Chapter 3
Diem
Iarrived late at the office on Monday morning. Tallus’s car was in the shop for scheduled maintenance, so I went with him to drop it off and took him to work after. It meant I was late for my appointment with Benaiah Scarrow.
Although I wanted to be annoyed with the nursing home for giving out my personal number, it was refreshing to be asked to take on a case that didn’t involve a cheating spouse for once. Infidelity accounted for more than seventy-five percent of our workload, and it grew wearisome after a while.
I had invited Ben to meet me at eight thirty to sign paperwork and go over the finer details of his situation. Tallus was bummed he was missing out, so I expected a string of texts from him today despite my promise to keep him updated.
Benaiah stood in the hallway outside the office, admiring the clunky sign on the wall, when Echo and I exited the stairwell. He was a wiry man in his late fifties, with a slight paunch, thinning hair, and the lingering scent of cigarettes and aftershave wafting from his clothes.
He turned at the sound of the door banging shut, and his unnaturally blue eyes brightened as he stood taller, shoulders rolling back, eliminating the stoop often seen in the ageing. “Mr. Krause?” His voice carried a longtime smoker’s rasp.
My palms itched with a craving, but I’d not allowed myself a smoke since the previous night, choosing a pack of Trident instead. A poor substitute, but I was trying.
I nodded, fishing keys from a pocket and locating the correct one. “Diem’s fine. Sorry I’m late. Boyfriend’s car is in the shop. I had to drive him to work.”
I eyed the man as I unlocked the door, getting a read on his reaction. Not everyone responded well to blatant declarations of homosexuality, and if he was going to take issue, I would rather he leave now. I was not in the mood for bigotry on a Monday morning.
No reaction. Good.
Benaiah stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “I’ve nowhere to be today. I appreciate you seeing me.”
The door opened inward. I felt around for the light switch and let Echo off her leash. She aimed for the water dish by the window, but not before checking the bowl beside it to see if Tallus had left treats. He often did, and when she found a few, she gobbled them up.
“Have a seat.” I indicated a visitor’s chair as I hung my trench coat and fedora on a nearby hook. “Do you want coffee? I can make some.”
Tallus insisted that offering coffee to potential clients was the polite thing to do, so I’d made it a habit, improving my social skills one shitty cup at a time. I was getting better at the peopling side of the business, and our ratings had improved.
“Sure. That would be great.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black is good.”
With the Keurig on, I spun the caddy of pods, locating one of the regular brews—Tallus also insisted I stop giving away his fancy lattes and flavored pods because they were expensive. I popped a medium roast into the machine and set a large mug underneath.
While it brewed, I opened the blinds, letting the dreary March day into the stuffy office. It was too cold to open a window.
A few birds flittered about, landing on the sill. I had seeds for them in my desk drawer, but they would have to wait.
The coffee finished, and I brought it to Benaiah, who thanked me. Good deed done, I settled in Tallus’s desk chair, getting oriented. He was meticulously organized with paperwork, and I was not.
I preferred meeting with clients in the reception area rather than bringing them to my overcrowded office down the hall. On days Tallus worked with me, the task of intake forms and interviews landed on him. On days he worked at the police department, it was up to me.
Digging through a drawer, I located a pad of paper, removing the top sheet where Tallus had doodled, so I had a crisp, lined page to make notes. In another drawer, I found a client agreement form and handed it to Benaiah with a pen.
“You’ll need to fill that out. The twenty-five percent upfront is not negotiable.”
The man skimmed the form and nodded. “I brought a down payment like you asked.”
“We’ll sort that out after. Let’s get the details out of the way and see what we’ve got first. It might be that I can’t help you.”
His claim of thievery had stuck with me all night, and I’d had to get up at midnight to check Nana’s account to be sure her money was untouched. Of course it was, but his case had me curious.
“Well, the police have basically told me to stick it where the sun don’t shine and stop harassing them. They’re doing all they can. I’m disgusted at how little they seem to care.”
“Doing what they can” was a broad statement in police-talk.
I doubted they had washed their hands of Benaiah’s case.
Not if thirty thousand dollars were missing.
I suspected they were working behind the scenes but didn’t expect easy or quick answers.
