Paparazzi

We are the crowd, we're coming out
Got my flash on, it's true
Need that picture of you It so magical, we'd be so fantastical

 

Trixie stood on the sidewalk outside the Steward home, contemplating the information she’d learned. She started walking towards her offices, internally debating the next steps in the case. Procedurally, the thing to do was to return to the office, update the database with her findings, and discuss subsequent steps with Freeman and Barnes. They could run some computer scans and see what popped from the new information. But even as she walked, she realized that while certain cases should follow standard investigative procedures, this wasn’t one of those cases. Her instincts kicked in, and she remembered her boss's reminder that undercover work was unlike normal cases, and she would need to handle things differently. Stopping briefly, she rocked on her heels. Socialite Beatrix Belden chewed her lip as several scenarios processed through her brain. Nodding, as she reached a decision she pulled her PDA out and hit one key.

“Hi, Trix.” Jim answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”

There was no time to waste. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Having dinner with Dad. We plan to review the fundraiser pledges and then we’ll go over the agenda for tomorrow’s stockholder’s meeting,” he answered promptly. The good manners which had always seemed to come naturally to him kicked in, and he automatically asked. “Would you like to join us?”

“Yes, I would!” She smiled as she spoke. “In fact, I’m not far from your parent’s apartment now. Are you there now?”

“Dad and I are both here. Mother’s called and she had to cancel some function for tonight. She's going to be at the hospital for a while with Mrs. Langham. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Trixie disconnected the call and walked with a purpose. In any investigation, there was a time and place for protocol and process. In this investigation, it was time to get some answers, and the best way to get answers was to ask the questions.

Twenty minutes later, Trixie was reminding herself of that resolve. While she knew straightforward questions right and necessary, she had a great deal of respect for Matthew Wheeler. Not just as Jim and Honey’s father, but as a businessman and an upstanding member of the community. He was not an individual to be toyed with, and she reconsidered her decision with care before launching into a series of questions.

“Matthew,” she started tentatively, despite her resolve that this was the best approach. “Do you remember being one of the early investors in B3 software?”

“Why, yes!” He was clearly surprised this was the topic Trixie wanted to discuss with him. “As a matter of fact, I do. It was one of the smartest investment decisions I ever made.” He leaned back in his seat apparently reminiscing about that particular investment. “We made a killing.”

Inwardly Trixie winced at his choice of words, but now that the door was open, she pushed on. “Do you happen to remember who approached you about investing in B3?”

Matthew frowned as he considered her question. “To be honest, I’m not sure if it was Grayson Rockefeller or Dee Steward. It was one of them, and in the end it didn’t matter, after reviewing the company and their offering, it was obvious that Reid Beckhart knew what he was doing, and he had the right talent to help him. He just needed backers. At the time, the market had already begun to steer clear of high technology investments,” he paused and then added. “The dot com bubble had already burst and everyone was thinking B3 would be the next Enron,” he snorted in derision. “It wasn't the time to lay low, but you’re not here for an economics lesson. Does it matter which one asked me?”

“Not really,” Trixie admitted. “It’s more a case of who knew the participants of Dee Steward’s investment group. Evelyn Steward told me that she knew, but she also believed only a few people outside the group knew. Allison Beckhart knew, of course, but not Reid.”

“No,” he replied. His tone and demeanor shifted to a more cautious approach. “To be fair, that fact caused several arguments among the three of us. As time progressed, it became clear that it was a problem for Grayson. Both of us offered to buy him out, but by that time, he wouldn’t hear of it. B3 was clearly a success, and he likes making money as much as anyone.”

“To the best of your knowledge and belief, who do you think was aware that Grayson Rockefeller was an investor in his son-in-law's company?”

“Heavens, Trixie!” Matthew’s responding laugh seemed to be good natured. “If these questions get any more probing, you're going to have to read me my rights. Is this an interrogation?”

