2014, October 1st, Wednesday

Hani slowly closed the lid of her laptop. She was close to finding Reese, and all that was left was a visit to some new friends in Salem. She was sure he was here in Oregon but there wasn’t a good way to get access to the DMV’s photo records. None of the nation-wide ID legislation had gotten anywhere, so her access to Federal records hadn’t been much help to her.

Her vacation time from Oklahoma was starting to run thin. She’d saved up enough to spend a chunk of time in Eugene, Oregon. This was the last location where Reese had drawn a Social Security check. No one she’d talked to at the agency really considered it worth their time to investigate. They mostly wanted to go after larger scale fraud: stolen identities, family members collecting Social Security money for decades after someone had died, and the like. They rolled their collective eyes at her when she tried to get help to track down Reese’s case.

He’d gone missing while traveling across the country, leaving a trail of cashed checks which came to a dead stop in Eugene. The last two checks were cashed at the same downtown bank. The six months prior were scattered across the country, leading slowly west. No one at the agency cared since, if it was fraud, it had stopped. And more importantly, it had stopped almost 20 years ago. The real issue was that Hani couldn’t get into the specifics of her interest in this situation, since no one would believe her.

She took a sip from her coffee, and set it back down. She picked up the copy of the photo she’d found in the Eugene Register-Guard newspaper archives. It had been taken during the 1997 Celebration Parade, and Reese was plainly visible at the front of the spectators on the sidewalk. She’d almost lost hope flipping through years of the archived photos. She’d started looking through the collection from 1995. Reese had cashed a check in May and then June of that year, and she was certain he had stayed there longer.

When she’d first started looking for him, she struck out in every state she checked in on. There was no Carl Reese on record with any DMV. There’d been absolutely no photo record of him that she could find. Federal records were very thin, and the biggest footprint he’d made had been retiring and drawing Social Security checks. She only knew what he looked like because he’d visited her office in early 1995.

Every few years, she’d spend another dollop of time trying to find more details, but this was by far the biggest step she’d made. She carefully put the photo back in its sleeve and started packing up her things. She drained her coffee and looked around the Starbucks for the recycling. Or the composting. She couldn’t really tell which she was supposed to use. She pitched the cardboard cup into the recycling and walked back to her rental car.

The drive to Salem was uneventful. It was raining lightly and Interstate 5 was mostly clear. A little over an hour later, she pulled in to the Oregon Department of Motor Vehicles Headquarters parking lot. She walked briskly through the maze of cars and in the front doors. She stopped at the information desk and got directions to Janet Krause’s office.

Letting herself through the second floor office door, she smiled, “Hello! I’m here to see Ms Krause. I’m Hanielle Gittel.”

The receptionist looked up and smiled back, “Hi, sure. I’ll tell her you’re here.” He picked up the phone, pressed a single number, paused, and said “Hi, Ms Gittel is here to see you … Sure, thanks.” He set the phone down and gestured to the hall on his left, “She’s at the end on the right.”

“Thanks,” Hani said and made her way down the hall. She tried to gather her nerve and suppress her excitement. “Hello,” she said, after rounding the office door, “I’m Hani.”

Janet looked up, “Hello, please sit down. How can I help you?”

Hani took a seat and pulled the photo from her bag, “I’m trying to locate someone who I think is responsible for identity theft and possibly Social Security fraud. He’s been especially tricky to track down, but I finally got a workable photo of his face. As I understand it, you’re heading up the facial recognition project here at the DMV. I was hoping you could take it for a spin and help me find this guy.”

Janet grinned, “Well, I can do my best. You said on the phone you’re with the Social Security Administration?”

“Yeah, been working there for about 20 years now,” Hani replied. She fished her employee ID badge out of her bag and set it on Janet’s desk.

“Watch out, you’ll turn into a lifer like me!” Janet quipped, taking a quick glance at the ID. “Whatcha got?”

Hani handed the photo over to Janet, “Here’s the only photo I’ve been able to find.” She hadn’t meant to say “I.” She needed to continue to make this feel like an official investigation, “Our office security cameras were destroyed, so this is all we have for him. No other states have DMV records under this name, and Eugene was the last place he left a trail.”

