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“Second rate,” Max offers as a brief aside. “Besides the last name, that’s how I knew I had the right guy. Beaton had no strong connections with the other Sams.”
“He said he’d cut himself off from his family.” I roam the room twirling the flute.
“Lied about that, and other things,” Jarvis adds. Max must have clued him in before I got back down.
Picking up the story, Max says, “But this Sam Beaton did. His best friend was Sam Philips, who… Wait for it.”
“Max, this is unfair. Tell us.” A slug in the shoulder accompanies Cress’ demand.
“Fine, fine. If you’re going to commit GBH, I’ll confess.”
And then he’s silent, drinking a second glass of whisky. Once it’s empty, he finally goes on. “He was the other guy in the boat. And after graduating college, Sam Philips moved to France and changed his name to Phillippe Samuel.”
“Name sounds familiar.” Jarvis scratches his head.
“Catacomb Galaxy.” Max smiles with satisfaction.
“The hackers?”
“Two connections that would definitely benefit Sam Beaton.”
“And he’s never been caught. Kind of a dead end.”
“We know he could have tracked Cress in Paris. And might help on the dark web side. That’s progress.”
The plate on my lap slides to the floor, cheese and salami everywhere. Dorothy and Thorfinn are on it immediately. We’re all too paralyzed to stop them. Cress looks on passively as they lick the plate clean, then hoover up the crumbs on the rug.
“Go on.” I want Max to finish the story.
“He established the new identity within months of Beaton’s death but didn’t start using it until his art started to sell. And we can connect this Sam Beaton with a bank account in the name of Samuel Lanscombe.”
“Once Max clued me in, finding the accounts was easy. He has quite a healthy balance.” Jarvis chortles. “His father, name of Frederick, deposits a monthly allowance. Plus, the investments and savings as Sam Lanscombe.”
Max adds the crowning piece of evidence. “There are also substantial payments to a numbered Swiss bank account. Presumably Catacomb Galaxy.”
Father. Fred Lanscombe is his father. A blinding realization makes my head spin. “All those years he sponged off me.” Max picks up the empty plate, then cradles Cress. Jarvis focuses on his screen.
I just want JL. Loneliness fills every corner of my being. Worse thoughts pour in. I blurt, “He could have afforded to come to Paris … and Vancouver.” I double over. What if he had, following me around, spying? Hanging out with his high school crony. Or they might have hired someone else to do it. “Why didn’t he?”Why, why, why?
“He’s a lazy SOB and he knew you’d come back.” Jarvis gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back.
“Sending you threatening messages and making prurient phone calls without having to exert himself would be just his speed,” Cress spits out.
“Fred is aiding and abetting?” My mouth twists like I’ve been sucking on lemons.
“Probably not in the stalking, but certainly providing contact information, even if passively, and cash.”
Passively? “What do you mean about the contact information?”
“Sam probably has access to his dad’s phone, or at least his account. So he could find you that way.” Jarvis’ explanation makes my muscles lock up momentarily.
“Fred may have provided the hiding place, too. Should have suspected something when your former firm kept asking for your contact information.” Max’s words hit like a mea culpa.
I lift an eyebrow in absolution. “They had logical reasons to ask, because of the termination. They needed to send me documents, and I gave your address. And I asked for the recommendation that gave them my current number.” Another thought strikes me. “Sam must know I’m here. Why hasn’t he made a move?”
“We live in a fortress. Sam would realize attacking this place would be pointless and risky. But he could hide in the neighborhood and track you.”
Cress’ face squinches in speculation. “Do you think they hired you in the first place because Sam asked his dad?”