Trixie flushed. It was important to proceed with more tact than she could usually muster and she secretly wished her future partner was active in the business. Honey would’ve known exactly how to question her father. Deciding honesty was the best policy when dealing with her future father-in-law she took that approach.

“Actually, Mr. Wheeler, it is a bit of an interrogation when you come down to it. While investigating Allison’s murder, we discovered clues that she was being blackmailed over this particular piece of information. In the end, we believe that’s why she was killed. It seems clear her killer was someone who knew Grayson Rockefeller was one of the investors.”

He frowned and leaned forward. “Are you implying that you consider me a suspect in Allison’s murder?”

She stood up, her face pinking further as she realized the implication of her answer. “No!” she cried in dismay. “Absolutely not! Mr. Wheeler … Matthew …” she stammered as she attempted to regain her composure. “You are absolutely not a suspect, neither is Mrs. Wheeler, nor is Evelyn Steward.” She pushed a hand through her curls, upset at being misconstrued.

Matthew waved her back to her seat. “Trixie, please ….” He waited until she had recovered from her gaffe. A grinning Jim placed a glass of ice water in front of her. She took a sip and nodded to indicate she was ready.

“You need to accept my apologies; I was teasing you a bit. So let’s quit beating around the bush. I’m not a suspect –”

“Absolutely not!” she cried. “Besides you and Mrs. Wheeler both have alibis for that night!”

“We have alibis …” he echoed weakly.

She groaned and dropped her head in her hand. “This isn’t going anything like I meant for it to go, it’s just that I already knew what your plans were the night Allison was murdered. You were never a suspect.”

Matthew Wheeler threw back his head and laughed. He laughed so long and hard that he had to excuse himself to get a glass of water and a napkin to dab at the tears that had formed. He sat back down and before he could resume his interview with Trixie, his wife arrived home.

Bemused, Grace Wheeler watched her husband as he struggled to compose himself.

“Whatever is so funny, dear?” she asked, pulling off her gloves.

“You don’t need to be even a little bit concerned, Grace.” His eyes still danced with merriment as he welcomed her home. He patted the seat next to his. “You don’t have a thing in the world to worry about.” With a wink at Trixie, he dropped a casual kiss on his wife’s lips and informed her with much importance.

“There’s nothing to worry about because we have an alibi!”

 

 

“Tyllman!”

The paparazzi turned around and frowned as he saw Sean and Amy approach.

“I'm not leaving,” he growled. “I'm the required distance from the entrance.”

“Look, we don't care what you're working on now,” Sean retorted. “We want to know what you were working on the day of Allison Beckhart's memorial service.”

Walt Tyllman frowned. “Why? The last damn thing I need is a subpoena.”

“If we cared about a subpoena, the police would be here instead of us,” Amy told him. “You know we're private. Now, come on! Did you cover the service or not?”

“Yeah, sure I did.” The photographer caved. “It was a good day. Hundreds of New York's richest and snobbiest turned out covered in black from head to toe to pay their respects. There was nothing the cops could do to keep us away from outside the cathedral either.”

“How long did you stay?” Sean asked.

Walt’s brow knit as he seemed to ponder the reasons behind that question. “For all of it, until the last guest left of course. Most of us were there before the family arrived and stayed until well after they left. We already knew that everything after the memorial service would be private with plenty of security.”

“Did you keep all the pictures you took?” Amy interjected with unmistakable eagerness.

“No sweetheart, I make a living by getting rid of pictures.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust. “There's not a paparazzi out there that ever deletes a picture. You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Can we look at them?”

Walt's eyes narrowed and he glanced back and forth between the pair. “Why?”

“Can't tell you,” Sean shot back. “But if anything comes of it, we promise to give you the news in time to cover it.”

“Give me something,” he demanded.

Sean shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and glared. “We're looking for Allison Beckhart's murderer. They were there.”

“Yeah, so was her husband,” Tyllman muttered, turning back to stare at the front of the popular New York Nightclub. “Word on the street is he did it.”

