The Mistaken (8 page)

With his lips pressed together, Ty gave me a sad
look that answered my question. I started to cry. He pulled me up
and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, rocking me gently as he
stroked my hair.

“Maybe not, Jill. We’ll need to make some calls in
the morning and see what’s going on. I’m sure it’s just a simple
mistake. That’s all. It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

We stood in the middle of our tiny hall bathroom,
his arms braced around my shoulders as he comforted me with
soothing words, but I couldn’t shake the feeling he was wrong.

Chapter Seven

Jillian

I made a few phone calls in the morning and my worst
fears were confirmed. Someone had indeed run up a large balance on
my card. I called the bank and demanded an explanation as to why
they had never contacted me when the unusual charges were made.
They informed me that they had called, citing an incorrect cell
number, one digit off. They had even sent a certified letter last
week which I found unopened in a box on my desk in the den. They
provided as much information as they had on the purchases in
question, none of which were mine.

It was a new card with a high spending limit for my
business. I hadn’t lost it, and the only place I had ever used it
was at the spa, so someone up there must have duplicated it or
stolen the numbers. The bank assured me the charges would be
reversed within sixty days, but the damage had already been done.
Taking both our small business loans into consideration, our
mortgage lender would not relent and loan us the money until my
card’s balance was cleared. And since the house was under a short
sale agreement, the homeowner’s lender refused to wait while other
qualified buyers were still interested. So they backed out of the
deal, and we lost the house.

I filed a fraud report with the bank and major
credit agencies then called the Napa police to report the theft.
They asked me to come in and swear out a formal complaint. The
investigator assigned to my case was a bookish young man named Mike
Tucker, who, with his boyish face and horn-rimmed glasses, looked
more like a computer programming student than a cop. He sat down
with me and explained how cases like mine usually worked.

“See this, Mrs. Karras?” he said as he held up a
narrow, palm-sized plastic box with a deep groove down the center.
“It’s a skimmer, easily attainable over the Internet. Thieves
simply swipe a victim’s card through it to store the stolen account
numbers. Then they use the security code on the back of the card
and any additional information they can glean from the victim as a
means of creating a new card, as well as a new identity, either for
themselves or, most often, to sell to a third party. We see it all
the time, but the crimes are hard to trace and difficult to
prosecute. So at this point, there’s really nothing you can do
except close the account and dispute the charges.”

“I’ve already done that. Now I want to find out
who’s behind this, who did this to me.”

“Well, unfortunately, that’s very unlikely, but, if
by chance we get a hit somewhere, we’ll be sure to let you
know.”

I looked at him in confusion. “A hit?”

“Yes, if someone tries to use your card where there
is video surveillance, we can get a photo and try to match it up to
known offenders. If it hits on one, we’ll call and see if you can
identify him. Or her, since you think you know who it is. Your ID
isn’t required, but it would help your case considerably if we
could tie the perpetrator to you in some physical way. Until then,
there’s not much else we can do. I’m real sorry.” He reached into
his inside jacket pocket and pulled out his card, handing it to me
with a pleasant smile. “You can call me with any questions or if
you just need an update, okay? Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

With a nod, he turned and walked away. I was left
standing there with my mouth open. I ran after him and reached for
his arm.

“Hey, wait just a second, will you? I told you, I
know where my card number was stolen from, where this woman works.
I might not know her name, but I can certainly identify her. Or you
could send someone up to the spa with my description, maybe ask
around, and get her that way.”

He pressed his lips together with his head tilted to
one side. “Mrs. Karras, we don’t know for sure that your card was
appropriated at that spa. Or, if it was, if the person you’re
speaking of is the one who made the charges. But we’ll look into
it. I promise you that. We just need some time, and your
patience.”

Patience?
I had no time for that, nor an
inclination. I was keenly aware of the slow pace with which most
police investigations progressed, even with the most high-profile
of cases, and mine was of little consequence, at least to them.
Officer Tucker’s promise carried little weight.

