In Hot Pursuit (5 page)

Quinn went to the kitchen for a snack — red grapes, wheat crackers, and a wedge of brie. The phone rang as she poured another glass of wine.

“Mom, what's up?”

“Liz! How are you feeling?” Quinn knew pregnancy was a natural thing for a woman but nevertheless, she worried about Liz, the somewhat spacey half of her twin daughters. Early on she concluded that worrying is a mom thing. Only four more weeks to go then she'll switch her efforts from Liz to her first grandbaby.

“Mom.” She imagined Liz rolling her eyes. “I'm fine. I had an appointment with Dr. Bender today. I'm right on schedule for my due date.”

“Good. Sleeping okay?”

“Fine. What's up with that theft at HCU?”

“Not much to tell, the police are involved. I'm the university's official contact with them on all the detail stuff. I had lunch with the lead detective today.”

“I saw him on the news, kinda cute in an old guy sort of way,” Liz said. At twenty-four she had yet to realize she would age past thirty.

“I don't see the cute part but I guess he knows his stuff. Make sure Dirk takes out the trash, not you.” Dirk was a corporate attorney, a bit on the anal side but she couldn't fault his husband skills, except for the trash.

“Moooom,” she said with a huff. “I'll talk to you later.”

With the phone still in her hand, Quinn called Ruthie.

“Guess what? I'm the University's liaison with the cops on the theft.” It sounded dumb saying it out loud.

“No kidding. Are you working with that cutie of a detective I saw on the news?” Quinn could hear Ruthie's cupid wheels revving up. One of her favorite pastimes was finding dates for Quinn.

“Uh-huh, he's a cutie all right. We went to lunch today and I couldn't get one piece of information out of him.”

“Talked too much, huh?”

“No, hell no. I was a good HCU employee and answered all his questions. He refused to answer mine. He's police, I'm civilian. Total crap.” Just telling Ruthie pissed her off. She needed to work on her temper. Surely she wasn't menopausal. Forty-four was much too young to even consider it.

“Sorry it was a waste for you.”

“Me, too, but that's not why I called. I have a couple of technical questions for you.” Ruthie was an IT manager for an international oil company downtown. She'd be a good source for brainstorming about the wire transfer.

“Ask away.”

“I'd rather talk to you in person. Do you have time if I stop by your office tomorrow? ”

They ended the call with Ruthie's agreement to talk in person.

Quinn made a bee-line for the study and reviewed her to-do list. It reminded her of Rebecca, who she doubted would actually provide any useful information about the missing gifts. Quinn would dig it out herself by calling donors first thing in the morning.

The last chore was to send an email to the HCU security chief for a list of registered employee vehicles. She indicated the data was needed first thing Tuesday morning since she was sending the request at Scooter's directive. That should ensure a quick turnaround.

Quinn pushed back from the desk, stared at the computer monitor. Was she wasting her time making lists and doing internet research? Could she really investigate the theft on her own? After all, what did she know about investigating a cyber crime? Not much, but her to-do list was a start. And she was one hell of a fast learner.

Tuesday, 6:03
A.M.

Quinn woke at her normal time the next morning. It was too early to start contacting donors of the missing gifts. She considered watching the news in bed, but guilt won. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and headed to the treadmill in the study. Plain old exercise should curb her annoyance at having to wait three hours to make the calls.

Running was a favorite activity, next to watching television and reading mystery novels. She'd solved many a problem the last couple of years striding along the endless road of circulating rubber track.

She walked, then jogged to the morning news while gulping water and sweating out her last color job. After a while, she stopped listening to the repetitive news of war, congress, and the transgressions of Hollywood celebrities. Her mind wandered back to the HCU theft and her earlier question. Why does someone steal in the first place? — because it's easier than working? out of desperation? because they can? to get attention or to prove something?

After an hour, she punched in a cool down code on the treadmill. It was time to get her butt in gear and do something useful.

