by Jeff Ross
“See, this is what I’m saying about hacking. I’ve never been interested in it. It’s way too creepy.”
“Her password is her dog’s name, Barney, and her house address, 56. Eight characters. One capital, two numbers. Pretty basic. You’d think a police officer would create something a little more elaborate.” Grady points at a program running near the bottom of his screen. “As for the hacking part, that’s not entirely what happened. I put all the information I had on Detective Evans into this program, and it kept trying passwords until it got the right one.”
“How did you know her dog’s name?”
Grady enlarges the screen. “Another newspaper article. Barney’s a rescue dog. Apparently he saved someone from a burning building. And then Detective Evans saved him from the needle.”
“Good for Barney.”
Grady laughs and points at a little map on the screen with a blinking symbol on it. “And there is your phone,” he says.
“So she is the one tracking me.”
Grady starts typing again. “I’ll download everything I can from her computer. She has all her case files on here. We can find out if they have any other suspects.”
“What does it say about Tom?” I lean against him again. This time, I think I feel him leaning back.
“I haven’t opened any of the documents. We’ll grab everything first, then go over it later.”
“This can’t be legal,” I say.
Grady tilts a hand back and forth before him. “It’s a gray area. She’s on an unprotected network, so that’s her bad. I did use a program to get into her computer, but not directly. I didn’t hack it. I just needed some technological help to figure out her password.”
“So you’re saying what we’re doing here is fine?”
“Yeah, pretty much a gray area.”
“Probably not legal,” I say.
“Gray. But anyway, you’d have to get caught before any of these things would matter. And, like I said, I don’t get caught…”
“But in seventh grade you…”
“Anymore.”
I let that go as Grady becomes more engrossed in the documents on his laptop. At first he reads bits out to me, but after a while he moves on to muttering to himself and shaking his head. The song changes. I actually recognize it. Sam Cooke, “Bring It On Home to Me.”
“What do you think of Tom?” I ask. I figure he can easily read and talk to me at the same time. He seems the multitasking type.
“What do you mean?” Grady says, not looking up.
“Like, as a person.”
“I think he’s awesome.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why?” Grady doesn’t say anything, so I fill the silence. “I’ve known him all my life. He’s always just been there, you know? So I guess I’m not the best judge of his character anymore. Detective Evans told me to stand back from my relationship with Tom and really think about what I know. But you know him in ways I don’t. So what you know is kind of like standing back.”
“He’s awesome because he is what he is,” Grady says. “He never pretends to be anyone. He has no concept of what other people think of him at all. It’s complete social blindness. There’s every possibility that in his head he’s worrying over what people are thinking about him or saying, but I don’t see it.”
“He’s always been like that,” I say.
“And he is really kind. I don’t know that many kind people.”
“No?”
“My mom’s all right, but she gets really petty about a lot of things. She worries what people are doing and saying and thinks that everyone is out to screw her over. My uncle is cool too, but he rips people off whenever he sees the opportunity. Tom is Tom. He’s never asked me for anything or talked badly about anyone. I sometimes tear into different bands because they suck or have sold out or were talentless fame whores to begin with, and somehow he always sees something good in their music. Some little turn or twist. Something honest.”
“He’s like that with everyone. Even my dad.”
“What’s wrong with your dad?” Grady asks.
“He tried to use us to punish our mother,” I admit. “I’m not sure if he knew he was doing it, but it happened. He fought for custody for the longest time. Tom eventually gave himself up. He convinced our dad that it would be best if he lived with him and I stayed with Mom. I think our dad was a little freaked at the idea of raising me. Like, he wouldn’t know what to do with a girl in the house. Tom moved across town with him, and we didn’t see one another that much. Like, on weekends and stuff, but never for long. My dad likes to drink too much and tell people what he thinks. I imagine Tom took a lot of his anger.”
“He lives with you now, right?”
“My dad met someone and moved to California. Tom moved back in with us, but he stayed at Mitchell Mayer to finish school. My dad’s new wife, or whatever she is, has two boys. The type of boys my dad likely always wanted. Football playing, girl hunting, upwardly mobile.”
“Good riddance then?” Grady says cautiously.
“Yes, for sure. We don’t need him in our lives.”
“You always have to be careful when it comes to people’s families,” Grady says. “I mean, you can talk about how awful a person is, how he’s a prick and an alcoholic and a total dirtbag, but that’s only because that alcoholic dirtbag is your father. Someone else says a cruel word about the guy, and it’s war.”