“So, what? I’m just supposed to wait for someone to
investigate this? Like whenever you or someone else
might
decide to get around to it, right? That how it works around
here?”

He huffed in response. “As I’ve said, we need a
little time. Please understand, Mrs. Karras, the resources for this
type of crime are thin right now, so you’ll need to be a bit more
patient and let us do our job, okay? I promise to call if anything
at all turns up. Now I really need to get back to work.”

So that
was
it. Our dream of buying a home
was ruined, and we were helpless to fix it. We would not be able to
buy any home in time for the baby. And once the baby came, I would
likely be too busy to house hunt, let alone pack up and move. I
needed this all to be taken care of
before
I was too far
along, before the baby was born. But apparently, that was not going
to happen. Frustrated and angry, I unloaded on Tyler the moment I
got home.

“God, I could kill somebody,” I railed as I paced
around our tiny kitchen. “And I’ll start with that woman. I should
go back up to that spa myself.”

“No you don’t, Jill. The cops asked you to stay out
of it. Just let them do their job.”

I pounded on the kitchen table with both fists. “But
they
won’t
do their job, Tyler, that’s the point! Don’t you
see?”

“Come on, Jillian, take it easy. Have you been
taking your pills?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Tyler. Yes! How many times do I
have to say it already?” I couldn’t believe he was bringing
that
up now.

“Well then, you need to mellow out. It does no good
to lose your temper. You need to stay calm, for the baby, at
least.”

“God! You just don’t get it, do you? I’m telling
you, that’s precisely
why
I’m doing this. For the baby. We
need a bigger house for the baby, a safer one. And we need to have
all this taken care of
before
he’s born, before I’m too busy
to even take a shower, let alone find a house and move. What are we
supposed to do now?”

“Listen to me, Jill. It’ll all get sorted out, in
due time. You aren’t responsible for those charges, so just
relax.”

“I can’t relax. And it’s not about the money.
Someone out there is screwing with my life—with
our
life—
and apparently there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.” I
stomped my foot and covered my face with my hands.

Tyler wrapped his arms around me as I cried for the
hundredth time.

Chapter Eight

Jillian

The next morning, I got to work trying to find out
who might have compromised my identity. I was sure the problem
could be traced back to the spa up in Napa, but proving so was more
difficult than it should have been. I attempted to get help from
the resort, but they had no answers except to ask who assisted me
with my purchases. I told them I had been helped by only one
employee—a woman—but I didn’t know her name. Even though I
described her to the manager, he was reluctant to name anyone
specific, but I think he knew exactly who I was talking about and
was only out to protect his employer’s interests, and possibly his
own job.

I resisted going back up to the spa and confronting
that woman. God knows I wanted to, but Tyler had made me promise
otherwise. It was one pledge I was determined
not
to break.
I had already broken my vow to keep taking the Wellbutrin. I just
couldn’t tolerate the nausea and sleepless nights one minute
longer, so I stopped cold turkey. So far, I was feeling all right,
but there were times I had to work at keeping my cool, especially
when it concerned this case. It was easy enough to blame the
pregnancy.

For several weeks, it seemed as if nothing was being
done. But then I received news of a break when Mike Tucker, who’d
been working closely with my bank, informed me that they had
videotape of someone attempting to make a purchase using my
account. He asked me to come in and see if I could identify the
suspect in a photo lineup. I drove up right away and sorted through
a stack of still shots taken from surveillance videos. They were
pasted neatly along white cardstock, three to a page, five pages in
all. There was no mistaking the woman from the spa, the one who had
assisted me with my purchases. My heart raced the moment I
recognized her.

“That’s her...number fourteen,” I said as I tossed
the sheet at Tucker.

I tapped my finger on the center image. He picked it
up and removed my selection, nodding once as he held it up to the
reflective glass along one wall in the small room.

“Positive ID,” he said aloud to someone I couldn’t
see.