She loaded the coffee pot, then showered, and ate a piece of toast smothered with raspberry jam. After three cups of coffee and yelling at the television about a stupid news story related to secret tunnels on the south Texas border, she heard the kitchen clock bong nine o'clock.

In the study, she leaned back in her scratched leather chair and dialed the first number on the donor list.

“Good morning, may I speak with Mrs. Graves?”

“This is she.”

“This is Quinn Wells from Houston Cullen University. I hope it's not too early to call.”

“No, I've been up since five.” Her voice reminded Quinn of her seventy-five year old grandmother, Nana.

“Glad I didn't catch you too early. I need to ask you about a $2,000 check you sent in this past March for the annual fund.”

“I remember the check. Is there a problem?”

“No problem. I was wondering if the check had cleared your bank and if I might get a copy of it.”

“I'm sure it came through but I don't get my checks back. They're listed on the statement.” She paused. “Is this about the news story I saw on channel thirteen?”

“Yes, ma'am, we're checking a few gifts we've received as a precaution.”

“Good for you, dear. Do you need anything else?”

Quinn repeated the same conversation another three times. Perhaps her idea that the gift checks had been deposited in a bank account other than one of HCU's wasn't such a dumb idea. But at this point, she had no evidence of where the checks had actually been deposited. She had to get her hands on one of the cleared checks. Surely one of the donors on the list received cancelled checks with their bank statement.

She kept calling, emptying another bottle of water, all the while willing her stomach to handle the stress of digging up a clue to the theft. She rummaged around in a desk drawer, found a couple of pink antacid tablets, chewed vigorously then shivered at the metallic taste.

She hit the lottery with Jack Franks and a $20,000 gift last February. Both of his children were HCU grads, apparently satisfied ones, thus prompting him to donate every year. HCU loved motivated donors.

Mr. Franks received cleared personal checks with his bank statement and said he'd be happy to dig around for them in his homes files. Quinn made an appointment to meet him around noon. She hoped the back of his cancelled check would have the stamp of the depositing bank along with an account number. If it wasn't HCU's, then whoever stole the $25 million might be involved with this missing gift. At least that was her working theory.

She grabbed her purse and headed for the garage. She had enough time to swing by First National before meeting Mr. Franks. Quinn knew Lynne Jenkins, HCU's account executive, on a semi-personal basis and hoped she'd be available without an appointment.

$ $ $

The bank's main office was located in downtown Houston, occupying several floors of Mitchell Center. The lobby was opulent and screamed Texas oil rich. Green marble covered the floor and walls, while glass and metal sculptures depicting Texas history were scattered throughout the space. A twenty-foot tall oil derrick of twisted metal graced the lobby's center.

Lynne Jenkins had worked with HCU for a number of years. Due to the bank's prominence in the Houston business community, she knew most of the movers and shakers on a first-name basis. Quinn hoped she would be straight about the bank's position on the theft. The receptionist ushered her in Lynne's office in less than five minutes.

“Thanks for seeing me so quickly.”

“Not a problem. I need a break anyway. Balance sheets all look the same after the fiftieth one.” Lynne was well suited for the role of a banker — poised, soft spoken, Harvard graduate. Her outward veneer of charming relationship builder disguised a smooth talking shark when it came to bank business.

“I'm here about the theft.”

“I figured as much. Take a seat and we can talk.”

Quinn sat in a guest chair, ran through her mental list of questions.

She then scrapped the list. “Has First National uncovered anything concrete about the funds not reaching HCU's account?”

“The police detective asked me the same thing about an hour ago. I'll tell you what I told him.” Lynne straightened a pile of manila folders on her desk. “We're checking into whether the wire reached the bank's federal reserve account. If it did, we'll have a better idea of where the change of instructions occurred.”

Quinn interpreted that to mean that five days after the fact, First National was clueless as to how the wire instructions had been changed.

“How long before you'll know?”

“Best guess is some time tomorrow.” Lynne fiddled with a binder clip. “I suppose you've met the detective.”

