She turned the license over several times, quick motions with two fingers and a thumb. She would have made a good blackjack dealer at one of the tribal casinos. “God, I hate to see this,” she said, and leaned on the counter. “You know, there’s just no way to fake one of these things.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said.
Holding up a hand, she added, “Well…I should say that as far as we know, there’s no way to fake one. Any security device-like these little holograms here of the state seal? They’re supposed to help make these things tamperproof. And then there’s this,” and she ran her fingers along the magnetic strip on the back. “So my first thought is that this was issued somewhere through our system. Sure enough, it was. That’s what I’d say.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Melinda.”
“You’re thinking it was done here?”
“I don’t know where it was done.”
She cupped her chin in one hand, fingers rubbing her right eye, and regarded me with her left. “If it was done here, then it could have been done anywhere in the state. Anywhere that’s connected to the same data system that we are. We don’t even use location codes anymore. We used to, but not now. If it was done here in Posadas, then it was done by either me or Connie. We’re the only ones who work in the office.”
“Or someone who slipped in after hours.”
“That’s not likely. One of us would have to let them in. And besides”-she turned and looked at the two computers-“this would be tough if you didn’t have the training. All the time is logged, things like that. And the preformatted forms that we feed into the printer can be a real pain if you’re not experienced.”
“So how could it happen?”
She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
“Can you pull up information on Matthew for us?”
“I can,” Melinda said, sounding as if she wanted to add, “but I won’t.”
“I’d be interested to see what comes up,” I said. “Especially about his birth date.”
The computer was running, and Melinda circled around the desk and settled into her chair that faced the computer screen.
“Do you leave these running all weekend?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. “I booted up just a few minutes ago because I knew you’d want to see something.” She grinned at the two of us. “What’s to see at a MVD office other than the computers?” Carefully, she placed the license next to the keyboard, and then said, “Let’s see what the number brings up.”
In a moment, she frowned. “It brings up nothing. Well, it’s voided. That’s not nothing.”
“Meaning…”
Melinda leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can void whatever you’re working on, anytime in the process.”
“Okay. Could someone make a license out of parts?”
“Out of parts?”
“Sure. Take the picture, fabricate the right numbers, put it through the laminator?”
“No. See-”and she leaned forward and pointed at the gadget that took the license photos-“that used to be separate, years ago. Now everything is linked together. The camera takes a photo when the computer tells it to, and the image goes right into the processor. Everything comes together as a package. It’s all digital.” She meshed her fingers together. “I don’t know of any way to make the different parts of the process work independently.”
“You couldn’t just take my picture now, and not do anything else, you mean?”
“No. I couldn’t do that.” She frowned and then said with considerable feeling, “Shit.” She handed me the license but didn’t elaborate on her comment.
“How can I make this?” I asked.
“Well, it’s no problem to type in bogus information,” Melinda said. “That’s not hard to do. We’re supposed to ask to see various things, and there’s some tick-offs, but…” She shrugged. “Like so many things, who’s to know most of the time? I mean, we used to hand-score the drivers’ tests, remember that? Santa Fe changed that so the tests are all automatically machine-scored, and the information goes right into the computer.”
“But there’s nothing to prevent you from giving the correct answers, is there,” I asked. “Whisper over someone’s shoulder.”
“No, of course not. Just the memory of that incident a few years ago when two MVD clerks got themselves led out of the office in handcuffs.”
I leaned back and nodded at the small sign taped to the front panel of the counter. “And it says here that they have to present proof of insurance to obtain or renew a registration. You could just let that slide, too, right?”
“Sure. And like most things, no one would be the wiser until something happened.”
“So back to the original question. How do I make one of these?”
She leaned back again and surveyed her machinery. Her cheeks moved as if she were puffing a silent tune while she thought, and then she closed her eyes, head moving this way and that. I glanced over at Estelle. Her black eyebrows lifted a fraction in acknowledgment, even though she didn’t take her eyes off Melinda.
“The easiest way is just to process it, just like normal,” Melinda said. “This birth date is fake, that’s for sure. But there’s no big bell or whistle that goes off if you type in the wrong date. The customer is supposed to have proof of age the first time he applies for a license, and after that, the D.O.B. is in the system. It’s automatic. Here, let me bring this up.” She rapped keys and the screen blinked, and eventually Matthew Baca’s operator’s license information appeared.
“Here’s his D.O.B., right there.” She highlighted the numbers. “Twelve thirteen, 1982.” She twisted in her chair to look at me. “And if my math is correct, that would make him nineteen next month.”
“And that’s what he was?”
“Yes. Last night, Mama and I were talking about him. Mama remembers birthdays just as good as this thing.” She nodded at the computer. “They agree. It’s written in the family Bible that she keeps too, so I know this is right.”
“How do I fake it? The date, that is.”
“Just like I said. Run a license through the whole process, make a few changes, and there you go. But this says that license, the one you have there, never existed. Or was voided.”
“Can you void a document anytime in the process?”
“Sure.”
“Does the computer keep a record of what the document was that was voided?”
Melinda frowned and shook her head. “Not as far as I know. It’s just gone.”
I leaned on the counter. “Could you void it after the photo was taken, after the actual license was produced by the computer? After it actually spit it out?”
“I suppose you could. I’ve never tried it, but I don’t know any reason why you couldn’t do it.”
“Then you’d be left with a bogus license, like this one, and no record of it in the MVD.”
“As far as I know, you could do that. But that’s only as far as I know. I mean, I don’t sit in here all day and play with these darn things.” She flashed a smile. “There’s plenty to do without that, trust me.” Her brow furrowed. “But it wouldn’t be worth it, Bill. If you ever got caught, you’d lose your job, maybe go to jail…”
“Obviously it’d be worth it to somebody.”
“When do you work?” Estelle asked, and the sound of her voice startled me.
“Well, this is a small office, as you well know,” Melinda answered. “We’re open Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. Three days a week is all the state will give us. It used to be just me, but two years ago, Santa Fe said there should be two of us here. I work Tuesdays and Fridays and Connie works Wednesdays and Fridays.”
“She’s here all by herself on Wednesdays?” I asked.
“Yes, but I’m here alone on Tuesdays.”
“When was the last time you saw Matthew Baca in this office?”
Melinda looked blankly at Estelle for a minute. “God,” she said, “I wouldn’t know.” She indicated the screen. “This says that his license-his real one-was issued in November of ’98. That’s the last time I recall that he was in here. And you know, that’s more of just an assumption on my part. I don’t remember for sure. I saw Matt all the time at family get-togethers, so it’s hard for me to remember the last time he was here. Right here, in this office.”