.”

“So you think it’s an assumed name?”

“Or else there’re two identity thieves in that house.”

“Possible, but we don’t want to make any judgment leaps here. Or get too deeply involved without client sanction. Besides, there’s a catch in the scenario we’ve been building up.”

“What catch?”

“The profit motive. I can see an opportunist stealing the real Roxanne McManus’s ID in order to lay hands on the money she got from the sale of her pet shop seven years ago. But then why use it to lease a house here in the city, start up a dog-boarding business, and continue to live as McManus? She can’t be making that much out of Canine Customers.”

“Maybe she’s got herself a sideline.”

“You didn’t find any record of one.”

“Wouldn’t be a record if it was something illegal.”

“Then why is she supplementing her income by renting out a room or rooms? It doesn’t add up.”

Tamara admitted grudgingly that it didn’t seem to.

“How much is the monthly nut on her lease?” I asked.

“Thirty-five hundred. Cheap for property that size—some new loft apartments in the neighborhood are renting for that much—but still a lot of green.”

“More than you and I could afford. Factor in utilities, food, general expenses, and she has to be laying out a minimum of six thousand a month. Where’s the money coming from?”

“Yeah, where?”

“How much did the Blodgett pet shop sell for, do you know?”

“No, didn’t seem important at the time. But I’ll find out.”

“Small business in a little town near the Oregon border—couldn’t’ve been a large amount.”

“Might be enough to explain the original ID theft. Phony McManus could’ve talked her into selling.”

“The whole thing still seems off to me. Why would she use stolen money to move here, lease a house, and then spend seven years as a dog boarder and room renter?”

“Could’ve had some cash of her own.”

“Then why not set herself up in a better location, and in a more lucrative business?”

Tamara said, “Maybe she’s not greedy. Just wanted a house, enough income to live the way she wants.”

“Identity theft is a hell of a risk to run for that kind of return.”

“Doesn’t explain where this Jane Carson fits in, either. Damn.”

I said, “Find out the sale price on the pet shop. I’ll see if I can get hold of Virden.”

“Funny he didn’t return your call.”

“Not if he was as angry as you said he was.”

In my office I put in a call to Virden’s cell number. Out of Service message, this time. His place of business was Hungerford and Son, a San Jose firm that manufactured parts for washers, dryers, and other large appliances; the Hungerford number was on the card he’d given me. The woman who answered there said Mr. Virden was out of the office today and she didn’t know where he could be reached.