'But who would have done that to him? Why?'
'I wish I had answers.' Trask hugged her. His features gray, he stepped back. 'But this is New York. Sometimes there aren't any answers. I'm reminded of the jogger who was raped and nearly killed by that marauding gang in Central Park. The kids who did it weren't raised in a slum. They came from middle-class families. Poverty can't be blamed for their behavior. It doesn't make sense, like too many other things.'
'But why would Joseph have been in Carl Schurz Park in the rain at three a.m.?'
'Tess, listen to me. You don't know anything about this man. You found him attractive, but he. This'll sound harsh. Nonetheless, it has to be said. When you mentioned that he hadn't given his employer his phone number and he used a mail service, I was worried. The man had secrets. Possibly his secrets caught up to him.'
With eerie clarity, Tess recalled what Joseph had told her in the delicatessen Friday afternoon. I have certain. let's call them obligations. I can't explain what they are or why I have to abide by them. You just have to trust and believe and accept.'
'Maybe. Maybe he did have secrets,' Tess said. 'But that doesn't mean the secrets were bad, and it doesn't mean I have to turn my back and pretend I never knew him.'
'Believe me, I sympathize.' Trask put an arm around her. 'Really. All I'm asking you to do is try to be objective. Protect your emotions.'
'Right now, the last thing I'm capable of being is objective,' Tess said.
'Look, perhaps you shouldn't have come into work today. Take a break. Give yourself a rest. Go to your health club, whatever relaxes you. We'll see how you feel tomorrow.'
'No,' Tess said. 'Being alone would make me feel worse. I need to work. I have to keep busy.'
'You're sure?'
The more work, the better.'
'In that case.'
'What?'
'I've got something I want you to do.'
Tess waited.
'It'll mean postponing your article on the overuse of herbicides and pesticides on Midwestern farms.'
'But that's an important issue,' Tess said automatically. 'Those poisons are sinking through the earth and into the drinking water.'
'All the same, there might be a story we ought to do first. The TV news this morning. Did you watch it? The murders in Tennessee? Remind you of anything?'
'I gather you're thinking of the murders at the Pacific-Rim Petroleum Corporation last week.'
There'd been three, two in Australia and one in Hong Kong, after the massive oil spill that continued to endanger the Great Barrier Reef. Victor Malone, captain of the supertanker that had run aground, Kevin Stark, executive in charge of cleanup efforts, and Chandler Thompson, director of the Pacific-Rim Petroleum Corporation, had each been killed following widespread allegations of drinking while on duty, failure to respond to the spill in time to contain it, and corporate refusal to admit its negligence. Malone had been blown apart as he drove from Brisbane's courthouse. Stark had been drowned, his body discovered upside down in a barrel of oil. Thompson had been poisoned when he drank a glass of water during a press conference.
'Remember, we talked about those murders last Wednesday,' Trask said.
Tess sank toward a chair, dismally remembered something else. That evening, shortly after their conversation, she'd first met Joseph. She dug her fingernails into her thighs, forcing herself to concentrate on what Trask was saying.
'I suggested we do a story about the killings.'
'And I said Earth Mother Magazine isn't a tabloid,' Tess replied. 'We shouldn't add to the controversy. Fanatics hurt our cause.'
'Well, now it seems we've got some fanatics in Tennessee.'
'No, the parallel isn't exact. The police suspect that Bennett and Page were killed by relatives of.'
'That's what they said on television.' Trask scowled. 'But I just checked my sources at the Times. They're preparing a story that quotes a Memphis policeman who wonders if some nutso ecologists might be responsible.'
'What?'
'Already the major environmental-protection groups, like the Sierra Club and Greenpeace, are anticipating the charge, condemning the murders as totally irresponsible.'
'But it's absurd to suspect." Tess jerked forward. 'Sure, some Greenpeace members were once arrested for taking over a whaling ship in Peru. And it often puts boats filled with people between whaling ships and their quarry. But there's a big difference between seizing private property or risking your life to save an endangered species and-'
'Executing someone you blame for contributing to the destruction of the planet?' Trask raised his eyebrows. 'Of course. And don't get me wrong. Greenpeace is a reputable organization. I certainly don't think it would ever resort to violence. But the new director of the Pac-Rim Corporation did receive a note warning him that he'd better make sure another spill doesn't happen, so we know that fanatics were responsible for those murders. My point is, I agree with you - extremists hurt our cause. Every time protestors invade a nuclear-power facility or steal research animals from a medical lab or throw blood on a woman who wears a fur coat, the public reacts as if all environmentalists are a bunch of lunatics. The rest of us who believe that education, common sense, and good example are the proper ways to gain converts become guilty by association. So let's not avoid the issue. Let's face it head-on and make clear that the majority of environmentalists are not crazed, Looney-Tunes weirdos, that we don't approve of excessive protests any more than the public does.'
Tess studied her boss and slowly nodded. Burdened with grief, she fought to pay attention. 'You know, Walter, the more I think of it.'
