Authors: L.J. Sellers
C
HAPTER
13
Thursday, March 19, 12:02 p.m., Washington, DC
Jocelyn heard footsteps approaching her table and looked up from the menu. Ross was coming her way. Overweight and balding, her estranged husband wasn’t aging well, yet she’d recently discovered she still loved him anyway.
“Hi, Ross. How’s your day going?”
“Boring so far.” He kissed her forehead and sat down. “But after last month at the bureau, boring is fine. What are you working on?”
She loved that they were back to discussing cases. They’d been separated for months and she’d almost filed for divorce, then a homicide case involving political activists had brought them together. They’d been dating since then, but he hadn’t moved back in. She was afraid of the old patterns.
“I’ve got another homicide victim with no ID.” She made her frustrated face. “But we ran his photo in the paper this morning. Maybe I’ll get a call soon.”
“A homeless guy?” Ross glanced at the menu, but he would order what he always did.
“No, a younger man, decently dressed. Shot to death at close range.” Jocelyn leaned forward and whispered, “Get this. At the autopsy, the ME found a computer chip in his mouth.” She had his full FBI attention now.
“What kind of chip?”
“I don’t know one microchip from another, but I took it to our cyber team at the new consolidated lab. I’m waiting to hear from them.”
“You should take it to the bureau’s cyber forensics lab. We have better techs and better equipment.”
She shrugged. She knew he was right, but she had to give the DC police department the first crack at it. If they failed, she’d let Ross call in a favor with the FBI lab. It helped to be connected to the bureau and its deep pockets. Her husband’s job had better hours than hers, but he spent a lot of time at his desk and it had taken its toll. She liked the mobility of murder investigations, which took her to every corner of the capital to track down witnesses and leads. This one was a dead end, so far. She decided to run it by Ross—an old habit. “No one saw the murder, and even though I found the nearby bar where the victim drank two beers before his death, no one at the bar had ever seen him before.”
“What neighborhood?”
“Bellevue. The Dog’s Head. It seems too working-class for the way he was dressed. Plus the chip.”
“What was he doing there?”
Jocelyn laughed. “If I knew, I would have solved it already.”
A food server took their order, and Jocelyn asked for a Mountain Dew.
“We don’t have that.” A flat tone from a waitress older than her.
“Just water then.” Jocelyn would buy a soda at the little store nearby. She’d finally cut back to two a day and hadn’t had a Mountain Dew since breakfast. No other caffeine tasted good to her, and she couldn’t do this job without it.
“I’ll bet he was there to sell the chip and got mugged,” Ross blurted out.
“That’s my thinking. But until I know who he is and what’s on the chip, I can’t even make a list of suspects.”
“If you bring it to us, I’ll call the director at the forensics lab and ask her to bump it to the top of the list.” Ross winked. “Maybe it’s a matter of national security.”
“That’s my real concern.” In Washington, DC, where so many federal agencies were located, it was certainly possible. “The victim could be a spy or a traitor. The person who shot him may have stolen other secrets he was carrying, even though the vic was able to hide the chip before being shot.”
“Was he assaulted? Tortured?”
Jocelyn recalled the scene, just a nameless body in the alley with a fatal gunshot wound. “Hit with a handgun from a few feet away. That’s it. If not for the microchip, I would write this one off as a mugging.”
“Did you run facial recognition software?”
“Only against our databases, with no hits. I’ll send you the image to check against the international lists, if you’re willing.”
“I’m glad to. As I mentioned, it’s been a dull week so far.”
Ross brought up their son, who was away at college, and they talked about him until the food came.
“When are you going to let me move back in?” Ross asked abruptly halfway through his patty melt.
“I don’t know. I like things the way they are.” They had several meals together each week, and he slept over on Saturday nights, then spent Sundays with her, which usually meant brunch and a movie.
“Paying double housing expenses is just stupid,” Ross argued. “And it’s making Kyle worried. I think it’s affecting his grades.”
“He’s twenty; he can deal with it.” She worried about their son too, but she wasn’t going back to living with someone who didn’t talk to her. “When you’re around me all the time, you forget I exist. I can’t stand the silence.”