A voice thick with years of nicotine abuse broke
over a speaker mounted high up in the corner of the room. “Thank
you, Mrs. Karras. That’ll be all for now. We’ll let you know if we
need anything else.”

Tucker stood and collected the pages of photographs
scattered across the table.

“Wait a second,” I said to the mirror. “Don’t just
dismiss me like that. I want to know who that woman is. Do you even
know? Am
I
allowed to know?”

Tucker looked over at the reflective glass.

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead, Tuck,” the gravelly voice
said.

Tucker nodded and turned back to me. “Okay then. Her
name is Erin Anderson. She’s been busted three times for check
fraud but has never been convicted, at least not yet. She’s still
employed at that resort you visited last September.”

I clapped my hands and rubbed them together, freshly
energized with hope. “That’s great! Now what? Do you arrest her?
Will she go to jail? Stand trial? What?”

“No, not yet. We’ll continue to gather evidence for
the District Attorney’s office. He’ll determine whether Ms.
Anderson should be brought into custody or not, but you shouldn’t
get your hopes up, Mrs. Karras. As I told you before, these cases
are difficult to prosecute and are not high on his list of
priorities. We’ll send somebody up there to question her, but it
could be a while, so...” He finished with a shrug, scooping up the
stack of pictures and brushing by on his way out.

But I reached for his arm to stop him. “You’ve got
to be kidding me! That woman has made it impossible for me to buy a
home before my child is born, and now you’re telling me I have to
sit and wait for the DA? My case has nothing to motivate him. That
is so unfair, Officer Tucker. Who the hell is looking out for
me
? This isn’t just about a few credit card charges. That
woman has affected my entire life. She needs to be held
accountable.”

“I agree, but it’s out of our hands, Mrs. Karras.
I’m sorry, really, I am. The minute we hear from the DA’s office,
we’ll let you know, but you need to be patient. The process is
complicated, and the DA won’t prosecute if he doesn’t think he can
secure a conviction. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some phone
calls to make.” He tipped his head then walked out of the room,
leaving the door open behind him. He stopped in the hall and turned
back to me. “I can walk you back out, Mrs. Karras.”

I grabbed my bag and left the room, stomping rather
childishly down the hall.
Fine.
If the police wouldn’t help,
I would take care of it myself. I didn’t know how, but I wasn’t
going to let this case fall through the sizeable cracks of a broken
legal system.

~

For the rest of the week, I wracked my brain trying
to figure out a way to get the District Attorney’s office to
prosecute, or somehow coerce that woman to confess. I was
frustrated that there didn’t seem to be anything I could do. I
tried to stay calm for my own health and the sake of the baby, but
it continued to eat away at me for days on end. There was no way I
could just let it go. Tyler acted sympathetic, but he was also
patient enough to wait for the prosecutor’s office to follow
through. He was a stickler for rules, something I found
particularly irritating at times. After two weeks with no progress,
I decided to push the issue.

“So I’ve made a decision, Tyler,” I announced one
evening as we cleaned up after dinner. “I’m going to meet with the
DA. If I put a face on the victim, give him a little sob story or
whatever, maybe he’d care a little more. Or perhaps I should talk
to one of those TV news investigators. You know, the ones who
embarrass deadbeats on the air. I’ll tell him all about the DA not
doing his job.” I turned from the sink and faced him, my eyes
narrowing involuntarily. “I bet a little public humiliation would
get him off his ass. Don’t you think?”

He sighed. “You already know what I think, Jill. You
need to let this go. It’s not good for you or the baby to obsess
about it
all
the time.” He stood in front of me with his
hands around my arms, stooping to catch my attention. “Look at you.
You’re a bloody wreck.”

I wrenched free from his grasp, feeling like a
scolded child. “I can’t just let it go, Ty. I’m so freaking pissed.
And you should be, too, for God’s sake! That woman belongs in
jail.”