Janet opened the folder and studied the photo, “Wow, when was this taken? That’s some serious fashion time-travel.”

“This is from 1997.”

“Okay. It’s straight-on, no hat, no facial hair … I should be able to blow it up without much problem.” She placed the photo face-down on the scanner next to her keyboard and started mousing around her screen, clicking purposefully.

“Thanks for taking the time to help me,” Hani said, relaxing into her chair a bit.

“Sure thing. Okay, I’ve got it parameterized … I’m putting it through the search system now. Shouldn’t take much time at all,” Janet said, leaning back, eyes glued to the screen. “Okay, I’ve got six high-confidence hits. This one looks the most like your photo, with the age-projection taken into account,” Janet turned her screen towards Hani, who was already out of her seat and stretching across the desk to get a better view.

“It does, but this one here is him, I’m sure of it,” Hani pointed to the fifth match.

Janet clicked through, and read back details, “That’s from his 2005 renewal photo. I’ve got an address in Portland, and it looks like he goes by ‘Robert McBride’ now.” Janet clicked some more and her printer hummed to life, “Here’s a copy.”

Hani stared at the DMV record. This was him. He didn’t look a day older. First licensed in Oregon in May of 1995, one month before “Reese” vanished. “This is terrific. This is the first real break I’ve had on this investigation. The rest of my office was getting tired of me trying to find him.”

Janet smiled, “Great! This is the reason I’ve been pushing for this project. Please keep me posted on the progress you make with the investigation. I’d love to include some details when I report on our successes here.”

“Absolutely. It looks like my next stop is the FBI in Portland. We’ll have to work to tie McBride to Reese before I can do much more, but this is where it starts. Thank you so much for your time!”

Janet scooped the photo up from her scanner and handed it back to Hani, who fumbled a bit getting the DMV record and photo back into the folder. Hani stuffed the folder into her bag and said her goodbyes before winding her way out of the building. She only had tomorrow and Friday left on her vacation. She’d have to push her return flight to Oklahoma to Sunday night … she had no idea what she was going to need to do next. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was not headed to the FBI office. She needed to confront Reese … McBride … directly and privately.

Back in her car, she stowed her bag safely on the passenger seat and pulled out her phone to browse through hotel options near McBride’s address on NW 13th. Nothing nearby was cheap, so she backed off to something less expensive and further out. If parking was expensive on the street, she’d just hoof it from the hotel to start her stalking. A few clicks, typing of her credit card details, and she was set up.

With accommodations handled, she studied his address again. Zooming in on the map, she noticed the location wasn’t an apartment, but rather a commercial mail receiver. This wasn’t his home—this was where his mail got delivered. Groaning, pondering her short time, she put away her phone and started the car. She still needed to get to Portland, even if she wasn’t going to be able to just knock on his door.

She drove out through Salem, and headed back to I5, continuing north to Portland. She swiped at her phone and declared, “Dial office.”

“Dialing office,” her phone echoed.

After a few moments the line rang briefly and got picked up, “Hello, Social Security.”

“Hi Dale, this is Hani calling.”

“Oh hey Hani, I thought you were on vacation?”

“I am, but I got a hit on some possible identity theft in Oregon,” Hani admitted.

“Oh no, not this again. Still trying to get yourself fired?” Dale ribbed.

“Ha ha,” Hani droned sarcastically. “No, this might be something current. Can you do a quick check on an employment history for me?”

“Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

Hani read back the details on Robert McBride’s DMV record while trying to keep an eye on the road.

Some abbreviated tapping could be heard on Dale’s side of the conversation as he poked the information into his computer. “Looks like he’s been working in Oregon his whole life. First retirement payment was in 93. All to one address in Eugene, until he moved to Portland in 1999.”

Hani frowned. Could this guy really have set himself up before driving out west? “Is the address the same as what I gave you?”

“Yeah, been there the whole time,” Dale said.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll keep you posted. This might be a false alarm,” Hani lied.

“You bet. See you Monday,” Dale said before he hung up.

Hani stared at the road. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.