Payback Read online

“And that would make it harder for somebody to identify Stewart Jones as a fraud,” Luke said.

  “Absolutely,” George agreed. “But if Stewart Jones isn’t really Australian, we can soon find out. Do you want me to check the Australian address he gave the rental company?”

  Luke’s first instinct was to stop this investigation right now. What the hell was he trying to achieve by chasing a chimera across thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean? In the end, though, he couldn’t quite let go.

  “It can’t hurt, I guess, since we’ve come this far so quickly. Thanks, George. Some information about Mr. Jones’s forwarding address would be useful. Can you dig deep enough to find out if we’re talking about a mail drop or a residence?”

  “Sure thing. I could also check with the Australian foreign ministry and confirm whether or not they have a Stewart M. Jones on their diplomatic roster.”

  “That would be great. Although Mr. Jones passed the background check conducted by the Elm Court management company, so I’m not sure that we’re going to unearth any discrepancies without going to a lot of trouble.”

  “You’d be surprised—make that alarmed—at how easy it is to pass a standard credit check. I’ll just peel back a couple more layers and see what we uncover.” George paused. “It would help if I knew what I’m trying to find out.”

  “For now, I’d prefer just to tell you that you’re right, and I think Stewart M. Jones is a stolen identity someone has adopted.” Luke gave up on the unrealistic pretense that he was conducting a simple search for an old friend. “If the Australian authorities acknowledge they have a diplomat called Stewart Jones, could you get a description of him? That way, I can compare the man I saw with the Stewart Jones employed by the Australian government. I don’t want to make any accusations or leap to any wild conclusions until I’m sure I didn’t just see a hardworking Australian guy who happens to look like somebody else.”

  “I’ll do my best. In fact, if I tell the Aussies that I’m investigating a suspected identity theft, they’ll probably be quite willing to cooperate.”

  “Thanks for all you’ve done so far, George. I’m very grateful.”

  “Glad I could be of help. I’ll hold off on sending you a bill until I’ve contacted the Australian authorities and traced this address in Adelaide.” The investigator’s voice took on a tinge of laughter. “If I give you the damage in one fell swoop, you’ll only be shocked once.”

  Luke avoided thinking about Ron Raven for the rest of the night, which wasn’t hard, chiefly because the pressures of serving top-quality food in three crowded restaurants, one with an injured sous-chef, occupied every scrap of his attention. He assumed George would take at least a couple of days to get back to him and he was almost glad of the delay. However, he’d underestimated George’s efficiency. Luke opened up his e-mail the next evening and found a note from the detective already waiting for him.

  Thought it might be easier to put this in writing, instead of interrupting your work schedule. Mr. Jones’s forwarding address in Adelaide turns out to be for an abandoned warehouse. I’ve attached an aerial picture of the site, which as you can see is surrounded by a chain-link fence and appears deserted. I spoke to a local cop (local to Adelaide, that is) and he assures me that any mail forwarded to this warehouse from the States during the past six months would have been returned to sender or delivered to a dead-letter box, since the ownership of the site is in dispute between two companies.

  I checked again with the superintendent of the apartment building in McLean, Virginia. He has no memory of any mail either being forwarded to Stewart Jones or being returned from Australia. It seems likely, therefore, that no first-class mail for Mr. Jones ever arrived at Elm Court after he left there in late June.

  I also contacted the Australian embassy in Washington, D.C. I informed them somebody might be fraudulently using the identity of a supposed Australian diplomat, Stewart M. Jones. The embassy informed me that there has been no diplomat of that name serving in any capacity in the United States for the past two years. They wouldn’t comment on whether they have a diplomat of that name assigned elsewhere.