“Word on the street is wrong,” Amy managed in her toughest voice. “Do you want to be the first one on the street to be right or not?”

 

 

Once Matthew let his wife in on exactly what he had found so funny, Trixie asked Grace Wheeler for her opinion on the B3 investment. After settling down with family at the dining room table, a cup of her favorite Lady Gray tea in front of her, Grace offered her take on the events that had transpired.

“Like Evelyn, I knew who the members of the investment consortium were,” she explained. “But knowing how important the secret was to Grayson and Beverly, it was something we never discussed. Besides,” she gave a delicate shrug. “Most of us don’t discuss the details of our business, much less any investments. Matthew will be the first to tell you that business can be cut-throat at times. There’s plenty of competition out there and one of the first rules of good business is knowing when to keep your mouth shut.”

“Grace makes a good point,” Matthew confirmed. “Even if Grayson hadn’t emphasized to us how much he wanted his involvement kept quiet, I don’t think any of us would’ve ever discussed it outside of our group. Some businessmen like to talk openly about their investments, but not me. B3 was still private, and that meant it wasn’t necessary for any of us to discuss our involvement. Remember, both Dee and I had every confidence in Reid Beckhart and B3. There was no point in soliciting additional investors; we would both have been willing to invest more money into his company. As you know, we were right about him and the company.”

“Dee Steward was the board member representing your interests,” Trixie said. “Outside of your group, who else may have known?”

Matthew quietly considered the question. “Most business deals start with a standard non-disclosure agreement. Even if we'd decided not to invest in B3, legally we weren’t allowed to discuss any part of the business or the prospectus. Grayson had the papers drawn up, so I don’t think his legal team would be considered suspects. Rainsford would’ve reviewed them for me and I can assure you, he would never breathe a word. Dee Steward would’ve reviewed his own. He has a law degree and wouldn’t need an attorney. He may have had his accountant look at them, but again, I don’t think that’s the kind of person you’re looking for.” He paused and quirked an eyebrow at Trixie. “Am I right?”

“You’re right,” she confirmed. “It would have to be someone with a more intimate knowledge of the relationships involved—someone who knew that Allison never told her husband that particular secret.”

Grace shook her head and wagged her finger at both Jim and Trixie. “Secrets! More marriages fail due to secrets. I’m warning both of you, don’t even think about keeping secrets from each other.” She sighed. “Harold apparently has more secrets than Tammy ever imagined.”“How is Harold?” Matthew asked solicitously.

“It's really hard to say,” she answered. She paused only to wave off Jim's offer to get her some more tea. “He woke up earlier today.”

“He's conscious?” Trixie leaned forward and tried to suppress her eagerness. “Did he know who shot him?”

“He was conscious briefly,” Grace answered. “Apparently he was trying to tell Tammy and Honey what happened when he went back under. Other than profuse apologies to Tammy, all of the story that he managed to tell was that it concerned a wager he'd made with someone.”

“A wager?” Trixie echoed leaning back in her chair.

Grace nodded. “Yes, I believe he said the shooting was over a bet he’d made. In any event, that's about as far as he got with the story when the nurses had to throw Tammy and Honey out of his room because he lost consciousness again.”

“Then there is some hope he'll make a full recovery?” Matthew asked.

“No, not at all,” Grace sighed. “Afterwards, it was almost as if he took a turn for the worse. I'm worried he's not going to make it at all. And I don't know what Tammy will do if they can't rely on him to help figure out the mess they're dealing with at the company. From what she tells me, whoever is behind the siphoning of cash from the company has been so smooth, their team of forensic accountants still can't tell what's going on.”

Trixie managed to keep her face passive, but internally she was beating herself up. She’d bet her bottom dollar that the siphoning was part of the funds feeding IRMA. Sean was going to have to finish checking out the Langham financials.

