The Poet (49 page)

“Maybe, maybe not. We’re playing a hunch. This is not a cheap piece of equipment. You buy it in a kit with the downloading and editing software and the serial cable to connect it to your computer, the leather case and flash and all the extras, you’re getting up well over a grand. Probably fifteen hundred. But …”

He raised his finger to make the point.

“What if you already have all the extras and all you want is the camera? No cable. No software. None of that stuff. What if you just shelled out six grand for bail and a lawyer and you’re hurting for cash and not only don’t need all those extras but can’t afford them?”

“You special order just a camera and save a lot of money.”

“That’s right. That’s my hunch. I think that if making bail came close to busting our friend Gladden just like that shyster lawyer said it did, then he’d be looking to save a dollar here and there. If he replaced the camera, I’m betting he made the special order.”

He was juiced and it was contagious. I had caught his excitement and was beginning to look at Thorson in perhaps a truer light. I knew these were the moments he lived for. Moments of understanding and clarity. Of knowing he was close.

“McEvoy, we are on a roll,” he suddenly said. “I think you might be good luck after all. Just make it good enough that we’re not too late.”

I nodded my agreement.

We drove for a few minutes in silence before I questioned him again.

“How do you know so much about digital cameras?”

“It’s come up before and it’s becoming more prevalent. At Quantico we have a unit now that does nothing but computer crime. Internet crime. A lot of what they do bleeds over into pornography, child crimes. They put out bureau-wide briefings to keep people current. I try to keep current.”

I nodded.

“There was this old lady-a schoolteacher, no less-up near Cornell in New York checks the download file in her home computer one day and sees a new entry she doesn’t recognize. She prints it out and what she gets is a murky black-and-white but clearly identifiable picture of a boy of about ten copping some old guy’s joint. She calls the locals and they figure out it got into her computer by mistake. Her Internet address is just a number and they figure the sender transposed a couple digits or something. Anyway, the routing history of the file is right there and they trace it back to some gimp, a pedophile with a nice long record. Out here in fact, he was from L.A. Anyway, they do the search-and-bust and take him down pretty neat. The first digital bust. The guy had something like five hundred different photos in his computer. Christ, he needed a double hard drive. I’m talking about kids of every age, persuasion, doing things normal grownups don’t even do … Anyway, good case. He got life, no parole. He had a digiShot, though that might’ve been a 100 model. They put the story out last year in the FBI Bulletin.”

“How come the picture the teacher got was so murky?”

“She didn’t have the printer for it. You know, you need a nice color-graphics printer and high-gloss paper. She had neither.”

The first two stops were dead ends. One store hadn’t sold a digiShot in two weeks and the other had sold two in the last week. However, those two cameras had gone to a well-known Los Angeles artist whose collage portraits made of Polaroid photos were celebrated and displayed in museums around the world. He now wanted to dabble in a newer photographic medium and was going digital. Thorson didn’t even bother writing down notes for further follow-up.

The last stop on our list was a street-front shop called Data Imaging Answers on Pico, two blocks from the Westwood Pavilion shopping center. After pulling to the curb in a no-parking zone out front, Thorson smiled and said, “This is it. This is the one.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Walk-in store on a busy street. The other two were more like mail-order offices, not storefronts. Gladden would have wanted the storefront. More visual stimulation. People passing outside, people coming in and out, more distractions. It would be better for him. He doesn’t want to be remembered.”

It was a small store with two desks in the showroom and several unopened boxes stacked about. There were two circular counters with computer terminals and video equipment on display along with stacks of computer equipment catalogs. A balding man wearing thick glasses with black frames was sitting at one of the desks and looked up as we entered. There was no one at the other desk and it looked unused.

“Are you the manager?” Thorson inquired.

“Not only that, I’m the owner.” The man stood up with proprietary pride and smiled as we approached his desk. “Not only that, I am the number one employee.”

When we didn’t join in his guffaw he asked what he could do for us.

Thorson showed him the inside of his badge wallet.

“FBI?”

It seemed incomprehensible to him.

“Yes. You sell the digiShot 200, correct?”

“Yes, we do. Top-of-the-line digital camera. But I’m out of stock at the moment. Sold my last one last week.”

I felt my guts seize. We were too late.

“I can have one in three or four days. In fact, seein’ that it’s the FBI I might get them to ship two-day. No charge extra, of course.”

He smiled and nodded but his eyes had a quizzical look behind the thick glasses. He was nervous dealing with the FBI, especially not knowing what it was all about.

“And your name is?”

“Olin Coombs. I’m the owner.”

“Yes, you said that. Okay, Mr. Coombs, I’m not interested in buying anything. Do you have the name of the person who bought your last digiShot?”

“Uh …” He creased his brow, probably wondering if he should ask if it was legal for the FBI to ask for such information. “Of course I keep records. I can get that for you.”

Coombs sat down and opened a drawer in his desk. He looked through a hanging file until he found what he was looking for, pulled out a sheet of paper and laid it flat on the desk. He then turned it around so Thorson didn’t have to read it upside down. Thorson leaned over, studied the document and I saw his head make a slight turn to the right and then back. Looking at the receipt, it looked to me as if numerous pieces of equipment had been purchased along with the digiShot camera.

“This isn’t what I’m looking for,” Thorson said. “I’m looking for a man that we believe wanted to purchase a digiShot camera only. This is the only one you’ve sold in the last week?”

“Yes-uh, no. It’s the only one with delivery. We’ve sold two others but they had to be ordered.”

“And they haven’t been delivered yet?”

“No. Tomorrow. I’m expecting a truck in the morning.”

“Either of those two just order the camera?”

“The camera?”

“You know, none of the other stuff. The software, the cable, the whole kit.”