He leaned back, frustrated. “I won’t let that happen again. I promise.”
“I’m not ready.” She pushed her plate away. Time to get back to work. Jocelyn’s phone rang, and she grabbed it in relief. Her partner, Detective Snyder. “Larson here.” She stood and dug a twenty out of her purse.
“Our victim’s coworker just called. He says the dead man is Zach Dimizaro, and they worked together at DigSec.”
Jocelyn put the money on the table, kissed Ross good-bye, and hurried toward the exit. “What do we know about the company?” she asked Snyder, who was still on the phone.
“Only that it’s a tech firm that develops encryption software and security apps for mobile devices. They’re located off M Street, not far from the department.”
“I’m in the area. I’ll head over and see what I can find out.”
“I’ll see if I can find next of kin.”
“See you back at the office.” She hung up as she stepped outside.
Shit!
The rain was really coming down and she didn’t have an umbrella. Jocelyn jogged toward her car, two blocks away, hating every moment of the rain and the run. Parking in DC was a pain, even for law enforcement.
The tech firm’s lobby was small, beige, and shabby, making her feel sorry for the receptionist. After briefly questioning the young woman—who seemed indifferent to her coworker’s disappearance—Jocelyn asked to see the boss. They walked through an open room with a dozen desks. Every employee was male, and most looked under thirty-five. The silence and the intense focus on computer screens were a little freaky. Only two guys even glanced up at her, then quickly went back to their work. A room full of jeans and either black or white T-shirts. Where was the life and color? She subconsciously touched her burgundy blazer.
At the back wall, the receptionist knocked on a wooden door and waited. Someone yelled, “Give me a minute” from inside. The receptionist nodded at Jocelyn and walked away. What a cold work environment. Was it cutthroat too? Was this a room full of suspects? She knocked again and walked in. “Detective Larson. Sorry to interrupt, but I have a homicide to solve.”
The clutter in the tiny office was worse than the bland beige in the lobby. The whole building was an aesthetic nightmare.
“What homicide?” The manager popped up from behind his desk, eyes wide. Forty, with curly black hair and a narrow face.
Little white boxes covered the extra chair, and Jocelyn gestured at it. She needed to sit. Running through the rain had hurt her feet. “Tell me your name.”
“Larry Osterhaudt.” He spelled the name for her. “Who was killed?” He charged around the desk and scooped up the boxes from her chair.
“Zach Dimizaro. I understand he worked here.”
“Zach’s dead? Oh my god.” His surprise seemed genuine.
“When did you see him last?”
“Friday. He quit at the end of the day.”
“Did he say why?”
Anger flashed on the manager’s face. “No, but now I think he took a prototype with him.”
“What prototype?”
“A cell phone embedded with our newest encryption software. We’re beta testing it.”
“He stole it?”
“I can’t prove it, but he and the device both went away at the same time.” The manager rubbed his face. “But murdered?” He sat back down. “Shit. Zach was probably trying to sell it.”
“To who?”
“I don’t know. But after Snowden, everyone wants unbreakable encryption software right now.”
She needed names, details, people to question. “Who’s everyone?”
He let out a derisive laugh. “Every cell phone and tablet manufacturer that wants to protect its customers.”
There were no such companies in DC. But someone could have traveled here to buy the prototype. “Was Zach an encryption expert?”
“One of the best. I was lucky to hire him.” His mouth tightened into a grim line. “Or so I thought.”
“So, how effective is the software?”
A look of pride on Osterhaudt’s face now. “It’s unhackable as far as we know.”
Even by law enforcement agencies? She would ask Ross, not trusting the tech guy to be honest about his product.
The manager abruptly slammed his fist into his messy desk. “I can’t believe Zach stole the damn prototype. I mean, he wrote most of the code, and I’m sure he felt proprietary about it, but the software belonged to the company.”
A struggle that many creative people had to deal with. “Do you have any idea who might have contacted him about the software?”
He shook his head.
“I’d like to take the computer Zach was using.” She would search his emails, then turn it over to the cyber lab.