“Have you eaten?” Matthew asked his wife, suddenly realizing that he, Jim, and Trixie had enjoyed a delicious meal, while his wife had been at the hospital, where food was humdrum at best.

“Brian brought us sandwiches and an apple,” she said. “Actually, it was quite good. There's still so much to do this week with the fundraiser, and then Harold ... “ her voice trailed off. “If it's all the same to you, I'm going to turn in.”

“As a matter of fact, I think I’ll join you. That is …” he paused and turned to look at Trixie. “If my, um, interrogation is over.”

Trixie flushed again. “Just one more thing, for both of you, if you don’t mind Mrs. Whee--, uh, Grace?”

“Of course not, dear. What is it?”

“If you were going to tell someone a secret that you were keeping from each other, who would you tell?”

Matthew guffawed again. Leave it to Trixie to come up with something like that. He shook his head. “George Rainsford,” he answered after a moment’s thought. “Not only because I trust him, but because if I were stupid enough to be keeping a secret from Grace, eventually, I’m going to need a good lawyer!”

Grace smiled and patted his arm. “That’s very forward thinking of you dear. Let’s see, who would I tell?” She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I might tell Tammy,” she said slowly. “But really, even then I’m not so sure. Let me ask you two the same thing.” She waved her hand to encompass both Jim and Trixie. “If you were keeping a secret, who would each of you tell?”

Jim nodded. “If I had a secret like that, I’d probably either tell Dad or maybe Brian. But I’m like you Mother, I’m not sure I would tell anyone.”

“That’s an easy question for me,” Trixie replied. “I’d tell Honey.”

 

 

Sean stared at the bank of file cabinets and the extensive computer setup in Walt Tyllman’s apartment. He'd expected to arrive at a fleabag apartment building and was surprised that the man lived in a comfortable, but small Greenwich Village studio. His eyes narrowed as he took in the neatly arranged workstation that included a cockpit style computer desk, scanner and printer alongside a fireproof locking safe that obviously held cameras and computer backups. Walt Tyllman knew what he was doing.

“How many pictures do you have?” Amy's question interrupted Sean's calculations of Walt’s monthly rent and how many pictures he'd have to sell each month to make a living. Of course, he probably had reputable photography assignments in addition to his freelance work with celebrity photographs.

Walt shrugged. “Since I started cataloging photographs on my computer, I've managed over a hundred thousand.”

“Sounds like you have quite a catalog,” Sean remarked. “How does it work?”

“Every night I dump the contents off my camera's memory card into the computer. To keep things simple, I file by date. The software picks up the images and takes each day's batch and renames them. It then processes that batch against the image and category parameters that I've already defined. It does the automatic tagging so all I have to review is the tagging.” Walt fiddled with the strap of his camera as if uncomfortable with the technical explanation. “The memory card is pulled every day and becomes the backup; again all of them are filed by date.” He picked up a box of high density memory cards and held it towards them. “I buy these in bulk.”

Sean and Amy peppered him with questions, everything from how many images the software could handle to the amount of facial recognition points evaluated and how long the process took to run. It quickly became obvious to Walt that the two were far more technical than the average private investigator.

“Now that everything is set up and I have more photos in the image banks, the tagging goes much faster than it did at first. When I first started using a computer bank to store images, I lost some time because my initial structure for tagging just didn’t work as well as I needed it to. It was a valuable lesson learned, but now it's paid off for me because so much more of the work is automated.” He paused and looking back and forth between the two of them he asked his own question. “You sure seem to be quite knowledgeable about some of the finer aspects of image recognition and cataloging.”

Sean shrugged as he gave a glib answer. “When we were with the feds we took it for granted. Outside that environment it's not as easy. Can you find pictures of specific individuals?”

“Dude! That's the primary reason I invested in this set-up.” Walt practically rubbed his hands together in glee. “Taking photos of celebs is easy. Knowing what photos you have is the hard part. I missed out selling a six-figure photo to one of the tabloids because I had no idea the smoking hot red-head in my photo was the other woman in a love triangle between one of Hollywood's beloved couples.”

