Jack chuckled. “God, you’re easy. Ask her out. She’ll
say no and you can move on.”
“No.” Noah bit the word off, then regretted it. He was
letting Jack bait him. Again.
“Whatever.” Jack was quiet a moment. “One of Martha’s
clients may have killed her.”
Noah made himself concentrate. “Possibly. Did Faye
have Martha’s LUDs yet?”
“Yeah, and there was a toll-free number she called at
least ten times a day.”
“Her connection into Siren Song’s switchboard.”
“I’m thinking that,” Jack said. “When we get
Samantha’s LUDs, we’ll see if Sammy called the same number. Maybe Siren’s the
connection between the two.”
“Hell. If this perv is hitting on phone sex operators,
and Eve is working for them…”
“Let’s make sure all the other Sirens are still alive
and heavy breathing.”
“Not funny, Jack.”
Jack’s sigh was almost sincere. “Wasn’t really meant
to be. Sometimes they just come out on their own. Hey, my dad’s a stand-up
comic. It’s genetic.”
“Your dad’s a retired podiatrist.”
“He does stand-up part time at the comedy club. Said
after looking at feet for forty years, it only seemed right. He’s pretty good.
Henny Youngman, watch out.”
Noah laughed wearily. Just when he was ready to
strangle Jack, his partner acted human and… almost likable. “Jack.”
Jack’s lips curved. “But you laughed. Look at the
bright side. Maybe one of us can convince Eve to leave Siren and go into
private practice.
If
you know what I mean.”
Unbelievably, Noah felt his cheeks heat. “Are you a
perpetual teenager?”
Jack considered it without rancor. “Yep. You wanna
grab lunch, hit Siren Song, then head back to the nursing home to chat with
Martha’s Mommy Dearest?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Monday, February 22, 3:02 p.m
Liza Barkley flipped open her phone the moment she
walked out of the school. She’d been checking surreptitiously all day, but
Lindsay hadn’t called back.
Worried sick, she called Information and was connected
to Shotz Cleaning Service.
“Hi, my name is Liza Barkley and I’m trying to reach
my sister Lindsay. She didn’t come home last night, after working the night
shift. Have you heard from her?”
There was a long silence on the other end and Liza’s
stomach turned inside out. Poised in front of her school bus, she froze. “Is my
sister all right?”
“Um… we had to let Lindsay go last June. Business was
bad.”
Stunned, Lindsay stared at the ground.
June?
“She goes to work every night. She told me that business was bad, that she had
to take the night shift to keep her job.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have a night shift. Good
luck.”
For a moment Liza stood, too numb to move.
Lindsay
lied.
What had she been doing all these months? It didn’t matter now.
Lindsay was missing.
“Liza?” The bus driver leaned forward. “You need to
get on. It’s time to leave.”
Do something
.
“I’m not going home. Which city bus goes to the police station?”
Monday, February 22, 3:35 p.m.
Eve sank into the stuffed chair in her living room.
Someone had murdered Martha, who’d spent eighteen hours a day online. Was it
random or connected to Shadowland?
“That’s crazy,” she said out loud. “Nobody knew who
Desiree was in the real world.”
You did.
That stopped her cold.
And Christy Lewis didn’t show up for work today
.
Oh my God.
What if something had happened to Christy, too?
Eve logged in to Shadowland, chose her Greer avatar
and went to Ninth Circle. But Greer searched, finding no Gwenivere. Eve
navigated Gwenivere’s virtual house, and… the breath rushed out of her lungs.
A
black wreath hung on the door
. The death of an avatar. Heart pounding, Eve
had Greer open the door.
And everything real around her faded away. Eve stared
at the screen until she heard a whimper and realized it had come from her own
throat.
Gwenivere was hanging, a noose around her neck, her
face made up like a garish clown. Her red shoes had fallen off. One lay on its
side and the other sat straight up.