“It’s not war,” I say. “I’m likely eternally damaged by his lack of interest. But right now I’m just happy he’s gone.”
“I’ve never sensed that Tom is seriously damaged or anything. He never says a bad word about anyone, ever.”
“He really likes Ben as well,” I say. “That’s for certain. Tom actually hung out with us a lot when I was babysitting.”
“Did you tell the police that?”
“No,” I say. “It would look bad, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. But then, if they ever discover that, it’s not going to look good on you.” Grady points at his laptop screen. “So Tom is definitely suspect number one.”
“Not a surprise,” I say. Though it still makes me angry to hear it.
“It has been decided that the parents couldn’t have had anything to do with it.”
“Why?” I ask, leaning over to look at the screen.
“Detective Evans writes here, I’m confident this is not a case of parental abduction. But seriously, both of them are there, right? So how could it be?”
“Is there anyone else?” I ask. Grady scrolls down the page. “What’s that?”
“That’s Jack’s computer,” Grady says. “It’s connected to the network, so it shows up.”
“We should look through that,” I say. “Who knows what’s in there.”
“Good idea,” Grady says. He drags the folder onto his own browser window.
As we watch the files move, I say, “Detective Evans told me it was most likely family.”
“She did?” Grady says.
“She wasn’t talking about this case. Just in general. When kids that age disappear, it almost always has a family connection.”
“There’s nothing here,” Grady says. “As far as I can see, they don’t have a clue.”
“Except Tom,” I say.
“Except Tom,” Grady replies.
SEVENTEEN
“We need to get you back to your phone before someone gets suspicious,” Grady says as he starts the car.
“What?” Grady says.
“How long I’ve apparently been sitting in a Starbucks.”
As he pulls into the alley, Grady grabs a different laptop from the backseat. “Here, take this. If anyone asks, you’re working on a young-adult novel. Tell them it’s about vampires and zombies.”
“I can’t take your computer,” I say.
“This one doesn’t work.”
“Won’t that look even more suspicious? Me working away on a nonfunctioning computer?”
“Keep it closed. It’ll seem as if you’re contemplating what the love child of a vampire and a zombie would look like. You know, trying to figure out that exact phrase to perfectly summarize the beast.”
I’m about to get out when I think of something. “What does it say in the report about Steph and JJ?”
“I didn’t see much. Just that JJ and Steph were both at their mother’s home on the night in question. No reason to suspect they were anywhere else. To all appearances they love their stepbrother and miss him. That’s it. But why would either of them snatch their brother? What could possibly be gained?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To get back at their dad. Because they hate their stepmom. Because JJ wants a new car or Steph wants more jewelry and ho boots.”
“Not a fan of the Carter kids, I see,” Grady says.
“They are not my favorite people. No.”
“But do you think they could have anything to do with Ben’s disappearance?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t think of any reason why.”
“We need a why,” Grady says. “If we’re going to get the police off Tom’s back, we need as many whys as possible.”
“They weren’t at their mother’s house all night, and if that’s what it says in the report, someone’s been lying. They were at the same beach party I was. I told Detective Evans that on Sunday.”
“You go to beach parties?” Grady says.
“It happens,” I say. “I prefer the pool party. You know, hot tubs and all.” I open the door. Grady gives me a raised eyebrow. “People go to parties,” I say, leaning back in. “The Carter kids were there most of the night, as far as I remember.”
“Okay. Sure. The next time they’re at their parents’ place, I’ll put a little gift on their phones,” Grady says. “Then we can see what they’re texting and viewing and where they are.”
“That sounds illegal.”
He rotates his hand in front of himself.
“I know, I know,” I say, before he can. “It’s a gray area.”
“Gray. Exactly. How about I pick you up tonight around seven, and we’ll swing by the Carters’ place again and see who’s there. Plus, I only managed to download about half of the files on the mayor’s computer. I’d like to grab the rest, if I can.”
“Okay. Sure. Thanks for this, Grady.”
“I’d be doing it anyway,” Grady replies. “But it’s nice to have company.”
The first person I see upon reentering Starbucks is Detective Evans. She’s seated by the front window. There’s a coffee on the table in front of her. At first I think I might be able to sneak to the counter and retrieve my phone from the barista without being seen, but Detective Evans spots me the second I emerge from the hallway. She waves me over. I edge past a couple of people to stand beside the table.
“Lauren,” she says, without a hint of surprise in her voice. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I took a mental-health day.”
