So Shelley Loveday Adams wasn’t just a suspected serial killer, she was most likely also engaged in wire fraud. As long as there were some properties still in Roger’s name, the man probably wasn’t in immediate danger, but I wanted that woman brought to justice before she had a chance to grab all his money and run. Suddenly waiting around until Monday to speak to the notary from the bank branch in Anchorage was no longer acceptable. I needed her number, and I needed it now!
Law-enforcement agencies have access to databases that aren’t available to the public. There’s better than a fifty-fifty chance that Todd Hatcher shouldn’t be able to utilize some of the ones he uses on a regular basis. But this time things were different. If in the near future someone from the FBI came around asking how it was that I happened to know so much about Shelley Adams’s clandestine dealings, I needed to be able to show them that I had connected all those dots in an aboveboard fashion.
With that in mind, I picked up the phone and dialed Anchorage detective Hank Frazier’s cell.
“Hey, Beau,” he said. “What’s up? Did you ever cross paths with Marvin Price?”
“I sure did,” I told him. “He’s been a huge help. We have a lead on a vehicle that might have been involved in my missing-persons disappearance. We’re hoping that we may still be able to obtain forensic evidence from that.”
“Good to hear,” Hank said, “though from your tone of voice, I expect there’s a but coming.”
“You’ve got me there,” I said. “I do have a but, and it’s a big one. I still need your help.”
“What kind?”
“There’s a good chance my person of interest in the original case is now involved in some fraudulent real-estate transactions that will deplete her ailing husband’s estate and leave him virtually penniless while she’s living it up on proceeds transferred to offshore accounts.”
“You think she’s getting ready to make a run for it?” Hank wanted to know.
“I certainly do.”
“What do you need?”
“The real-estate transactions are being made in the husband’s name using what I believe to be a fraudulently obtained power of attorney. I need to speak to the notary public who witnessed the signatures on that POA.”
“Someone here in Anchorage?”
“Yes,” I said. “All I have is a name—Tracy Hamilton. She evidently works at a branch of First Alaska National Bank, the one on West Tudor.”
“Probably the midtown branch, then,” Hank concluded. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll see what I can do.”
Only ten minutes elapsed between the end of that first conversation and the time he called me back. Even so, it seemed like forever.
“Here’s Tracy’s home number,” Hank announced. I fed it into my phone as he reeled it off. “If she asks how you got her number, feel free to tell her it came from me. One of my newbie detectives, Darrell Russell, has worked security in that branch for years.”
“Thanks, Hank,” I told him. “Appreciate it.”
The moment our call ended, I dialed the number Hank had given me. I was relieved when a woman answered almost immediately. “Hello?”
“Is this Tracy Hamilton?”
“Yes, but who’s this?”
“My name’s J. P. Beaumont. I’m a private investigator from Seattle—”
“How did you get this number?”
“From a guy named Darrell Russell,” I said. “I believe he’s done security work for your bank branch.”
“What’s all this about?” Tracy wanted to know. Her tone was almost as icy as the panorama currently visible outside the picture windows of my “view” room.
“I’m working on behalf of a young woman named Danitza Adams Miller,” I said. That was fudging things, but so be it. “I understand that earlier this fall—back in November—you notarized a power-of-attorney document for her father, Roger Adams from here in Homer. I believe he and his wife, Shelley, came into your bank branch to sign the document.”
At worst I expected Tracy to hang up on me. At the very least, I thought she’d tell me to get lost. Instead she surprised me.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said, “I remember them well. How is he? The poor man looked so ill at the time I saw them that I doubted he was long for this world.”
“Roger’s hanging in there,” I said. “What can you tell me about that visit?”