“Not a chance.”
“Don’t make me get a subpoena. It just wastes my time.”
A shrug. “We’ve already searched the hard drive, purged personal files, and put it back into commission. We didn’t know he’d been killed.”
Jocelyn held back a sigh. “I still need to see Zach’s emails.”
“We deleted those too.”
She bit back a curse.
What were they hiding?
“Where were you Sunday night between six and eight p.m.?”
“Whoa!” The manager held up his hands. “Don’t even go there. I did not kill Zach. We didn’t even realize the prototype was gone until late Monday afternoon.”
“So tell me where you were.”
“Right here working, until about six thirty. Then I had dinner with my wife at BJ’s Steakhouse.”
“Give me your wife’s name and phone number.” Jocelyn slipped her notepad out of her pocket. Nothing she’d heard until now had required it. When he’d provided his wife’s contact information, she asked, “When did Zach leave on Friday?”
“Around four, right after he told me he quit.”
She remembered the discoloration on the victim’s fingertips, but didn’t have the tox report, which could take weeks. “What happened to Zach’s hands? How did he get burned?”
Osterhaudt’s tension eased. “Those were old scars. Zach had some accident years ago in high school chemistry. We’re all nerds from way back.”
“I still want his emails. You can recover them, correct? I mean, you’re tech guys.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll be back with a warrant.” Jocelyn walked out, having wasted enough time. Now that she knew the victim’s name, she could get his phone and financial records. If someone had killed him for the encryption software, they had to have contacted him first. The technology aspects intimidated her, and her partner was even more of a Luddite. They would need to involve the FBI. On the way out, she called the department’s tech team to see if they’d had any luck, but no one picked up.
Damn.
She needed to know what was on the computer chip found in Zach Dimizaro’s mouth. Was it the unbreakable encryption software or something even more valuable?
C
HAPTER
14
Thursday, March 19, 6:15 p.m., Seattle, Washington
Driving in Seattle confused and frustrated Bailey even with the GPS. Her flight had been delayed, and now it was dark, making her topographical dysfunction even more challenging. At the moment, Bailey was ready to pull over and scream. City driving had almost ruined cars for her. And she loved cars! The speed and power thrilled her. As a teenager, she’d done a lot of crazy stunts in cars and was lucky to be alive. As an adult, she had few opportunities to experience the real joy vehicles once offered.
She spotted a Chinese restaurant and stopped for a quick stir-fry, then studied the map again while she ate. Dana Thorpe’s home was less than a mile away, which meant the hotel she’d reserved a room at was even closer. But it would have to wait. The investigation came first.
It took nearly half an hour, but she finally found the two-story home in the Queen Anne neighborhood. The three dark sedans on the street were conspicuous as hell. She supposed it didn’t matter—this wasn’t a stakeout—but still, it rankled. The agents in the house were expecting her, so she walked right up to the entrance and knocked. The door opened a crack, and a sliver of a face appeared.
“Agent Bailey. The AD sent me.”
“Right.” The agent stepped back and opened the door just enough to let her in. “Nelson is in the living room.”
Two more feds sat on the couch, each with a laptop. The woman stood and offered a hand. “Special Agent Nelson. I’m handling this kidnapping. This is Special Agent Thorpe. He’s in charge of the Seattle field office.”
Thorpe?
He stood, and she shook his hand too. “Any relation to Dana Thorpe, the victim?”
“She’s my ex-wife.”
That explained why the supervisor was out in the field. “Do you have any personal insight into this incident?”
Thorpe was built like a pro wrestler and had thick gray hair that didn’t match his still-unlined face. He shook his head. “We’ve been divorced for more than a decade. But Nelson and I are handling this kidnapping, so I’m not sure why you’re here.”
They had the room set up as a command center, as though they expected a ransom call. Bailey didn’t have to explain anything, but she wanted their cooperation. “You’re not going to hear from the kidnappers, because this isn’t about money.”
“We realize that,” Thorpe snapped. “But we can’t make any assumptions.”
“You should. I suspect they’ll force her to share her research, then kill her.” Before she could continue, a young man burst into the room.
