THIRTEEN
BEFORE I KNEW IT, I was standing in front of Steve, my insides shaking and my palms sweaty. I handed him the rewrapped gift. The box shook, and I quickly laid it down on his desk to hide how terrified I was.
“For this morning?” he asked and met my eyes with the kind of lingering smile I’d find after we’d made love. “I know I’m good, but really, you shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, stop,” I joked with him. “It’s for your new desk.”
“Great,” he answered, picking up the present and twirling it around.
Open it! I screamed in my head. Get on with it. The anxiety was eating me up inside, and I jumped at the first chance to help him tear the wrapping paper away and reveal the picture frame. Steve leaned back, avoiding my abrupt motions.
“Already loaded for you too.”
“You okay, babe?” he asked, reaching out to take my hand. My hands were clammy, and I could see he noticed. “Not getting sick, are you?”
Sick! That was a good idea.
“Maybe a little morning sickness? Or could be a bug going around Michael’s school,” I said, trying to slow my words and not sound as rushed as I felt. “Want to plug it in?”
“You bet,” he answered, his voice filled with enthusiasm. He swiped his hands over the desk’s surface, clearing a place. “I’ll make the room, and you get it ready.”
The remaining paper tore from the box in a single sheet, revealing what Nerd and I had enclosed just an hour earlier. Steve placed the digital picture frame on his desk then reached down to grab a power strip with two open plugs.
“Won’t be needing that,” I told him, just as Nerd had instructed. “Got a green one—whatever that means.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” he answered, excited by the idea. “How? Solar with a rechargeable battery?”
I had no idea what to say so I blurted the only thing that came to mind: “USB?” I sounded like I was asking rather than telling and handed the end of the USB cable to him.
He put the end of the plug down and shook his head. “I’m not supposed to do that,” he said, looking past me to the other desks. “Security.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I knew, though. I knew now exactly why the station wouldn’t allow outside devices to be used. “But it’s a gift, Steve.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, snaking the USB cable from the picture frame and around his computer. “Not like it’s a drive or something—just for juice. Would you do the honors, babe?”
“I will,” I answered, taking the other end and fishing it through a jumble of computer cables until I could reach an open USB port. I stood up to stand next to my husband and we both stared at the blank picture frame.
“Here we go,” he said happily. “Hope you didn’t include that picture of me wearing nothing but a sombrero.”
“No pictures of you and the sombrero,” I assured him. “I put that one on my phone. You look cute, even if you’re not wearing it on your head.” We laughed and found each other’s hands, wove our fingers together.
“Takes a while I guess, huh?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t,” I answered, feeling nervous again, wondering if our plan had backfired. I leaned away from Steve, across his desk, to lift up the picture frame—knowing that picking it up would do little to help, but I felt the urge to do something. The screen flashed a brilliant rainbow of colors, and the company picture frame’s logo ran across in a tidy parade of letters. “There it goes.”
As I leaned back to watch the first photos show up, I remembered Nerd saying it would take a minute to load, that his software would need a little time to transfer. He’d also said that once we saw our family photos on the screen, that would mean his software was running. A second and third picture zoomed in, flying across the screen in a slow-motion animation, showing us Snacks and Michael holding giant turkey drumsticks the size of their heads.
Steve’s computer chirped and the fans ticked on while the front panel flashed green and amber and red, blinking on and off like traffic lights at a busy intersection. I held my breath when Steve’s monitor went off momentarily and then flashed back on. He didn’t notice. He squeezed my hand, pulled me toward him to give me a kiss.
“This is great,” he said brushing my hair back. “I love it.”
“Steve!” I heard Charlie’s voice from his corner office. “Meeting. Sorry, Amy. I got to take your husband for a few.”
“Have to run, babe.”
“Glad you like the picture frame.”
“It’s wonderful, love it!”
