by Jean Rabe
“Maybe all the answers will be waiting for us this afternoon at the library,” she mused.
“Be nice if it was that easy. I’m driving.”
Piper knew it was walking distance, but they’d want an Explorer in the event there was someone to arrest or bring in for questioning, and it had an evidence kit in the back. Besides, she preferred not driving the Bitch-tagged Hyundai.
Please let me make an arrest for Mark the Shark.
She lost the next several hours in researching pacemakers, hacking, calling up county obituaries—keying on heart problems—and finally reading through a lengthy email from the bank that said the fraud division detected a number of routing issues from Mark Thresher’s account to accounts in other states that initially appeared to belong to relatives of his, but on closer scrutiny were fraudulent accounts.
“It’s likely that money is in the Canary Islands,” the banker told Piper when she called. “Or someplace where we can’t reach. It was a very slick and professional hacking job.”
Piper was further disappointed when JJ came back empty from the principal’s office. He wouldn’t discuss the students, citing privacy.
The community room at the Rockport library branch was far from empty, however. Senior citizens and computer club members mingled over genealogy projects. And there hadn’t been any metallic gray Celicas—any Celicas—in the parking lot or on the street.
She did a head count—twenty-one genealogy club members out of the twenty-seven on her list; six out of eight computer club members. Naturally, Sylvia D wasn’t present, as she had a half-hour left to go on her shift.
Oren filled up the doorway, told her he’d be the gate keeper so no one would leave.
“Good afternoon,” Piper said loudly.
Immediately the chatter and key-clicking quieted. “I’ve a couple of announcements. Services for Mark Thresher will be held at the First Baptist Church at 11 a.m. Thursday, with a luncheon to follow. The private burial will be at Gentryville Memory Gardens.”
Scattered conversations swelled.
“He had a good run.” This from Gary Frank.
“It was his heart.” Carolyn Tibbetts. “He’d been getting slower.”
“Still, I figured he’d hit one hundred.” Gary Frank.
“Aliens,” Al Bingemer said. “He was worried about spies and aliens. Maybe he finally saw one. Gave him a heart attack.”
“That’s not nice,” Carolyn shot back. “Mark the Shark was a good man.”
He was, Piper thought, and a very generous one. She’d be going over to his house tonight—her house, taking Marmalade and Camaro home, giving Nang a tour, cooking a frozen pizza in that beautiful stove with six burners.
“Wonder who’s getting his money? That nice house?” Piper didn’t see who said that.
“No kids,” Gary Frank said. “He married late. Not everyone has to have kids, don’t you know.”
“Maybe the Baptist Church,” Carolyn suggested. “He was always putting a twenty in the plate when it was passed.”
“Sheriff’s got her arm in a sling because Gretchen shot her.”
“Did you hear they took a hundred cats out of that house?” Gary Frank. “Who the hell would want even one of those critters? Shred your furniture and—”
“I have four cats.” Al Bingemer.
“You can take your cats and—”
A shrill whistle cut through the clamor. Zeke the Geek stood on a chair. “Will you all be civil and let Sheriff Blackwell talk?”
“Thank you.” Piper raised her free hand. “I have a few questions, and we’d like to speak with some of you.”
“About what?” Stomp Barnett risked disturbing the silence.
“How many of you use online banking?”
Every hand went up except Paul Blackwell’s. Piper knew damn well her father used online banking, managed all of his investments with the computer. She also knew he was crazy-curious what she was up to. He sat in front of his notebooks, arms crossed, and eyebrows raised.
“Have any of you noticed money missing from your accounts?”
Three hands stayed up—Al Bingemer, Stomp Barnett, and Janice Snoddy.
“My son told me I’m not managing the account right, not keeping track of my transactions,” Stomp said. “I told him I didn’t make no damn twelve thousand dollar error. I complained to the bank last week.”
Piper wondered if it was the same bank Mark the Shark had used.
“Twenty thousand out of my money market,” Janice said. “I’d convinced myself it was just the market slipping. But it didn’t slip that much, did it? Something bad’s happening.”