'Not a bad idea? Of course, if I say so myself. Does that mean you'll do the piece?'
Tess nodded again, pensive, straightening.
'Good.'
'I see several possibilities.' Her voice sounded cramped. With effort, she continued, 'While I'm condemning extremists, I'll still be able to emphasize the threats to the environment that make them behave the way they do. Right motives, wrong methods.'
'You got it, kid. And if you get deeply enough into the story you never know - maybe you'll be able to take your mind off what happened to your poor friend.'
'I doubt it, Walter. Very much. But Lord knows, I'll try my best.' Her eyes misted. 'I definitely need distracting.'
For the rest of the morning, Tess almost succeeded. Struggling to immerse herself in the subject and stop brooding about Joseph's death, she searched through her files. Determined, she called the reference department at the public library, the Daily News, and the Times. She jotted notes and quickly made lists. Trask's reference to animal-rights activists prompted her to recall that last year a group of protestors who'd stolen rabbits being used for medical research had destroyed a five-year experiment that might have resulted in a cure for muscular dystrophy. In another case, the animals that were stolen had been infected with anthrax to test a new vaccine. A minor epidemic had resulted before the animals were recovered.
Seeking further examples, Tess recalled what had happened in Brazil last week. Pedro Gomez, a rubber-tree tapper who'd been trying to organize his fellow villagers to stop developers from their slash-and-burn destruction of the Amazon jungle, had been blown apart by automatic weapons while making a speech. At his funeral, his wife had received a 'gift,' the head of the financier suspected of ordering Gomez's death. The theory was that one of Gomez's followers had killed the financier to get even. Nonetheless the beheading, like the supposed revenge slayings of Billy Joe Bennett and Harrison Page in Tennessee, was related to a major environmental catastrophe, and Tess decided to include the incident as an example of radical behavior ultimately caused by an ecological crisis, and while condemning that behavior, she still could emphasize the crisis itself.
By noon, Tess had a rough outline for her article, amazed by how much she'd been able to accomplish so quickly, given her need to distract herself. But the truth was, a festering corner of her mind continued to brood about Joseph. More and more, sh
e kept glancing at her watch, its hands proceeding relentlessly, with surprising speed yet paradoxical slowness, toward one o'clock and her appointment with Lieutenant Craig. What had he wanted to show her? Why had he been evasive yet again?
NINETEEN
The lieutenant drove an unmarked rust-colored car this time. When he stopped at the curb and Tess got in to fasten her seatbelt, she noticed that his creased brow was beaded with sweat. His blue suitcoat was lumped beside him. The front of his wrinkled white shirt and the underarm she could see were dark with moisture.
'Sorry.' He coughed. The windows were open, but the only breeze on this sultry smog-hazed June afternoon came from passing cars. 'The air conditioner doesn't work.'
'I'll adjust.'
'Good. That makes one of us.'
'Asthma, you said?'
'What?'
'Your cough.'
'Oh.' Craig steered into traffic. 'Yeah, my cough. That's what my doctor tells me. Asthma. Allergies. This town's killing me.'
'Then maybe you should move.'
'Sure. Like to someplace wholesome? Like to Iowa? What's that line in the movie? Field of Dreams. Yeah, that's the movie. "Is this heaven?" and Kevin Costner says, "No, it's Iowa." Cornfields? Give me a break. I was raised here. This is heaven.' Craig frowned, his voice dropping. 'Or at least, it used to be.'
He turned east off Broadway.
'We're heading in the same direction we did last time.' Tess became rigid. 'Don't tell me we're going back to-'
'The morgue?' Craig shook his head and coughed. 'I'd have warned you. No, we'll be driving up First Avenue again.'
'To Carl Schurz Park? But I don't want to-'
'No, not there either. Let me do this my way, all right? So I can explain and prepare you? And don't frown. I swear, cross my heart, you won't see anything gross.'
'You're positive?'
'I'm not saying it won't disturb you, but I guarantee it won't make you sick. On the other hand. Okay, here's the deal. You told me your friend was different? That's an understatement. According to the FBI, he doesn't exist.'
'Doesn't.? What are you.?'
'We sent your friend's name to the Bureau to help them find a match for the fingerprints on the corpse's unburned left hand. They searched their computers for a file on Joseph Martin. No surprise. It's a common name. There are plenty of Joseph Martins. What is surprising is that none of the fingerprints in those files matched the fingerprints we sent to the Bureau.'
'But surely not everybody has fingerprints in the Bureau's files.'
'Right.' Craig continued toward First Avenue. 'So the next step is to check with Social Security, to match the number your friend gave his employer with the names and addresses on their list.'
'And?'
Craig steered around a UPS truck, its driver hurrying to make a delivery. 'And? There is a Joseph Martin with that number. The trouble is, he lives in Illinois. Or used to live in Illinois. Because - and this took several phone calls - Joseph Martin who has that social security number died in nineteen fifty-nine.'
