Red Rover, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  “But this is ridiculous,” Sam said. “It’s a wooden door. You could kick it in.”

  “Not to understand a man’s purpose does not make him confused,” Romero recited, once again quoting Po from Kung Fu Panda.

  He stepped back so they could inspect the door.

  “The wood is window dressing,” Romero explained. “The guts are four inches of reinforced steel. You heard that sucking sound, right? There’s a device to open it because it’s too heavy. Similar design to a bank vault door.”

  Reece looked through the doorway. The door opened into a sterile looking white windowless foyer. Another door—no wood window dressing on the interior door—accessed the house. He immediately thought of SWAT teams’ multiple methods of contravening doors. Assuming they could even breach the first door, finding the second door would remove the shock value and significantly slow their efforts to gain entrance. Reece couldn’t help but be impressed by the ingenuity.

  Romero shut the door and they followed him to the back gate with Brandy trotting between them. “See anything odd about the fencing?” Romero asked, crouching down to pat the dog.

  Reece ran his hand across the wood of the fence. The fence was taller than he was, maybe seven feet. He reached up to hoist himself to see over the top.

  Romero jumped up and grabbed his arm, pulling him back with a laugh. “You don’t want to do that, amigo.”

  “What is it?”

  “Behind the cedar wood facade that circles the property is reinforced steel that runs three feet below the ground. There are motion sensors and cameras in the post caps. Running across the top is an electric fence that delivers sixty-three joules of output. Essentially, it’s what they use to contain big game in Africa and Australia.” He grinned. “Without the disguise of normalcy.”

  “Jesus, how much did this cost?” Reece asked.

  “We estimate the security is over a million, maybe two,” Romero answered with a shrug. “It was divided between numerous companies, some we haven’t identified. They’re prohibited features, in direct violation of fire and building codes. This fence, for example, is illegal, and we have no clue who installed it.”

  “How would you build this without getting caught?” Sam’s gaze drifted across the street to the neighbours’ properties.

  “That we know,” Romero said. “Neighbours were told there was a drainage problem, and the contractor had to dig a trench to access the water lines. The workers put up a barrier to hide the work, like the ones you see downtown during commercial building. They claimed concern about children or pets falling in. Lots of transparent chats with neighbours and fuzzy hugs to keep everyone happy.”

  “Didn’t the neighbours see company identification on the equipment?” Reece asked.

  “Sure, but the company doesn’t exist.” He gestured to the neighbouring house. “That woman died a week before construction, and the property was vacant during probate. Folks across the street said it stunned them how fast they completed the work.”

  “Did they know Caitlyn?” Sam asked.

  Romero shook his head. “Never saw her. They saw the car a couple of times, but the windows are tinted and she entered the house through the garage. The car is here, but it’s worth pointing out she has an exit built into the back fence. If Caitlyn had added specific people to her system and provided them with the codes, her guests could come and go through the conservation area without the neighbours seeing.”

  In the Windsor suburb where Reece grew up, the residential neighbours were curious creatures. It struck him as odd that sneaky and unfriendly behaviour by a new buyer wouldn’t concern the neighbours.

  “Didn’t they think it was strange they never saw her?” he asked Romero, assuming the police had questioned everyone on the cul-de-sac.

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. People pay for privacy. All the folks on the street said she was quiet and maintained her property. A landscaping company mows the front and clears snow in the winter. They cleared the cul-de-sac whenever bad weather delayed the municipal plows, which the neighbours loved. A grocery delivery service drops off food.”

  “Did you speak with either service?” Reece asked.

  “Yup. She paid them online and they didn’t meet her. Landscaper didn’t have access to the back and the grocery service was instructed to leave the boxes inside the mudroom.” They returned to the front, and Romero went through the process of opening the door. He waved them through the entrance.

  “What about Brandy?” Sam asked.

  Romero shrugged. “Bring her in. Forensics is done so it doesn’t matter.”

  Sam signalled to Brandy that she could enter, and the dog trotted into the mudroom and looked up, wagging her tail. Sam pointed down and Brandy sat.

