Authors: Jean Lorrah
But when Charlene returned to the bleachers under police surveillance, no one approached. The crack got distributed anyway. That weekend three teens high on it smashed their car into an overpass on 641 north. The car caught fire and all three died horribly.
Brandy watched the community she had grown up in—the community she was sworn to protect—falling apart around her. If only she could tell Chief Benton what she knew.
But her chief would never believe a tale of vampires controlled by a creature no one had ever heard of. To convince him she would have to expose Dan.
The one person she wanted most desperately to let in on the secret was Church. Dan, though, asked, “If he believes you, he'll put it on record. Brandy, the world isn't ready to accept a vampire as a next-door neighbor—or a teacher to their children."
Brandy worried that she and Dan could not fight the army of vampires Callahan could raise. They had to make a surprise move, soon, before Callahan found out that Dan had broken his control.
It appeared that Callahan had not yet noticed. The judge had officially declared his candidacy for governor of Kentucky, and was gearing up for the May Primary.
When Brandy got home one evening, there was no smell of cooking, although it was Dan's turn to make dinner. Despite the depression he had been fighting since discovering that he literally didn't know his own mind, he had continued to be the domesticated male most women only dreamed about. Brandy worried that it was programmed into him to add to his attraction, but she didn't want to add to his concerns. And, she admitted to herself, she enjoyed living with a man who had few of the irritating habits women complained about.
But now she wondered if it were over. Dan was stretched out on the couch with his laptop computer, grading student projects. An empty coffee mug stood on the table, along with the day's mail. Sylvester was curled up on the back of the couch.
When Brandy came in, the cat came gracefully to be petted. Dan glanced up and said, “Let me just finish this."
“No problem,” Brandy told him, and went to put her gun safely away. Dan was still rattling away on the computer keys, so she picked up the mail. Automatically she put back on the table the three opened envelopes, which would be Dan's, and sorted through the rest. Advertising, a credit card bill, and a reminder of Sylvester's annual shots.
Dan pressed a couple of keys, and the computer made soft thumps and moans as it saved his comments to his student. He popped a floppy disk out and put it in his pocket, setting the computer, still running, on the coffee table. Then he stood and came to take Brandy in his arms.
He was still the most intoxicating kisser she had ever known. When they broke apart she smiled at him. “You seem to be feeling better."
“I shouldn't be,” he said.
“Dan, you're not going to lose me because you didn't make dinner. I'm happy that you've broken through another layer of programming, even one that I enjoyed."
“What?” he asked, obviously confused. “Dinner's in the refrigerator. All I have to do is grill the chicken. What do you mean, another layer of programming?"
“Ever since you started sorting out the real you from programming, I've expected you to turn back into a frog."
“A frog?"
“Like most men. Leaving the seat up, not remembering to take the garbage out, never cooking a meal or washing a dish—the usual."
“That's not programming. Maybe if I'd had sisters Mom would have made them help around the house, but as it was, my brother and I had to do it. We complained, but we grew up used to doing our part. Megan was a real estate agent—back before every woman on the block had her license. She sometimes had to work evenings, just as you do. If I didn't cook, I had to run out and get a pizza or a bucket of chicken. We didn't have microwaves, then, or Domino's."
“I'm sorry,” said Brandy.
“I should think you'd be glad to know that something in my character is real,” he said bitterly.
“I don't see any change in your character,” Brandy told him. “I don't think it's possible to change that, just as hypnosis can't make someone act against their nature."
“I pray you're right,” he said. “It's the one hope I've been clinging to. Brandy, I can't believe what I feel for you is false. I love you with all my heart."
“And I love you,” she assured him, relieved of one more fear that he would turn into a stranger when he sorted out the truth.
“Are we going to face Judge Callahan?” he asked, catching her completely off guard.
“What? Dan, you can't want to confront him directly!"
It was his turn to be confused. “No,” he said, “I meant the invitation. I thought you looked at the mail."
“My mail, not yours."
“Two of these were for both of us,” he explained, handing her two of the opened envelopes. One was from Brandy's mother, with photos from Christmas. The other was a formal invitation to a political fundraiser.
