Helpless

by Daniel James Palmer

  Rainy groaned. Years ago she had made the tragic mistake of demonstrating to Tomlinson her mastery of PowerPoint. The ability to make effective slides was a skill management coveted.

  “When do you need it, sir?” Rainy asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “What about this evening? By eight?”

  “Why? What do you got going on here?”

  “We’re trying to figure out why the images don’t generate identical hash values. And we’re not having much luck.”

  “Is it important?”

  “Yes, I believe it is, sir.”

  “In that case, eight will be fine.”

  Tomlinson left. Rainy and Carter returned to their work.

  “Can you magnify this one?” she said. She pointed to a copy of Lindsey Wells’s picture, one of the many copies that had begun populating the Web soon after she’d texted it to Tanner.

  Carter magnified the image three hundred times. Rainy kept staring at the screen.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Carter.

  “Something I noticed when Clarence Stern was helping me ID the Lindsey Wells photograph.”

  “And that something would be?”

  “He saw things at a high magnification level. Just by looking at the color gradation, he was able to add missing pixels to form a complete image. You can see it only when the image is magnified.”

  “It just looks like a bunch of colored squares,” Carter said.

  “But there’s a smoothness to how those squares are stacked together. That smoothness is the logical next color variant to complete the picture. It’s how Clarence was able to guess which pixels were missing.”

  “Are you looking for that same smoothness on this image?” asked Carter. He’d magnified the image so that all Rainy could see were rows and columns of colored blocks no more than an inch tall and wide.

  “I’m looking for the out of the ordinary,” said Rainy. “Something that shouldn’t be there. Something we can’t easily see with our eyes. Look. There.” Rainy pointed to a section of the image. “The squares here go from light to dark without any gradation,” she said. “It’s jarring. It happens almost too quickly. Can you show me the same section, same magnification, but for a different image? I want to compare them.”

  Carter did, and Rainy saw it right away. “We’ve got the same jarring transition in the same section of both images,” she said.

  “The unusual shading pattern looks similar, but they’re not identical,” Carter said. “The pixel colors are different, too.”

  “But it’s something,” Rainy said. She was feeling breathless. “Each image looks identical. Only at magnification can we see the actual location of pixel color variation. Why?”

  “It’s probably a watermark,” said a voice from behind them.

  Rainy turned, and her eyes went wide with delight. Clarence Stern had just entered the Lair.

  “Tomlinson said he’ll need that PowerPoint deck by six,” Stern announced. “Now, move over, Carter. Let me figure this out.”

  Chapter 72

  “You think it’s an invisible watermark?”

  “Seems like it to me,” Stern said to Rainy. “Watermarks are nothing more than embedding information into a digital media. Could be audio. Could be a picture.”

  “Could be spinning the Beatles’ ‘I’m So Tired’ backward and hearing Paul is dead,” Carter said.

  “Well, that’s a watermark of sorts, I guess,” Stern said. “It’s used a lot in copyright protection. It’s also used in source tracing.”

  Rainy nodded. “Of course. The movie industry has been using source trace watermarks for ages. They can identify who downloads their intellectual property and then create a map of the distribution network. We’ve been exploring applications for them as well.”

  Carter nodded enthusiastically. “If each of the images Mann gave us has a unique watermark, it would explain why they weren’t generating the same hash value. The watermark is what makes each image unique from the other. But it’s hidden, so we can’t easily see the difference with our eyes.”

  “The question now is,” Stern said, “how do we reveal the watermark?”

  Stern picked one image to work with. He spent a half an hour bumping up the contrast and adjusting the image levels.

  “I’ve got the contrast here set to one hundred percent.”

  Rainy looked. “See anything?”

  “I’ve got to run the contrast filter a bunch of times over before I can say.”

  Stern was back to his Stern ways. Grunting. Sighing. Pouting. He picked up a pencil and prepared to throw it at the monitor.

  “That’s my monitor, Clarence,” Carter said. “I trust you. But not that much.”

  Stern set down the pencil. He looked over at Rainy. “Do you have an original?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “An original source. One that hasn’t been moved from a point A to a point B. One that wouldn’t have a watermark applied.”

  Rainy thought a moment. “Lindsey Wells,” she said. “After my seminar she gave me her cell phone. She deleted the sent messages, but not the pictures. She thought they might somehow be helpful.”

  “Well, she just might be right,” said Stern. “Let me have it.”

  Rainy returned to the workstation with Lindsey’s cell phone. It took only a few minutes for Stern to download the pictures to Carter’s machine.

  “What are you going to do?” Rainy asked.

  “I’m going to run a difference filter,” Stern said.

  “I’m not familiar with that,” Rainy said.

  “The difference filter compares the original to a copy. Look, I’ll compare the original to itself.”

  Stern did just that, and all Rainy saw afterward was a black square on the screen.

  “A black square means the images are identical,” Stern explained. “All pixels turned a pure black color. Now let’s run the difference filter on the original and one of the matching images.”

  Rainy examined the completed output. “It still looks like a black square to me,” she said.

