“I’m in the lounge. Matt, have you been back to your house yet?”
“Not since this morning. Why?”
“Hold on.”
Matt could hear the sound of a door closing and the noise faded.
“Don’t go home.”
“What? Why?”
“Someone identified you in the video taken out front of the Reynolds’ house, the one where you’re carrying Kiernan. The media is already staked out in front of your house. I just saw them on TV. It was a tease for the five o’clock news.”
Matt felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “What do you mean, they identified me?”
“By name, Matt. And by job classification. They’re saying they have a quote from Captain Branson disavowing the department’s involvement in what you’re doing.”
He exhaled raggedly.
“What is it?” Kiernan asked. “Are you all right?”
“I guess that’s it, then,” Matt managed. “Branson said my job would be forfeit if anyone ID’d me in the clip.”
“Oh, shit,” Kiernan groaned.
“You don’t know it wasn’t Branson himself, the son of a bitch,” Sheila fumed. “For all you know, he was so pissed off about Mitchell’s ambush he set you up.”
“I’ll probably never know. Not that it matters much in the long run.”
“Don’t you dare just roll over,” Sheila said. “Don’t you dare, Matthew! You’re making headway. You can’t just stop now. Karen Reynolds needs you, the little girl needs you. You cannot leave her floating around in limbo forever, you just can’t! I will simply never forgive you if—”
“Sheila, for Christ’s sakes, put a sock in it for a minute, will you?” Matt said, irritation breaking through the shock. “Branson can do whatever the hell he wants to with this. He wasn’t going to let me come back, anyway. And I have no intention of giving up until I find out who killed Abby, all right? I’m just not thrilled with the idea of finding myself on the goddamned evening news.” He felt Kiernan’s hand rest on his leg, and looked over to find his eyes filled with understanding.
“Oh, well. Good then,” Sheila said, subdued. “Where are you going to go?”
Matt thumped his fist on the steering wheel. “I need a computer. Immediately.”
“Go to my house. Kyle is with my mother until tomorrow, and Bill isn’t off until six. I’m not done here until eight, but you know where the extra key is. Just go down the alley and pull in from the back.”
It was the perfect answer for the short term.
“Thanks, Sheila,” Matt said, his voice softer. “I owe you.”
“You certainly do. Someday in the not-too-distant future, I’m going to remind you I’m the reason you met Kiernan to begin with.”
“Oh, I knew that was coming.”
“Of course you did. And I want a full report on what’s going on as soon as I’m off work.”
“Done.” He paused. “Thanks, Sheila. Love you.” He hung up and checked the traffic behind him before pulling into the left-turn lane and hitting his blinker.
“So, what’s the plan, Officer?”
“We’re going to my brother’s house. I’m going to hack into my twelve-year-old nephew’s computer.”
Kiernan grinned. “Cool.”
* * *
The alley behind Bill and Sheila’s expansive fifties rancher was nearly impassable, even for a vehicle with four-wheel drive and studded tires. It didn’t look as if it had been plowed in days. People who lived in houses with rear-facing garages had been using it, however, turning the snow into several inches of uneven, solid-packed ice. The Bronco slid sideways twice, nearly taking out a wooden fence and nudging a trash can onto its side. Finally, Matt managed to pull in behind Bill’s garage. He killed the engine and the lights, and then sat, catching his breath.
“Wow, that was impressive.” Kiernan’s eyes were luminous in the near darkness.
“Impressive, how?”
“We didn’t end up in anyone’s swimming pool.”
Matt snorted. “As cold as it’s been, we’d likely have slid across the top right into their family room. Come on.” He opened his door and stepped out, pulling his collar up around his throat when a stiff breeze struck his cheeks.
“Christ, it’s gotten colder,” Kiernan complained, slamming the Bronco door.
Matt was grateful Bill had shoveled behind the garage, but the concrete driveway was still slick. The moment the two of them stepped off the pavement, they were nearly up to their knees in icy white.
“Okay,” Kiernan groused, catching Matt’s arm as his feet slipped, “the charm of the snow has definitely worn off.”
Matt grunted. “Yeah, no kidding.”
They managed to make it to the covered patio without either of them landing on their asses, and then stood stomping the clinging white powder from their legs. Matt reached into a shadowy recess in an old outdoor fireplace and found the key to the back door still secreted there.