'There's some mistake.'
Craig shook his head. 'I doublechecked. The result came up the same. Joseph Martin - your Joseph Martin - should have quit fooling everybody. He should have done the decent thing, stretched out on the floor, crossed his arms, stopped breathing, and been as dead as the Joseph Martin who's in a cemetery in Illinois.'
While Craig reached First Avenue and headed north, Tess felt pressure behind her ears. 'You're telling me Joseph assumed the identity of a dead man?'
'Actually dead child. Infant. Remind me - how old did you estimate Joseph to be?'
'Early thirties.'
'Let's make it thirty-two,' Craig said. 'Because that's how old the other Joseph Martin would be today if he hadn't been killed in a car crash along with his parents in 'fifty-nine.'
'And I'll bet there were no surviving close relatives.'
'Oh?' Craig assessed her. 'You understand how this is done?'
Tess spread her hands. 'Someone who wants a new identity chooses a community at random and checks the obituaries in the local paper for the year in which he himself was born. He looks for an infant who died that year and was either an orphan or was killed along with his immediate family. That way, he doesn't look older or younger than he says he is, and there's no one who can contradict his claim to be that person. The next step is to find out where the child was born. That information is often in the obituary: "so-and-so was born in this-or-that city." The person seeking a new identity then writes to the courthouse in that city, tells its record office that he lost his birth certificate, and asks for a replacement. People often lose their birth certificates. It's not unusual for someone to ask for another copy, and clerks almost never bother to check if the name on the birth certificate matches the name of someone who's dead. As soon as he gets the birth certificate, the person sends a photostat to the Social Security office, explains that he lived abroad for many years and didn't need a Social Security number but now he does. The Social Security office seldom objects to such a request. With a birth certificate and a Social Security number, the person can get a passport, a driver's licence, a credit card, all the documents he needs to appear legitimate, to enter the system, get a job, pay taxes, etc.'
'Very good,' Craig said, continuing northward. 'I'm impressed.'
'Reporters pick up all kinds of information.' Tess certainly didn't intend to add that the real way she'd learned about assuming false identities was by overhearing her father's phone conversations with business associates.
Craig brooded, passing Forty-Ninth Street. 'With some cooperation from the federal government, I've been able to learn that Joseph began to use his assumed identity in May of last year. That's when he first started paying income taxes and Social Security. Since then, he's had two jobs, not counting his present one. The first was in Los Angeles, the second in Chicago. Obviously he didn't want to stay in any place too long, and he felt the need to put a lot of miles between one location and another. In each case, he worked for a video documentary company.'
'Okay.' Breathing too fast, Tess concentrated not to hyperventilate. 'So Joseph had something to hide. Everything about him was a lie. That explains why he didn't want me to get close to him. The question is, what the hell was he hiding?'
'Maybe you'll be able to tell me when you see where I'm taking you. Certainly I can't figure it out,' Craig said.
'Figure out what? Where are we going?'
'No. Not yet.'
'What?'
The problem is. See, first I have to explain some other things.'
Tess raised her arms in exasperation.
'Be patient. When I talked to the accountant where Joseph worked,' Craig said, 'I asked to see the paychecks he cashed. They're too large for a supermarket or a liquor store to accept them. He'd have needed to take them to a bank. And the bank would have sent the cancelled checks to his employer's bank, which in turn would have sent them to the employer's accountant. As it happens, Joseph cashed all his checks at the same bank. Back there.' Craig pointed. 'We just passed the bank on Fifty-Fourth Street.'
'So you went to the bank, showed them a court order allowing you access to their records, and examined Joseph's account,' Tess said.
Craig assessed her again. 'You'd have made a good policeman.'
'Police woman.'
Craig ignored her correction. 'Yes. That's what I did. I went to the bank, and the address they had for Joseph was the mail service on Broadway. That was also the address he told the bank to print on his checks. No surprise. What was surprising is that the microfilm records of Joseph's cancelled checks show that he hadn't made any payments for electricity or rent. Obviously he had to live somewhere and pay his utilities, so how was he keeping his landlord and Con Edison happy? Turns out, every month he sent a check for thirteen hundred dollars to a man named Michael Hoffman. Now take a guess who Hoffman is.'
'An accountant,' Tess replied.
Craig studied her
with greater intensity. 'You're better than good. Right. An accountant. Clearly, Joseph was trying to increase the smokescreen that protected his privacy. So I spoke to Hoffman. He told me that Joseph and he had never met. They conducted all their business through the mail and over the phone.'
'But Hoffman paid Joseph's major bills,' Tess anticipated.
'No compliment this time - you're correct.'
'Okay. With Hoffman's records and cooperation from Con Edison, you ought to be able to find out where Joseph lived.'
'In theory.'
Tess frowned. 'Another smokescreen?'
'Right. Joseph's arrangement with his landlord was that the landlord would pay the utilities and Joseph would reimburse him. So Con Edison couldn't help us.'