“I ain’t saying how much I’m missing.” Al Bingemer scowled and made a fist. “But I got some fraud department on alert about it. I took the rest of my money out and put it in the credit union. And I changed all my passwords. Wrote ‘em down in a book.” He picked up a small notebook and held it so Piper could see it.
She also saw that five other club members had the same notebook, passwords printed on the cover.
Piper noticed that Oren was scribbling on a pad, probably recording the names and amounts Stomp and Janice said were missing.
“We’d like to speak with a few of you,” Piper said. “Anyone who wants to talk to us, actually.” She pointed to the only empty table, small and round near the room’s entrance, three chairs. “One at a time, so the rest of you can keep working on your genealogy projects. She noted where Chuck Schleevogt was. John Rasor was one of the missing members.
“And—” It was a personal question that she’d not ask to a younger group. But she knew that older people overshared about their various medical maladies and so decided it was fair game. “How many of you have pacemakers?”
Only one hand—Chuck Schleevogt.
Oren tapped his pocket; he had a printout of the model numbers of the hackable pacemakers.
The room filled with conversations again, sounding like locusts had descended. Paul waived Piper over. Zeke the Geek got off the chair.
“What’s going on Punkin?”
“On-going investigation,” she said.
“Punkin, please don’t give me that crap. I’m the Santa Claus Police Chief.”
“Next week you’ll be the Santa Claus Police Chief.” She smiled. “Actually, I don’t have time to talk about it right now. After this.” She waved her free hand to indicate the room. “After I’m done with this I’ll tell you about it. Pick your brain so to speak.”
She stepped away and headed toward Zeke, noticed that Chuck Schleevogt had gotten up and stood in front of Oren, the pair deep in conversation, Schleevogt raising and lowering his arms and looking like a penguin trying to fly. Piper spotted Zeke the Geek and headed toward him, but a student cut her off.
“Sheriff Blackwell?” The boy wore a t-shirt with a lightning bolt down the middle, sarcasm is my super power printed across it. His name tag read Gregg Hommer.
Piper stopped.
“What did we do, Sheriff?”
“Excuse me?”
“Our club? The computer club. What did we do? Heard at school that your department is investigating all of us, that one of your deputies talked to the principal about us this morning.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Piper returned. But she was suddenly worried. Two students were missing. She shot a look to Oren. He was still engrossed with Schleevogt. Were they absent because JJ’s questions had tipped them off? “Don’t worry.”
She stepped around him and was nearly to Zeke the Geek when another student stopped her. His nametag read Larry Pinscher.
“The deputy at school today—” he prompted. “Does that have something to do about us working with these geezers? Do you think we’re—”
“Don’t worry,” she told him.
Zeke the Geek stepped up to meet her. “We’re all kinda concerned, Sheriff Blackwell. The sheriff’s deputy at the school this morning and—”
“Yeah, well, I guess that was my mistake. I should
n’t’ve sent her.”
“I didn’t say anything to anyone,” Zeke said. “I want you to know I kept my mouth shut and—”
Piper waved away the rest of his words. “Cassandra Keaton and Mike Vola.” She looked at the student list. “They aren’t here. Were they at school today? I’m curious why they’re not here.”
“Mike’s a foreign exchange student from Finland. He got his diploma early, last week, went back home so he could graduate with his class.”
“And Cassandra Keaton?”
“Sheriff, she was at school today. But she’s not here.”
“Obviously.”
“She never misses our meetings with the genealogy club. Must’ve gotten sick or something.”
“Or something.” Piper frowned. “What do you know about her?”
“Cassidy? A geek. A nerd. Brilliant. She’s got a scholarship to Caltech, full ride, I think. But she wouldn’t hack anyone. She could. Piece of cake for her. In her sleep. But she wouldn’t. She’s sweet.”
“Sweet, huh?”
“She even helps some of these people at home for a few bucks an hour.”
“Probably gave them those password books,” Piper mused.
