Читать книгу Nothing But the Truth - Kara Lennox - Страница 8

“BUT IT HAS to be a mistake.” Raleigh had been on the phone for twenty-two minutes, first on hold, then working her way up the corporate ladder of Houston Federal Bank. She was now talking to a vice president.

“If it was a mistake,” the condescending man said, “it wasn’t on our end. Now, it’s possible whoever made the deposit mistyped a number.”

“Exactly! So can’t you just contact them and ask?”

“I’m afraid not. Numbered bank accounts are numbered for a reason. We’ve sent a query to the transmitting institution, but we haven’t yet received a reply.”

“So maybe you could just—send the money back.”

“That’s impossible. Where would we send it?”

“Then put it wherever you put unclaimed funds.”

“I’m not sure why you’re so upset, Ms. Shinn. If there was an error, it will be corrected in a day or two.”

She considered telling him that the twenty thousand dollars sitting in her account was causing her all kinds of trouble. Then she decided on a different strategy. If she couldn’t solve the mystery of the strange deposit, maybe she could find out how Griffin got a copy of her statement.

“Mr. Temple,” she said, referring to the name she had jotted down. She kept detailed notes of every phone conversation. If her mother called to tell her she had a cold, Raleigh made a note and filed it.

“Yes, Ms. Shinn? Is there something else I can do for you?”

“How secure is your online banking? I mean, how hard would it be for someone to hack into your system?”

“I assure you, ma’am, our computers are hack-proof. Every transaction uses the latest in encryption technology.”

“So there is absolutely no way someone could get access to my statement without my permission? What about bank personnel?”

“In most cases of illicit access to bank accounts, the security loophole lies with the client. Mail can be intercepted. A password can be stolen or, more often, divulged to someone who shouldn’t have it.”

She started to vehemently deny the problem could be on her end. She memorized her passwords, never wrote them down anywhere. But she did receive paper statements.

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Temple.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Shinn.”

She hung up, knowing little more than she’d known half an hour ago.

Given what Griffin Benedict had told her, she had to view that strange deposit with new eyes. Rather than a mistake, could it be part of a plot to ruin her? If someone really had provided Griffin with that bogus tip along with the stolen bank statement, it meant she had an enemy. A powerful one who had gone to some expense to wreck her reputation.

Plenty of people did not like her. The nature of her job was confrontational. She was constantly challenging unlawful judicial proceedings, inept lawyers, negligent police investigators. When a conviction was overturned, it meant someone, somewhere, had made a mistake or worse, and she had brought it to light.

Some of her own clients didn’t even like her. Few of them were shining examples of virtue.

Then there was the general public. Project Justice received hate mail all the time from people who thought the foundation’s mission was to let killers out on the street.

The press alternated between loving her and hating her. She’d been in the news a lot lately with the Eldon Jasperson thing.

Even her own in-laws despised her. She’d never shared a warm relationship with them: they hadn’t considered her a good match for their only son. Once they’d realized they couldn’t talk Jason out of the wedding, they had tolerated her. But after Jason’s death, the claws had come out again.

Jason’s parents had blamed her for the fatal car accident. As if she hadn’t heaped enough guilt onto herself.

After his funeral, she had quickly learned of her perilous financial situation. Everything Jason had owned was in trust, controlled by his parents, and they weren’t inclined to give her a dime. Without him and his family’s financial support, she could not continue running the law practice she and her husband had poured all of their passion into.

Their small firm of Shinn & Shinn had specialized in providing solid legal representation to those who couldn’t afford to pay exorbitant legal fees—and they’d never made a profit. All of their living expenses had been drawn from Jason’s trust. If Project Justice hadn’t come along at the right time, Raleigh would have had to accept her only other job offer, as a drone at a corporate law firm.

Raleigh’s stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t had lunch. Daniel kept the office kitchen stocked with all kinds of healthy goodies, but Raleigh needed fresh air. A walk around the corner to her favorite deli was in order.

As she passed through the lobby she walked on tiptoe, hoping to avoid the receptionist’s attention. Celeste Boggs was one of the most terrifying people Raleigh knew. She was a vigilant watchdog, could purportedly shoot the wings off a gnat at fifty yards, and was fiercely loyal to Daniel Logan. Raleigh didn’t doubt the seventy-something woman would lay down her life to protect the foundation.

But Celeste was short on manners, and once she started talking she was hard to walk away from. Right now, thankfully, she appeared to be engrossed in a copy of True Romance.

Raleigh had almost reached the revolving door when Celeste’s screech of a voice rooted her to the spot.

“Ms. Shinn? Is that you?”

She turned, forcing a smile. “Yes. I was just—”

“You have to sign out. How many times do I have to tell you young people to sign in and out?”

“But I was just going to—”

Celeste extended the clipboard and pen toward Raleigh with an admonishing frown.