For $150 per couple, they could attend a ball at the estate of Judge L. J. Callahan. “What do you think it means?” asked Dan.
“That we're registered Democrats,” Brandy told him. West Kentucky was one of those areas where registering as anything else locked a voter out of the primaries.
“Look at the date,” said Dan. “It's the night of the full moon."
“We'll leave before midnight. Or we don't have to go. I've never supported Judge Callahan's fund raising."
“I have,” said Dan. “I thought I believed in him."
Brandy turned over the envelope. As Dan had said, both their names were on it. “Dan,” she asked, “have you changed your address on your voter's registration?"
“—no.” He picked up the third envelope, a gas card bill, and showed Brandy the yellow change-of-address sticker put on by the post office. Dan had been living here less than two months; almost all his mail still was forwarded from his old address.
“I forgot about voter registration,” he said. “I think I'd have remembered to do that when I went to the court house to change the address on my driver's license."
“You haven't done that, either? Dan, are you still paying rent on your apartment?"
“I've sublet it—one of the new faculty just moved in. Brandy, I'm not going to run out on you. I just haven't gotten around to some of the formalities. But I think you're missing the point about the invitation."
“No, I'm not,” said Brandy. “It wouldn't make any difference if you had changed your address: as two separately registered voters, under two different names, we should each have received an invitation. This is a message, Dan. Unfortunately, I'm not sure what it says!"
Chapter Sixteen—Full Moon
“Judge Callahan will expect me at his fund raiser,” said Dan. “If he doesn't know I'm resisting him, there's no reason to make him suspicious."
“Dan, are you certain that Callahan is the Numen and not just another vampire?"
“I wish I remembered what he did to me, the way the true memories of my childhood and my marriage have come back. But I'm sure we have the right person."
“Church has been saying that about Callahan's drug connections for the past two years,” Brandy said glumly.
Dan suggested, “We can hack into his bank accounts. Drug interests may be supporting his campaign—they'd probably love a governor in their pocket."
“You've never wanted to do anything illegal on the computer,” Brandy pointed out.
“Maybe I'm desperate. I want my mind back, Brandy—I don't want to spend my life wondering whether what I do is because I want it or because he does, and whether what I remember really happened."
“Okay. I'll get my files. You call Domino's."
“Domino's?"
“Leave the chicken for tomorrow. Let's break into the bank!"
For this procedure they moved to Dan's office upstairs, where his state-of-the-art desktop was. “The first thing I'm going to do,” he said, “is create a false phone I.D. so if I trip a call tracer it'll give the wrong number."
“You can do that?"
“It'll fool one of those electronic devices that records a caller's number. Let's hope we don't have the bad luck to hack in just when someone's tracing calls through the police or the phone company."
Callahan's accounts in Murphy were in good order. But Brandy was reminded of something else. “Can you get into the university's accounts?"
“What for?"
“A hunch. They just announced that a $500 Humanities Scholarship is available for next fall. Most of Rett Land's estate went into that scholarship account. Let's see if it's still there."
It wasn't. In November all but enough to sustain the scholarship had been transferred to the university's general fund. A few days later the same amount was withdrawn.
“Well,” said Dan, “that looks suspicious, but I'm afraid we'd have to break into the Accounting Office to find out who that check was made out to."
“Too dangerous,” said Brandy. “Let's get back to Callahan's accounts."
When they delved into his campaign account, once again everything appeared to be above board. Brandy yawned. “You won't find anything in that one,” she said, getting up to clear away the pizza box and Coke cans. “Campaign finance laws are so stringent you can't get away with anything."
Dan scrolled down the list of deposits and checks.
“All withdrawals from campaign accounts have to have dual signatures,” Brandy added, not remembering where she had come across that piece of information.
“Not if they're electronic,” said Dan. “All you'd need is both passwords. Until computers can read handwriting or thumbprints, computer theft is easy if you have the passwords. I shudder to think what will happen with electronic signatures."
“I wish you'd stop sounding like an expert criminal!” she told him.