“Couldn't miss him.” Quinn rolled her eyes. “Since I'm the university contact working with the police, I've had more than one meeting with him.”

“I think he's kinda cute.” Lynne did that smile-thing girls do when talking about a guy they like.

“You have my blessing in working with him,” Quinn said. The cop was the polar opposite of her type, whatever that was.

“You don't like him?” Lynne leaned forward over her jumbled desktop, her voice soft. “Do you think he's married?”

Good lord, why do smart ass men have such an impact on strong women like Lynne? Hormones, loneliness, lust?

“Don't know, don't care.” Lynne was such a good person, Quinn softened her reply. “I'll see if I can find out. I'm sure he'll be bothering me soon.”

“Thanks. If he's single, I may ask him out for a drink one evening after work.”

Lynne must be desperate for male companionship or really, really lonely. Or, maybe she encouraged new things in her life, probably a good attitude for a single lady.

“I'll give you a call if I discover he's single.” Quinn would ask him, too. She thought Lynne was nuts, but … you go girl. “Back to the theft, do you have any idea of how the instructions were changed?”

Lynne shook her head. “Depends on where and when the change was made. Once we determine that, we'll have some possibilities for you. I'll call once I get any information. What number should I call?”

“Use my cell. I hope you find something soon. The longer this drags out, the worse the publicity.” Quinn stood, repeated her cell number. “Thanks, again. I'll let you know about the detective's marital status.”

“And you'll hear from me as soon as I hear from the fraud department,” Lynne replied.

After leaving the bank, Quinn headed toward the Memorial area of Houston to meet the donor, Jack Franks. It was a beautiful day for the twenty-minute drive from the high-rise towers of downtown to the wooded residential neighborhoods intertwined with winding streets and cul-de-sacs. She rolled down the window and turned up the radio, enjoying Michael Jackson on an oldie's station.

After one wrong turn, she found the right street nestled between a tree-lined boulevard and Buffalo Bayou. The house was a sprawling ranch with a front circular driveway surrounded by lush landscaping. She parked behind a silver Mercedes coupe.

The massive front door opened after the bell's first chime.

A handsome blue-eyed man stood before her. She might change her attitude on relationships if she dated a man who looked like this one.

“You must be Quinn. I'm Jack Franks. Please come in.”

She followed him through a red-tiled foyer to a wide hall. The southwestern décor — heavy furniture, bright colors, and a cow skull on a wall — reminded her of the Texas history museum in Austin.

He led her to a large, masculine study at the end of the hall. The bottom floor of her townhouse would easily fit in it with square footage to spare.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to a pair of chairs facing a gigantic desk.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” She settled on the butterscotch leather with a sigh.

“No problem. Would you care for a drink? Wine or a Bloody Mary?” He stood beside a dark oak bar that dominated one side of the study.

“No, thanks.” It was a bit early but that didn't stop him from pouring a generous amount of golden liquor, probably scotch, into a crystal tumbler. He settled in the other chair.

“Quinn, love your name by the way, what can I do for you?” He sipped the drink, smacking his lips. “You have a question about my gifts to the university?”

“Not a question exactly. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to borrow one of your cancelled checks. I'll make a copy and promptly return it to you.”

“Sounds easy enough. I'll make a copy right here. Sure you don't want a glass of wine? Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes.” He beamed, nodded his head toward the foyer. “Our Darla is an excellent cook.”

“Lunch sounds wonderful but I have to get back to the office.” She faked a check of her watch. His drinking before noon had put her on alert. “I have a meeting in thirty minutes.”

“Another time perhaps?” He flashed a set of perfect veneers. “Does this relate to the story I saw on the news last night? Something about a large gift being stolen? I'll be damn pissed if any of the money I've given to HCU ends up in some other pocket.”

“This isn't related at all. It's for our annual audit. The auditors continue to invent new data requests. This year it's a handful of gift checks.” Yes, she was ad-libbing and lying. However, the auditors could very well make this type of request in the future, especially if she suggested it to them.