“Kill her? No!” He turned his back on the other agents. “You can’t let them do that,” he said to Bailey. “You have to get out there and
find
her. Not just sit here like these guys!” He gestured over his shoulder at the other agents.
Even contorted with passion, his face was compelling. Bright blue eyes, with delineated cheekbones and jawline. He wasn’t gorgeous, but still, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I intend to find her. Who are you?”
“Garrett Thorpe, Dana’s son.” He glanced at Agent Thorpe and quickly looked away.
How old was he? Twenty-five? “You were with her when she was abducted?”
“Yes. I tried to follow and get a license plate, but I was on foot.” He had a deep, pleasant voice and full lips.
Agent Thorpe stepped over, and she could see the facial resemblance. “We have his statement.” He turned to his son. “Please stay out of this and let us do our job.”
Pompous ass.
Bailey moved toward Garrett and touched his elbow. “Let’s go in the kitchen and talk.” She needed as much intel as she could get from him, and Garrett was clearly intimidated by his father.
The son turned and led the way, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he went. She watched his body with enjoyment. He wasn’t as bulky as his father, but he was taller than her and athletic, with a sexy flat stomach. Her attraction surprised her. Her sexuality tended to be responsive, rather than overt, so since she’d quit dating, she hadn’t given much thought to hooking up. Bailey pushed the distracting thoughts out of her head. He was a witness, only someone to collect information from . . . unless he’d conspired with the kidnappers.
In the kitchen, he asked, “Would you like some coffee? Or something?”
“Sure.” It would give her another minute to observe him.
His movements were an odd mix—his upper body and arms fluid and confident, while his left leg hesitated. He had an injury. But not just a physical one. His eyes held emotional pain. Everyone had insecurities, and she could usually pick up on them right away. His were likely connected to his parents. Angry with his father and some kind of guilt connected to his mother.
“Do you live here with your mom?”
“Yes. But only for now.” A little defensive.
“Why now?”
He turned to face her. “I was in an accident and couldn’t work while I was recovering. It was convenient to move back here.” A little shrug. “My mother insisted. She likes having me here, because I help her out too.” Anguish flooded his face. “Listen, I love my mother more than life itself. And I owe her everything. You have to find her.”
Such passion.
She’d never felt that intensely about anyone. Even her father, whom she loved despite his coldness. What would it be like to experience that? Joyful at times, but painful too. Was it worth it? She would never know. “Tell me about that night. Every detail could be important.”
Garrett poured two cups of coffee and sat down. “I was backstage, waiting for her. Public speaking makes Mom nervous and she likes me to be there before and after.”
So his mother was dependent on him, not the other way around. That gave Bailey a surprising sense of relief.
Garrett continued. “I heard the door start to open, but she didn’t come in. Then I heard a bunch of footsteps walking quickly away, and I knew something was wrong.”
The abductors had waited somewhere in the back of the theater. “Did you get a look at either of them?”
Garrett nodded. “After I followed them outside and they got in the car, I saw the man in the backseat. He was older, maybe fifty or so, with a wide, squarish face and flat nose. Like he might be part Alaskan Indian.”
Clearly not either of the tech CEOs she’d questioned. But the megalomaniac who’d plotted the kidnappings obviously hadn’t acted alone. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“I think so.” Garrett reached over and grabbed her hand. “I’ll look at all the mug shots you want. Whatever I can do.”
His touch startled her, and she stared at the physical connection, liking it. “Go into your dad’s field office. They’ll set you up to do that.” She handed him her card. “Report to me if you find him.”
“I will.”
Bailey studied his face, looking for signs of deceptiveness, and found none. Weakness, yes. He was emotional and eager to please. “Did anything unusual happen in your mother’s life in the last week?”
He hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about that since the other agent asked me. She was in a strange mood last Thursday and asked me, hypothetically, if I would be okay here on my own if she took a job somewhere else for a while.” Garrett gave a shy smile. “I said I’d be fine, of course. She tells herself I’m dependent on her, but I think she needs me more.”
