"I know," he said. "I know."
Conrad Masterson had always amused Kane. He was average in appearance — average height, average weight, an average bald spot atop his head. He didn't care how he dressed, which explained his badly cut suit, and wasn't impressed by impressive surroundings which was why his small office was filled with aged furniture and worn rugs and smelled vaguely like a wet dog. Or two.
He had no charm, tended to stutter when he got excited (always about a new stock or other investment opportunity), and had been known to arrive at the office wearing different colored socks and unsure where he'd parked his car. But what he lacked in common sense and personal style, Conrad more than made up in financial brilliance. In the investment community, it was well known that he made money for all his clients, handled their business with scrupulous honesty, and was the absolute soul of discretion.
Blinking behind his thick glasses, Conrad said miserably, "I want to help, Kane. You know I do. And if I thought there was anything, anything at all, in Dinah's financial dealings that might help find her, I would have said so to you or the police long before now."
"But you won't show us her file?" It was Bishop who asked, his voice level.
"I can't do that. As long as there's no proof otherwise, I have to assume she could walk in that door any minute. And given that, I have to keep her files confidential. I can't give you details — I just can't. And the judge agreed with me when the police tried to get a warrant, Kane, you know she did. Unless you or the police come up with information that indicates Dinah's disappearance was somehow connected to her financial deal, my hands are tied."
His "Legally tied," Kane noted.
"I have to protect my clients' privacy."
Kane drew a breath and tried to remain patient, knowing only too well that he would want his own affairs treated exactly the same way.
"Okay, Conrad. But think. Surely you can tell us if there was anything unusual, say in the last few months. You've had time to think about it."
"Yes, but ... unusual how? Dinah left her investments to me for the most part, you know that, Kane. Occasionally she sold stocks against my advice for quick cash, usually because she was trying to help somebody."
"What do you mean?" Bishop interrupted.
Conrad considered the question and whether he would be breaching confidentiality, then decided to answer frankly. "Just that. She'd do a story on a home for battered women, and then call me to sell some stock so she could give them fifty thousand to remodel or hire a better lawyer, something like that. She'd do a story on a poor congregation losing its church, and right away pour tens of thousands into their rebuilding fund."
He said with wistful fondness. "I could always tell. She'd have that note in her voice when she called, so determined you could call it hell-bent, and I'd know she'd found another wounded soul or bird with a broken wing. She's given millions over the years. Even before her father died, she used most of the income from her trust fund to help others."
Kane swallowed. "I ... never knew that. She never said anything about it."
"No, she wouldn't have. It wasn't something she talked about. She once told me that her father had taught her a lesson she'd never forgotten at you helped people without shouting about it, because just the act of helping them made you and your own life better. She believed that. She lived up to that."
Bishop glanced at Kane, then said coolly to Conrad, "With that in mind, don't you think she'd want you to help us find her? So she can help more people, if nothing else. The trail is cold, Mr. Masterson. And she's been missing for five weeks."
Conrad bit his bottom lip. "I wish I could help, Agent Bishop. You have no idea how much. But..."
"Had she come to you recently and asked you to sell stocks without any explanation, or without an explanation you considered reasonable?"
"No. She always had a reason, and, after all, it's her money. She's free to spend it however she pleases. Usually, it was her stories and learning about somebody in need that started it for her. Something that got her passionate and made her get involved."
Bishop frowned. "Did she talk about her stories to you before they were written, Mr. Masterson?"
That question surprised Kane; it was not one he would have thought to ask. But the investment manager's answer surprised him even more.
"Sometimes," Conrad said, clearly unaware of having said anything remarkable. "She'd come in here and talk, and days or weeks later I'd read one of her articles and there'd be the things she told me about."
"How about recently?"
It was Masterson's turn to frown. "Let's see. She told me about that murder out in Buckhead about six months ago."
Both Kane and Bishop nodded; that article and its outcome had already been thoroughly checked out.
"And a few weeks after that she was talking about that political scandal she covered, all those goings — on in the lieutenant governor's mansion." Kane said, "Like all good scandals, ended with a miserable whimper instead of a bang."
Bishop lifted a brow at him, and Kane explained. "They paid the girl off and she suddenly remembered it was somebody else with his pants down around his ankles. Then she decided she'd rather live elsewhere, and moved out to California."
He looked back at Conrad. "But that was more or less just reporting, and everybody knew what was going on. What else did she talk about?"
Conrad pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then an arrested expression crossed his face.
"What?" Kane demanded instantly.
"Well ... let's see, it must have been around the first of August or thereabouts when she came in looking really upset. Said she felt rotten and the heat made it worse. It was terribly hot that day, just dreadful. I asked her what was up, and she said she'd just stumbled across what looked like a really big story. She said ..."
He closed his eyes, the better to concentrate. "She said heads were going to roll, no doubt about that, and what made it worse was that it appeared somebody she liked an awful lot might be involved. I said involved in what, and she shook her head and said it was big, very big. Then she got a look on her face I'd never seen before, sort of cautious and very worried."
He opened his eyes and peered at them. "She wasn't... isn't cautious, you know. Reckless if anything. Always prone to rush without thinking if in somebody's in trouble."
"I know," Kane said.
Bishop looked at him, then at Masterson. "Sounds like it might be political. Did she tell you anything else?"
He brooded. "No, not that day. And I didn't hear from her again for weeks. She called me about a month later, very ... subdued. Said she wanted me to free up half a million."
Bishop blinked. "And you didn't find that request unusual?"
"It wasn't the largest amount she'd needed, if that's what you mean. But it was big enough that I asked her if she was sure she wanted to do that, since it'd mean selling a few things better kept awhile longer. She just said somebody had gotten hurt because of her, and she had to take care of the matter." He shrugged. "I did as she asked, freed up the money, and wired it to her bank.
Kane frowned. "There was no deposit that size into her account in the last six months."
Dinah's bank had been more cooperative than Conrad in releasing information to the police.
Conrad hesitated, then said, "Well, it wasn't her regular bank. She used another one for this sort of thing. And a lawyer other than her usual one to arrange things, I believe."
"Will you tell us which bank, so we can verify this?" Bishop asked.
After a few moments, Conrad nodded. "I suppose I can do that."
He jotted down the name and address of the bank on a piece of paper.