  “But some of the pixels are not quite pure black,” Stern said. “When I change the color levels to brighten all the very dark colors, I suspect our hidden watermark will become visible.”

  Stern adjusted the levels. The dark colors transformed to bright, almost neon shades. Rainy’s hand went to her mouth when she saw what appeared. Most of the image square was still black. But not all of it. At the bottom of the square, Rainy saw a series of numbers. Stern’s level adjustment had turned the color of those numbers a bright yellow.

  “I bet those numbers are an IP address,” Stern said. “Whoever embedded this watermark wanted to track the distribution of their copies, that’s for sure. But what the heck is that?”

  Stern was pointing to another newly revealed part of the watermark. Rainy knew exactly what it was. Even with the colors being off, she could see it clearly. A yin and yang symbol designed to look like a human skull.

  “That right there is more than just a watermark,” Rainy said. “That is a calling card.”

  Chapter 73

  The spray paint was not going to come off. That was Tom’s final conclusion after hours of effort. He’d tried Goop-Off and GoneIt, and two heavy-duty cleaners that the hardware store salesman had recommended. No luck. The paint had set, and he’d have to replace the siding, or paint over it, to get rid of the disgusting words. HEY RAPIST—BRING LINDSEY HOME. That was the message somebody had spray painted three times, in three different colors.

  Jill didn’t want to go to school the next day, and Tom wouldn’t have let her go. It wasn’t safe for her in Shilo anymore. She kept to her room for most of the day. She didn’t even come out to eat.

  Tom was on the ladder, trying one more application of GoneIt, when Jill shuffled into the backyard through the basement door.

  “Hey, honey,” he said, climbing down. “You hungry yet?”

  “No.�
�

  Tom checked his watch. “It’s quarter to seven. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

  Jill looked up at the house and recoiled at the sight. “Who would do this?” she asked. “Why won’t they just leave us alone?”

  “I’m so sorry about all of this,” Tom said. “But it’ll be all right. You’ll see. Everything is going to turn out just fine.”

  “Did you go to the police?” Jill asked.

  Tom made a conciliatory expression. “You know I can’t do that,” he said. “Pretty much the whole town is against me at this point. The police most of all.”

  “Rainy’s on our side,” said Jill. “Can’t she fix this?” Tom’s face formed a grimace, which Jill noticed right away. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Rainy,” Tom said with a sigh. “I should have called her hours ago, but I got so caught up in this vandalism that I forgot.” Tom put his arm around Jill. “I’ll give her a call in a few. Maybe she’ll have some good news to share.”

  Tom’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and showed Jill that it was Rainy calling him.

  “I guess she beat you to it,” Jill said.

  “Hey there,” Tom said into the phone. “I was just about to call you. I’m planning to see Marvin’s parents tonight. They’re sitting shivah at his sister’s house. I was hoping you’d come with me.”

  “Tom! Tom! I think we’ve got it.”

  “Got what?” he asked.

  “Evidence that’ll prove Mitchell Boyd is the distribution source of the images on your laptop. I’m not saying you’re in the clear. But when we put the pressure on him, I bet he’s going to start talking.”

  “Rainy, that’s great news. Just great. Where are you now?”

  “I’m with Carter. We’re on our way to Shilo to have a little chat with Mitchell Boyd.”

  Tom’s phone buzzed again. He was getting another call. He glanced at the number but didn’t recognize the caller. “Rainy, let me call you right back,” he said.

  Tom clicked over to the incoming call. “Hello. This is Tom.”

  “Tom Hawkins,” said a much-younger sounding voice. “It’s Tanner Farnsworth.”

  Tom’s jaw muscles tightened, and he squeezed his phone harder. “What do you want, Tanner?” said Tom.

  “Look, I know I’ve done some pretty bad things. But I also know you didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Lindsey.”

  “And how do you know that?” asked Tom.

  “Because I know who did it,” Tanner said. “It was Mitchell Boyd.”

  “What?”

  “I was just over at Mitchell’s house. We were eavesdropping on his dad. He was talking with Brendan Murphy from the police department. Mr. Boyd gets all the inside scoop. I overheard him say that they found Lindsey’s body.”

  Tom’s heart sank. Jill looked over at her father. Her expression revealed a growing alarm.

  Tom turned his back so that Jill couldn’t see him. He took a few steps away so that she couldn’t hear him, either. “Where?” Tom whispered.

  “In the woods near the Pine Hill Pond. They found your knife nearby, too.”

  “My knife?”

  “Small knife, about the size of my palm,” Tanner said. “It’s yours. Don’t ask me how Mitchell got it, but he took it from your house. The police pulled your prints off the knife. They’re coming to arrest you. Not just the Shilo PD, either. State police, too. And soon.”

  “Hang on.” Tom raced back into the house. He looked for his knife. It was gone. “Tanner, listen to me. You’ve got to call the police yourself. Right now. Tell them what you just told me.”

  “I can’t do that,” Tanner said. “I can’t turn myself in. Can’t turn on my best friend, either. I won’t do it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do something right.”

  “Do something right? What right thing are you doing here?” Tom shouted into the phone.

  “I’m telling you to run.”

