Read The Chameleon Conspiracy for Free Online Page B

person.”
    “Other evidence? What evidence? I thought I had it all in the file.”
    “Let me look,” he said. “This case is old.”
    You’re damn right about that,
I thought.
    An hour later he called. “OK, we also discovered that each perpetrator used the same Delaware incorporation-service company
     to incorporate all the companies used in the scams.”
    “Did you interview the principals of the service company?”
    “No. The company went out of business, and the directors disappeared without leaving a trace.”
    “Any additional evidence?” Based on what he’d told me, the FBI’s backing seemed thin. “You know, as in, did you ever have
     the witnesses take a look at Ward’s high school photo in a spread? Ask them to pick out the guy they gave their money to?”
     I tried not to sound like I was criticizing their work.
    He sounded vaguely annoyed. “Well, I’ll have to look up the file again. It was a long time ago. Anyway, all eleven aliases
     were of white males born between 1959 and 1962 in the Midwest.”
    “Did anyone check any passport applications of these people?”
    “No. The State Department gets rid of routine passport applications after one year.”
    “So there’s nothing on file?”
    “The State Department may have something more. Why don’t you ask them?” he said, having lost interest. I hung up, shaking
     my head at the apparent incompetence. It would be my job to pick up the slack.
    I called the principal of the Milwaukee Trade and Technical High School’s Evening School, from which Ward had graduated, identifying
     myself and my business. The secretary told me politely that the principal in the seventies and eighties, Donald Peterson,
     had retired to Arizona, but offered to give him my number. Within five minutes, my phone rang.
    “Yes, I remember Ward well,” said Peterson. “I hope he hasn’t done anything foolish. Has he?”
    “I don’t think so,” I said. “Please tell me about him.”
    “He was a decent young man. Very curious, loved geography and photography, and he said he wanted to be a photographer for
National Geographic Magazine
someday. I always wondered if he fulfilled that dream. He did manage to graduate in spite of his handicap.”
    “Handicap?”
    “Yes, he was dyslexic, with serious learning disabilities. Until he graduated he had difficulty reading and writing. Now,
     compound that with his speech impairment, and you can understand why we really tried to help him.”
    “But what speech problem do you mean?
    “He had a serious stutter.”
    My blood pressure went up. Stutter? None of the victims had mentioned that. In fact, most of them described a smooth-talking
     person. Although even a bad stutter can be cured, the hunter in me smelled blood.
    “Thank you very much,” I said. “I’ve got one last question. Do you happen to have Ward’s picture?”
    “You know, I must have it somewhere,” said Peterson. “Ward loved photography, and he took many photos of classevents. I’m pretty sure he sent me copies of several shots he made at graduation.”
    “If he was the photographer, doesn’t that mean he isn’t in those pictures?”
    “No, I think he should be, actually, because he used a timer for the shutter, I guess. So he could run and be in the picture.”
    “Mr. Peterson, could I ask you a favor? Could you please send me those photos? I promise to send them back.”
    “Let me find them first.”
    Four days later, an envelope came in the mail with three color pictures of smiling high school kids at a party. In the attached
     note, Donald Peterson identified most of the students by name, apologizing that he couldn’t remember them all. Ward looked
     like a nice kid, your neighbor’s son. No especially distinctive features, overgrown light-brown hair, brown eyes, nice smile.
     They were a lot livelier than his formal high school graduation photo in the file. I wrote down the names of classmates Peterson
     had identified, and asked