It was dim and silent inside his brother’s usually noisy, well-lit home. “Step carefully,” Matt cautioned. “Twelve-year-old play area.”
“Can’t we turn on a light, maybe?” Kiernan cursed under his breath when he kicked something in the gloom.
“One sec.” Matt crossed to the large windows that ran the length of the front of the house. He cautiously pulled back the drapes and peered out. “Nope, ‘fraid not.” Two news vans sat out front, their inhabitants bundled up in heavy outerwear, chatting amiably at the curb.
“Son of a bitch. How did they find your brother’s house?”
“Searched my name on the Internet, I imagine.” Matt let the curtains swing closed. “Plus, I wouldn’t put it past whoever outed me to tip them off I had family in the area. Come on. I know it’s dark, but try not to break anything.”
“Yeah, I’d hate to smash an action figure or something.”
“I was actually thinking more along the lines of your neck.”
“Ah, you do care,” Kiernan said with a chuckle.
Kyle’s bedroom had a bathroom attached through an open door. Fortunately, there was a nightlight burning in a plug on the bathroom wall, so the interior of the boy’s bedroom wasn’t totally dark. The floor, however, was completely covered with clothes, books, toys and a skateboard, which Matt noticed just before he stepped on it.
“Skateboard,” he warned as he stepped over it.
“See it, but thanks. Think the bed is safe?”
“He’s twelve. Sit at your own risk.”
He was amused when Kiernan patted the rumpled bedding before launching himself into the middle of it. Matt took a seat on a chair much too small for him behind a desk that was the same, and cursed when he hit his kneecap sharply on the edge. He clicked on the mouse and rubbed at the sharp ache while the computer screen slowly lit with the Windows sign on screen.
“Okay, Kyle,” he muttered, “what’s your password.”
“Pet’s name,” Kiernan suggested.
“They don’t have one.”
“What, no dog?”
“He’s allergic.”
“Favorite cartoon character.” Kiernan grimaced and reached under the bedspread, coming up with a baseball. “Or major league player.”
“Let’s try Jeter,” he mused, inserting the name. “Nope.”
“Football, maybe?”
“Seahawks.” He typed it in. Again the desktop refused to open. “Not that, either.”
Kiernan tossed the ball up and caught it easily. “Favorite food?”
“Mac and cheese.” Matt cursed when the system still refused to open. But now a clue appeared under the sign-in box. “Harry Potter’s nemesis…” He frowned.
“Oh, come on!” Kiernan said incredulously when Matt just stared
at him. “Lord Voldemort!”
Matt blinked. “Alrighty then. Spelling?”
“You are seriously losing cool points, here, Matthew. “L-O-R—”
“I’ve got that part, thanks.”
Kiernan grinned. “Just like it sounds,” he said, leaning casually against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle. “V-O-L-D-E-M-O-R-T. And you should know you are the only person on the entire planet who doesn’t know that.”
“I’m not the only person,” Matt grumbled as he tried it. There was a bell tone, and Kyle’s desktop appeared. “And not all of us think like a twelve-year-old boy.”
Kiernan snorted. “Why, thank you, sir.”
Matt opened a search engine. “Let’s start with Samantha Mitchell and see where it takes us, okay?”
Several links appeared, but as Matt went through each of them it became apparent they were stories they’d already seen in the society pages. Twenty minutes and nearly thirty links later, they were no further along than they had been when they’d come in the back door.
“This is getting us nowhere,” Matt muttered.
“How about PeopleFinder?” Kiernan suggested.
“Good idea.” When the main page appeared, it asked for first name, middle initial, last name, and state. Matt entered Patrick H. Mitchell and the state. Forty-four boxes containing the name popped up.
“Holy shit.” Kiernan scooted to the edge of the bed. “There are that many Mitchells in the area?”
“More. Look here. Each one has a list of their known relatives.” He scrolled through them, and was nearly to the bottom when another name caught his eye. “There he is.”
Kiernan’s hand rested on his shoulder as he leaned closer. Under the heading Known Relatives read Brandon Mitchell, Ethel Mitchell, Samantha Elaine Mitchell.