I helped Steve to his feet, handed him his cane, and began to walk him toward Charlie’s office, his arm in mine. We took slow steps, and all the while I glanced from monitor to monitor. One by one, I saw the station screens go blank and then flash back on. And it wasn’t just the monitors. I heard moans and groans caused by the short disruptions, followed by sighs and mouse clicks once the computers were working again.
It was Nerd’s virus, infecting the station like he said it would. The rat will install and load in the background, Nerd had said. And then the virus will seek out other computers.
I wondered if it was supposed to work so fast. By the time we reached Charlie’s office, his bearish hands were rapping against the top of his monitor, his face aglow with a fiery complexion beneath a crop of snow-white hair.
“What’s the matter, old man?” Steve joked. “Break your computer?”
“Hey now, watch who you’re calling old!” he laughed. “It’s good to see you, Amy. Yup, there it goes. Damn computers. Hate the things.”
“It’s good to see you too, Charlie,” I answered. I felt an overwhelming urgency to flee, to run from the station. His computer was back on. I scanned the office, seeing more computers flick a wink—Nerd’s digital fingers spying on the station. I couldn’t help but wonder where else Nerd’s software would go.
What other systems are connected to the station?
The low murmur of annoyance and creaking seats faded like thunder and was replaced by regular office sounds. Nerd had secured the station. I ran then. I said a simple good-bye, gave my husband a kiss, and made my way to the door in a near jog. I just wanted to get to my car.
We’re in, I texted on the burner phone. The words scrolled up the small screen, and the status “read” appeared just beneath it. Can you see anything? I bit my upper lip, eager for him to text a response.
A moment later, I got his reply: I can see everything!
FOURTEEN
I LOVE OUR OFFICE. It quickly became my home away from home. I loved the look and the feel and the smell. I loved wrapping myself in it like a favorite blanket. Carlos had become a staple too, greeting me at the door, stealing ten minutes of my time to talk about absolutely nothing. With his toe pointing and his hands sculpting the air, he always made me laugh. Yet there were also days when I just wanted to go inside, to get to my computer and see what had been posted the night before.
“Sweets to the sweet,” I said, offering Carlos a latte macchiato—a favorite of his, I’d come to learn.
Pay the toll, I heard in my head. I grinned, encouraging him to take the drink. Carlos pressed his hand against his chest, his face filling with surprise.
“For me?” he asked, his fingers tapping his lips.
“You mentioned it the other day, said how much you wanted one.”
“Oh, yes. I did,” he said, and greedily accepted the coffee. “Bitch, you are going to get me fat.”
“You know you love me,” I told him, and poked the small muffin-top above his waist, teasing.
“I do,” he agreed, eagerly scooping a bit of cream from the top.
“I know.”
“Mmm, just what the doctor ordered,” he said. “If only I had a doctor to share it with too.”
“You never know . . .” I said, patting his shoulder. “Have to get up there.”
“No time to talk?” he asked. I could sense the disappointment. The toll hadn’t been paid
in full. “Aren’t you the busy bee?”
“We can’t all be the queen bee,” I said, turning toward the door to unlock it.
“Don’t you know it, honey,” he laughed. “Oh, before you run—how much?”
“Neighborly treat,” I quickly answered. The deadbolt clacked, encouraging me to push. “We’ll catch up later, okay?”
“You bet,” he said with a wave as he took another sip. “We’ll catch up—have to talk about the rent.”
“You’d be so easy to kill,” I mumbled, watching him briefly as he sucked on the straw. Not that I would ever consider it—a fleeting thought is all that was. He’d become one of my favorite people. Annoying at times, but a favorite nevertheless.
“What’s that?” he asked, his face bemused, his eyes searching through the collapsing sliver of light.
“The rent,” I said. “I’ll drop off a check later.” I closed the door, thankful I made it inside. I had mommy chores in the afternoon, which left me with just a few hours to research our latest case. Theodore Holst, I think his name was.
“Carlos again?” rained down from atop the stairs. I’d come to start thinking that Nerd never went home, that he’d taken to living in the office. For all I knew, the loft had a cot beneath the workbench.
