Amaia looked up from the screen. “All right, but that wouldn’t have helped us a lot anyway. I think I might have gotten the ages of the children wrong. Because of the victims’ ages, I thought he was repeating everything exactly as before, but exact matches probably weren’t necessary. If, eighteen years ago . . .” She glanced down at little Jacob, standing by her side. “If he did all that and disappeared, even if he managed to establish a new life for himself very quickly, his children would necessarily have to be younger. Jacob was a big help with that. I’m speculating our man has a four- or five-year-old son named Mic, or Michael, or maybe Micah, and it’s the boy’s violin. The other children might play instruments as well. I think that’s why he came back for it in Galveston.”
Johnson was willing to play along with her theory. “He saw his son had scribbled on it, and he was afraid that might lead back to him.”
Amaia tilted her head, reflecting. “When he leaves a violin at the crime scene, he’s not just transforming an ordinary space into a music room. If his children also play the violin, he’s trying to make everything match. That would lend credence to the idea that the newer crimes are rehearsals for what he intends to do to his own family.”
Johnson mulled it over, nodding. “That’s brilliant reasoning. Dupree will be pleased.”
Amaia released all the air in her chest in one great whoosh. “I don’t know. It’s so confusing. I can’t tell if I’m thinking logically or my brain’s just trying to fill in the gaps with absurd speculation.”
“I don’t believe we’re at a dead end with Landis either. He says that he can’t send the information by email, but he also doesn’t say he’ll need a court order before he’ll discuss it. He included his personal phone number in the email, so he probably wouldn’t mind having a little chat.”
“Sure, but the cell phone towers are down.”
Johnson leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Listen, the nurse who told me about the computer system also said the hospital’s landlines are working. The main switchboard is jammed; if you pick up a phone out here or in the reception area, you won’t get a signal. But they set up a code that gives access to the outside. Zero, zero, one, pound sign. The admin offices on the fourth floor are equipped that way, but they’re closed right now.” He pressed a ring of odd-shaped metal probes into her palm. “Do you know how to pick a lock?”
She gave him Jacob’s little hand in return. “Your nurse is a real gold mine. Or maybe she found you attractive.”
He smiled. “I guess I haven’t completely lost it, huh?” Even his mustache seemed to have revived a bit.
Light from outside the office window indicated the sun had come up while she’d been in the hall with Jacob. The office windows were still covered, so she couldn’t see outside. The blurred view through the horrible plastic sheeting gave her the impression that the exterior world had been dissolved in acid.
It wasn’t until after she’d tapped in the phone number that she thought to check the time. The hands of her watch pointed to 7:40. She was going to give it a try anyway. With the one-hour time difference between New Orleans and Washington, Mr. Landis was probably up and about. When someone gives you his private number, it’s because he thinks you might want to call.
Landis was indeed up and having breakfast when the phone rang. He didn’t seem at all put out by her call.
“It was very generous of you to give me your number, Mr. Landis. I completely understand that my request may have put you in a somewhat awkward position. For the time being, we’re looking only for the kind of general information that any personnel department would have on hand. It would help us a lot, because we’re in the middle of an extremely important—and confidential—investigation. Well, in fact . . .” She gave a little giggle. “Actually, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but we suspect one of your adjustors may be involved in a delicate matter.”
Landis was obviously attracted by the conspiratorial nature of detective work; he couldn’t wait to give them a hand.
“I’ve always made it a principle to help the police any way I can, so I’d be more than happy to assist the Bureau.”
“You’re really very kind, sir. Of course, I’m counting on your discretion, because, going forward, I’m going to have to share certain aspects of the investigation, and since it’s such a delicate matter . . .” She dangled that last tantalizing adjective before him.
“Of course!”
“One thing first—do all the adjustors travel to disaster sites?”
“Yes, as I explained in my email. They have to confirm and assess the damage if they’re going to approve payments from the contingency reserve fund.”
“Do they travel all across the country?”
“Well, our adjustors’ offices are located in different areas, so each adjustor is more or less responsible for a different region. Adjustors generally work their own part of the country, but if there’s a wide-ranging catastrophe, they can be summoned to a different area. Obviously, speedy responses are vital in such situations, so any number of adjustors might be dispatched on temporary duty.”
“You said in your email that you never pre-position them when a disaster is expected. Hurricane Katrina, for example.”
“We would never ask our employees to put their lives at risk. That would be reckless.” He laughed. “And besides, we’d have to raise our insurance premiums if we took that added risk!”
Amaia assumed that was an example of insurance company humor. She pretended to be amused.
“It’s enough of a challenge to get them into a disaster area even after things have settled down; and I assure you our professionals face more than enough risk in the course of their work.”
“Now, an adjustor could access private information filed in support of a policy—and that could include sworn, notarized statements. Or am I wrong?”
“Correct. If a policy statement is based on fraudulent declarations, the contract is null and void, and the client isn’t entitled to compensation. That’s in the fine print of every contract. The client signs to certify the accuracy of the information provided.”
“All right, that’s perfectly clear. Then tell me, do adjustors need any sort of special authorization to access that information?”
“Adjustors are experienced agents, very senior people, so they have full access to any policy we accept.”
“The person we’re looking for might be between fifty and sixty years of age,” Amaia informed him.
“That doesn’t refine your search much. Most of our adjustors are in that age range. The AIA appreciates dedication, but we value expertise even more. It takes years of field experience to qualify. We may have one or two who are younger than that, but they’re the exceptions.”
“If I had to refine it a bit more, I’d probably be looking for someone who was about fifty-five years old. He’d be married with three children, most likely two boys and a girl. And, well—I don’t know if your files are this detailed—one of the boys might be named Michael.”
“Our information is comprehensive, since we require our employees to take out a policy with us. Come to think of it, about five or six years ago we set up a database with the birthdays of our employees, their spouses, and their children. It’s always a nice touch to send them a birthday card.”