“Oh God.” Zeke the Geek looked a little paler. “Oh God. Oh God. Yeah, she did.”
“Got Cassidy’s home address?”
He shook his head.
Piper called Teegan, who was just coming on. “I need an address, ASAP. And I need a search warrant. Whoever’s in the office—” She gave clipped instructions, not caring that Zeke the Geek, Larry Pinscher, Gary Frank, and Stomp Barnett hovered close enough to hear.
Finished, she looked at the quartet. “What kind of car does Cassidy Keaton drive?”
Zeke shook his head, so did Gary Frank.
Stomp stroked his white beard. “An older model silvery-gray thing. Used to belong to Melanie—”
Piper elbowed her way through the group, reached Oren, who was still talking to Schleevogt.
“The hacker is a student named Cassandra Keaton. I’m getting an address and a search warrant.”
Oren handed her the keys. “I’ll finish here,” he said. “Then I’ll walk back to the department, get another ride, and meet you. Radio me the address.”
Piper rushed out to the parking lot—to discover the Ford had two slashed tires and BITCH scratched into the paint.
“She’s sweet, eh?” Piper said. “Shit.”
She returned the keys to Oren, cradled her bandaged arm, and jogged to the department.
36
Thirty-Six
Diego Garcia Velazquez had come on shift and drove.
He was twenty-five, the youngest on the force next to Piper, as Oren’s granddaughter didn’t start until next week. Diego was half a head taller than the sheriff, and broad-chested from lifting weights. His uniform sleeves always looked tight. He’d taken second place last year in his weight class in the Indiana State Powerlifting Championships, and had gotten a few other deputies to try the sport. Diego had applied for the detective slot, and Piper thought he’d be good in the position—with a few more years’ experience. She’d told him that before she brought in Basil and Kevan for interviews.
Piper wanted backup and was glad Diego was available. Dealing with a teenager, parents perhaps, and her with one useful arm—she was brave and headstrong, but not stupid. And Oren would be following soon. This wasn’t a situation to step into alone.
The stop at the courthouse was quick, and the warrant granted with lightning speed because Spencer County was small. People knew each other. The seventy-something-year-old judge had been friends with Alfonso Lattimer, an acquaintance of Mark Thresher, golfed twice a month with Chuck Schleevogt—who had a pacemaker—and he didn’t like the notion of elderly people being taken advantage of. The warrant included the search of a Celica in the possession of Cassandra Keaton.
“She’s ain’t home.”
Piper guessed the boy was twelve. He stood in the doorway, dressed in blue jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt.
“My folks ain’t home either. Working. You ain’t coming in.”
Diego held up the warrant.
Piper paused. The warrant, signed by the judge, let her enter the house—no matter who was or wasn’t there. She hated to do this without an adult present, but she didn’t want to wait. Finding Cassidy Keaton was urgent, and the girl’s computer might be key to that.
“We are coming in,” Piper said, squeezing by him and stepping into the living room. “Where is Cassidy? Do you know where she went?”
The boy shrugged. “I’m calling Dad.”
“You do that. Please call him, ask him to come home.” Piper was in too much of a hurry to be pleasant. “I’d like to talk to both of your parents.” Maybe they knew where Cassidy was. “Point me to your sister’s room.”
“You can’t mess with her stuff.”
“The warrant is for her computers and all of her other electronic devices. I won’t ‘mess’ with anything else.”
He shook his head, crossed his arms, and stuck out his lower lip. She revised her estimate downward. Maybe he was ten, or nine, same age as the boy on the bluff had been.
“We’ll find her room, then,” she said. “And go call your dad.” Piper barely registered the place, other than to note everything looked nice, clean, upper middle class, big flat screen television, thick carpet. She took the stairs. The girl’s bedroom would be upstairs. Diego followed. Below, she heard the boy on the telephone, talking loud and angry.
First door on the right was the master bedroom; she passed it by. First door on the left had a sign on it. Tim’s Domain: Keep Out. That must be Tim she’d met downstairs. She passed it. The next door was a bathroom, and across from it the door was closed. She knocked, thinking perhaps the girl was home after all and her brother had lied. No answer, so she swung it open.