  “Every week,” Romero continued, “Caitlyn buzzed the grocery delivery driver through the first door and left an envelope on the bench with a twenty-dollar tip.”

  Reece nudged Brandy aside so he could enter. Attached to the wall above a white metal bench was a box similar to the one on the exterior.

  “So this house is impregnable,” Reece said.

  “If you had technical knowledge of the system and expert skill, you could get inside. It wouldn’t be easy, and the occupant would have lots of forewarning,” Romero said. “There are industrial grade metal grates protecting the ventilation routes. Water and utility line entrances have safeguards to stop access, similar to what you’d see in meat processing plants to prevent rodent infestation. I suppose a tank could get through the walls, which, by the way, are also reinforced from the inside.”

  “Why would she do this?” Sam asked, clearly bewildered.

  “If Caitlyn Franklyn is the real-world identity of Bloody Widow, she has scary enemies,” Romero explained. “This level of paranoia isn’t a surprise given her profession.” He looked around. “Hell of a way to live. With her IT skills, she could have made six figures working for a cyber security company.”

  Not the same adrenalin rush as ripping off cyber criminals and international financial institutions. Reece kept his opinion to himself. “And there’s no sign of her?” he asked.

  Romero shook his head. “She’s in the wind.” His expression was wistful. “Shame to let all this technology go to waste. Must have hurt to run.”

  “Unless she didn’t run,” Sam said slowly. “Maybe she didn’t leave by her own volition. Can you open this door?”

  He held his eye to the box and opened the second door. They entered a large space with shiny white walls and white aggregate-poured flooring. No light fixtures, only recessed pods in the ceiling. A cluster of module, metal desks that resembled a NASA command centre took up the entire space.

  A small kitchen ran across the back wall with a metal table and four metal chairs to the right of a shiny stainless steel stove. Leaving Sam and Brandy with Romero, Reece went down the short hallway to the left of the kitchen. It ended at the doorway to one enormous bedroom suite.

  Terrazzo flooring, which ran throughout the house, gave the bedroom a hospital feel. The bedroom walls were the same shiny white as in the main room. There was a king-sized bed in the middle of the empty bedroom. A thick plastic sheet encased the mattress. When Reece leaned down and sniffed, it smelled like ammonia-based disinfectant.

  He went into the walk-in closet. Empty. So was the built-in dresser. In the hallway, he rejoined Sam, Brandy, and Romero.

  “There’s nothing in the bathroom or the kitchen and everything smells like bleach,” Sam told him.

  Reece sauntered into the large, open-concept main area, turning in a small circle to take in the space. “I worked for a chemical flooring company one summer in university. Epoxy flooring is what hospitals use because it’s non-porous, which means it’s highly sanitary.” He pointed to the glossy white walls. “Also epoxy coating.”

  “I’m a clean freak, but this is a whole new level,” Sam said. “I’m assuming forensics didn’t get anything.”

  Romero nodded.

  Reece
gestured at the impressive computer equipment. “How about those?”

  Romero cringed. “She modified code similar to Rombertik malware, which is already an advanced obfuscation technique. I assume this Trojan is how she infiltrated the banking computers she stole money from.” He blushed. “I triggered the self-destruct. She’d installed a fail-safe device that altered the BIOS, over-clocked the CPU, and a piece of hardware that essentially fried the motherboard.”

  Now that he knew, Reece could smell a hint of corrosion. “You mean a bomb?”

  “Of sorts. It was highly sophisticated. She didn’t design it to hurt anyone, just to destroy the computer and ensure the data was unrecoverable.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to split.”

  Once outside, Reece threw Sam the car keys as Romero collected his baseball from the front porch.

  “How about you get Brandy settled,” Reece said to Sam. “I’ll be right there.”

  She gave him a strange look but took the dog to the car.

  Reece put his hand on Romero’s arm to keep him from leaving. “Can you check to see if your sweepers found anything in the loft?”

  The detective took out his phone and made a call. He listened, then thanked the person on the other end and hung up. “Nada, not a thing. Your crib’s clear and the key is back where you hid it for them. Have you updated Alston at York Regional about the calls?”