“Really?” Amy looked up in interest. “Who was that?”

When Walt named the stars in question, they both recognized the famous couple and recalled the sordid details of their break-up. “You had one of the first pictures of the famous harlot that annihilated Hollywood?” Amy asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, probably the first,” he said. “I just didn't realize I had it until it was too late. That's when I borrowed the money for this set-up. It's more than paid for itself.”

Sean and Amy exchanged knowing looks. “How long does it take?”

“A query takes a second or two. Who do you want me to look for?”

“Actually,” Amy grinned. “We have a list.”

 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jim asked quietly. They sat together on the sofa in the lovely penthouse apartment adjacent to Central Park. The rooms were quiet, since everyone else had retired for the evening, but the two were silent. Trixie leaned against him, his arm settled comfortably around her shoulder. It was enough to be together.

“Talk about what?” she said.

“Something Dad mentioned tonight has your mind running a hundred miles an hour. If you were thinking any harder about it, I’d be able to hear your thoughts. Do you want to talk about it?”

“There has to be more than that,” Trixie murmured. “More than just the one secret.”

“What are saying, Trix – that if Allison kept one secret from her husband, then she probably had more secrets she was keeping from him?”

“Yes!” Trixie pushed back from her comfortable spot and sat up straight on the edge of the sofa. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you’re going to tell one lie, then maybe, just maybe your whole life is a lie.”

“Whoa!” Jim held up a hand in protest. “That’s quite a leap!”

Trixie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Let me ask you something – do you know what the typical profile is for female terrorist?”

Jim frowned. “There are female terrorists?”

“Yes,” she answered, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. “Plenty of them, and growing by leaps and bounds. Why do you think airline security pays so much attention to women with infants who are flying? The risk is incredible.”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know. I’d guess a middle-eastern, burkha-clothed, quiet, mousey woman who had few friends and came to this country in the last 25 years.”

Trixie hooted and shook her head. Jabbing a finger at his chest she grinned. “That is exactly what most people think. But the typical female terrorist is well-educated, employed, and wealthy, was born in the United States and if she has a house and family, she’ll have beautiful flowers in her yard or fit into whatever the norm is for her community.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me!”

Trixie shook her head. “No, I’m not. Allison Beckhart fits the profile to a tee, as do most of her friends. Heck, Jim – Honey and I fit the profile. All you have to do is find their weakness – revenge, rage, respect – they’ll have one that makes them susceptible. They are key assets, and they are normally recruited in college.”

“Did Allison go to college?” Jim asked doubtfully.

“Absolutely,” Trixie assured him. “It’s where she met her husband and she graduated before he did.”

As Jim contemplated this new information, Trixie moved to snuggle back next to him. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

He nodded and dropped a kiss absently on the top of her head. “Trixie,” he said slowly. “How exactly do terrorist get the money they need to fund their operations?”

“Through charities,” she replied instantly. “There are dozens and dozens of fronts for charities that fund terrorism all over the world. They also use some of the same tactics that the mafia has used and illicit drug trafficking is a very popular way to fund terrorism.”

“I thought I’d remember reading one time it was charities,” he said slowly. “Trixie, you know that many privately owned companies sponsor charities or have foundations that contribute to charities, right?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied instantly. “You head up the charities for Wheeler International, I remember you ---” she stopped and pushed away from him again.

“You don’t think …?” She stared at him with wide eyes.

Jim nodded. “When you investigated Allison Beckhart, did you happen to see what she did with the money she made from B3?”

“We didn’t investigate Allison Beckhart,” Trixie answered. “We only looked at the company’s investments.”

“Allison gave a lot of money to charity,” Jim replied. “It would be interesting to find out which ones.”

“How do you know she gave a lot of money to charity?” Trixie asked.

“Because she gave the Frayler Foundation a hundred thousand dollars.”