Fearing Celeste would give her detention if she argued further, Raleigh signed the sheet.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, where do you get your hair done?” Celeste asked.

“My hair?” No one ever asked her that. “I cut it myself. That’s about all I do to it, besides wash it.” Raleigh didn’t have time for fancy salons. So long as her hair was out of her face and reasonably neat, she was happy.

“That explains it,” Celeste murmured, pushing her purple glasses back onto the bridge of her nose.

Raleigh put a self-conscious hand up to her hair. Not that Celeste had a lot of room to criticize, with her wildly curly gray locks pointing every which way. But was Raleigh’s do that bad?

She was about to turn back toward the door when Beth McClelland, Project Justice’s physical evidence coordinator, rushed into the lobby, her platform shoes clattering noisily on the wood floor.

“Oh, Raleigh, I’m so glad I caught you.”

Celeste frowned her disapproval at Beth. “Ms. Shinn is officially signed out. You’ll have to wait until she gets back.”

Raleigh wasn’t about to ignore her best friend. “What is it, Beth?”

Beth shook a manila envelope triumphantly in the air. “I got the DNA results back on the Rhiner case,” she said in a singsong voice. “And I think you’re going to like the resu—”

“What part of signed out don’t you understand?” Celeste interrupted.

“Just leave it on my desk,” Raleigh said in a stage whisper to Beth. “My office door is open.”

Celeste tsked.

Beth looked puzzled. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good. I mean, normally you would be prying these DNA results out of my hands.”

Raleigh brought herself back to the here and now. Beth was right—she should be excited. “So Rhiner didn’t do it?”

“Not only that, but the FBI got a hit on their computer. New suspect. Next-door neighbor.”

“Girls!” Celeste objected. “You’re in a public place! You must discuss your sensitive information some where else.”

Beth looked around at the otherwise deserted lobby, then hid a smile. “Sorry.” She quickly signed out, then walked with Raleigh out the door.

“Where you off to?”

“Just the deli.”

“I’ll walk with you. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

Beth’s concern warmed Raleigh. She was the only real friend Raleigh had at work. Not that she didn’t admire and respect her colleagues, but she kept a deliberate distance from them.

Except for Beth. When Beth had gone through an ugly breakup last year, Raleigh had found her crying in the ladies’ room more than once, and her heart had gone out to the woman. She understood pain, and she had done what she could to make Beth feel better. Once Beth started confiding in Raleigh, Raleigh had naturally revealed more of herself.

Raleigh needed to tell someone of her current dilemma, but not in line at the deli counter.

“I’ll tell you—when we can have a more private conversation.”

“Uh-oh, this sounds bad.”

Raleigh said nothing until she had her turkey-and-low-fat-mozzerella on whole wheat and had found an out-of-the-way table tucked into a corner.

“It’s not a big deal,” she finally said. “It’s just that my bank made a mistake on my account, and it’s causing me some trouble. Plus, there’s a reporter who seems intent on publishing an unflattering story about me. I wouldn’t care so much, except I don’t want to make the foundation look bad.”

“Oh, Raleigh, that’s awful! About the reporter, I mean. Start with the bank, though. What did they do? Have they lost a deposit or something?”

“Just the opposite, actually.” She explained to Beth about the anomalous twenty grand suddenly appearing on her balance sheet.

“Wow, that is so weird. I wish someone would make that kind of mistake in my account.” Beth took a few sips of her banana smoothie. “Do you think it could be your in-laws? Maybe they’re feeling guilty over the way they’ve treated you. To deliberately cut you off like that, when they knew good and well Jason would have wanted you taken care of—it just burns me up every time I think about it.”

Raleigh had actually considered the possibility that her in-laws were involved somehow. Since they had most of Jason’s papers—they had hired someone to clean out his office while she was at the funeral—they could be privy to Raleigh’s financial information. But she hadn’t spoken to them in over a year.

“It’s unlikely they’re involved.” Raleigh took a deep breath and told her the rest—about Griffin Benedict, and the fact he had a copy of her bank statement.

Beth was predictably incensed. “That’s not just slimy, it’s illegal. You’re a lawyer, can’t you…get him arrested? Sue him?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to bring negative publicity to the foundation, and I don’t have time for a personal legal battle. I have too much work to do. Anyway, I don’t want any more attention focused on me until I figure out what that deposit is all about.”

“Why don’t you talk to Mitch?” Beth suggested brightly. “He knows everything about computer hacking and identity theft. Maybe he can tell you how it was done.”

Raleigh felt a ray of hope. “Beth, that’s an excellent suggestion.” Mitch Delacroix was Project Justice’s tech expert. He had a background in cyber crime, a field he had entered after getting arrested as a teenager for hacking into a city government computer system in an attempt to fix a speeding ticket.