  Before Reece could answer, Romero held up his hand. “Forget I asked. I don’t want to get between you two. He’s one unhappy camper. Besides, I have my hands full with Bloody Widow.”

  Romero headed to his car, turning back to repeat the imaginary gun gesture with his hand. “If whoever Franklyn stole from and tried to secure her home against is after you, I’d consider changing careers, amigo.”

  “Do you have any idea who it is?” Reece asked.

  Romero’s expression shifted and became serious. “Our best guess,” he held Reece’s eyes, “the Russian mob.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sam

  “I’M SORRY. THERE’S stuff going on and—”

  Sam listened to Lisa yelling at her. When she could slip a word in, she spoke in as reasonable a voice as she could muster. “It’s not like that. Look, how about I come over tomorrow and explain?”

  Her best friend—if she could even still call her that—hung up on her. With a sigh, Sam put her phone on the table.

  Reece picked it up and attached it to his iPad. “Didn’t go well, eh?”

  “Lisa thinks you don’t like kids and don’t want to spend time with Kira. I’m not taking her to Wonderland because I do everything you say and swoon over you to the detriment of everyone else.” She put her elbows on the table and cupped her chin between her hands. “I’m irresponsible, dismissive of her feelings, and—get this—penis-whipped. I shit you not.”

  He burst into laughter. “Well, I told you she’d be pissed off.”

  It suddenly occurred to her to wonder why Reece had connected her phone to his iPad. “What are you doing?”

  “Setting up GPS tracking on your cell, and I installed the Google app that allows you to tape a call in process.” He tapped on the keyboard. “You know how it works. You taped Quentin LeBlanc’s call last year.”

  An in-process recording app was fine, but the GPS? Less fine. “You’re going to track my location?”

  “Temporarily. I also put a GPS tracker on your car.” He held up his hand to ward off her objection. “Don’t make that face. It’s just until we figure out what’s going on or they have Caitlyn in custody.”

  She went to the fridge, standing with her back to him. She didn’t know quite what to say.

  “And I’d like you to carry your gun.”

  She spun around. “What! No way.”

  “You have a carrying permit. You’ve done it before when the situation required it. Again, Sam, it’s temporary.”

  She slammed the fridge door shut and yanked a box of cereal from the cupboard. “I’m not toting a gun around like Annie Oakley.”

  “First of all, yours is a Glock, not a rifle. You were a cop and carried a gun all the time. Besides, you’re better on the range than I am. It’s not a big deal.”

  She sat at the table and took a fistful of cereal from the box. “I’m not a cop now. I’m a citizen.” She munched on Cap’n Crunch and dove her hand back in for more.

  She wanted to change the subject. “Why would someone leave heavy plastic on her mattress?” she asked between handfuls of cereal.

  “You shed skin when you sleep. Removing DNA from a mattress is next to impossible.” He handed her the phone. “I’ll put the GPS tracking on my cell, too, and set it up on your laptop so you can access it from your phone.” He grabbed her computer from the desk.

  She’d never look up the whereabouts of his cell. It felt like a breach of privacy to her. But she knew the death threats she’d received were psyching out Reece. If being able to find her made him feel better about her safety, she’d drop it. Until the case was over, at least.

  “Or Jennifer didn’t just visit her mother, she had sleepovers,” Sam suggested.

  “The plastic was because of her bladder problem?”

  “Maybe. I called Brenda to ask if Jennifer ever stayed away overnight. She did. She’s been having lots of sleepovers at her great-aunt’s house, the religious woman we met the first time we went over.”

  “Let me guess. She wasn’t there.”

  “No, Rachel said she was. But I think she lied.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling.” She put the cereal on the table, wiped her hands on her jeans, and stood. “Caitlyn trusted her daughter.”

  Reece closed the computer and stared at her in disbelief. “You can’t be suggesting Jennifer did something to her mother.”