“Oh, yes. Uh, as a matter of fact, there is …”

His words trailed off as he opened the drawer again and pulled out a clipboard with several pink forms on it. He started peeling them back and reading.

“I have a Mr. Childs. Just wanted the camera, nothing else. Paid cash in advance. Nine ninety-five plus California sales tax. Came to-“

“Did he leave a number or address?”

I stopped breathing. We had him. This had to be Gladden. The irony of the name he had given was not lost on me. I felt a chill roll across my back.

“No, no number or address,” Coombs said. “I wrote a note to myself. It says Mr. Wilton Childs will call to check on the equipment’s arrival. I told him to call tomorrow.”

“Then he’ll come pick it up?”

“Yes, if it’s here by then he’ll come pick it up. Like I said, we don’t have an address so we can’t deliver it.”

“Do you remember what he looked like, Mr. Coombs?”

“Looked like? Uh, well, yes I suppose so.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He was a white fellow, I remember that. He …”

“Blond hair?”

“Uh, no. It was dark. And he was growing a beard, I remember that.”

“How old?”

“About twenty-five or perhaps thirty.”

That was good enough for Thorson. It was in the ballpark and the rest of the information fit. He pointed at the empty desk.

“Anybody using that desk?”

“Not at the moment. Business is not so good.”

“Then is it all right if we do?”

39

There was a discernible electric buzz in the air as everyone gathered around a table in the conference room with the million-dollar view. After being brought up to speed by a phone call from Thorson, Backus had decided to move his operation command post from the Wilcox Hotel to the FBI offices in Westwood. We gathered on the seventeenth floor of the federal building in a conference room with a panoramic view of the city. I could see Catalina Island floating out in a golden ocean reflecting the spectacular burnt-orange-and-red start of another sunset.

It was four-thirty Pacific time and the meeting had been scheduled late to give Rachel as much time as possible to obtain and execute a search warrant for records of Gladden’s bank account in Jacksonville.

In the conference room, Backus was joined by Thorson, Carter, Thompson, six agents I hadn’t been introduced to but who I assumed were locals, and me. Quantico and all the field offices involved in the investigation were also on the conference line. And even these unseen people seemed excited. Brass Doran kept saying over the speaker, “Are we ready to start yet?”

Finally, Backus, sitting at the center of the table, closest to the speakerphone, called everyone to order. Behind him, on an easel, was a crude top-view diagram of the Data Imaging Answers store and the block of Pico Boulevard where it was located.

“Okay, people, things are happening,” he said. “This is what we worked for. So let’s talk about it and then let’s do it and let’s do it right.”

He stood up. Maybe the moment was getting to him as well.

“We have a priority one lead we’re working and we want to hear from Rachel and Brass. First, though, I’m going to have Gordon give the rundown on what we’ve got set up for tomorrow.”

As Thorson told the captive audience about our day’s work and discoveries, my mind wandered. I thought of Rachel somewhere in Jacksonville, twenty-five hundred miles from her investigation and listening to a man she didn’t like and probably even despised talk about the major break he had made. I wanted to talk to her and try in some way to console her, but not with twenty-five people listening. I wanted to ask Backus where she was so I could call afterward but knew I couldn’t do that, either. Then I remembered the pager. I would do that later.

“We are shifting our critical incident team off Thomas,” Thorson said. “The LAPD surveillance team is doubling up and will stay with Thomas. We are redirecting our people to be used in a twofold plan to facilitate the arrest of this offender. First off, we now have caller ID on the phones at Data Imaging. We will have a mobile receiver and LED read-out to monitor incoming calls on both lines and the field office is providing all available hands for response teams. We’re going to trace this subject’s call when he checks in to see if his product is in and try to hold him at the phone until our people can get there. If they do, standard felony arrest procedures will follow. Any questions so far?”

“Air support?” an agent asked.

“We’re working on it. I’m told we can count on one bird but we are going for two. All right then, step two is if we are unable to effect capture of the subject through caller ID. At Digital Imaging Answers-let’s call it DIA for short-I’ll be inside with Coombs, the owner. If we get the call from this guy, he will be told that the camera he ordered is ready for pickup. We’ll try to press for a pickup time but not too hard, just keeping it natural.

“If the subject slips through the first net, the plan is to set up on him once he comes to the store. The store’s been wired-sound and video. If he comes in, I’ll just give him his camera and send him on his way, another satisfied customer. The felony arrest will take place at the time Don Sample, he’s our critical team leader, thinks is appropriate and gives the word. Obviously, that will be the first controlled setting our man takes us to. We hope that will be his car. But you all know the procedures for other contingencies. Questions?”

“Why not prone his ass right there in the store?”

“We feel we need Coombs to be there so as not to spook the subject. He bought the camera from Coombs, Coombs should be there. I don’t want to try to take this guy down that close to a civilian. Also, it’s a small store and we may be pressing it having even one agent in there. You put more in and it’s going to look suspicious to this guy. So why don’t we just give him the camera and take him down out there on the street, where we can control things a little better?”

With Thorson, Backus and Sample handing off to each other, they outlined the plan in more detail. Coombs would be in the store with Thorson to handle the daily business and real customers throughout the day. But when the outside surveillance teams reported the approach of any customer even remotely matching Gladden’s description, Thorson would remain up front to handle the transaction while Coombs excused himself, retreated to a small rear storage room and locked himself in. Another agent, posing as a customer, would enter through the front door as backup after Gladden entered. The interior of the store would be monitored by a video setup. The exterior would be monitored by roving and stationary agents ready to deal with all contingencies once Gladden was identified. Additionally, a female agent in a Los Angeles parking enforcement uniform and car would continuously patrol the block where DIA was located.