Part 8 (1/2)
”Why don't you see if he's logged onto the system?” Randi suggested. She bent to set her chair upright again. ”Knowing Victor, he probably is, unless he's asleep or in the shower.”
Sitting down in front of the terminal, Randi pressed some keys. ”I was right,” she said after a moment. ”He's in the computer room. Do you want to use my terminal to talk to him?”
Nancy didn't want her conversation with Victor to be open to everyone who happened to be using the computer system. ”No thanks. I'll go down there in person.”
”Suit yourself,” Randi told her. ”I'll tell him you're coming. And remember, I'm expecting to hear what this is all about. Otherwise, I'll have to start an investigation of my own.”
Just as Randi had said, Victor was at one of the computer room terminals. ”You look pretty good for someone who just got back from the hospital,” he commented. ”How do you feel?”
”I've been too busy to tell,” Nancy said. ”Listen, I have an important question for you. Is it possible to send a message from one terminal in the system to another, but make the system say that it came from a different terminal?”
”Hmm.” Victor leaned back in his chair and stared into s.p.a.ce as he considered this. ”I don't see why not,” he answered at last. ”It shouldn't be that hard to program the computer to accept a message for retransmission from a different origin. But you'd leave a trail, of course.”
”You mean, a record of where the message really came from?” Nancy demanded, her blue eyes widening. ”Do you know how to find a record like that?”
Victor studied her face for a moment, then nodded. ”Probably. A message to whom to whom, received when?”
Nancy smiled at his half-joking use of whom whom and then gave him the information he needed. He busied himself at the terminal, humming the refrain from a hard-rock tune under his breath. Finally, just when Nancy was sure she couldn't stand to wait a second longer, he pushed his chair back and said, ”Okay, I got it. The message was actually entered a couple of minutes earlier than it said, and the real place of origin was the work station in Ms. Hathaway's office.” and then gave him the information he needed. He busied himself at the terminal, humming the refrain from a hard-rock tune under his breath. Finally, just when Nancy was sure she couldn't stand to wait a second longer, he pushed his chair back and said, ”Okay, I got it. The message was actually entered a couple of minutes earlier than it said, and the real place of origin was the work station in Ms. Hathaway's office.”
”You're sure?” Nancy exclaimed.
”Not a hundred percent sure,” he admitted. ”There might be a second layer of tricks. Call it eighty percent.”
”Good enough!” Nancy started for the door, then paused to look over her shoulder. ”Thanks, Victor,” she added. ”You've been super.”
”You're welcome. And don't forget that hot fudge sundae.”
Ms. Arletti's office was almost back to normal, except for the lingering smell of burnt and wet wood. She looked up from some work on her desk as Nancy came in. ”Ms. Hathaway?” she replied to Nancy's question. ”Oh, what a shame, she just walked out this second. She had an urgent phone call a few minutes ago and told me she had to leave. You can probably catch her in the parking lot if you hurry.”
”Thanks,” Nancy called, jogging out the door.
Nancy's car was in the visitors' parking lot because she hadn't been a.s.signed a permanent teacher s.p.a.ce yet. She climbed in, wincing as her hands touched the wheel, and drove around the back of the building, where faculty members parked. A red sedan that looked like Phyllis's was just pulling out into the street. Nancy waited a few seconds, then followed.
The car turned right at the next corner, then left a couple of blocks later. Nancy followed, far enough back to stay unnoticed, she hoped. She was beginning to think she knew where Phyllis was going.
A few minutes later her hunch was confirmed. As Phyllis's car approached Archer Street, the right turn signal started to blink. Sure enough, Phyllis's car slowed as she reached the bank branch, about halfway down the street. Nancy slowed, too, then pulled in behind a van parked on the street. Its bulk would help hide her car from anyone in the bank.
Nancy watched as Phyllis parked in the lot and headed for the bank. While she observed her, Nancy's attention was drawn to a dusty blue car that she knew was Dana MacCauley's. Nancy ducked down in her seat until it, too, pulled into the bank lot, then slid over to the pa.s.senger seat and removed a small pair of binoculars from the glove compartment. From there she could just see around the bulk of the van.
Dana was pulling into a spot near Phyllis's car. It was obvious that they had a prearranged meeting. Dana's must have been the urgent phone call Ms. Arletti had referred to.
Dana called to Phyllis, who was waiting for her at the entrance. Together they continued toward the bank. Dana put her bank card in the door slot and the two women entered the twenty-four-hour lobby. Nancy longed to get out of her car and move closer. But she didn't dare. The gla.s.s walls of the lobby made it too easy for the women to notice her.