  “No, but Jordan or Brenda might.” She returned the cereal box to the kitchen cupboard. “Maybe someone cajoled Jennifer to lull her mother into a false sense of security.” Pondering the idea, she turned to face him. “Or, maybe Jordanna also visited her mother and snuck in Jordan or Brenda.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes,” Reece said skeptically.

  “Well, here are some more,” she said with a grin. “Maybe that’s why Jordan was so angry when Jennifer told us she saw her mother. If he swore his sisters to secrecy about their visits, it would explain those looks he kept exchanging with Jordanna.” She tapped her fingers against the top of the island. “Maybe it wasn’t Jordan. Brenda’s the one who outright lied to all of us about Caitlyn’s existence. Did you see the look on her face when Jennifer told us she’d talked with her mother? It wasn’t surprise. It was fury. She covered it fast, but I saw it.”

  Reece waved her over to the table. “What makes you think Caitlyn didn’t leave on her own accord? She was into illegal shit. The hits on the banks would send her away for the rest of her life, and Romero said she stole from cybercriminals. He told me police suspect it was the Russian mob. They have exactly one way of dealing with threats.” He ran his finger across his throat.

  He got up and returned her laptop to the desk before continuing. “The cops know Caitlyn Franklyn is Bloody Widow, so it’s only a matter of time before her online enemies find out too. Jennifer warned her about us, and she ran because of them.” He crossed the loft and sat beside her at the kitchen table, leaning the chair back on two legs. He linked his fingers behind his head. “If I were her, I’d run.”

  Sam had no idea why he liked to sit precariously balanced on a chair’s two legs. He did it all the time, and it bugged her. She reminded herself that she probably had bad habits that drove him nuts and resisted the urge to grab his shoulder and jerk him forward so the chair settled onto four legs.

  “I don’t think Caitlyn ran,” she insisted.

  “You think she’s dead,” Reece said.

  She nodded. “I just don’t think the person who killed her was the same person she tried to protect her home against.” She hadn’t realized she thought thi
s until she just voiced it. A hunch that defied explanation.

  “Romero said she rarely left the house.” Reece lowered the chair with a clatter that made her jump and put his elbows on the table. “I think she ran, but I’ll play devil’s advocate with your murder theory.” He made horns with his fingers that he waggled on top of his head. “If you don’t think it was connected to her cybercrimes, then why would Brenda or one of the kids kill her? Where’s the motive?”

  “Why would Jordan kill his father?” she countered.

  “I thought you believed it was Brenda.”

  “Maybe they did it together. Brenda engaged the electricity and Jordan held his father’s head in the sewage. He was there when Graham died,” she reminded him. “Roger watched him go into the house and heard arguing from the basement.”

  “You mentioned the glances the twins exchanged during our interview,” Reece said. “I felt Jordan was seeking permission from Jordanna.”

  Sam shook her head. “No, Jordan was intimidating her. Maybe Jordanna knows he helped Brenda kill Graham, and he’s threatening her.”

  Jordanna struck her as a normal teenage girl. Exploiting the newfound power of sexuality and enjoying melodrama were age-appropriate human development traits. Besides, Jordanna had an alibi for the afternoon her father had died. Reece had spoken to the boy, Steve, who had confirmed he was with her.

  Jordan, on the other hand, gave Sam the creeps. His belligerent behaviour felt staged because his face was just… dead. The juxtaposition disturbed her. So did the vicious disembowelment of the cat, which she believed he had done.

  “Remember what Jordanna said about Caitlyn coming to the classroom?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Her mother was yelling terrible things about Jordan. She was there to protect Jordanna.”

  “Sally Alistair isn’t a credible witness, but the school’s security officer confirmed that bit,” Reece said. “But it had to have been Caitlyn who caught Behoo online.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows. “Yes, but if she’s Bloody Widow, how’s that relevant to Graham’s murder?” she asked. “We’ve been working on the assumption that Caitlyn targeted the Alistair family because she was protecting her son after the rape allegation. Protecting Jordan doesn’t make sense, based on her behaviour around him at the school.” She got up and paced the room, trying to work out the incongruities that bugged her.