  The management company for the Elm Street rental properties at first declined to share with me how they checked the credentials and references for prospective renters. After some persuasion, a clerk parted with the information that all applicants are required to provide a security deposit equal to three months’ rent. If the applicant’s check clears, the rest of the credit check is cursory. Renters are required to provide a work phone number, and this number is always called. However, since applicants provide the work number themselves, they—in this case, Mr. Jones—have complete control over how the call is answered. Mr. Jones could pretend that a caller had reached the Australian embassy, and then provide himself with a glowing reference. Child’s play for anyone with experience in setting up a scam. Sometimes I wonder why anybody in this country bothers to be honest, when deception and fraud are so easy.

  Bottom line: Anyone wanting to rent accommodations at the Elm Street location could use almost whatever name they pleased with little risk of having their alias exposed.

  Let me know if you need to investigate further. Sincerely, George Klein.

  P.S. Invoice attached.

  Four

  October 12, 2007

  T im, one of the sous-chefs at Luciano’s on Chestnut, stuck his head around Luke’s open office door. “There’s a woman waiting to see you in the main dining room. Says she arranged to meet you here.”

  Luke glanced up from the stack of vendor accounts he was checking, one of his least-favorite chores. “Is it Mrs. Fairfax?”

  “Could be. Something like that. Sorry, you know me and names.” Tim, who happily obsessed over the most obscure herbs and heirloom vegetables, and agonized over precise details of recipes, had only a perfunctory interest in the humans who would eventually consume his dishes. He gave Luke a casually apologetic salute and moved on to the kitchen.

  Luke made his way into the dining room, breathing in the faint aroma of freshly chopped herbs. The restaurant was closed at this early hour of the morning, the tables shrouded in starched gray linen cloths, waiting for the stemmed water goblets, silverware and signature damask napkins that would be added later.

  Even now, five years after the grand opening of his flagship restaurant, Luke’s heart still beat a little faster each time he walked across the stylish dining room. This morning he was especially aware of the fact that his success would have been impossible without Ron Raven. His requests for financing to start his own restaurant had been turned down by half the banks in Chicago. He was too young, the bankers said, not even thirty, with grand ideas but insufficient practical experience. Besides, restaurants were a notoriously risky investment.

  And then he catered a meal for Raven Enterprises and everything changed. Ron agreed to underwrite the first Luciano’s to the tune of a quarter million dollars in exchange for twenty-five percent of the equity. The restaurant had been a success almost from opening night, and plenty of banks had fallen over themselves to finance Luke’s next two ventures. But the undeniable bottom line was that without Ron, there would have been no Luciano’s.

  Luke had wrestled with the question of what he owed Ron for several days before finally placing his call to Avery Fairfax. In the end, he’d decided this couldn’t be about gratitude toward Ron; this had to be about honesty owed to Ron’s wife and daughter.

  He pushed lingering doubts aside and smiled a greeting at the slender, elegant woman waiting by the door. “Avery! It’s great to see you again. Thanks for making the trip across town.”

  Avery Fairfax turned to him, her classic features warmed by the friendliness of her smile. “Luke, how are you? It’s been much too long. I’ve missed you.”

  He shook her hand since Avery wasn’t the sort of woman who invited random hugs. “I missed you, too.” He was surprised at how true that was. “Can I get you something to eat? A croissant? Some coffee? Juice?”


  “Thank you, but I only finished breakfast a few minutes ago.”

  “Then let’s go into my office. We have more hope of being left alone there.” Luke escorted her through the dining room and pulled out a chair across from his desk as soon as they reached his office. Avery sank into the seat, managing to look entirely comfortable without slumping, crossing her legs or disturbing the perfect lines of her tweed skirt.

  “You look very well,” Luke said truthfully.

  “I feel well, too. Or perhaps energized would be a better word. October is always my favorite month and the weather’s been heavenly for the past few days, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect, especially in contrast to the rotten summer we had this year.” The phone rang. Luke ignored the ring and pressed the button to switch his calls through to voice mail. “Did you manage to escape from the city during those hot spells back in June and July?”