Single bed, desk, lounge chair, everything flowery and pink. BLOSSOM in block craft letters on the wall. No sign of a computer.
Diego went to the closet and did a cursory look. “No computer.” After a moment, he added, “No designer clothes or shoes. I got a sister, and she gets stuff like this at the Owensboro mall. If she has a lot of money, she’s not spending it on clothes.”
Piper opened the desk drawers, looking for a laptop or tablet. The search warrant was precise—computers and electronic devices. But there was nothing to stop them from eyeballing the place for obvious signs of excessive spending. No laptop, no iPad, no cell phone.
Diego looked under the bed. “Magazines. Computer magazines. Bedroom slippers.”
“Nothing in the desk. Shit.” And two is four. Piper was about to race back downstairs and find the boy. She didn’t want to take the chance he might do something with a laptop or—
The boy stood in the doorway, cell phone held to his face. “Dad says he’s coming home and you’re in really big trouble. Dad says—”
“Where does your sister keep her computer? Laptop? Desktop?”
“She doesn’t have any.” Again he stuck out his lower lip. “Okay, Dad. Hurry up.” He put the phone in his front pocket.
“Should I arrest him, Sheriff, for obstruction?” Diego gave the boy a serious look and touched his handcuffs.
“Downstairs, the basement. Her computer’s too big to fit in her room.” The boy backed into the hall, allowing Piper and Diego to pass. “Dad says you’re in really, really, really big trouble. He’s calling our attorney.”
“Thanks, Tim,” Piper said.
The basement stairs were off the kitchen. Piper took them two at a time, bumping her bandaged arm against the wall and biting her lip to keep from cursing. She flicked on the light at the bottom.
“Oh.”
“Oh my,” Diego said.
Against the opposite wall were two six-foot tables. Three desktop systems spread across them, and four large monitors hung from the wall behind. To Piper, it looked like a command center for a covert operation.
“Is this your s
ister’s? Cassidy’s?” Piper asked when she heard the boy tromp down the stairs a few beats behind them. “This isn’t your dad’s?” Her warrant covered the girl’s computers. She mentally kicked herself, should have asked for all the computers in the residence.
“Dad’s computer is in his office upstairs. He’s got a laptop. Mom uses the laptop, too. This is all Cassidy’s.”
“How’d she afford this?” Diego was in obvious awe of the setup.
“She tutors geezers by the hour about computers and the Internet. She bought this with her tutoring money.”
“I have a laptop,” Piper said softly to Diego. “Never had a desktop. But I’m thinking this is expensive. Way the hell beyond an hourly tutor wage.”
The basement was finished, but not fancy. Painted drywall, a drop ceiling, Berber carpet. At the far end was a treadmill, and next to that a weight bench. Another long table with shelves above it was set up for scrapbooking.
The warrant was specific. Piper took her cell phone out and started taking pictures of the computers. “You said this was all your sister’s right?”
“You deaf?” the boy taunted.
“Why would you need more than one computer?”
“She likes computers,” the boy answered. “She’s gonna go to college for computers.”
“It’s a Genesis,” Diego said, adding a low whistle. “This unit is.” He turned the tower and started examining it. “Liquid cooling. ATX inverted mount. See the liquid cooling blocks? Steel frame chassis, vents at the front, top, bottom. It would have a spectacular LED display, probably has multiple graphics cards. Top mounted USB, microphone, headphone, easy to get at. I’m a gamer, Sheriff, and I couldn’t afford this system. But I sure would love one.”
“How much?”
“This Genesis?” He thumbed it on. “Password protected. Can’t get into it easy.”
“Figures.”
“I’d say the Genesis ran her about six grand. Maybe more.”
It was Piper’s turn to whistle.
“The one in the middle. It doesn’t look as fancy.” She moved the mouse and a screen came on. “This one’s on, was in sleep mode. Don’t have to worry about a password.” She sat in the chair. “Comfortable.”