Page 3 of By Sin To Atone

“And it’s a woman?” I try to make my eyes focus on the page, take in the shoulder-length dark hair, the big eyes on the woman’s unsmiling face.

“Women do blackmail. We live in modern times. Equal opportunity and all that.”

I shift my gaze back to him. “You sure this is correct? If she works at the Cat House?—”

“Not in the way you think.” He winks, chuckles while shaking his head. “Dirty devil. She serves drinks.”

I look again at the sheet of paper. “This is the best photo you could come up with?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Hotel’s printer was nearly out of ink.”

I study the printout more closely. “How old is she?” she barely looks to be eighteen.

“Twenty-seven according to her ID.”

“Right.” This girl is not twenty-seven. It’s a fake, obviously. “What do you know about her?”

“Her name, well, I should say the name she gave HR, do you all have HR?” he asks, pausing. I raise my eyebrows. “I digress. The name she gave whoever hired her is Blue Masterson. She doesn’t have a social media profile, no on-line presence at all, in fact. Very odd especially for someone her age. That there is her employee mug shot.”

I look from the photo to him. “Blue Masterson. Even that sounds fake.”

“Blue moved to a shitty little apartment in NOLA about six months ago.” Six months. The first email only showed up around two months ago.

“From where?”

“Don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“No paper trail but I’m still searching.”

I look at the picture again. She’s attractive. Like all the things that are bad for you are attractive. Her gaze is sharp, clever and cautious in that way people who are hiding something have. I know it well.

“Are you sure it’s her?” She just seems too young. Too poor. Too much not a part of the world I come from.

“I don’t make mistakes, Zeke.”

“Ezekiel.” Only my mother, my brother and my niece call me Zeke. Zoë used to. Not sure she’d ever even said my full name.

“Ezekiel. Pardon me.”

I blink to clear the memory of Zoë. “It’s fine.”

“Blue Masterson has managed to erase her past. She’s better at it than most which is surprising. Dig as I might, I don’t get any hits. Like she didn’t exist until she showed up in New Orleans. The only thing I’ve managed to find are monthly payments to the Oakwood Care Center.”

My forehead creases. “What’s that?”

“Psychiatric hospital.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t know more just yet. All that fucking patient privacy and this place actually has decent online security.”

I sit back looking at the strange girl’s face, her narrowed eyes. She looks like she’s telling off the photographer. “So, she’s using a fake name. Fake papers. But if she works at IVI, she’d have been vetted.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “If you say so.” He finishes the whiskey in his glass and reaches to pour himself another. “I’ll be sticking around here a few days. Never been to Amsterdam, you know. But I’m guessing you’ll be heading back to New Orleans pronto.”

“It appears so.”

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