“Oh my God,” Eve whispered. Her pulse now pounding out
of control, she set the laptop aside and paced. Martha was found hanging. Now
Christy’s Gwenivere was hanging. It could be a coincidence.
But you know
damn well it’s not. Call 911
.
And tell them what? That a virtual-world character got
whacked?
They’ll laugh at me.
So don’t tell them about Shadowland. Just tell them to
check on her.
And they’ll ask why. So I’ll say, she missed work
today. They’ll still laugh at me
.
“I can’t call 911,” she said. “But I have to tell
somebody.” Somebody she could trust.
If this were Chicago, she’d call Detective Mia
Mitchell who, along with Dana and Caroline, had raised her. But this wasn’t
Chicago and Mia wasn’t here.
She calmed until all she could hear was the dripping
of the water into the pots in her living room and then she knew what to do.
Olivia
Sutherland.
Olivia was Mia’s sister and Hat Squad, too. Olivia was a kind
person—she’d helped Eve get the job at Sal’s. If Christy was in trouble, Olivia
could tell Noah Webster and keep Eve out of the whole loop. If Christy was
fine, Olivia would keep it to herself.
“Now you’re finally thinking,” Eve muttered. She
dialed the precinct, asked for Olivia. And got voicemail. “Olivia, it’s Eve
Wilson. Could you call me please? It’s urgent.”
She hung up and stared at the hanging avatar on her laptop
screen. “Now what?”
You have to check on Christy.
Hands shaking, Eve searched the online phonebook.
Martha had been listed, but there were twelve Christine Lewises in the Twin
Cities.
The addresses of all the study subjects were in a file
on the university’s server under Dr. Donner’s account. The one time she’d
broken in, she’d done so from Donner’s admin assistant’s PC. Jeremy Lyons had
typed the names in when the study began.
Jeremy Lyons was also careless and left his
workstation unprotected when he took one of his many bathroom breaks during the
day. It had taken Eve only minutes to find the file and write down the names of
the subjects she’d thought at risk. There hadn’t been time to write home
addresses and she hadn’t wanted to know them anyway.
That had been too close to real-world stalking. Now
she wished she’d copied them.
“You could just call Noah Webster,” she said aloud.
And tell him what?
How about the truth?
She’d wanted to tell him when
she stood in front of Martha’s apartment. There was something in his eyes that
she… trusted. Trust was a precious commodity.
So’s my place in grad school.
Eve needed access to the server in a way that
couldn’t be traced back to her. She knew someone who could do it. Dana’s
husband, Ethan, was a network security expert. When she lived in Chicago, Eve
had worked for Ethan part-time and had learned a hell of a lot about networks.
She needed to phone home.
If this doesn’t work, I’ll call Webster and come clean
. Fingers crossed, Eve dialed and nearly cried when
Dana’s familiar voice answered. “Evie, how are you?”
“I’m fine.” Dana was pregnant again, due in a month.
There was no way Eve would tell her anything was wrong. “Can I talk to Ethan?
My hard drive froze again.”
“You
will
tell me what’s wrong, sooner or
later,” Dana said. “Hold on, I’ll get Ethan.”
A minute later he picked up. “Eve. How the hell are
you, kid?”
“I’ve had better days. Ethan, I need access to my
university’s server, but don’t want anyone to know I’ve been there.”
“Why?” The single word carried all of Ethan’s unvoiced
concerns.
That was a damn good question. “I told you about my
thesis study.”
“Building self-esteem in the virtual world. Your
subjects get to play all day in Shadowland. I wish I were on your study.”
“No, you really don’t. I’m concerned about one of the
subjects. I need to get her home address. Can you trust me and not ask me any
more?”
“I can do that. You’ll tell me if you get into
trouble? I can be there in a few hours.”
Eve’s heart squeezed. “Thank you.” She gave him Jeremy
Lyons’s logon and password. “He wrote it on a sticky hidden under his blotter.”
“He’s an idiot,” Ethan muttered. “Writing his password
down like that.”
