Top Secret Corpse

by Andria Stone

  “So, they shut off his system, killed him, then took something? Do you have any idea what?

  “His computer’s missing.” Fuentes waggled a finger in the air. “What’s more important right now, though, is why he was hauled down here and dumped in your pool.”

  “Because: We. Weren’t. Here,” Jack stressed. “Somebody knew we were gone, so the body wouldn’t be found for days, giving the killer plenty of time to get away.” If Jack could see Ogden’s killer had purposely chosen to involve him, why couldn’t they?

  “We want your security footage,” Irwin said, breaking his silence. His arrogant attitude hadn’t changed. It grated on Jack’s nerves.

  “It’s stored in the Cloud. I’ll call AAS. Have them send the last four days to your office.”

  “Did you know you have the same security company as Ogden?” Irwin gave Jack a deadpan stare.

  “No. How would I?” Jack tamped down his growing exasperation. “We kept the same company the previous homeowners had because they recommended it. Besides, must be lots of homes in the subdivision using Atlantic Alarm Security.”

  “Ninety-four,” said Fuentes.

  Irwin stalked back to their unmarked, white Crown Vic with a sour expression plastered on his face.

  “He’s not going to let up, is he?” Jack asked.

  Fuentes rolled his eyes.

  “What’s his problem?”

  “We ran a background check on everyone in the neighborhood, including you.”

  Jack spread his hands wide in a questioning gesture.

  “Your military service is impressive.”

  Jack shrugged it off. “I was at the right place at the right time.”

  “So you say.” Fuentes smiled. “Irwin turned fifty shades of green. He’s envious.” Fuentes shook Jack’s hand. “If we uncover anything else which impacts you, I’ll call. Thanks for your time, Mr. Bennett.” Fuentes got behind the wheel, made a U-turn, and drove away.

  When Jack went back inside, he caught Alana closing the front window.

  “Were you eavesdropping?” he asked with mock alarm.

  “No, just dusting the windowsill.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “That little twit doesn’t like you.” On the pageant circuit, Alana had dealt with many twits, which contributed to her expert opinion.

  “If we’re lucky, he won’t be back.”

  She followed Jack into his office, settling in his prized recliner while they discussed the new information. With a hint of trepidation, she asked, “Do you think the killer lives here?”

  “No,” he said, solely to ease her mind. “I think Ogden had an enemy who caught up with him. They put him in our pool because it looked like we were away. Period.”

  “Should we talk with the neighbors? They might’ve remembered something they didn’t share with the authorities.”

  “Good idea, babe. See if you can get a meeting together for tomorrow.”

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek and disappeared.

  Jack had promised to have Atlantic Alarm Security send over the footage. He omitted, though, being able to access it from his computer. Jack wanted to see what it showed before sending it to the authorities. He queued up the date they’d left for the cruise and chose the camera nearest the deep end of the pool. With his finger on fast forward, Jack sped through the recording until around 2 a.m. He scanned the footage for several hours every day they were gone.

  Nothing. No nefarious killer dumping poor Mr. Ogden in the Bennett’s pool.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  He started over, repeating the process at a slower speed, carefully analyzing every evening from dark to daylight. On day two of their vacation—quite by accident—something unexpected caught his eye. The timecodes jumped. Three minutes and forty-six seconds were missing.

  WTF? Jack checked again. No matter how many times he watched, the chunk of time had irrevocably disappeared. Shit. If he sent this to the police, they would undoubtedly notice the missing time—just the excuse Irwin wanted to implicate Jack in Ogden’s murder.

  No chance in hell.

  Jack knew his way around computers, better than most, but he needed the best. A pro. He needed Bagdad Brad—a fellow Marine who happened to be the best hacker Jack knew. Using an encrypted email service, Jack left a coded message asking for help.