Only once had I had the office to myself so far. That day was a treat. I’d enjoyed a quiet shower in the executive-style bathroom, even discovered the showerhead with the pulsating, full-body massage setting that took me to the edge with a ruddy flush and a smile. Like I said—that day was a treat. But since then, it’d been all Nerd.
“Surprised you got by him so quickly. I’ve got the rent check made out, just need your signature. Boss.”
“Boss?” I asked, uncertain if I liked the sound of it. “Bribed him with the coffee-candy drink he raves about.” As I reached the top of the steps, I found boxes littering the floor. Tall boxes and short boxes—some open while others were taped shut. On the sides, I recognized Nerd’s handwriting and even a few computer terms scrawled in his skinny, jabbing letters. I said nothing but sensed I wasn’t going to be researching Theodore Holst anytime soon. Nerd read my disappointment and raised his hands.
“Temporary,” he said.
I lifted my brow, dropped my things on my desk, and tapped the keyboard to wake up my computer. I focused on the screen and tried to ignore the mess. The computer whirred with an electronic yawn and sent a flicker of colors to the screen, showing me the latest Deep Web links.
“I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” I finally said.
“For the loft.”
“Did you get rid of the newspaper boxes?” I asked, pushing my cursor over the screen and beginning to brainstorm about Theodore Holst’s murder. “Did you take a look at the newspapers? Maybe figure out why a law firm would keep them?”
“Still up there, but I’ve got a theory,” Nerd answered. I lifted my head to indicate interest. “The boxes were here before this became a law office. That explains why they’re so old, explains why none of them are current. They date back thirty years.”
“Thirty years?” I asked. A dark ache passed over me like cold air when I heard the number, but the distraction of my Deep Web searches drew me back to my screen. “Interesting theory—just ditch them. They’re a fire hazard, anyway.”
“Could be worth something?”
“Well, if you find anything of value then consider it a bonus,” I added as I poked the screen. “Come here and take a look at this.”
Nerd came around my desk, carrying with him the smell of tacos and sweat. At once, I could tell he’d been there most of the night, likely coding something new or gaming online with a thousand others that were just like him.
“Which case?”
“This one,” I answered, tapping the screen. I purposely left a fingerprint, knowing it annoyed him like it did Steve. He cringed and swiped at the smudge, flicking it away like an annoying bug. “Theodore Holst, the bike messenger.”
Nerd shook his head, and said, “Can’t. Not that one.”
“Why not?” I asked, trying to understand. It was one of only a few cases on our list, and I could see from the application notes that Nerd had started the profiling but never finished.
“Skipping it. We’ll find another.”
“I don’t see the issue,” I argued. “We’ve got a bike messenger who works in the city. We find his routes, his times, and make his death look like an accident. Open-and-shut case. It’s too easy not to take.”
“That’s the problem,” Nerd answered. “He’s an easy pick. Like you said—too easy.”
“It’s money,” I added, scrolling through the bike messenger’s records. The world wouldn’t miss this guy. I’d paged half the screen, finding some of what Messenger had done. It was murder that had put Theodore Holst in prison. He’d served only five years of back-to-back life sentences, then was released on an appeal that overturned the original sentencing. I scrolled further, searching for any details of the appeal, but was distracted by Nerd’s objections. He seemed overly paranoid. “This is a perfect case for us.”
“Can’t find the guy’s appeal, can you?” he asked, nudging his chin toward my monitor.
“So what? Doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I mean, Holst is out of prison, isn’t he?”
“He is,” Nerd agreed. “But it’s a hole. One of a dozen. And also, I can’t find anything on the person who posted the contract.”
“But isn’t that kind of the point about the working the Dark Net? Isn’t that what you taught me?” I argued. “We wouldn’t be in business if it weren’t for the anonymity.”
“But we’re the ones taking the risk. That’s why I wrote a profiler, so we know we can gauge the posts and avoid stings.”
