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“Don’t ask. I will tell you that Noah Heath has been involved in eight other charities that I could find, some now defunct, some still active,” she said. “His family apparently had quite a bit of money at one time. Some of it sent Noah to Dartmouth, and from what I can tell, he’s been living on Dartmouth creds and a modest inheritance for most of his life. For the last thirty years, as chairman of boards of charities that he started himself under the umbrella of Heart/Twin Cities.”
Virgil: “Uh-oh. Again.”
“All of the charities actually accomplished things, but it looks to me that the accomplishments were considerably short of theoriginal goals,” Sandy said, peering at her computer screen. “They made up for that with PR. I might be the only one outside of Heart/Twin Cities who knows that.”
“Give me an example,” Lucas said.
“He created one of the early prosthetic-aid organizations for disabled soldiers returning from the oil wars,” Sandy said. “From what I can tell—and this may not be the whole story—all the prosthetics were sourced through a single company, and that company was founded shortly before the charity. His name is not involved in the company, but it seems that the company was a pass-through thing.”
“What’s that?” Lucas asked.
“They bought the prosthetics from established companies, and then sold them to Heath’s charity at a markup,” Sandy said.
“Classic hustle,” Virgil said.
“Maybe. Can’t prove it yet,” Sandy said. “Also, the charity folded after four years and the statute of limitations has run out, even if we could prove it.”
Virgil: “So you’re not ready to declare him a rat-fucker.”
“Well. His next charity, where he was also chairman of the board, was to supply very high-priced drugs to sick people who couldn’t afford them,” Sandy said. “It was called Minnesota Meds. The idea was to import prescription drugs from the Bahamas, where the prices are controlled and considerably lower, and supply them at much lower prices, or free, here. He ran a fund-raising campaign to buy the drugs. That went on for five years before the office burned down. After the fire, Minnesota Meds evaporated.”
“And the fire took the charity’s records and accounts with it,” Virgil said.
Sandy nodded and said, “A tragedy. There was still forty thousand dollars in the bank account, which was distributed to local hospitals to great acclaim. He was given the key to St. Paul.”
“The next one?” Lucas asked.
“Big Grin. That’s the name,” Sandy said. “Raises money to send surgeons to third world countries to fix cleft palates. That’d be a harelip to you, Virgil, since you’re not married to a plastic surgeon and live out in the weeds.”
“I know what—”
She continued, interrupting: “That one’s still operating. Apparently out of the same office as Home Streets because they have the same director, this Bob Dahl guy. I can find six real surgeons who have actually done some of the work. However, there are five more that I can’t find—not to say that they don’t exist. They come from countries where I don’t have access to the data. I just have their names from annual reports. If they all got paid at the same rates, the five volunteer surgeons would have gotten around a half million dollars for expenses, supplies, and paid assistants, nurses, who aren’t named.”
Virgil: “So you’re saying...”
“Yeah. He’s a rat-fucker,” Sandy said.
“How about Dahl?” Lucas asked.
“He’s definitely a crook,” Sandy said. “I just don’t know what kind. ‘Bob Dahl’ isn’t his real name, but I don’t know what his real name is. There was a Robert Dahl, called Bob, long juvie record, who ran away from home in East Bumfuck twenty years ago, and supposedly went to California. That Bob Dahl and this Bob Dahl share a Social Security number and a birth date, but they don’t look much alike. I’ve seen both their driver’s license photos.”
“People change in twenty years,” Virgil said.
“Eye color and height? Our boy is three inches shorter than the original.”
“Okay...”
“I suspect the runaway is dead, and that the Home Streets Bob Dahl knew the original, or found out about him, somehow, and used him for the name change. When that would have happened, I don’t know. I do have a driver’s license renewal for the current Bob Dahl, and that includes a home address in White Bear.”
Lucas looked at Virgil and said, “Dumpster dive.”
Virgil, “Ah, shit. Which one of us is gonna dive?”
Lucas pulled his jacket open to show off the labels: “I’m wearing a fifteen-hundred-dollar sport coat from Zegna. You’re wearing a shirt-jac from Filson.”
Sandy said, “If you can get me some prints, IAFIS can get back to us in two hours or less, if I tell them it’s a murder check. If he’s in there.”
—
