Even the Wicked

Like whether a ticket was purchased cash or charge? I mean, suppose a customer comes in and pays me cash, and… Uh-huh. I see. So anybody could access it. I mean, I could get it myself if I had the access codes, is that right?" She grabbed up a pen, jotted down a phrase. "Judy," she said, "you're a doll.

Thanks." She broke the connection, grinned fiercely, and held up a clenched fist in triumph. "Yes!"

* * *

We still had a ways to go. What she managed to produce, after a lot of head-scratching and keytapping, was a printout of passenger manifests for flights on the three airlines in question from Philadelphia to Omaha and as many return flights two days later. An asterisk next to a name indicated a non-credit card sale.

"Cash or check," she explained. "There's no distinction in the data bank. Also, these are just the cash and check sales made by the airline.

Sales through travel agents are just listed that way, with no indication as to how payment was made. That's not what she told me, but if there's a way to separate it out, I can't figure it out."

"That's all right."

"It is? Because do you see the names coded with a C? These are all customers who bought their ticket through another airline, probably because their trip originated with another flight segment on the issuing carrier. For all I know they paid for their ticket with Green Stamps."

"I think the manifests are all I need."

"You do?"

"If the same name turns up going and coming back, that's more significant than how he paid for the ticket."

"I didn't even think of that. Let's check."

I gathered up the sheets of paper. "I've taken up enough of your time," I said. "The hard part's done.

And, speaking of your time, I want to pay for it."

"Oh, come on," she said. "You don't have to do that."

I tucked the money into her hand. "The client can afford it," I said.

"Well…" She closed her fingers around the bills. "Actually, that was fun. Not as much fun as booking you and your wife on a South Seas cruise, though. Be sure and call me when you're ready to go someplace wonderful."

"I will."

"Or even Omaha," she said.

* * *

"The client can afford it,' " TJ said. "Thought we didn't have a client."

"We don't."

" 'Social engineering.' What you did is you used a computer. Only thing, it was somebody else's computer. And somebody else's fingers on the keys."

"I suppose that's one way to put it."

"Let's see the lists," he said. "See how many repeats we got."

* * *

"Mr. A. Johnson," I said. "Flew Midwest Express from Philadelphia to Omaha on the fifth, changing planes in Milwaukee. He flew back to Philadelphia on the morning of the seventh. Paid by cash or check.

My guess is cash."

"You think it's him."

"I do."

"Whole lot of folks named Johnson. Right up there with Smith and Jones."

"Thafs true."

" 'Cordin' to Phyllis, you got to show ID to get on a plane."

"They've tightened up all their security measures."

"Case you a terrorist," he said, "they want to make sure it's really you. They probably do the same when you buy the ticket, if you payin'

cash. Ask for ID."

I nodded. "Same with a check, but then they always want proof of identity for a check. Of course, it's not that hard to get ID."

"Store right on the Deuce, print up all kinds of shit. Student ID, Sheriff cards. Wouldn't make much of an impression on a cop, but you gonna look too hard at it if you're behind the counter at the airlines?"

"Especially if the customer's a prosperous-looking middle-aged white man in a Brooks Brothers suit."

"The right front gets you through," he agreed.

"And the ID may have been legitimate," I said. "Maybe he had a client named Johnson, maybe he hung on to a driver's license for some poor bastard who wouldn't need it while he was locked up in Green Haven."

He scratched his head. "We got a name of a dude flew to Omaha one day and back a couple days later.

We got anything more than that?"

"Not yet," I said.

* * *

"I'm glad you brought him in," Joe Durkin said. "This is the very mope we've been looking high and low for. I'll ask him a few questions soon as I remember where I put my rubber hose."

"Bet I know where it's at," TJ said. "You want, I help you look for it."

Durkin grinned and gave him a poke in the arm. "What are you doing with my friend here?" he demanded. "Why aren't you out on the street selling crack and mugging people?"

"My day off."

"And here I thought you guys were dedicated. Seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, soothing the emotional pain of the public. Turns out you coast just like everybody else."

"Hell yes," TJ said. "I didn't want to do nothin' but work all the time, I be joinin' the po-leese."

"Say that again for me, will you? Po-leese."

"Po-leese."

"Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty. Matt, I don't know what gives me the idea, but somehow I think you're here for a reason."

We were in the squad room at Midtown North, on West Fifty-fourth Street. I took a chair and explained what I wanted while TJ

went over to the board and thumbed through a sheaf of Wanted flyers.