know that.”
One of the more honored truisms of the investigative field is that in order to truly know a person under investigation, one needed to find out where that person’s money was, how much of it there was, and how they had gone about getting it. That was why every private institution that handled money—banks, and also check-cashing companies, wire transfer remitters and other money service business variants great and small—either reported odd activity or was supposed to be doing so. That reporting increased dramatically after a handful of religious fanatics flew a couple of jumbo jets into the World Trade Center with tickets purchased with funds wired from overseas terrorist financiers, but the reporting mechanism was already in existence when Hicks was looking into Corrigan Bain.
As a “fixer,” Corrigan drew no discernible income, yet appeared to be independently wealthy. A review of his personal background—single mother, unknown father, and a childhood of moderate poverty—did not suggest a Brahmin background of any kind. Nor was there a record of him winning a lottery or any like claim of a gambling windfall. Instead, in late 1985, Bain went from a poor fry cook to one of the fifty richest people in the state, more or less overnight.
Hicks dug deeper. One of the first things he noticed was that this nouveau riche transformation took place right around the time Bain turned twenty-one. That implied an inheritance of some kind. So he retraced the man’s family history, but got only as far as his mother’s parents. Given they had severed ties with their daughter more than thirty years earlier, and as they were not persons of great means anyway, the money couldn’t have come from there.
Frustrated, he turned to the law firm that had handled the funds for Bain. This didn’t go well. Another truism: if you have to ask a lawyer for anything in order to get your investigation moving, you’re shit out of luck. And that was exactly what ended up happening, as this law firm would only confirm that they handled Corrigan Bain’s affairs for a brief period of time a decade earlier. They would not explain where the money had come from, who had owned it previously, or why Bain had gotten it. To find out more from them, Hicks needed a better case against Bain first, and he couldn’t build a better case without first finding out what the law firm had. So, reluctantly, he had closed the investigation.
Maggie, being intimate with Bain and intimately familiar with Hicks’s investigation, asked Corrigan once where his money had come from, as she was no less curious than Hicks. Although in her case it was less of a professional curiosity than a personal one. All he said was he’d made a few good investments, and then he quickly changed the subject. She’d have brought up details from his windfall year, but that would have been an improper compromise of the Hicks probe, so she did not. She still hadn’t, although she was not averse to dropping the occasional hint.
It was just another one of the things that made Corrigan Bain so intriguing, which she invariably found sexy. If she were to ponder that point in more detail, she might find an answer to why none of her relationships lasted much longer than it took for her to get to know someone well.
Hicks picked up a copy of her case file from his desk. It was sitting on top, which could have meant he’d just been reviewing it. It could also have meant he wanted her to think he’d just been reviewing it.
“What did Bain have to say about Kilroy?” he asked, holding open the file to a photograph of the last crime scene, the apparent accidental death of Jamie Silverman.
“I didn’t share it with him.”
“Really. Why not?”
“Didn’t want to sound crazy.”
Hicks laughed. “I don’t blame you. You going to eventually tell him?”
“That depends on whether or not he says yes.”
He nodded and closed the file, tossing it back on the desk. “Let
One of the more honored truisms of the investigative field is that in order to truly know a person under investigation, one needed to find out where that person’s money was, how much of it there was, and how they had gone about getting it. That was why every private institution that handled money—banks, and also check-cashing companies, wire transfer remitters and other money service business variants great and small—either reported odd activity or was supposed to be doing so. That reporting increased dramatically after a handful of religious fanatics flew a couple of jumbo jets into the World Trade Center with tickets purchased with funds wired from overseas terrorist financiers, but the reporting mechanism was already in existence when Hicks was looking into Corrigan Bain.
As a “fixer,” Corrigan drew no discernible income, yet appeared to be independently wealthy. A review of his personal background—single mother, unknown father, and a childhood of moderate poverty—did not suggest a Brahmin background of any kind. Nor was there a record of him winning a lottery or any like claim of a gambling windfall. Instead, in late 1985, Bain went from a poor fry cook to one of the fifty richest people in the state, more or less overnight.
Hicks dug deeper. One of the first things he noticed was that this nouveau riche transformation took place right around the time Bain turned twenty-one. That implied an inheritance of some kind. So he retraced the man’s family history, but got only as far as his mother’s parents. Given they had severed ties with their daughter more than thirty years earlier, and as they were not persons of great means anyway, the money couldn’t have come from there.
Frustrated, he turned to the law firm that had handled the funds for Bain. This didn’t go well. Another truism: if you have to ask a lawyer for anything in order to get your investigation moving, you’re shit out of luck. And that was exactly what ended up happening, as this law firm would only confirm that they handled Corrigan Bain’s affairs for a brief period of time a decade earlier. They would not explain where the money had come from, who had owned it previously, or why Bain had gotten it. To find out more from them, Hicks needed a better case against Bain first, and he couldn’t build a better case without first finding out what the law firm had. So, reluctantly, he had closed the investigation.
Maggie, being intimate with Bain and intimately familiar with Hicks’s investigation, asked Corrigan once where his money had come from, as she was no less curious than Hicks. Although in her case it was less of a professional curiosity than a personal one. All he said was he’d made a few good investments, and then he quickly changed the subject. She’d have brought up details from his windfall year, but that would have been an improper compromise of the Hicks probe, so she did not. She still hadn’t, although she was not averse to dropping the occasional hint.
It was just another one of the things that made Corrigan Bain so intriguing, which she invariably found sexy. If she were to ponder that point in more detail, she might find an answer to why none of her relationships lasted much longer than it took for her to get to know someone well.
Hicks picked up a copy of her case file from his desk. It was sitting on top, which could have meant he’d just been reviewing it. It could also have meant he wanted her to think he’d just been reviewing it.
“What did Bain have to say about Kilroy?” he asked, holding open the file to a photograph of the last crime scene, the apparent accidental death of Jamie Silverman.
“I didn’t share it with him.”
“Really. Why not?”
“Didn’t want to sound crazy.”
Hicks laughed. “I don’t blame you. You going to eventually tell him?”
“That depends on whether or not he says yes.”
He nodded and closed the file, tossing it back on the desk. “Let
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