  Chapter 74

  Tom turned to Jill. “Get inside the house,” he said. “Stay out of your room. Stay in the basement. Don’t move until I come for you.”

  “Dad, what is it? What’s going on?”

  Tom kept his voice calm and controlled. “Just do as I say,” he ordered.

  Jill fled into the house.

  Tom didn’t know what he should tell Jill. Was Tanner lying? Could Lindsey really be dead? Were the police coming to arrest him? Tom didn’t have time to think through the possibilities. He only had time to ready an escape. He’d been arrested for a crime that he hadn’t committed once before. He wasn’t about to let it happen again.

  Distract and evade.

  If it came to it, that was what he would do.

  Distract and evade.

  Tom needed to survey his best exit points. He crouched low and kept to the side of the house. Where possible, he used trees and shrubs to keep himself hidden. Oak Street was clear. But if Tanner was telling the truth, the street would soon be active with police. He picked this as the place where he’d set the distraction.

  Next, Tom crossed to the back of the house. The ravine where Kelly fell and died had an 8 percent grade. He’d have to descend into the ravine and climb back up the other side to get to Pine Street. Beyond Pine Street lay hundreds of acres of conservation land. Tom knew the Shilo topography better than most. He knew he could get away.

  Tom returned to the house, where he slipped inside through the basement back door. He saw Jill standing there, waiting for him. She was pale and looked frightened.

  “First thing I need you to do is relax,” Tom said. He put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “Take some deep breaths. I need you with me.”

  Jill nodded.

  “Some people are coming for me,” Tom said. He remained calm, which helped Jill. “I’m pretty sure they’re coming to arrest me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She’ll never forgive you for lying to her, he thought.

  Jill nodded again, but more slowly. “You’re not leaving without me?” she cried. “You can’t leave me alone.”

  “No. Never. But listen to me. We need to separate for a short while. Do as I say and we’ll be together again soon.”

  “Why do we have to separate?”

  “You’ll slow me down if we stick together. It’s me they’re after, not you. But you’re not safe on your own, either. I’m not going to leave you alone for long. I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. I’m going to give you very specific instructions. You’re going to follow my instructions exactly as I give them to you. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Don’t think, Jill. Be decisive. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Jill said.

  “Okay, we’ll need to do some things first.”

  “What things?”

  “Go upstairs. Hurry. Grab all the hair gel you have. There’s hydrogen peroxide under the sink in the upstairs bathroom. Grab that too. Then get the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit. Bring it all back downstairs to me, along with every Ziploc bag we have.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Jill.

  “While you’re doing that,” Tom said, “I’m going to build the detonator.”

  Chapter 75

  Tom watched Jill drag the forty-gallon plastic trash barrel to the curb. She completed her mission with calm efficiency. Tomorrow was trash day. Oak Street was dotted with lots of green plastic barrels set out in front of lots of curbs. Their barrel looked full of trash. But the bags within it were stuffed full of newspaper. They looked puffy and full. Tom made certain nothing heavy was lodged inside those bags. Nothing that could become a projectile when he triggered the device.

  Jill returned unhurriedly to the house. For the next several minutes she would be out of Tom’s sight. But he wasn’t worried. Jill knew what needed to be done. Tom looked out the window again. The street was still quiet
.

  Was the storm even coming?

  Better to be prepared than to be a sitting target, he thought.

  Tom called Rainy and told her that he’d call her back later. Something had come up, he said. It was a brief exchange, but it had to be done. Nobody else would be calling him. That was important, too. His phone was now part of the trigger mechanism.

  Jill reappeared in the driveway. She was wheeling her red Schwinn World S bike alongside her. She leaned the bike up against the stone wall that abutted the driveway and disappeared from his view again. That was her signal to Tom that everything was in place.

  Tom snatched the cordless phone from the kitchen. Next, he grabbed Jill’s nylon backpack, which he’d stuffed with needed supplies. He descended the basement stairs, slipped out the back door, and worked his way around to the side of the house. Jill was waiting for him there.

  The mountain bike was there, leaning up against the house. Jill had retrieved it from the shed after she grabbed her Schwinn.

  Tom looked the bike over. It appeared to be in decent condition. The bike had belonged to Kelly’s boyfriend, Alfonso. The same Alfonso who had used Kelly’s house as a storage locker and got arrested for DWI.

  The mountain bike had more gears than most riders had the skill to use. Hydroformed aluminum frame. Cold-forged dropouts. The front shock was an open bath damper type, which was fine by him so long as the oil levels in each leg were adequate to lube the other sliding parts. The tires were Bontrager, and the wheels Shimano. Quality parts as well. He inspected the shifters and derailleur. Those were fine, too.

  Jill came over and stood beside her father.

  “You’re going to stay on the move for fifteen minutes.” Tom said it as an instruction, but Jill understood that it was also a question.

  “Yes.”

  “You know where we’re going to meet.”

  “I do.”

  “You’ll do exactly what I told you to do.”

  Jill nodded. “I will.”

  Tom raised his head like a bloodhound catching a fresh scent. “Okay, then. Ride.”