“Brandy, if I'm going to teach how to safeguard against computer crime, I have to know how it's perpetrated."
Brandy carried the trash down to the kitchen. She had just turned the coffeemaker on when Dan called, “Brandy! Come here and look at this!"
There was over $120,000 in the campaign account. Almost every day there was a deposit, ranging from a low of thirty-six to some of several thousand dollars. Money went out of the account at about a third the rate it came in—normal enough, if you considered that the majority of campaign expenses came just before elections.
Then suddenly, in November, there was a deposit of $92,000 in one fell swoop. Three days later $44,000 came in. Five days after that, $71,000.
“Fund raisers?” Brandy suggested.
“Not this one,” said Dan, pointing to the exact amount withdrawn from the university's scholarship fund, deposited on the same day. “Your hunch pays off."
“What about these other large sums?"
“Isn't that about the time the crime wave began?” asked Dan. “When crack was introduced in Murphy?"
“Callahan couldn't be stupid enough to put drug money in his campaign account!” said Brandy. “Those accounts are strictly audited."
“How often?"
“Uh,I have no idea,” admitted Brandy. “But if that money doesn't have proper documentation, Callahan's in big trouble whenever the audit happens."
“Not if he's dead and gone,” said Dan. “Lee Joseph or Joseph Lee Callahan has faked his death at least twice, reappearing as his own son. He may have done something similar before, as Callahans go back into last century. But he doesn't have a son at present. I think he's outstayed his welcome in Western Kentucky. Look at this, Brandy."
Dan scrolled down to a series of transfers. Every few days, $9500 was transferred to another account in the same bank. The I.D. number of that account traced to one Mary Lee Josephs, and had been opened last July.
Brandy grabbed the phone book and quickly confirmed, “No such person in Murphy."
“Unlisted number?” Dan suggested.
“Yeah, sure. Mary Lee Josephs? Jeez, he's not even trying to hide."
Dan sat in stiff silence, staring at the screen until Brandy asked, “What's wrong?"
“The opening date. That was when I was working for the judge, installing his new computer system. Brandy—I think I opened this Mary Lee Josephs account for him."
“What? How?"
“I remember teaching him electronic banking. I wouldn't have consciously showed him how to create a fake account, or created one for him—but I have a hazy memory about a college account for a goddaughter."
Brandy nodded. “That's how hypnosis works: you get someone to do something he'd never do by making him think it's something else. But what good is a fake account?"
“Callahan isn't stealing; he's transferring his own funds to this other account. No money is missing. A bank audit won't turn up anything. With the ability to influence people, I'm sure Judge Callahan even had a signature card created for Mary Lee Josephs."
“Then what's he doing with that account?"
“Laundering money,” said Dan. “There it goes through another wash cycle.” The deposits, all under the $10,000, which would automatically be reported to IRS, stayed in the Josephs’ account only for a day or two and then were transferred to a bank in Miami. From there they went into the corporate investment account of something called Caribbean Enterprises, which kept a balance of billions while amounts in the tens of millions went in and out daily, to and from banks all over the world.
“Looks like Caribbean Enterprises is a regular Laundromat,” said Brandy.
“Mmm,” Dan said, studying the dispersal of funds. “What a way to make an illegal fortune: front for shady businesses, and take a slice off the top of every transaction. Something this big—it would practically be a criminal-style Switzerland!"
“What do you mean?"
“Look at this money going to South and Central America, the Middle East, the Cayman Islands, London, Zurich. I'll bet almost every government in the western world would like to shut it down—but with so many big-time crooks involved, who would dare squeal? And think of the pressure they can put on dirty politicians! Whoever runs Caribbean Enterprises is virtually safe from prosecution."
“Dan,” Brandy observed, “you are practically shouting, ‘Why didn't I think of that?’ Is this your own nature coming through?"
He turned to her with the devilish gleam that she hadn't seen since he had read the Numen fragment. “I admire a great scam, Brandy, just as I admire a great computer game. But no, I don't want to go into business laundering money from drugs or slavery or pornography or whatever exploitation has put that money into dirty hands. Okay?"