After dodging a felony conviction, he had decided to use his skills on the right side of the law. But he could still hack into anything, anywhere. And though no one on the staff was allowed to ask him to do anything illegal, Raleigh knew he often tiptoed around places in secure cyberspace where he didn’t belong.

“We’ll go talk to him as soon as you’re done with lunch.”

“I’m done now.” She’d taken a few bites of the sandwich. That would be enough to keep her going. Beth led the way out of the deli, her brown corkscrew curls bouncing with every step of her wildly impractical pink platforms.

“I hate to use the foundation’s resources for my own personal problems,” Raleigh said.

“If you ask me, this is a Project Justice problem. If you get slammed with a negative story—and by Griffin Benedict, who has a kazillion readers—it’ll hurt the foundation.”

Maybe Beth was right.

Mitch could almost always be found in the bull pen. He had a private office on the second floor, two doors down from Raleigh’s. The large, open bull pen downstairs was for junior investigators, interns and temporary workers. But since Mitch spent most of his time alone in cyberspace, he preferred to have the noise and activity of people around him in the physical world.

“You actually met Griffin Benedict face-to-face?” Beth asked as they quickly signed in while Celeste watched them over the top of her purple glasses with eagle eyes.

“I did.”

“Is he as gorgeous as he looked in that magazine?” Beth led the way down the hallway toward the bull pen.

“What magazine?”

“You know. Houston Scene. They published the story about the ten most eligible bachelors in town.”

This was news to Raleigh. She read the paper—and she often read Benedict’s stories, which she had to admit were always riveting. “I had no idea he’d received such a prestigious distinction.”

“Oh, yes. He made number three on the list, right behind Carl Black.”

“Carl Black? Who is that?”

“Only the next major Hollywood heartthrob, from right here in our own backyard. Raleigh, where have you been?”

“Working, I guess.” She didn’t go to movies or watch much TV, and she definitely didn’t keep up with celebrity gossip.

“You didn’t answer my question. Drool-worthy?”

“It’s hard to think of him in those terms, given that he’s trying to ruin me,” Raleigh lied through her teeth. He was the best-looking man she’d ever met. Or at least the sexiest.

Sorry, Jason.

She was certain she would never fall in love again. She’d met Jason at Princeton, in law school, and she’d fallen instantly—hard. But physical attraction hadn’t brought them together. He’d been handsome enough, but he had bowled her over with his quiet intelligence and his commitment to ideals so similar to her own. She would never find that again.

Beth stopped in the hallway just before they entered the bull pen. “Do you ever feel that way about anyone? I mean, this place is testosterone city. We’re hip-deep in good-looking men, many of them unattached, and you seem immune.”

True, until recently. After Jason, she’d never looked at another man and gotten that zany, heart-flipping feeling. Then Griffin Benedict had come on the scene.

“I’m just not interested in making that connection again, Beth.” That much was true.

Beth blushed. “I guess that was kind of a rude question. But sometimes I wish I could be detached like you, instead of wearing my heart on my sleeve all the time.”

It might have been a rude question from someone else, but not from Beth. Raleigh knew she cared about her.

She smiled at Beth. “It’s okay.”

Raleigh wasn’t sure she liked being described as “detached.” Lawyers weren’t supposed to get emotionally involved in their cases. But that word, detached, that was how she thought of her in-laws.

Mitch Delacroix hunched over his keyboard in his usual corner, peering at the screen through the special glasses he wore for computer work. As always, it took Beth some effort to get Mitch’s attention.

“Hello, earth to Mitch.” She knocked on his head.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Hi, Beth.” He treated her to a dazzling smile, causing Raleigh to wonder if there wasn’t a small spark of something between them. Beth would have told her if there was a bona fide romance, but she might keep it to herself if she only flirted a little. Or, she might be oblivious if Mitch was the one with a crush.

“Mitch, Raleigh has need of your expertise.” She glanced at her watch. “And I’ve got work to do. Let me know, Raleigh.” She hustled away, her bright pink jacket flapping behind her.

“What can I help you with today, Ms. Shinn?” Mitch asked in his exaggerated Louisiana drawl. He’d been brought up in Cajun country without much money, but his computer skills had been a ticket out of the boonies for him. That was how he put it, anyway.

“This is a personal matter.” Raleigh rolled up a chair from a neighboring desk. “So if you have urgent foundation business, my problem can take a backseat.”

“I got nothing pressing. What is it, Raleigh? You seem worried.”

Did everyone see it? First Beth, now Mitch. If she wasn’t careful, her little problem would interfere with her ability to do her job.

“Can you hack into a bank’s computer system?” she asked point-blank.

Mitch leaned back in his chair. “Well, now, that depends on which bank, and what information is needed. In general, the answer is no. Financial institution computer systems are pretty much hack-proof. But even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not unless I want to spend ten-to-twenty in Huntsville.”

