A Knight Of The Word

Andrew Wren woke early that same morning despite the fact he had been up very late tracing the transfers of funds from the corporate accounts of Fresh Start and Pass/Go to the private accounts of Simon Lawrence and John Ross. It was well after midnight by the time he completed his work and satisfied himself he knew exactly how all the withdrawals and deposits had been made and the routes through which various funds had travelled. He was exhausted by then, but a little bit of sleep did wonders for him when he was hot an the trail, and he felt energised and ready to go once more shortly after first light.

Nevertheless, he took his time. He had calls to make and faxes to send. He wanted to check on balances and signatures. He wanted to make very sure of what he had before he started writing anything. So he showered and shaved at a leisurely pace, thinking things through yet again, formulating his plans for the day.

It wasn’t until he went downstairs for breakfast and was engaged in perusing Wednesday’s New York Times that he overheard a conversation at an adjoining table and learned Fresh Start had burned down during the night.

At first he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, and he paused in his reading to listen more closely as the conversation revealed the details. The building was a total loss. There was only one fatality, an employee. Arson wasn’t thought to be the cause. Simon Lawrence would be holding a press conference on the future of the program at two o’clock that afternoon.

Andrew Wren finished his breakfast and bought a copy of the Post-Intelligencer, Seattle’s morning paper. There were pictures and a short piece on the fire on the front page, but it had happened too late for an in-depth story.

Wren walked back to his room with the papers and sat down at his work desk with his yellow pad and notes and the packet of documentation on the illegal funds transfers spread out before him. He tried to decide if the fire had anything to do with what he was investigating, but it was too early to make that call. If it wasn’t arson, then it wasn’t relevant. If it was arson, then it might be. He stared out the window, deciding what to do next. It was only nine-fifteen.

He made up his mind quickly, the way he always did when he was closing in on something. He sent his faxes to the home office and to various specialists he worked with from time to time, requesting the information he needed, then began calling all the banks at which personal accounts had been opened in the names of Simon Lawrence and John Ross for the deposit of Fresh Start and Pass/Go funds. He used a time-tested technique, claiming to be in accounting at one or the other of the nonprofit corporations, giving the account number and the balance he had before him, and asking to verify the amounts. From there he went on to gather other information, building on the initial rapport he had established with whoever was on the other end of the line to complete his investigation. It was practically second nature to him by now. He knew all the buttons to push and all the tricks and ploys.

He was done by a little after ten-thirty. He called the number at Pass/Go and asked for Stefanie Winslow. When she came on the line, he told her he was coming over to see the Wiz. She advised him that Simon wouldn’t be available until late in the day, if then. He assured her he understood, he had heard about the fire and knew what Simon must be going through, but he needed only a few minutes and it was imperative they meet immediately. He added it involved the matter they had discussed yesterday, and he was sure Simon would meet him immediately.

She put him on hold. When she came back on, she said he could come right over.

Andrew Wren put down the phone, pulled on his rumpled packet with the patches on the elbows, picked up his briefcase, and went out the door, humming softly.

Ten minutes later, he was climbing out of a taxi in front of Pass/Go. The educational center was situated right next door to Fresh Start, but separated by a narrow alleyway. Before last night, the two buildings had looked substantially the same-1940s brick buildings of six stories facing on Second Avenue with long glass windows, recessed entries with double wooden doors, and no signs. But Pass/Go had survived the fire where Fresh Start had not. Fresh Start was a burned-out, blackened shell surrounded by barricades and yellow tape, its roof and floors sagging or collapsed, its windows blown out by the heat, and its fixtures and furnishings in ruins.

As he stood staring at the still-smoking wreck, Stefanie Winslow came out the front door of Pass/Go.

“Good morning, Mr. Wren,” she said cheerfully, her smile dazzling, her hand extended.