20
With a mug of fresh monkey tea in front of me, I went back online. Google took me to a site called classmates.com. I registered as Donald Duck and tried the same for a Hotmail address. But it seemed a million and one others had had the idea first, so I made up some other shit and gained instant free access to the site. There seemed to be thirty-three schools in Lackawanna, from Baker Victory High to Wison Elementary. Guessing Jerry’s date of birth as 1971, I went through them all systematically, searching from kindergartens in 1975 to high schools in 1990.
Within twenty minutes, I had a positive hit. Jeral al-Hadi had attended Victory Academy, and the school site gave a list of twenty-three classmates, complete with email addresses. They all wanted to get together and show their new baby photos and tell everyone how successful they were. If necessary, I could either email them or go back to anywho for their phone numbers.
Next, I dipped into the sex-offenders register for New York and neighbouring states, an online service to comply with ‘Megan’s Law’. Jerry had a clean sheet. Did his story about moving quite recently to DC stack up? And when exactly had he moved? Why did this all matter anyway? I knew the answer, of course, but was trying to avoid it, hoping I’d find something that would make me not want to go with him.
I sat and thought a bit. I was sure I’d seen a VCR in the apartment. I went to infospace.com and hit the link called ‘near an address’. I keyed in ‘video store’, then Jerry’s address. Video Stock was the nearest video rental place, just 0.2 miles away. I went back to Google and entered ‘Video Stock + DC’. There were twenty-four branches. I picked up the phone and dialled the one that looked furthest away.
A young guy answered. ‘Video Stock, this is Phil, how may I help you?’
I gave him my best-mate voice. ‘Yeah, hi, Phil – listen, somebody in your store was really helpful to me a few days ago. Fantastic service. Tallish guy, brown hair?’
‘There’s a lot of us here.’
‘Well, you know, I want to write to the manager about it. Doesn’t happen very much, these days, that kind of service. What’s the manager’s name?’
‘Mike Mills.’
‘That’s great. Listen, I might write to your headquarters too. What’s your store number?’
‘One thirty-six.’
‘That’s great. And you’re Phil, right?’
‘Right.’
‘OK, thanks, Phil, you’ve been a real help. You take care now.’
I put the phone down and dialled again, this time to the store near Jerry.
‘Video Stock, this is Steffi, how can I help you?’
‘Hi, Steffi, this is Mike Mills. I’m the manager at Renton, store one thirty-six. Listen, I could use your help. Our computers are down and we have one of your customers here who wants to rent but he doesn’t have his card with him. Could you just verify his details for me?’
‘Sure. Go right ahead.’
I gave her Jerry’s name and address, and Steffi checked her computer. ‘Yeah, I got him.’ Then, without me even asking, she gave me his account number.
‘No problems with him? No late returns?’
‘No.’
‘When did he open the account?’
‘September.’
‘This September just gone?’
‘Yep.’
While I was on a roll, I thought I might as well push my luck. ‘OK, I’ll sign him up by hand here and enter it in the database when the computer’s back up. He wants to charge this to the card he uses at your store – hey, yeah, one moment, folks – sorry, Steffi, I’m holding up a whole line of customers here. Read me the credit-card number and expiration date?’
And she did. The weakest link in any security chain is always a human being.
It might not be so easy coming by the next piece of information. I wanted to check that Jerry owned the Jeep, but I didn’t know the registration: all I knew was that the Cherokee had looked about three years old. I couldn’t just phone the Department of Motor Vehicles and ask. At least, not directly.
I went to docusearch.com and akiba.com, but a plate check would take one business day. I went to the DMV site for Washington DC, and checked their criteria for releasing information. They protected the privacy of individuals by closely adhering to the Driver’s Privacy Protection Act. Therefore, they would release driver’s records only to the following requesters: driver, with proof of identity; driver’s representative (for example, a spouse), with written authorization from the driver and a copy of the driver’s proof of identification, bearing a discernible signature; law-enforcement representatives, with documentation showing driver’s involvement in an investigation; government entities, as part of an established activity requiring records (for example, security clearances, investigations, and recruitment); attorneys, with written authorization from their client to obtain records; individuals or entities requesting information through the Freedom of Information Act; or insurance company representatives, with written authorization from the driver as part of an established investigation. That last one would do. The only problem was, requesters had to produce the client’s name, date of birth, and driver’s licence or social-security number – and they had to produce it in person.
When people don’t have a reason to be suspicious, it’s easy to gain their trust. Next thing I did, therefore, was a Google search for Chrysler and made a note of the head-office telephone number and address, and the same details for dealers in Buffalo and DC. I then did another to get the number for the Motor Vehicles Department in DC. After a five-minute wait – during which I was told I was a valued customer, my call was important to them and I was moving up the queue – I finally got through to a human.
‘Hi, I’m calling from Kane Doyle, Chrysler dealership in Buffalo, New York. We got a vehicle recall problem with some 2001 Jeep Cherokees, and I have an ownership issue I hope you can help me with. See, we have a customer just moved from Buffalo to DC and I’m trying to work out if the recall is our responsibility or DC’s. I’ll give you his address, if you could just verify ownership?’
‘I need some sort of—’
‘No problem, I’ll give you the number here, Kane Doyle, Delaware Avenue, and you can call us back?’
‘No, that’s OK, I guess. What’re the details?’ Nothing like the threat of extra workload to get a civil servant to change his mind.
I gave him Jerry’s name and address. He hit a few keys. ‘Yeah, Jeep Cherokee.’
‘Year of registration?’
‘2001.’
‘That’s right. Tell me, is he still on Buffalo plates, or has he reregistered for DC? If he’s switched plates I’ll get the DC guys to deal with it.’
‘Still on Buffalo plates.’
‘Ah, well, guess it’s my baby, then. Look, thanks for your help.’
It was that simple. Jerry’s car checked out.
I sat back and took a long gulp of monkey. The next part of the session was going to be very interesting and quite a lot dirtier.
21
Seven twenty. It would be dark soon. For once it was going to be an advantage that I hadn’t done any washing in ages.
I picked my keys and cell off the kitchen worktop. As I turned towards the window and caught sight of his office on the other side of the Potomac, I thought about Ezra.
I thumbed in his voicemail, my very own 911 number he’d given me in case I needed some emergency shrinkage. I couldn’t be arsed to go into the living room for the landline, and that, I thought, was a good sign of normality returning. If I’d still been his patient, he would have been proud of me.
Still looking out over the river, I pictured him doing the business with yet another in the long line of George’s fruits, going through the same fucking pantomime. ‘We must have complete trust between us. Blah-blah-fucking-blah.’