Chapter Thirty-two
The next morning, Jake was in his office as early as usual, showered, shaved, and stiff in a cutaway collar and fresh suit. He looked out his window into the dawn of a new day, another frigid one under a cloudy pewter sky. He ignored the overseas markets, his voicemail, email, a stack of tri-fold correspondence, and pink phone messages on his desk. He wouldn’t think of working until the wire transfer went through this morning, and maybe not even then.
Last night he’d hardly slept for thinking of Pam, though he’d followed her directions, not texting or calling her and leaving the house early, so they hadn’t run into each other. He prayed she hadn’t run to Dr. Dave. He’d thought of calling him, but she would be too angry. He did call the Marriott Courtyard Suites near the house, but they wouldn’t tell him if she was there. He’d even called the local hospital, in case she had an accident.
Jake racked his brain, thinking where Pam would have slept. Her best friend had moved to Singapore last year, and though she was close to all of the Chasers’ moms, she wouldn’t confide in them, given Dr. Dave’s status with the team. She was in a book club, but she wouldn’t want them to know, and as a judge, she wasn’t close with anyone in the bar. She had a secretary, Christine, who was a stodgy sort, and otherwise in her chambers, there were her three law clerks, in their twenties. Pam had no one else but him and Dr. Dave, which worried him.
Jake heard noises beyond his closed door as Gardenia came to life, but he kept his eyes to the window, idly watching as his employees filled in the spaces in the parking lot. Amy parked her car next to his rental, and he took his receiver off the hook, so she’d think he was on the phone and wouldn’t interrupt him. She knew him well enough to know that something was really wrong.
Jake’s cell phone rang. The screen read Harold, and he grabbed it, knowing it would be about the wire transfer. “Hey, everything okay? I was just about to call you.”
“Not exactly. We have a glitch, but I trust it won’t be a problem.”
“What glitch?” Jake asked, his gut churning. “There can be no glitches.”
“The woman who usually does our wires, Barbara, called in sick this morning. I just found out. I’m out of the office and I won’t be in until later.”
“So what does this mean? You can still transfer the money by eleven, can’t you?”
“No. I can do it by noon, but not eleven.”
“What?” Jake exploded. If the money wasn’t there on time, Voloshin would go to the police.
“I won’t be in. I’m out of the office at a meeting. I stepped out to call you.”
“I need it by eleven!” Jake shouted. “I have to have it by eleven! You said you could do it!”
“I know, sorry. It’ll just be an hour later—”
“That’s too late!” Jake checked his watch—9:02. Voloshin would take the photos and video right to the police. It would ruin Ryan and him, and now, even Pam. She’d kept their secret, a judge who kept quiet about her son’s hit-and-run.
“Harold, leave the damn meeting! Where are you, Timbuktu?”
“North Jersey. It’s too important, and if I did, it would raise questions.”
“But this matters more! Leave!”
“Jake. I would leave if I could, but I can’t make it back in time anyway.”
“Make somebody else wire the money!”
“No. We have another woman in the wire room but it wouldn’t be prudent to use her.”
“Why not?” Jake heard himself panicking. “All she has to do is push a button!”
“But it’s going to an offshore account.”
“Harold, don’t tell me I’m your only client to wire to an offshore account!” Jake found himself on his feet. “I wasn’t born yesterday!”
“I’m not saying that.” Harold’s voice stiffened. “What I’m saying is that only Barbara handles such transactions. I can’t ask anyone else to do it. I’ll do it myself as soon as I get back to the office.”
“There’s nobody else? Not even one of your other bankers?”
“No, not possible.”
“You can’t trust one of your other bankers to send a wire for one of your best clients? Are you kidding? You have all my personal accounts, all of my business accounts, and Gardenia’s!”
“Jake, that would be imprudent. Trust me, I have only your interests at heart. I’ll be in by noon—”
“Can’t I go over and do it? I know how to do a wire transfer—”
“Hold on, I got a better idea. Let me go to Plan B. I may have a way to get it done ASAP, but I can’t be sure.”
“What way?”
“Let me hang up and see if I can make it happen. I’ll call you as soon as it’s done.”
“Call me as soon as you fix it!”
“I will. Talk soon.”
Jake pressed END, sat down in front of his computer, and got online and plugged in GreenTech. Blood pounded in his temples. His mouth tasted dry. He had to go to his own Plan B. He couldn’t take the risk that Voloshin would go to the cops. The GreenTech site came on the screen, and he clicked to the Contact Us page, found the main number, and pressed the link to make the call.
“GreenTech,” answered a woman. “How can I help you?”
“I’m calling for Andrew Voloshin.”
“I don’t see him. May I tell him you called?”
“Do you know where I can reach him? Is he out of the office?” Jake’s heart throbbed in his chest. Voloshin could be on his way to the Caymans. Or sitting outside the police station.
“I don’t know. Our receptionist isn’t at the desk, and I just happened to be passing by.”
Jake felt frantic. “Is there anyone else there who would know where he is? It’s really important that I speak to him.”
“Why don’t you call him on his cell?”
“I wish I could, but I forgot the number. I have it in my business phone, but I left that in the car. I’m calling you from my personal phone.”
“I don’t have his cell. Hold on a minute. Let me see if anybody knows where he is.”
“Thanks.” Jake checked the clock while he waited—9:35, then 9:36.
“Hello, sir?”
“Yes. Were you able to find where he is?”
“Sorry, nobody knows. Sometimes he comes in late, if he’s been up coding. You can try him at home if you want.”
“Fine, thanks.” Jake hung up, went online for the White Pages, got Voloshin’s home number, and pressed it into his phone.
“Hello?” a man answered, but his voice sounded raspy, unlike Voloshin’s.
“I’m looking for Andrew Voloshin. Is he there?” Jake double-checked to see if he’d dialed the correct number, which he had.
“Who’s calling?”
“I’m an … associate of his.” Jake didn’t know who he was talking to, so he chose his words carefully.
“What’s your name? What’s this in reference to?”
Jake decided to stick with the story. “I’m a financial planner that Mr. Voloshin contacted. I need to speak with him.”
“What did you say your name was?”
Jake hadn’t said. He glanced at the clock—9:42. “Jake Buckman of Gardenia Trust. Is Mr. Voloshin in?”
“Mr. Buckman, I’m Detective Zwerling with the Shakertown police. I’m sorry to inform you, but Mr. Voloshin is dead.”