Chapter 2: The Dame's Tale
Katherine Spamm's story was almost as good as her coffee.
"I met Hank Spamm a few months ago at one of those Cyber-Cafes. Cappuccino and computers, that kind of stuff. It was exciting, meeting someone so powerful. You know what I mean?"
I didn't, but I wrote down the name of the joint and told her to continue. I take notes because clients expect it but I've learned not to expect too much out of a first interview. People hire a P.I. because they're trying to keep their secrets. If they were willing to face the truth, they could do it online at the Confession Booth and save a lot of money.
"Hank and I hit it off right away. I was a newcomer online and he liked showing off his knowledge. It was all very innocent," she said, crossing her legs. It was a distraction I suspected was meant to draw my attention away from the less believable aspects of her story, "The next thing I knew, we had added our names to the Online Bridal Registry."
"Charming, but what does this have to do with your missing friend?"
"Well, Hank got me one of those hot notebook computers, a THX 1138 with a cellular modem, for a wedding present. He likes to send me electronic greeting cards from NetGreeting when he's working late at the office. That sort of thing."
Most of my clients aren't so happily married, and I had my doubts about this one. Still, I encouraged her to get to the point.
"About a week ago I was having trouble with the computer. Hank figured it was some kind of software thing. A virus I think he called it." I made a note to visit Antivirus Online and let her to continue. "He took it down to have P.C. -that's Paul Conroy, the alpha-geek at Spamm Internet -check it out. That night Paul, er… P.C., called to say he'd found something."
"He was in the habit of calling you at night?" I asked.
"Of course not, " she said, demonstrating a remarkable ability to blush at will, "that's why I knew it was important. He told me to meet him the next day for lunch, but he never showed. I finally called his office and found out he hadn't come in that morning. He hasn't been to work since."
"You're worried about him?" I asked.
"Of course," she replied, once more working the legs, "and I'm worried about the computer. As a wedding gift it has great sentimental value. Do you think you can find it?"
"I'll have a better idea after I've done a little checking," I said rising from my chair and motioning towards the door.
She declined my offer of an escort, then removed a wad of bills and a business card from her purse and pressed them into my hand. "E-mail me as soon as you know anything," she said and headed down the hallway.
As I watched her disappear, I found myself thinking that a dame like that could be a lot of trouble if a guy wasn't careful. Kind of like Lola. But heck, decent coffee - and a few grand -is worth a little trouble. So I got to work.
After a few minutes of online research, her story began to unravel. According to the Spamm Internet home page, the company had started out small and stayed that way for a couple of years. Suddenly, about a year ago, the company began signing one huge corporate consulting contract after another. The profits were being plowed into buying up Internet service providers in several major cities.
Nothing new there. The big surprise came in the announcement of their most recent contract, a big consulting deal with the Federal Communications Commission. Accompanying the article was a picture of Hank Spamm and his wife being greeted by the head of the F.C.C. Nothing unusual, except the Katherine Webb in the photo was a blond. The one that had just left my office was a brunette.
