Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery #1)

Chapter 1

Derry bobbed his head in brief acknowledgment. "When was the last time you spoke to Ms. Hayes?"

"Last Friday."

"On the phone or in person?"

"In person. She came to the office."

"And you haven't spoken to her since?"

"No. Why?"

Derry leaned back in his chair. He appeared to think about whether to answer the question.

"There's a problem," he said. "She seems to have disappeared."

"What? Just vanished?"

"She hasn't been home and hasn't shown up for work all week."

An angry sizzle interrupted my thoughts. The odor of burnt coffee filled the room. My cup was overflowing onto the hot plate.

"Shit." I jumped up and exchanged the cup for a carafe. Coffee was everywhere. In haste, I ripped a couple of pages from a writing pad and daubed at the mess, grinning sheepishly at the cops.

Derry's mustache twitched into a brief grimace. Jergins stared.

"Well, I have no idea where she could be," I said, swiping at drops that had landed on my blouse.

Both cops studied me, maybe waiting for more. I sat down and drank my coffee. The air conditioner clicked and roared in the background.

Jergins cleared his throat, leaning forward. "Ms. McRae," he said, in a gruff, rat-a-tat voice, "it's extremely important that we get in touch with Ms. Hayes as soon as possible. Her life may be at risk."

"Why? And what's the FBI's interest in this?" I looked directly at the bony fed.

Jergins' nostrils flared as if he'd detected a bad smell. From the look in his beady eyes, you'd have thought I was the source.

"Has your client ever mentioned the name Gregory Knudsen?"

"No. Who is he?"

"What about Christof Stavos?"

"What about him?" I asked, a little annoyed that he'd ignored my question.

"Have you heard that name? Ever?"

"Nope. Never ever."

Jergins did that pigeon move with his head again.

I resisted the urge to imitate him.

He said, "Mr. Stavos is a sick and dangerous man. It's absolutely essential that Ms. Hayes get in touch with us as soon as possible. For her own safety, if nothing else."

"Why?" I asked. "Who is he?"

"Wiseguy from New York."

The phone rang.

I decided to let the voice mail get it. "Mafia? What would someone like that want with my client?"

Jergins leaned back, allowing himself a dramatic pause. "Did your client leave anything with you? A CD, maybe?"

"No."

"And she never mentioned Knudsen?"

"Like I said, no."

He nodded, still not looking satisfied.

"So, who is this guy, Knudsen?" I said. "And what's on the CD?"

Jergins said nothing.

"Let's get back to your client," Derry said. "Did she ever mention anything about leaving town? Even a hint that she might?"

I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. "Not that I recall."

Derry appeared to ponder my response then said, "I guess we've taken enough of your time."

Jergins looked like he wanted to subpoena every piece of paper in the room.

"Wait a second," I said. "What's going on? Obviously, someone's been murdered, but is there more?"

Derry glanced at Jergins, who remained mute.

"There's got to be," I said. "Or why would the FBI be involved?"

Another look passed between the men.

Derry said, "Right now, I'm concerned about investigating a homicide."

As opposed to what? I wanted to ask.

"This mobster—what was his name? Stavos?—he's also a suspect?" I asked.

Silence.

Forget it, I thought. I might as well go outside and ask a fire hydrant.

As they stood up, Derry said, "You'll let us know if you hear from Ms. Hayes."

"Of course."

Jergins pulled out a business card and thrust it toward me. It said he was with the field office in Baltimore.

"You hear anything about Knudsen, you let me know," he said, in his clipped monotone. Probably picked it up watching too many reruns of Dragnet.

After they left, I checked my voice mail. Someone named Christy from my credit card company had called. I was up to date on my bill, and the message didn't say anything about their "great new services." Curious, I dialed the number and connected directly with Christy, who sounded like a college student working the phones during her summer break.

"Stephanie Ann McRae?" she said. The credit card was in my full name rather than the acronym I use as a nickname. "I'm calling to confirm your recent application for a line of credit," she continued, sounding as if she were reading from cue cards.

"But I haven't applied for more credit."

A few seconds of silence. "You haven't? Oh, wow. Have you lost your card recently?"

"No, no. I would have reported that." I pulled my purse out of my desk, just to check. The card was still in my wallet.

"Well, it looks like someone has applied for a credit line in your name," Christy said. "I'm glad we were able to catch this. The amount is unusually large."

"How large would that be?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

*****

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