Tag Man by Archer Mayor

at the carpet in concentration for a moment.
    “He didn’t violate my private things,” she said. “And he didn’t touch me that I know of, or do anything unseemly.”
    “Okay,” Joe encouraged her.
    “He did go through my papers, in my office,” she continued. “I thought that was odd, and pretty alarming. In my business life, it wasn’t belongings you worried about so much as confidential information. So that had me going. I alerted my business manager to be extra watchful, and I changed all my accounts. It was a real pain, actually, and cost me a bundle. Passwords, account numbers, all forms of identity. I had everything checked or altered.”
    “And had he done any damage?” Joe asked.
    She shook her head. “No. That was the funny part. Not a dime was stolen, not a figure changed or altered.”
    She suddenly stared at him with a smile of admiration. “I’ll be darned.”
    “What?”
    “I hadn’t thought of it until now. Never crossed my mind. Someone breaks into your house, you think of your personal safety, maybe your jewels, secrets, like I said … not that the guy might be after just old-fashioned data.”
    “He stole data?”
    She shook her head. “I never would have … Do you know what I did? When I was in business?”
    “A stockbroker?” Joe answered hesitantly.
    “An investment analyst,” she answered. “Close enough. It’s all a little voodoo, to be honest. But you’re right. I played the market, both with my money and other people’s.” She waved her hand around to indicate their surroundings. “And I did well. I had a knack for it. Between you and me, I made more money than I know what to do with. But it became like a game, and after I officially retired, I stayed at it with just my own funds, for fun. That’s what he accessed.”
    Joe scowled. “What?”
    “I could tell from the time stamps on my computer,” she explained. “Up to now, I thought I’d done something I couldn’t remember doing. Which isn’t like me at all. Now, I’m all but positive that your Tag Man got into my personal investments portfolio and basically stole my hottest prospects. He looked over my shoulder, like someone cheating in school. And if he followed it up by buying according to my strategy, then he made some decent money, depending on how much he invested, because most of those prospects panned out handsomely.”
    Joe stared at her. “Is there any way we could follow up on that? Find out who he is by tracking his purchases?”
    By now, she was actually laughing. “No. That’s the beauty of it. It’s not like it’s insider trading. He copied off the smartest kid in class—assuming he bought anything afterward. But why wouldn’t he? What would be the point of breaking in otherwise? But no, to answer your question. He could have bought any number of stocks through any number of brokers and gone totally unnoticed. I mean, a thousand years ago, the Hunt brothers from Texas tried to corner the silver market by buying everything in sight, and they got caught because they were stupid and obvious. But if we’re talking about somebody so desperate and broke that he has to do this, then he’s not a millionaire—he’s an incredibly smart, lazy guy trying to make a buck.”
    She leaned forward, her pleasure at this discovery written across her face. “There’s your portrait. This is a smart man you’re after, but an unconventional one, and a risk taker. He doesn’t opt to do the homework before investing, like the rest of us. He watches for the people who consistently come out on top, and then he picks their brains without asking permission. I’m no shrink, but that’s got to narrow your field of suspects considerably.”
    Joe couldn’t argue the point. Unfortunately, he had no list of suspects to consult. This kind of crime was a first for him.
    He rose, closed his notepad, and slipped it back into his pocket. “Thank you, Mrs. Hodgkins. This has been a huge help. Exactly what I was