Ray returns to the computer. I lounge around the reception area. Ray lets out a sound of surprise. I peek in the door at him.
"What is it?" I ask.
"There isn't much in this file."
"Does it say who Alisa Feme is?"
"Not really. It just gives some background information on who contacted my dad to investigate her."
"That should be helpful."
"It's not, because even that information is cut off in midsentence." Ray frowns. "This is an odd file for my dad to create. I wonder if it's been tampered with. I could have sworn ..." He looks at me.
"What?" I ask.
He glances back at the screen. "Nothing."
"No, Ray, tell me. You could have sworn what?" I worry he may have registered how big the file was
when he first started on the computer. Certainly it is much smaller now. Ray shakes his head.
"I don't know," he says. "I'm tired, too. I'm going to look at this stuff tomorrow." He exits the files and turns off the computer. "Let's get out of here."
"OK."
Half an hour later I am at home, my real home, the mansion on the hill overlooking the ocean. I have come with the diskettes because I need my computer. My good night kiss to Ray was brief. His emotions were difficult for me to read. He is clearly suspicious of me, but that is not his dominant feeling. There is something in him that feels like a mixture of fear and attachment and gladnessvery strange. But he is worried about his father, more than he was before we went to the office.
I have a variety of word processors and have no trouble loading the Alisa Perne file and bringing it up on the screen. A glance at the information shows me that Mr. Riley investigated me for approximately three months before calling me into his office. The data he dug up on me is interspersed with personal notes and comments on his correspondence with someone named "Mr. Slim." There is a fax number for Slim, but no phone number. The number indicates an office in Switzerland. I memorize it and then proceed through the file more carefully. Riley's initial contact note is interesting. Nowhere in the file are copies of Mr. Slim's faxes, just comments on them.
Aug. 8th
This morning I received a fax from a gentleman named Mr. Slim. He introduces himself as an attorney for a variety of wealthy European clients. He wants me to investigate a young woman named Alisa Perne, who lives here in Mayfair. He has little information on the womanI have the impression that she is but one of many people he or his group is investigating. He also mentioned a couple of other women that he might have me look into in this part of the country, but he did not give me their names. He is particularly interested in Miss Perne's financial situation, her family situation, and alsoand this is surprisingwhether anyone she has been associated with has died violently recently. When I faxed back and asked if this woman was dangerous, he indicated that she was far more dangerous than she appeared, and that I was not to contact her directly under any circumstances. He said she appears to be only eighteen to twenty years of age.
I am intrigued, especially since Mr. Slim has agreed to deposit ten thousand dollars in my account to start me on my investigation. I have already faxed back that I will take the case. I have the young woman's address and Social Security number. I do not have a picture but intend to take one for my records, even though I have been warned to keep my distance. How dangerous can she be, at that age?
There followed an account of Riley's preliminary investigation into me. Apparently he had a contact at TRW that gave him access to information not usually available to a common investigator. I suspect Mr. Slim knew of this contact and hired Riley for that reason. Almost immediately Riley discovered that I was rich, and that apparently I had no family. The more he found out, the more eager he was to pursue the investigation, and the less information he faxed back to Mr. Slim. At one point Riley made what to him was a major decision, to use a contact on the New York Stock Exchange. By going to the man he was using up a valuable favor. But I suppose he thought I was worth it.
Sept. 21st
Miss Perne has gone to extremes to hide her financial holdings, and not just from the IRS. She has numerous accounts at various brokerage houses set up under different corporations, some off shore. Yet they appear to be coordinated by a single law firm in New York CityBenson and Sons. I tried to contact the firm directly, speaking as a rich investor, but they rebuffed my inquiries, making me suspect they handle Perne's account and no other. If that is true it is another example of this woman's wealth, for Benson and Sons has investments in the range of half a billion dollars.
Yet I have seen herthis girland she is as young as Mr. Slim says and very attractive. But her
age confuses me, and I wonder if she has a mother somewhere who has the same name. Because many of her business dealings go back two decades, and they can all be traced to the name Alisa Perne. I am tempted to talk to her directly, despite Mr. Slim's warning.
Mr. Slim is not happy with me, and the feeling is mutual. He has the impression I have been withholding information from him and he's correct. But he has done the same with me. He still refuses to tell me the reason for his interest in this young lady, although I can imagine several scenarios. But his initial comment about her dangerous nature keeps coming back to me. Who is Alisa Perne? One of the richest people in the world obviously. But where did she get her wealth? By violent means? From her nonexistent family? I must, before I give up this case, ask her these questions myself.
I have been thinking that Mr. Slim has been paying me well, but that Alisa Perne may want to pay me more. I see already, though, that it would be unwise to let Mr. Slim know I have gone behind his back. There is a certain ruthless tone to his faxes. I don't think I ever want to meet the man. Yet I find myself looking forward to talking to Alisa.
Late September and he is on a first-name basis with me. But he did not contact me till November. What did he do during that time? I read farther and learned that he investigated my international dealings. He discovered I have property in Europe and Asia, and passports from France and India. This last fact was a revelation for him, as well it should have been. Because it appeared, accurately, that I had held the passports for more than thirty years. No wonder, I think, he asked me my age so quickly.
Finally, though, he found a violent act connected to my past. Five years earlier, in Los Angeles. The brutal slaying of a Mr. Samuel Barber. The man had been my gardener. I killed him, of course, because he had a bad habit of peering into my windows. He had seen things I didn't want talked about.