It could have simply been a lack of evidence or information.
Either way, I planned to hear him out and judge for myself.
“Start from the beginning. Give me as many details as you can. I’ll ask questions if I need to.”
Benaiah roughed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw.
“Last Monday, my father had his annual meeting at the bank to review his investments and whatnot. I always go with him. He doesn’t drive anymore.
Although his mind is as sharp as ever, he’s getting on in years, so I like to be sure no one is playing games with him.
Dad maintains full control over his finances. Always has.”
“And he lives at Evergreen?”
“Yep. The mind might be strong, but the body is what’s failing him. He needs assistance with grooming and dressing and such. Tends to be incontinent at night, and my wife and I—”
“That’s not important. Your father’s name?” I heard too late how my interruption could be deemed insensitive and winced. Two steps forward, one step back.
“Oh. Of course. Elwood Scarrow. He’s eighty-eight.” Benaiah glanced at the notepad. “Do you need his birthdate?”
“No.” I waved for Benaiah to go on.
“So, like I said, I took him to his annual bank appointment, only to discover that his account was missing over thirty thousand dollars. That’s not pennies, Mr. Krause.”
“And where does the record show it went?”
“That’s just it. We have no idea.”
I stopped writing and put the pen down, rubbing the skin between my eyes. “The bank should be able to tell you.”
“Oh, I know, but they can’t. I mean, they can, but it’s not traceable.
It started in early December. Apparently, my father, unbeknownst to me, set himself up for online banking.
Up until then, I had no clue Dad had working knowledge of the internet or even access to a computer.
When I asked him how and why he did this, he got angry and said it was his goshdarn money and his goshdarn account and why shouldn’t he be able to go online and check it whenever he wanted? ”
Benaiah sipped his coffee, setting the mug down with exaggerated care as he exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry. I’m upset. You don’t deserve my vulgar language.”
This man needed a lesson in vulgar language if he thought goshdarn was going to bother me. I made a mental note to watch my mouth in Benaiah’s presence lest I offend him and lose the job.
“Does your father understand that he’s missing a large sum of money?”
“Oh, he understands. After he set up the online banking, there is a record of him sending an e-transfer to an untraceable email address. The bank has the record of the account where the money was sent, but it’s no longer open, nor can the receiving bank tell them anything about the account holder.
When I asked Dad what that transfer was all about, he told me it was for Kael’s new computer. Kael is my son. He’s studying abroad.”
“Thirty thousand for a new computer?”
“No, no. I’m getting ahead of myself. The first transfer was small. There were more.”
“Hang on.” I snagged the pen and leaned over the desk, poised to write. “How old is your son?”
“Twenty-two, but the money was not sent to Kael. We called him. He knew nothing about it. He didn’t have a random account that he recently closed, nor had he been in contact with his grandfather. After the initial transfer, several larger sums were sent to the same place.”
“Larger sums?”
“A few thousand dollars each, spanning a few weeks. At the end of January, a wire transfer of twenty-five thousand dollars was made to the same account.”
I frowned and stopped writing. “And the bank let that go through without double-checking?”
Benaiah’s jaw ticked. “Yes, because upon setting up his online banking, my father chatted with a teller to ensure they knew he was planning to send large sums of money to that account regularly, and would that be a problem? They said no and green-lighted the account. When I asked Dad if he’d done that, he said he had because he was sending Kael money for his new computer, and it was a lot of money, and he didn’t want the bank to tell him no. He said Kael suggested it.
“Mr. Krause, my son hasn’t spoken to my father since last summer when he was home visiting. He knows nothing about this, but my father claims Kael visited him a few times back in December.”
The pieces clicked, and I didn’t like where Benaiah’s story was going.
I suspected his father was a victim of what the police called a Grandparent Scam.
Groups or individuals targeted senior citizens, pretending to be a grandchild in trouble.
They convinced the grandparent to send them great wads of money for dire reasons like bail or lawyer fees, stating they were in immediate trouble.
Essentially, they pulled at heartstrings and conned them out of hundreds or thousands of dollars.
Usually, these people requested cash. The online aspect spun a new thread of concern.
I sat back, rolling the information over, debating what I might be able to do if I took the case. I had several questions. “What did the police say?”