  “Only for the odd day, now and again. I was too busy selling the penthouse. Fortunately, we managed to find a buyer before the real estate market totally tanked. The new owners are a couple from India who’ve just moved to the States and they were eager to buy a lot of the furniture, too, which suited me very well. So it was a successful transaction all around, with happy buyers and a contented seller.”

  Luke hoped the sale of the penthouse had left Avery financially secure. She undoubtedly needed the money. Even if Ron had made a will and left her a decent share of his estate, Luke doubted if she would see a penny of her inheritance anytime soon. There would surely be years of litigation over the disposition of the estate, even if all the parties tried to be reasonable. The tabloids had mentioned something about a three-million-dollar debt hanging over the heads of Ron’s Wyoming family, so it seemed safe to assume both wives had suffered major financial blows when Ron disappeared.

  “Have you decided where you’re going to live now the penthouse is sold?” he asked Avery, wondering how the complicated Raven family finances would ever be unraveled if Ron was officially declared alive again. Just contemplating the potential legal nightmare of getting the estate back out of probate had Luke questioning his decision all over again.

  “At first, I thought about moving back to Georgia,” Avery said. “Then I realized that would be silly. It’s so long since I’ve lived anywhere other than Chicago that my roots are here now. So I’m about to move into a small house in Wicker Park.”

  “That’s one of my favorite neighborhoods.” It was where Kate lived, too, so Avery was moving away from the superexpensive lakeside and closer to her daughter. Wicker Park was a younger, trendier neighborhood than the only-millionaires-need-apply Gold Coast.

  “I like my new neighborhood better the more I explore. Actually, I’m rather excited. Not just about the house, but about my prospects generally. I’ve started a small business and discovered that I very much enjoy being gainfully employed.”

  “That’s great, Avery!”

  Her smile turned into an outright laugh. “You should never play poker, Luke, you’d be wiped out in a couple of hands. I know everyone thinks I’m a useless social butterfly with all the management skills of a potted plant, but I’m actually quite efficient.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “You’re not sure at all.” Avery seemed amused by his doubts, not offended. “I’m like a lot of other Southern women of my generation, a great deal more competent than I look. We were brought up to hide our capabilities and defer to our husbands and flutter our eyelashes if any of the gentlemen discussed politics or money at the dinner table. But the truth is, I’ve raised millions of dollars for art galleries and museums and homeless shelters over the past twenty years. I’ve personally organized more benefits and charity balls than most people attend in a lifetime. When Ron died, and I was trying to think how in the world I should spend the rest of my life, it occurred to me that I already had all the training I would ever need to become a professional event planner. So that’s what I’ve started doing, and I’m loving every minute.”

  Luke smiled. “That’s a brilliant career choice, Avery. It’s the perfect niche for you.” If anything, she was understating the number of important fund-raisers she’d planned over the past decade. “You already know the best venues in Chicago for every conceivable type of event, and you have a Rolodex full of outstanding caterers, florists, musicians—anything your clients could want or need for the perfect party.”

  She laughed, drawing a sleek gray PDA from her purse. “Actually, I now have a BlackBerry as well as a Rolodex. Kate finally persuaded me it was time to take a few tentative steps into the twenty-first century, and I discovered technology is great when you understand it. I even know how to access my e-mail account while sipping coffee at Starbucks. I can send instant text messages, too. I can’t quite bring myself to sign off with a smiley face, but I’m getting there!”

  “Congratulations.” Avery’s pleasure was infectious and Luke smiled back at her. “In addition to becoming a techie, you’re always so polite and serene that even the most neurotic client will calm down simply knowing you’re in charge. You’re going to be hiring extra staff and turning away customers before you know it.”

  “Thanks for the compliments, Luke, I really appreciate them. Especially the bit about being serene. From my perspective, viewed from the inside, I’m a nervous wreck. Still, I don’t seem to be having any difficulty finding clients, especially since I don’t want to get overwhelmed before I have all my ducks in a row.”

  “I suspect your ducks are already lined up and waiting to swim off into deep waters.”