  Brad responded within the hour. With a few more emails, Brad had the specifics to access the Cloud. His 8-core 4GHz system could handle Cloud pen-testing and cryptography among a multitude of other tasks. Brad’s one-man company, E-Paladin, delved into computer forensics, vulnerability assessments, plus mitigations for the general public. In other words, Brad was a white hat hacker—well, gray hat, really. He thwarted the bad guys, but as a favor to his old squad buddies, he could always be relied on to pull their butts out of the fire.

  With a great sense of relief, Jack got back to work. He stayed with it through lunch, took a quick break for dinner then returned to his office to make up for time lost. At nine-thirty, he felt good about calling it a day. After a couple martinis, he snuck up behind Alana in the kitchen, picked her up, and carried his giggling wife to bed.

  Chapter 4 – Manipulation

  Jack sat straight up in bed at 4:35 a.m. His dream had been about the cell phone call he’d received just before he’d found the body in the pool.

  “Better hide it quick.”

  The killer had been watching him.

  But how? Who?

  The security company—that’s who.

  And then there was the security video.

  When he’d discovered missing time in the Cloud video, Jack assumed it had been hacked. Not anymore. Now he felt sure it must be someone on the inside of the security company. The same person could have switched off Ogden’s system, killed him, dumped the body in Jack’s pool, and deleted the evidence from Jack’s security footage.

  Holy hell. He snuck out of bed, careful not to wake Alana, and hurried to his office. Jack’s anger escalated when he realized they’d been watching not only him, but his family. Jack could take care of himself, but his family was entirely off limits.

  The person behind Ogden’s murder had chosen to involve Jack. The call had been a taunt—provoking him into doing something that would prove Jack had tried to cover up the crime. Taunt. Provoke. Manipulate. The killer was playing games with Jack.

  He did a net search for the company. Alfred Patterson owned AAS. The picture on his website showed a grandfatherly man with a friendly smile and white hair. However, a further deep search brought up an obituary—with accompanying photo—which declared the same Patterson had died two years ago. So, who owned or ran the company now?

  Within seconds he’d used the encrypted email service to message Brad with the new information, then went to make coffee.

  Alana moseyed into the kitchen wearing a pink bathrobe. “Why are you up at this hour?”

  “Had a dream about the robots. Needed to make an adjustment right away.” He didn’t want to worry her. Jack had been honest with Alana about his past transgressions—except for the gory details of war, a few adolescent mishaps, a couple of skirmishes in college, and maybe one or two others, whatever. Nothing remotely serious enough to warrant implication in a murder.

  “Are you hungry?” Jack waved a spatula at her. “I’ll make breakfast.”

  She grabbed the spatula. “I’ll cook. You make a mess.”

  He sat at the island drinking coffee. “Did you have any success with the neighbors yesterday?”

  “Oh, yes. The murder’s a hot topic. Everyone wants to get together, but there’s a catch. We’re meeting at the Reynold’s across the street tonight. Since Evelyn’s knee surgery, she’s still using a walker. She isn’t comfortable leaving their house.”

  “Great. Even better.” Jack grinned. Normal people might just think the recent events were a coincidence. Not Jack. War had taught him there were no coincidences. Situational awareness, what you can’t see—can kill you, cause and effect: thos
e were the things he believed in. He also suspected the authorities had a lot more information than they were sharing.

  The Reynold’s had a different security company—which meant AAS couldn’t monitor the proceedings. He wanted to hear what other people had seen or heard. After the meeting, he would give some thought to sending Alana and the kids away for a while. No telling what the killer might do next.

  An hour later, Brad messaged him the Cloud video had been restored to include the missing three minutes and forty-six seconds. Jack eagerly scrutinized the new footage, frame by frame. It showed a ninja-looking figure in black garb heaving a limp body over the back fence, hefting it into a Fireman’s Carry to the pool, then slipping it into the water. The ninja checked his watch, looked up at both outside security cameras, retraced his steps over the fence. His face had been camouflaged with flat black paint, leaving no distinctive features visible. Jack replayed the piece, making special note of the agile ninja’s strength. Yet, when compared to the fence, his less than average height.

