“Not so lucky since she’s dead. The point is, her initial wealth seemed to come in a lump sum. I know there are laws in place that you have to show where money came from. If someone walked into, say, Merrill Lynch, with ten million and wanted to open an account, there would have to be questions answered and a record of where the money came from.”
“You mean because of the possibility of money laundering?”
Decker nodded. “So she presumably passed the smell test with her current management firm. At least according to Todd. All of her records seemed to be in order. But when he checked into the background of those records—her old address, for instance—it didn’t pan out.”
“And the financial management firm didn’t discover that?”
“I don’t think they looked as hard as the FBI did. I mean, come on, it’s not like they were going to work very hard to turn down a ten-million-dollar account.”
“Right. But did they say where she told them the money came from?”
“Yes. Savings, investments, and a small inheritance.”
“Okay.”
“She bought the condo in Reston four years ago. The car was purchased a year after that. She lived in Atlanta previously and Seattle before that. At least we think she did. But we only have her past going back ten years. Before that, nothing. It’s like she didn’t exist. But then she has a résumé stretching back to college that passed the muster of the school’s background check.”
The dinner bill came and Decker paid it, refusing Jamison’s offer to chip in.
“I corrupted you tonight,” he said. “Let me pay for the privilege.”
She smiled, a smile that faded as someone approached their table.
Harper Brown looked directly at Decker. She was dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and a white blouse. Narrow-toed boots raised her height a few inches.
“Mr. Decker, I wonder if I could speak with you.” She glanced at Jamison for an instant before staring back at Decker. “Alone.”
“I can wait outside,” said Jamison, not looking very happy.
“You can head on, Ms. Jamison. I can drive your friend home.”
“I don’t mind—”
Decker said, “I’m sure that’ll be fine. And I probably won’t even have to give directions, since I’m pretty sure you know exactly where I live.”
Brown took a step back, smiled, and gestured to the door. “Shall we, then?” She glanced at Jamison. “Don’t worry. I’ll take exceptional care of your colleague.”
“You better,” said Jamison grimly.
CHAPTER
21
THEY DROVE IN silence for five minutes.
She glanced at him. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
“You said you wanted to talk to me. I’m waiting.”
She smiled and looked ahead.
Brown’s ride was a late-model BMW 7 Series sedan. He looked at the car’s interior. “Nice car. This would be like almost two years’ salary for me.”
“I lease. It’s a lot less financially onerous.”
“I guess.”
“And I tend to get tired of things after a few years.”
“Then never get married.”
“Are you still working the Dabney/Berkshire case?”
“You mean you haven’t cracked it yet? What’s taking DIA so long?”
She pulled to the curb and put the car in park. She turned to look at him.
“One of my assignments was to liaison with the Bureau. I’m trying my best to do that.”
“I was under the impression that being a liaison involved more than kicking a ‘sister’ agency off a case.”
“Is that what Agent Bogart thinks?”
“You’re speaking a different language. What the hell does that mean?”
“SecDef is cabinet-level. He makes a call to someone, and that party leans hard on the FBI director.”
“So that’s how it works in D.C.?”
“Pretty much. You’re from Ohio.”
“I know I am. The flyover land between the coasts.”