She could understand why. This young man was likable. “Did you ask her about the job? Do you think she was considering a position somewhere?” That would fit with her theory that Milton Thurgood, the Australian scientist, had been recruited and sworn to silence.
“All she said was that sometimes she wondered if she should work for a corporation instead of the university and finally make some real money.”
“No mention of a business name or location?”
“Just Silicon Valley.”
It didn’t fit her theory that they were keeping the scientists here in Washington State. But she’d learned that Celltronics had tried to recruit Nick Bowman. Maybe its CEO had offered Dana Thorpe a job too. But their research was in demand, so maybe they’d both received multiple job offers. Then the megalomaniac had simply taken a shortcut and kidnapped them. Bailey stood, pulling her eyes away from Garrett’s. “I’d like to look around, then glance through your mother’s email.”
Garrett’s jaw tightened. “My father has her computer. He’s been snooping in everything.”
Was Dana Thorpe’s connection to an FBI agent relevant? Bailey didn’t think so, but she had to consider everything. “Show me Dana’s office.”
“Sure.” Garrett led her upstairs.
Bailey didn’t intend to spend much time here. The agents on the scene had scoured everything and filed their report with her boss, as ordered. They were waiting for a ransom or demand call because they didn’t know what else to do. The unsub wouldn’t make any demands of the family, because he already had what he wanted. It was up to her to find the research lab where he was keeping the scientists and hoping for a breakthrough. She had a long night ahead, searching online for businesses in the area. This case kept expanding and jumping around geographically, so she hadn’t kept up with the background work needed. She hated to ask for help, but it was time to get a data person involved. She’d make the call before she left this house.
She and Garrett entered a cluttered room with a high sloped ceiling. How did anyone work in this mess? Photos on the wall caught her eye. Bailey stepped toward them. Dana Thorpe was featured in most, often receiving some kind of award. She was small, dark haired, and pretty, looking younger than her forty-five years.
A search of the papers on the desk produced nothing but personal bills and news articles. There was nothing of interest in the drawers either. Garrett stood in the doorway behind her, watching. Normally, that would have bothered her and she would have asked the resident to leave her alone to work, but she didn’t mind his attention. After twenty minutes, she gave up the search. She would get Dana’s laptop from Agent Thorpe and take it with her. She needed to get away from the other FBI people, and Garrett, to focus on her tasks.
“I’m done here.” Bailey turned toward the door, but he didn’t move out of her way.
“You’re smarter than they are,” he said. “I can tell. And I want to know what’s going on. Who has my mother and why did they take her?”
“It’s only a theory and I can’t share it yet.”
He still didn’t move.
Bailey stepped closer, wanting to inhale his scent. “Step out of my way and let me do my job.”
He locked eyes with her. “Keep me informed, please. And let me help if I can.”
“I will.” She pulled in a long breath. He smelled like a cyclist, with hints of sweat, rain, and nylon fabric. Oddly intoxicating.
Garrett finally moved and she brushed by, her arm making contact with his chest. A jolt of pleasure. Bailey suppressed a smile. It had been a long time.
Downstairs, she approached Agent Thorpe, who was still on the couch. “I need Dana’s laptop.”
“I’m not finished with it.” The man glanced up briefly, then went back to staring at the computer in his lap.
“I have seniority in this investigation. I thought you understood that.”
Agent Nelson came in from the kitchen. A thin older woman with deep lines around her eyes. She turned to Bailey. “What’s your working theory?”
“The unsub needs Dana Thorpe to accelerate her research. If she cooperates, she might live long enough for me to find her.”
“You don’t think he’ll contact the family?”
“No.” Bailey grabbed the laptop from Thorpe and slipped it into the shoulder bag she always wore strapped across her chest. She disliked the special agent because he intimidated his son, so she kept her eyes on Nelson. “Please keep me informed of any developments. You have my number.” Bailey headed out.
On the street, she turned left and walked half a block, not seeing her rental car, then realized her mistake.
Oh hell.
Wrong direction. She turned and heard footsteps. Someone was running at her from a dark vehicle parked on the street. Bailey reached for her weapon, but strong hands grabbed her arms from behind.