  If the ninja didn’t work for AAS, he’d been hired by someone who did. They’d accessed records, including its servers, and exhibited skill at hacking Cloud files—not a small feat. Jack suddenly wondered if Ogden’s death could be related to Patterson’s, but backed away from that thought because of the two-year time span. Without additional information, it made no sense.

  As promised, Jack sent the security footage to Detective Fuentes, then drove the kids to their cousins’ house for the day to keep them out of the pool. He returned to focus on robots until the Sparkle Kleen guy arrived.

  Jack hadn’t been able to shrug off the creepy feeling from this morning since learning he’d been manipulated. He wandered out to the garage, lifted weights for a while, worked up a sweat on the speed bag. Afterward, he went right back to work. With the endorphins racing through his system, his mood got an energy boost for several hours. While he worked in his office, Alana brought the kids home for dinner.

  Before the meeting with the neighbors, Jack suggested a sitter, although they were only going across the street. “Alana, why don’t you call the pretty teenager who lives down the block—the one Randy swoons over every time he sees her.”

  Once all three kids were settled in front of the flat screen with a big bowl of popcorn, Jack and Alana went to join the neighbors for what he hoped would be a very informative meeting.

  The murder brought everyone out, even a few people Jack had seen around but not formally met. Strangely, they all seemed to know him, though. He winced at the thought Ricky’s mischief might be the reason. When everyone had settled down, Jack started the meeting off by explaining what had transpired from the moment he’d discovered the body.

  The sitter’s father, Dr. Steve Barclay, said, “I had an emergency C-section for twins. Got home at two the morning he died. I noticed a few lights on inside—which was unusual for Mr. Ogden.”

  Wes Zumwalt, who owned a couple of pancake restaurants, added, “I noticed a strange car parked around the corner the day before. Not a new one. Kind of a non-descript dusty blue with Maryland plates. That’s probably why I remembered it. I’m from Maryland. I always notice those plates.”

  Melinda Green, a heavyset widow in her seventies and Ogden’s next-door neighbor, said, “He seemed nice, but wasn’t given to a lot of small talk. He did mention a while back he enjoyed eating downtown at a place called Chop Suey Louie’s because it reminded him of a place back home. I think it was the most personal information he ever shared.”

  Yes, they were all mortified a person had been murdered in their neighborhood; however, no one else offered anything of value. Three small clues—not a lot to go on, but more than he had before the meeting. Jack and Alana strolled back to their house. In the darkening twilight, he walked Becca Barclay home, directly across from Ogden’s house. Jack tried to squelch the urge to go take a look, but gave in at the last moment. He noticed a large sticker sealed the door shut, plus the yellow tape, so he poked around the front. Finding nothing of interest, he gave up and started home.

  Deep in thought, Jack didn’t notice a car approaching from behind—until its headlights threw his shadow down the sidewalk.

  And another shadow as well.

  Chapter 5 – Check Your Six

  The creepy feeling returned in spades.

  He darted away from the street—stealing a glance over his shoulder.

  The shadow rushed forward as the car drove past.

  Jack made a quick evasive turn left, into the street.

  The clicking of a Taser flew past his ear.

  Oh, hell no! Jack dropped into a crouch, spun around to lunge for the shadow, but the pursuer squeezed by with his arm outstretched, leaving a red-hot sting against Jack’s neck.

  Jack grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it backward. It snapped with the resounding solid crack of a branch breaking. He jerked the man up off the ground, then slammed him down on the pavement. After the sickening crunch of another bone cracking, he went limp. To keep the man pinned, Jack jammed a knee in his back with the full force of his six foot three, two hundred twenty-pound frame.

  More headlights approached from the opposite direction.

  Jack squinted into the glare, thrusting out his free hand to signal the car to halt.

  It did not stop. Instead, it aimed straight for Jack.

  Self-preservation ruled. He let go of the man, rolled to the curb and scrambled onto the sidewalk.

  The blue car jerked to a stop. The driver jumped out, hefted Jack’s attacker off the ground, shoved him into the back seat, and sped away into the night.