Nancy picked up her binoculars and peered into the window. With a happy, almost triumphant look on her face, Phyllis handed Dana something.
It was a wad of cas.h.!.+
Chapter Fourteen.
NANCY HELD HER BREATH and adjusted the focus on the binoculars. That money had come from Phyllis's purse, not the machine. She couldn't tell the denomination of the bills, but even if they were twenties, the amount would be large. Dana studied the wad a moment, then smiled and shook Phyllis's hand. Dana wrote out a deposit slip, put the cash and the slip in an envelope, and deposited the envelope in the automated teller machine.
Nancy watched the women a while longer. They seemed happy when they left the bank, got into their respective cars, and drove off. Nancy's mind was racing. Normally two people didn't meet at a bank just to make a deposit. Obviously they were up to something. Was Phyllis giving Dana her cut of the illegal money?
When both cars were out of sight, Nancy got out of her car and went to a phone booth near the bank.
Luckily she was able to reach Harrison Lane in his office. After Nancy explained what she wanted to know, he took the number of the telephone she was calling from and promised to call her right back. In fact, it was almost ten minutes before the telephone rang.
”I'm sorry to have taken so long,” the banker told her, ”but I wanted to be absolutely sure of my facts.”
”What did you find?” Nancy asked. ”Was I right? Was a big deposit just made into the I. Wynn account?” She held her breath and waited for his response.
”I'm afraid not,” said Lane.
Nancy's mouth fell open. ”There wasn't?”
”No,” he replied. ”I'm sorry, but the only recent activity in that account was that withdrawal yesterday afternoon. By the way, I gather your little trap was a success.”
”Yes and no,” said Nancy. ”I got answers to some questions, but the big one is still a mystery. If anything, it's more of a mystery now than ever. You're positive that no one put money into that account from the Archer Street cash machine in the last fifteen minutes? Maybe your records are running a few minutes behind?”
”No, I'm afraid not,” Lane said once more. ”The only activity at that cash machine in the last quarter-hour was a deposit of two thousand dollars into the account of PointTech Computers. Hmm-I think that's the company that installed the system at the school.”
”PointTech?” she repeated. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. ”Thanks, Mr. Lane. I'll let you know if I get any closer to a solution.” Then Nancy said goodbye and hung up.
As she walked back to her car, she tried to make sense of what she had just learned. Of course! she thought. I should have realized right away! The I. Wynn account was just a cover-up account. It was only for drop-off and pick-up purposes. The money was actually going into the PointTech account. It was the perfect cover. Yet there had been no activity in the I. Wynn account at all. Maybe the two thousand dollars represented most of the cash students had paid till then.
Nancy was distracted from her thoughts as she felt her hands throbbing. It was time to put more anesthetic cream on them, so she started up her car and drove home, hoping her dad wasn't mad because she hadn't called him.
”Hannah, that pot roast was delicious,” said Nancy, pus.h.i.+ng her empty plate away from her. It turned out that Carson Drew had had to work late anyway, so Nancy and Hannah ate a dinner of pot roast, potatoes, and broccoli alone. ”I couldn't eat another bite.”
The housekeeper raised her eyebrows, a teasing glint in her eyes as she said, ”I guess that means you won't be having any of my chocolate-chip cookies.”
”Bite your tongue!” Nancy exclaimed. ”You know I can always find room for a cookie, Hannah.”
She got up and began helping Hannah clear the table, but the housekeeper waved her away. ”I'll get it, dear. You need to give those poor hands a rest.”
”Thanks, Hannah.” She gave Hannah a quick hug after grabbing a couple of cookies, and went up to her room. Stretching out on her bed, Nancy simply let her mind wander. In the past she'd discovered that sometimes confusing clues made sense when she did this. She began to drift off to sleep, images from the case swimming through her mind.
One face continued to reappear-that of Walter Friedbinder. Walter Friedbinder standing next to the faculty mailboxes. Walter Friedbinder making plans to check the filing cabinets. Walter Friedbinder reacting to the note Kim had left him. And, Nancy thought, he knew her real last name.
She'd noted his odd behavior on several occasions, but she'd been so busy concentrating on Dana and Phyllis and Victor that she hadn't actively investigated the headmaster.
Nancy suddenly came fully awake and sat up in her bed. She got up and went to her desk for Friedbinder's biography. Then she began dialing the universities that he said he'd attended. It was late, though, and she wasn't able to get through to any of the offices. She'd have to wait until the morning to check on Friedbinder's background story.