“Probably not. He could use a generic administrative account. If he did, there’s no way to prove who logged in.”
If Brad could fake her identity for the card reader, could he fake her network credentials, too
?
He’d done a good job framing her, but there had to be something more, something that linked to him. She had to prove she’d been somewhere else at least one of those nights. The blank security tapes were useless. She’d have to find another way.
Stan tapped her shoulder. “He’s pointed this right at you. No one else could do it. We both know that, but if Sarah sees those records, there’ll be no changing her mind.”
Stan scratched his chin and stared toward the city skyline. He absently unplugged the equipment, organized the cart and returned it to the closet.
Eric
a watched helplessly.
“Not exactly what I was hoping for,” he said. “But it could’ve been worse. We could have told Herman. At least now we’ve got some time.”
The words were a huge relief.
She had to prove she wasn’t the one in the computer room and she had to do it quietly. Once Brad knew she was trying to discredit him, he’d bring Herman and Sarah to Marty’s office, all three proclaiming her guilt in unison. She needed some way to prove she’d been at home one of those nights. She wished she’d slowed down more often. The last year was a blur. She wished she’d kept her eyes open.
They agreed to strategize overnight and get back together in the morning. They split up at the elevator. Stan went home hours later than usual.
Eric
a detoured up to twenty-two to return an armload of blank video tapes.
Flabbergasted at the sight before him, Brad stopped short and held back a gasp. He ducked into the corner cubicle so silently she didn’t notice. Years of skulking around these halls at night had taught him to move with stealth and tonight the habit paid dividends. He crouched low, leaned a single eye into the hall and watched her lower the security tapes into the drawer. If she was putting them back, she knew they’d been erased. He’d tell Marty the erasure was thorough security practice and he’d believe it, but she knew better. She’d finally figured it out. Time for her to go.
She didn’t stop with the tapes. She went methodically drawer to drawer, skimming files and browsing through stacks of CDs. She knew what she was looking for. She pulled books off the shelf, fanned the pages and put them back exactly as they’d been. When she’d finished every unlocked drawer and shelf, she came to where he’d expected her to search first: his locked desk. She checked behind pictures, under his keyboard, and under the phone, carefully putting everything back where she found it. Finally she lifted the paperclip tray and found the spare key.
She opened each drawer and searched more thoroughly here.
He glared as she picked up a CD and inserted it into his computer; only a blank to her, but so much more valuable with her prints on it. She rifled dozens of personnel files, stopping on one in particular, probably her own. She tried all the CDs in the side drawer before giving up. She knew it was a program making the changes and she knew he was the one running it. If she’d read the security log, she knew he’d set her up and she’d be steamed.
When she flicked off the light, he crawled under the desktop and sat motionless, holding his breath as she passed on the other side of the cubicles. Her sneakers barely made a sound on the carpet. She exhaled loudly, frustrated he’d hidden his work so well. She had no idea he was listening from the floor. Papers rustled in her office. Zippers jingled on her bag. She called a cab and rustled around her desk a bit longer. The lobby door opened and closed behind her a few minutes later.
Cautiously, he slipped outside the cubicle, keeping his head low as he slinked around to her darkened office. He hit redial and told the dispatcher he was Gregg Turner, the boyfriend of the woman who’d just called. He’d take her home, so she wouldn’t need a cab. The man on the other end recognized her name and cancelled the cab for 155
Franklin
.
In his own office, the brown paper backing peeled off a landscape of Portland Head Light to reveal the CD she’d been looking for. Quickly into the computer, he copied the contents onto the CD
Eric
a had handled without getting his own prints on it.
As the computer transferred the files, Brad picked up the phone.
“Hello,” a gruff voice answered.
“I need your help.”
“Why are you calling me this late
?
It doesn’t look good.”
“She rifled my desk. She knows what she’s looking for.”
“Did she find anything
?
” Herman asked.
“No. But I got her prints. I’m making the CD now.”
The line went quiet. “Good. Follow her out and take care of her. Tomorrow we go to Marty.”
“I’m not
taking care
of anyone. That’s your job.”
“You’ve got to earn your money somehow.”
“I’ve earned my share a dozen times.”
“The girl is your problem. I can take her side or yours. Doesn’t matter to me. You want my help with Marty, get rid of her.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You’ve carried that forty-five long enough. Time you fired it.”
Brad remembered his practice with the bucket.
Eric
a wouldn’t let him get that close and she wouldn’t stay still while he lined her up. Herman had professionals for this. Brad had never imagined shooting anyone except Herman.
“She’s as much your problem as mine. Send one of your goons.”
“You’ve got twelve hours. Make her disappear or I’ll be in the office bright and early with another big white envelope.”
“Do it and the forty-five will be pointed at you.”
“She’ll be easier, trust me. Take her out and I’ll hold on to the envelope. Your call.”
