“No,” Dan said. “Your secret’s safe with me. Sorry I had to have you relive it. Don’t worry, nobody else is going to bother you.”
He excused himself and left the house as Wyatt tried to comfort his wife. Andrew Slate was dead, but there was someone who had picked up Andrew’s life and continued it without Slate’s family finding out. Why, Dan didn’t know; but he was positive he was going to find out…an ocean of money might be riding on the answer.
CHAPTER 13
On the plane ride back, he tried to sort it out in his mind. The data that they had culled on Andrew Slate was actually about two people; that was probably why there was so much diversity in a single man. Somehow, this new Slate abandoned whatever identity he had before and either absorbed the life of the original Andrew, or he forged a new path simply using the name and pertinent information like the original’s Social Security number. By establishing his new identity a thousand miles away, there was little chance of discovery. But who was this man that needed a new identity? What had he done in his past life that he needed to escape? Those were the burning questions, but at least Dan had a time frame in which to investigate.
Back at his office, he summoned Ron.
“Listen,” he said. “I need you to do something for me. I want you to take all the data we have on Andrew Slate, and I want you to divide it…everything in his life up to seven years ago and then seven years ago to the present. Do the profiles as if you were dealing with two separate people. Yah, I know it sounds crazy, but humor me. Then compare them for similar traits and for dissimilar ones. How fast can you do that?’
“Should be no problem,” Ron answered. “All of the information is already there; it’s just changing how we aggregate it. Should be ten minutes.”
“Go,” Dan said. “And tell nobody. Get me a print out.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ron was standing in front of Dan’s desk with three folders in his hands.
“Here’s the stuff on Slate up to seven years ago,” he said handing Dan the first folder. “And here’s the stuff to the present.”
“Let me see the comparisons,” Dan said reaching for the third folder.
As he checked to see which traits continued throughout the two phases of Slate’s life, he was not surprised to note that there were profound changes. The early Slate was more outgoing, a risk taker, independent, uncertain about his future goals seemingly smart; the later Slate was more conservative, patient, quiet, equally smart but in a less creative way, focused. It was as if two totally different people were occupying the same identity.
It was obvious that somehow Dan had to get the new Slate’s fingerprints to find out who he was dealing with; unfortunately, his schedule was jammed with clients seeking to sign up the company’s services. Picking up the phone, he dialed Richie’s number.
“Rich…Dan…I need you to do something…no, I need it today…of course I’ll pay, you mercenary little pig…I want you to get some of the trash out of a guy’s barrels…yes, trash…and wear gloves because I want his prints…no, I’m not spying, I just need his prints…look, you want the money or not because I can get…okay, then look for bottles or can lids or anything he’d touch that would leave clear prints…yah, a potato chip bag would be good…you got the idea…bring back a bunch of stuff…okay.”
The rest of the day Dan’s schedule was busy with clients, but Slate was foremost on his mind. Everything depended on Slate’s average nature to make the choices that mirrored America
“This wasn’t as easy as it seems,” Richie said. “This guy keeps his trash in a locked shed. I had to pry off three boards from the back just to get in. I put them back when I left. It was dark inside, so I just emptied the contents of the barrel into this bag. Here it is. I haven’t the slightest idea what’s in it.”
Dan opened the half-filled bag and looked inside. There were shredded papers, old magazines, a torn throw pillow, and an empty plastic apple juice container. He took a piece of paper from his desk and used it to shield his hand as he took out the plastic container.
“I need to get the prints off this bottle and to see who they match. Any suggestions on how?” Dan asked.
“One of the profs at school who teaches criminal science has some contacts with the police,” Richie said. “Maybe he could get it done. But I’d need a story to tell him.”
“Tell him they…never mind,” Dan said. He just realized that the new Slate might have a record in his previous identity; he might even be wanted. Tipping off the police could be the wrong move to make; he couldn’t afford to lose Slate now. “Is there another way?”
“Well, he could copy the prints so you’d have them, but I don’t know how you could run them against a national database without involving the police,” Richie said.
“Get Ron,” Dan commanded.
“He’s gone by now,” Richie answered.
“Find him. It’s very important,” Dan emphasized. “Tell him to come down here right away.”
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