  When the adrenalin rush passed, Jack noticed the sting on his neck had grown into a searing pain. He touched it, pulling away a thick, sticky mess. Blood.

  Jack trotted back to the doctor’s house, ringing the bell half a dozen times until Steve opened the door.

  “Got a problem, Doc.”

  “Oh, my word.” Steve drew Jack inside. “Megan, bring my bag. Quick!” The doctor’s wife ran in with a small black nylon medical bag. While Jack sat on the tile foyer, Steve stemmed the bleeding, cleaned the cut, closed it, and applied a dressing. “You’re lucky. A few more centimeters to the left and it would’ve nicked your jugular.”

  The doctor held out his hand to Jack. “Can you stand? Do you need help getting home? Should we call the police?”

  Jack got up, clenched and unclenched his hands, mentally checked his five senses. “Thanks for everything, Doc, but I’m good to go. I’ll call the cops soon as I get home.” Outside, Jack checked his sixth sense, intent on being hypervigilant going home. He jogged across lawns, keeping away from the street, then crossed at his house.

  The instant Alana saw the blood on his shirt, alarm replaced her smile. She ran to him.

  “It looks worse than it is, babe.” He led her into their bedroom, related the incident, but downplayed the worst parts. “You have to take the kids to your mother’s in the morning. The situation has clearly gotten too dangerous for you to stay here. I have no idea what’s coming next.”

  Following a call to her mother, who lived twenty-five minutes away in Orlando, Alana started packing for another trip.

  Jack first called Detective Fuentes, then the La Palma Estates Security Office. Finally, he sent an encrypted message to Bagdad Brad with an update.

  Brad phoned immediately. “I can be there by tomorrow morning, Jack.”

  “Not yet. I don’t think Winter Park’s ready for an Iraqi-style offensive. Let me flesh out a few leads before deciding if backup’s required. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Your call, Jack. Check your six and put me on speed dial.”

  “Will do. Semper fi, bro.”

  “Ooh-rah.”

  Jack needed a reward. He went straight to the bar but caught himself just as he began to pour a drink. Nope. He’d swear off booze until the killer was caught or met an appropriate demise.

  The doorbell chimed.

  The detectives had
arrived. Both their suits were rumpled. Fuentes looked beat, Irwin looked constipated. They spoke in the kitchen. Jack did not mince words. He gave them a complete blow-by-blow rundown of the entire event, adding his wife and children were going to his mother-in-law’s for safety.

  However, there were a few tidbits he omitted: Chop Suey Louie’s and the blue car. If the police had those two leads, Jack still intended to investigate on his own in the morning—once he’d canceled his contract with the Atlantic Alarm Security Company.

  Irwin’s expression soured while Jack talked. The detective eyed the thick trail of blood smeared down Jack’s palm tree shirt. “You had Dr. Barclay treat your injury?”

  “Yes.” Jack peeled the dressing off his neck. He pointed to the two-inch slash closed by tissue adhesive in lieu of traditional stitches.

  Irwin craned his neck to get a better look. “Anybody besides the doctor witness this?”

  “His wife, Megan,” Jack replied with a deadpan stare.

  “You sure you broke the guy’s arm?”

  “Heard it snap.” Jack kicked himself for letting Irwin in the house again. He took a step closer to the detective, glared at Irwin, bit his tongue to hold back what he really wanted to say, and stopped just short of reaching for him.

  Sensing hostility, Irwin backpedaled out of Jack’s way.

  Fuentes snorted in spite of himself, pursing his lips together to stifle a grin. “We got a chance to watch the footage you sent over. Saw the body being dumped by a man our Forensics’ people estimate is about five eight and one hundred fifty pounds, but muscular. That sound like the guy who attacked you?”

  “It does.”

  “What about his accomplice, the driver? Anything stand out? Size? Build?”

  Jack flashed back on the incident, played it frame-by-frame in his head. “Maybe six foot, hefty, with his hair pulled in a man bun—I think. We have street lights, but none there. The car’s headlights were blinding me. I couldn’t see much.”