“Oh, are you not feeling well?” Someone brushes against me. Detective Evans shifts the other chair out from her table. “Do you want to sit down?”
“No, actually I just came in here to get my phone. I forgot it earlier.”
“Give me two minutes,” Detective Evans says. I want to ask her what she is doing here, but I already know. She followed me here and came in to question me some more. I decide, at least initially, to play the frightened-of-the-police little girl. I put Grady’s laptop on the table. Detective Evans looks at it, then back at me. I sit down, my back to the restaurant, the hard sun streaming straight into my eyes.
“That brick through your window scared you a bit, didn’t it?” She’s gone all soft-voiced, which is totally not her style.
“Not really,” I say.
“No?”
“It was likely some idiot who believes everything he hears on the news. You know, all the official statements.”
Detective Evans sips at her coffee. “No one has ever said that your brother has anything to do with Benjamin’s disappearance.”
“It’s assumed.”
“I don’t have control over what the media puts out, Lauren,” Detective Evans says.
“Do you have any other suspects?”
“Your brother is not a suspect.” She has a stony look on her face. As if she had to erase all emotions in order to make the statement.
“Really?”
“We need to talk to him,” she says. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
It’s getting hot sitting in the sun. “I said I haven’t.”
“Hmmm.” Detective Evans taps the top of her coffee cup. “The truth shall set you free, Lauren. Have you heard that?”
I close my eyes to the sun. It’s really intense. Plus a Miley Cyrus song is playing, and the two things combined, intense sun and horrible lyrics, are giving me a headache. “Sure.”
“You’ll feel so much better if you simply tell us everything you know. I do believe that.”
I lean back out of the sun. “Which truth?” I ask.
“The truth,” Detective Evans says, nodding in agreement with herself.
“But what is that? Ben is missing. That’s the truth. My brother has nothing to do with it. That’s the truth as well. But you don’t see it that way.”
“He may not have anything to do with Benjamin’s disappearance, Lauren. That is a possible truth. But we still need to speak to him. There’s no debating the fact that he was seen in the area that night.”
“What about that rumor about him and the kid in the park?”
“Lauren, I told you—”
I interrupt her. “What was the truth that time? Tom was playing with a kid, and an overprotective mother decided he was ‘being weird.’ People got freaked out and made up all kinds of stories, and now Tom’s a weirdo. Period. That’s the truth for so many people. And if he’s bothered one kid before, then of course…”
“That was one event, Lauren. We don’t take that as the complete story.”
“So stop splashing his picture on the TV beside Benny’s,” I say. “Put an end to the rumor.”
“I don’t have control over that, Lauren.”
I feel as if I’m talking to a recording. Detective Evans is going to keep saying the same thing over and over. She isn’t allowed to step outside of this official message. Miley Cyrus changes to a Decemberists song.
“So,” she says. “Do you have any idea where Tom might be?”
“I don’t,” I say. I feel like screaming at her. But what good would that do?
“Okay, Lauren,” Detective Evans says. “Okay.”
“I have to go,” I say. “My mother is still freaked out.”
“Of course,” Detective Evans says. “You go home and take care of your family. Be safe.”
And I don’t know if that’s a suggestion or a threat.
EIGHTEEN
We find a parking spot beneath a broken streetlight a few car lengths away from where we parked earlier. I slouch down in my seat as the engine ticks to silence.
“Are we close enough to connect to their Wi-Fi?” I ask. Grady has his laptop propped up on his knees. The radio is tuned to a quiet jazz station. Every so often an announcer comes on and, in low tones, talks about what we are about to hear.
“We should be.”
“I saw Steph’s car out front when we passed.”
“Well, let’s see if her phone’s connected.” He types on the keyboard while I stare into the darkness. He’s still wearing a white shirt and tie, though he’s changed into 501s and a pair of gray Etnies. “Is your cell on?”
“No. I have it with me, but I left it off. I had a feeling we didn’t need anyone following us right now.”
“Good,” Grady says. “I made sure they can’t track your calls or texts, by the way.”
“That’s good to know.” I sit up and look out at the dark street.
“Ah, there we go, I’m in.” Grady turns the screen toward me. “The cool thing about this program is that you can see what the person is doing on their phone in real time.”
“So this is Steph’s phone?” I ask.
“It is. It looks like she’s searching the Internet for information about the upcoming America’s Next Top Model episode and texting some guy named Justin.”
“This is awesome and everything,” I say, “but also really creepy.”
Grady shrugs. “They could actually use passwords. That’s all it takes.”