  “Perhaps.” Avery’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and pride. “I just finished putting together a wedding for the daughter of an old college friend. She gave me a bare four weeks’ notice and the ceremony was last weekend. Everything seems to have gone rather well, if I do say so myself. And I’m working on two new projects right now. One is a business conference next month and the other a coming-of-age celebration for a young woman who has fabulously wealthy parents, both remarried to other partners. They apparently hope that if they spend enough money on the party, their daughter will forget they ignored her for most of the past eighteen years.”

  “That sounds like the very best sort of client.” Luke grinned. “There’s nothing like a double dose of parental guilt to shake loose a deluge of money.”

  Avery pulled a wry face. “Ah, yes. Parental guilt, the gift that goes on giving. I’ve certainly experienced a full dose of that these past few months. Although Kate is a kind person and she’s almost managed to convince me that I wasn’t utterly foolish not to have realized the truth about her father.”

  Luke drew in a deep breath. Avery had opened the door and there was no way to put off discussing Kate any longer.

  “How is Kate?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as stiff and awkward as he felt. He was alarmed that even now, months after their breakup, he still felt a tightening in his chest at the mere mention of her name. Dammit, he must have some deep masochistic streak that he felt this crazy tug of yearning for a woman who’d made the final weeks of their relationship something pretty close to a living hell. Not that he’d exactly been a prince, he admitted silently. But, God knew, their final breakup had been caused exclusively by Kate, with zero assistance from him.

  “Kate’s well,” Avery said, her voice cooling just a little. “Busy, of course. She spent a month in Vienna this summer, working with Torsten Richter. She found him as terrifying as his reputation, but she said the terror was worth it. According to Kate, Torsten can do things with chocolate that are somewhere between obscene and heavenly.”

  Luke quelled an irrational surge of jealousy toward Torsten Richter, who was known as one of the finest pastry chefs in Europe. Pathetic as it was, it seemed he still craved Kate’s professional approval. “Is she planning to compete in the Coupe du Monde again next year?”

  “No.” Avery didn’t expand on her answer. Perhaps she thought Luke didn’t deserve any insi
ghts into Kate’s professional plans, given that she believed their relationship had foundered on the rock of their demanding and incompatible schedules.

  He hesitated for a moment. “I wrote to Kate in May,” he said finally. “After Ron…after her father disappeared.”

  “I know. She showed me your note.” Avery’s voice was dry. “It was a very polite letter. Emily Post would have been proud of you.”

  Luke didn’t misinterpret the seeming compliment. “I realize it was a lousy letter, Avery. But Kate and I broke up a month before her father disappeared and I had no clue what to say. We’d both made it clear that we didn’t want to see each other ever again, so it seemed wrong to get too personal.” He noticed he was drawing circles all over his vendor invoices and tossed the pen aside. “In the end, platitudes seemed better…no, not better. They seemed less bad than any of the alternatives.”

  Avery relented slightly. “It was a difficult situation,” she conceded. “And the consequences seem never-ending. I’m getting so tired of the constant fallout.” She stopped abruptly, visibly chagrined to have lapsed into the sort of complaining she would consider bad manners.

  And he was about to make the situation more difficult by several orders of magnitude, Luke reflected. Seeing Avery in person, he wondered why he’d been so sure he was entitled to disrupt her peace. She was poised on the brink of putting her life back together in a pattern that clearly pleased her. Why force her to confront the possibility that her bigamous husband might not be dead? After all, Ron had lied and cheated for the entire twenty-nine years of their relationship. Why would she care if the son of a bitch was alive?

  It would certainly be kinder to Avery to allow Ron to remain buried. Kinder in the short term, he reflected, but maybe not right?

  “You have your poker face on again, Luke, and it’s still not working.” Avery’s gaze didn’t waver and it was disconcertingly perceptive. “You’re agonizing over something. Why did you ask me to come here today? Is it something to do with Kate?”