“This one doesn’t feel like that,” I said. “Take a look at his rap sheet. You can’t fake murder. And you can’t fake a conviction on two counts. As for who posted the contract—has got to be family or friends of his victim, maybe both. This guy should never have been let out of prison.”
“Knowing who and why, is always better, Amy. Why risk it?” Nerd answered, kicking his toe into the floor. “Just seems reckless, too cowboy and not good business.”
I bit my lip, wanting to argue his point about my being reckless, but then I thought back to some of what I’d already done. It was all reckless.
“We’re a bit dry,” I said instead, noting how empty the case lists had been lately. “I say we take what we can get. And don’t forget, we didn’t always have the safety net of your profiling tool.”
He continued to shake his head, objecting again. “Man, it just doesn’t feel right. But you’re right about the cases. We should be seeing more . . . it’s like someone is handpicking what we see and don’t see.”
“Could it be your software?” I asked.
Nerd took the suggestion as an insult, a slap. He was sensitive about his work—maybe I prodded a bit at times. But when I did, it always got him motivated, and I’d get what I wanted. It was a touch manipulative. I knew what was coming next. He’d tell me it couldn’t be his software. I’d half nod, somewhat disagreeing, and it would be enough to needle him into checking his code. “Is it possible you’ve narrowed the search too far, filtered out some good cases, valid cases?”
“Please,” he answered, clearing his throat and waving off my suggestion. “My code is fine. Want to know what I think? Someone is working the lists. Someone is working us. Real or not, that case wasn’t posted by any family member. That’s what I think.”
“You mean someone is manipulating your software?” I said, prodding again. “As vast as the Deep Web is, they’ve decided to manipulate our data and target your lists?”
“I don’t know. Something’s just off,” he repeated. His voice sounded muted and tired. He turned back to his boxes and slipped a razor through a sheath of tape, adding, “Maybe we do nothing for a while? Just to play it safe.”
I considered what he said, watching while he unloaded a motherb
oard and soldering iron. I flicked the corner of the rent check, catching the payment amount and thought of the other bills I’d need to pay that week. On my screen, I saw how much someone was willing to pay to have Messenger killed. And more important, the world wasn’t going to miss him.
“We move forward,” I said flatly. Nerd stopped unpacking and shook his head in disagreement. “Sorry, but your hesitation is based on the idea that someone is working the same list—when it could just be a bug in your software.” He cringed, rolling his eyes and opening his mouth to object. I shot my hand into the air, letting him know I wasn’t finished. “We can disagree on this, but until you have proof, whoever you suspect, they’re a ghost.”
“But—”
“Hold on!” I said, raising my voice. A burn rose into my throat. Nerd closed his mouth and seemed to shrink into the office surroundings like a piece of furniture. I waved a handful of bills, flapping the dry paper and then slowly balling them up with my fist. “We’ve got to take the case. We’re a business now, and the rent is overdue.”
To emphasize my point, I motioned to his desk, and to the gaming computers and the wall of high-resolution monitors. But in the back of my mind, I knew he’d spent pennies compared to what I’d pay toward Steve’s law school tuition.
Nerd raised his hands in defeat. “Fine. Take the case.”
“And even if you’re right, your ghost is paying with real money. There’s no faking that. Or am I wrong?” I asked, wanting some reassurance.
“No, you’re correct. The money is solid. I checked the Bitcoin account and balances—both are valid,” he answered, nodding. “Once we’ve got the keys, the numbers, the bits in the buyer’s wallet are ours.”
“That’s good enough for me,” I said, turning my attention back to my computer. “You continue to work up whatever profile you can while I sketch a design—”
“Use the wall,” Nerd said abruptly. I didn’t understand what he meant and searched the screen, looking for a new software feature. He let out a laugh. “No, the actual wall, behind you. Look in your top drawer.” I did as he instructed, opening my desk to find a set of whiteboard markers and an eraser. I snatched them up excitedly, putting the colors of the rainbow in my hand. When I turned around, I saw what he’d been working on throughout the night.
Painful Truths Page 9