“Ah.” Briefly, she explained the problem. “Could it be a computer glitch?”

“Not likely. Probably the depositor did, in fact, type or write in your name and account number. Bank systems double-check such things to see that they match.”

That was what she was afraid of. “Okay, then, what can you tell me about Griffin Benedict? I need to get this guy off my case.”

Mitch grinned. “Now, that I can help with. But honestly, who would believe that you’re engaged in criminal behavior? You’re as straight as they come. I bet if I checked, I would find you’ve never even had a parking ticket. Hell, you probably are never late returning a library book.”

He was absolutely right. Raleigh had high respect for the law. Her classmates in school had called her a Goody Two-shoes, but she couldn’t help it. She liked rules. They made her comfortable. She’d been a rule-follower all her life.

“That’s what makes this story so irresistible,” she said, suddenly realizing the obvious. “Some sleazebag takes a bribe, no biggie. But an upright lawyer crusades for justice, then does something wildly immoral and illegal—that makes for good copy. Like a televangelist getting caught with a hooker.”

Mitch looked thoughtful. “Griffin Benedict isn’t known for taking cheap shots. His stories are well researched and are usually newsworthy. Picking on you seems a tad sensational for his style.”

“You sound as if you like him.”

“I never met him, but I read his stories.”

“So, has he ever been sued for libel, or invasion of privacy? Does he cheat on his wife or his income taxes? Does he pad his expense report? I need something I can use to at least level the playing field.”

“I’ll try to have something for you by tomorrow.”

GRIFFIN EYED the caller ID on his desk phone at work and lunged for the receiver, his heart pounding. This could be it.

“Griffin Benedict.”

“Griffin, this is Pierce Fontaine at CNI. How are you today?”

Would the man sound so cheerful if he was about to deliver bad news? “I’m great, how about yourself?” Griffin wanted to bite his tongue. He’d sounded too folksy, too…Southern. He had to garner a wide appeal if he wanted to succeed as a national TV journalist on Currents, the most watched news magazine on the planet.

“I wanted to let you know that we haven’t yet reached a hiring decision,” Pierce said. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time, but the brass—you know what sticklers upper management can be about these things.”

“Is something in particular stopping them from giving the green light?” Griffin asked. If he knew what the problem was, maybe he could fix it.

“Well, the most obvious tick in the minus column is your lack of TV experience. Granted, you did amazingly well when we put you on camera, and test audiences love you. But you weren’t under real-time deadline pressures.”

Griffin knew that wouldn’t be a problem. He thrived on deadlines. But the network wouldn’t simply take his word. They would want proof.

“Then there’s your…how do I say this? The bachelor thing.”

Griffin half laughed, half groaned. “I had nothing to do with that article. Came as a complete shock to me.”

“Still, you do have a certain reputation with the ladies. Currents is a show that deals with serious issues. It’s important we avoid any hint of scandal.”

“I can assure you, my private life won’t interfere with my work.” He hadn’t imagined his appeal with women would be a negative, but there wasn’t much he could do about it so he quickly changed the subject. “Are there…other candidates vying for this position?” Of course there were. He wanted to know his competition.

“Actually, we have only one other candidate. He’s also from your area—the brass think a Texan would round out the Currents team nicely. Paul Stratton, from KBBK. Know him?”

Griffin winced. Yeah, he knew Stratton. The guy was a pompous ass. Unfortunately, he also anchored the top-rated newscast in the whole South Texas market. He was good—had an enviable record as a journalist and even a Pulitzer under his belt. He had a few years on Griffin, and the TV creds Griffin lacked.

“Yeah, I know him,” Griffin said, opting for the high road. “He’d be a good choice.” If they could fit his ego through the newsroom door. Then he added, “I’d be better.”

Pierce laughed, thankfully. “It’s going to be a tough decision.”

“Hey, what if I did some freelance stories for you?” It was a long shot; Currents used very few free lancers. “Roving reporter–type stuff, just me with a camera?”

Pierce didn’t answer right away. Griffin crossed his fingers.

Finally the CNI news director responded. “Did you have any particular stories in mind?”

Griffin’s heart pounded. Did he dare mention it? He hadn’t yet told his editor about the Raleigh Shinn story. Griffin might get himself fired if he offered it to someone else. He decided to take the chance.

“I’m working on something…it’s connected to Project Justice—are you familiar with them?”

“Yes, indeed.” Griffin could almost hear the man salivating.

“I’ve uncovered a possible breach of ethics there. Nothing that’s ready to air,” he added hastily.

“When do you think you’ll have something?”

Griffin pulled a number out of thin air. “A couple of weeks.” Surely by then he would have enough information to nail Raleigh Shinn to the wall.

“I’ll tell the brass to count on it.”