The line clicked dead.
Brad stared at the receiver until the CD drive popped open. She was stranded out front. She might be the practice he needed to get ready for Herman. She might also be the fastest route to prison. He pulled the .45 from his briefcase, grabbed the CD and ran out the door.
Eric
a was jittery being in the building after searching Brad’s office. She talked to the security guard for ten minutes, watching the street for the familiar brown and white Boston Cab she’d called. When she ran out of small talk, she waved goodnight and headed outside into the warm spring air. She told herself no one knew what she did upstairs and that the cabbie had to be parked outside.
The cab wasn’t on
Franklin
or Pearl. It wasn’t like them to blow off an arranged fare. She stood on the dark sidewalk feeling like a target, a woman alone in the city at night, especially after what she’d found. Her driver probably got caught up with his last fare. He’d be along, but she’d feel safer getting away from the building. In three blocks she could mix in with the crowd around Faneuil Hall and jump one of the cabs that ferried tourists from place to place. She felt bad ditching her ride so she waited a bit longer.
She scanned the dark, empty sidewalks and blackened buildings. Rowdy voices cheered a few blocks over. A car coasted down the next block, disappearing from sight. She gripped her cell phone and started walking. The financial district around her was a mass of shadows punctured here and there by dim street lights. Weary cleaning crews were finishing their second or third buildings and sleepy security guards were settling in for an uneventful night. There was no one to tell
Eric
a why the evidence she’d found pointed to her rather than Brad; why doing the right thing now meant implicating herself. Was Brad smart enough to know she’d be the one to catch on
?
Did he think anyone would believe she was a thief
?
Her reputation should make that decision clear cut.
Something heavy shifted on the concrete behind her. She flashed around, but the movement stopped. The look toward the dark corner was quick, almost frantic, but she’d seen something; an arm disappearing behind the column maybe. She turned toward the glass doors, now sixty yards away. Before she could take one step, something emerged from the darkness. A large figure, a man, moved through the shadows between her and the entrance. He circled a granite lined flowerbed. His face was in shadow, but his movements were familiar. He stopped between
Eric
a and the doors, blocking her retreat to the security guard inside. He lurked silently in the gloom behind a column, waiting.
Adrenaline coursed through her, ever limb ready to flee.
She spun around, her feet tangling together as she abruptly broke into a walk toward the corner. Her pants allowed long quick strides and her sneakers made barely a sound on the sidewalk. At the corner, she scanned the street for help, casually, as if looking for traffic at this late hour. Nothing moved except the dark figure she glimpsed, leaving the column and approaching from behind. He stayed in the shadows against the building, avoided the lights at the corner and ducked behind a lonely car. She crossed toward the park and cut around a row of bushes that disguised the exit ramp from the garage buried below ground. If he followed her into the park, she’d race him three blocks to Faneuil Hall. She’d have a small head start and she ran every day.
She strode as fast as she could without breaking into a trot.
Her heart thumped in her chest and her feet yearned to run as she listened for the man behind her. A car door slammed two blocks away. Nothing moved nearby, there were no voices to run to, or from. She slipped her bag off her shoulder, clutching it in her hand as her feet touched the grass. Surrounded by shadowy hiding places, the attacker could be herding her toward a dark building or a parked car and a waiting accomplice.
She stopped.
She remembered the walk, Brad’s walk. It was him behind her somewhere and he knew what she’d been doing in the office tonight. All the things going wrong around her had him in common. The break-in, her name on the access records, the erased tapes, the disappearing notes. Brad had everything to lose and he was protecting himself by blaming her. If she disappeared, he’d have a convenient scapegoat. He could even take credit for solving the theft.
She looked over her shoulder to see how close he was, but he wasn’t there. She spun all the way around in the gloom, but he was gone. There was no time to wonder where. He was lurking nearby, sneaking ever closer.
Sprinting past her favorite bench, she jumped into the garden. Through rows of dormant bushes, up on top of a four foot cement wall, she jumped. She fell through the air, legs extended beneath her, both hands on her bag. The drop was farther than expected. She landed feet-first. Her knees buckled, toppling her forward down the ramp, leaving her sprawled on the concrete, looking down at empty parking spaces. She hopped up and in one step regained her balance and turned her energy loose, accelerating into a full run into the one place she knew Brad wasn’t hiding, the dark garage.
The heavy bag flopped against her hip as she darted down the ramp. Her strides lengthened as she crossed the empty floor and raced down another ramp to the level below. Halfway down, she froze and stood still against the cold concrete wall. She stifled her breath down to soft shallow puffs of air. Her heart pounded and her lungs ached for more oxygen. Click. Scratch. Click. Scratch. Footsteps approached from above.
Eric
a shifted her feet and eased down the ramp. The stairs were on the opposite end of the garage.