“But so many do.” One of her jobs for Ethan had been
to hack into his clients’ networks, to show them their vulnerabilities. It had
been all too easy.
“Keeps me employed,” he said. A minute passed, then
two more while Eve watched Christy’s avatar swing from a virtual noose. “I’m
in. What do you want to know?”
“Home address for Lewis, Christy L., for now. Can you
email me a copy of the file?”
“Done and done. Christy Lewis lives at 5492 Red Barn
Lane in Woodfield.”
It would take a little while to get there. “Thanks.”
“Eve, wait. How much trouble are you in?”
“I broke the double-blind code on this test. If anyone
finds out, I’ll get expelled.”
“Ooh.” In her mind’s eye she could see him wince.
“That’s bad, kid.”
“I know, but it was the right thing to do.”
“You’re Dana’s,” he said quietly. “I’d expect no less.
Call me if you need me. I can keep it from her for a little while. She and the
baby are strong, so don’t worry.”
Eve hung up, staring at the hanging Gwenivere. “Easy
for you to say.”
Monday, February 22, 4:05 p.m.
“It’s officially a homicide,” Ian Gilles said when he
joined the team that had gathered in Abbott’s small office. “Martha was
strangled. Among other things.”
“What other things?” Noah asked, then put up his hand.
“Wait, before you tell us, you know everybody, right? Micki Ridgewell and
Carleton Pierce?”
“Of course I know Micki.” Ian smiled at her, a rare
look for his face. “And Dr. Pierce and I worked on a homicide last year. Good
to see you.”
“And you.” Carleton had photographs of the two victims
in front of him and he pointed to Samantha. “Have you re-examined her yet?”
“Not yet,” Ian said. “I’ll have her body tomorrow. For
now, I can only tell you about Martha Brisbane. Her bloodwork was positive for
ketamine.”
“The puncture wound on her neck,” Jack said. “Ket’s a
sedative.”
“Exactly. It’s sometimes used in field surgery because
it sedates and immobilizes. This is interesting.” Ian pulled a photo from the
stack. “These are her lungs.”
Micki frowned at the photo. “They’re blue. Why did you
stain them?”
“I didn’t. She came that way.”
“I’ve heard of holding your breath till you turn
blue,” Jack said, “but I never actually thought it worked. What is it?”
“Copper sulfate. I found traces in her tracheal wall
and stomach. Copper sulfate is found in drain cleaners that clear tree roots.
You flush it down your toilet.”
Micki winced. “It eats through tree roots?”
“And skin. I found traces on her face, under the
makeup.”
“He held her face in the toilet?” Noah asked and Ian
nodded.
“She was held under long and frequently enough that
she’d inhaled and swallowed the liquid. If he hadn’t strangled her, the copper
sulfate might have eventually killed her. Also, she’d been cleaning right
before her death. I found pieces of sponge beneath her nails. Her hands had
also been in contact with some very strong bleach.”
“Her landlady said the apartment was filthy,” Noah
said, “but it had been cleaned. The sonofabitch made Martha clean before he
killed her?”
“Now, that’s a new one.” Jack looked at Ian. “No signs
of sexual assault?”
Ian shook his head. “This woman had not been sexually
active in some time.”
“Well, not in the conventional way,” Noah muttered.
“You done, Ian?”
“Almost. I found a callus above her left ear. I’ve
seen it before in victims who worked in phone sales. It was where the headset
rested on their skin.”
“Martha spent quite a lot of time on the phone,” Jack
said deliberately. “That we can’t find her headset means he took the tool of
her trade, painted her face up, made her clean up her apartment… It does all
fit.”
“Martha worked for Siren Song,” Noah said. “It’s a
phone sex company.”
Micki blinked. “She was a phone sex operator?”
“No wonder her mother was mad at her,” Abbott said.
Noah sighed. “Perhaps Martha didn’t consider it
prostitution, but her mother did. We’re thinking Martha may have been killed
because of Siren.”