“No maiden name,” Kiernan muttered. “Shit.”
“Not out here. But maybe inside…” Matt moved the cursor over a red box near the bottom offering more details and clicked the button.
Another screen loaded, bringing up the prices to find additional information. They both cursed aloud.
“Figures.” Matt reached toward his back pocket.
“No, use mine.” Kiernan grabbed his arm to stop him, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “Paper trail, remember?” Kiernan flipped the wallet open and pulled out a credit card. “I can’t be fired for doing a web search for Police Commissioner Mitchell.”
Matt exhaled heavily. “I think that ship has sailed,” he muttered, but took the card and entered the information. When the page finally loaded, it was clear they had the right Mitchell. Listed were his parents’ names, his school records, every address he’d lived at since college. And under 1993 was his marriage to one Samantha Elaine Neumeyer on October 21, including the name of the church.
Matt went back to the main page and entered her maiden name. A similar page to Patrick’s opened, listing her parents’ names and her college, including sorority, and her wedding date to Patrick.
“Okay, this is just weird.” Matt hit the back button. “According to Toni, there’s a son who isn’t Mitchell’s. So, either she’s wrong, or…”
“What if she wasn’t married? It’s not that uncommon.”
“No. It still should have shown up. There’d be a registered birth certificate.”
“What if she somehow managed to have her record before she married Mitchell expunged? He is a politician; they wouldn’t want an illegitimate birth floating around out there on PeopleFinder. It should have been easy enough for her, she’s married to a lawyer.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Good point.” He stared at the screen for a second longer and then exited the page. When he went to the top and typed in an HTML address, Kiernan sighed.
“Matt, you can’t do that. You said they keep a record of all of the IP addresses. Plus, there will be a record you signed in.”
“Listen, my job is probably already history. Let’s get what information we can, while we can.”
The sign-on page he’d requested loaded, and he entered his name and badge number. The departmental website connected to an advanced search engine, and under Inquiry, Matt typed in Samantha Elaine Neumeyer. Much more quickly than at the paid site, a page loaded and Matt felt Kiernan lean forward against his shoulder.
“‘Samantha Elaine Neumeyer,’” he read aloud. “‘DOB, 16 September, 1954. Street Address: 1943 Rocky Cliff Drive. Attended University of Washington 1972 through 1976. Graduated with a BA in Business Administration…’”
His voice trailed away, and they both read the entire page carefully. Near the bottom was the entry, Spouse: Patrick H. Mitchell. Married October 21, 1993. Mitchell elected to first term as Police Commissioner in 2006…
“I don’t get it.” Kiernan sounded confused. “If she has a son who’s now an adult, where is he? Shouldn’t it show up?”
“It should. Unless someone has cleaned up this site, too.” He turned his head to find Kiernan’s eyes close, and quick with comprehension.
“Someone inside, then.”
Matt nodded. “Yes. Like Ed said, someone inside.”
Kiernan looked thoughtful when his eyes shifted back to the screen. “So, is this a dead end, then?”
Matt straightened with new determination. “Not necessarily.” He directed the cursor back to the search bar and typed in Department of Vital Statistics: all existing private records. When the request for a password came up, his lips tightened as he typed it in.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your entire body stiffened when you typed in the password.”
Slightly disconcerted to find Kiernan could read him so easily, Matt paused before he answered. “This site is restricted, and heavily monitored. If I’ve been officially terminated, we won’t be able to access it at all. The first thing they do is rescind our passwords.”
“Oh. Well, at least then you’ll know for sure.”
They watched the cursor blink and the status bar slowly load. Matt had just about decided he had, in fact, been fired when the page opened, and he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“There you go,” Kiernan said. “Still gainfully employed.”
“For now.” Matt entered Samantha’s full maiden name. “Let’s see what this does.” He pressed enter. Almost immediately the page filled with text. “Here we go. Graduated from Mt. Pleasant in 1972, went immediately to U of W. Wracked up a dozen parking tickets in downtown Seattle between 1972 and 1976…”
Kiernan laughed. “Sounds like me. I’m notorious. It’s gotten to the point where Aidan doesn’t want to let me drive at all.”
“Well, I’m sure Samantha’s daddy wasn’t thrilled, either.” Matt scrolled further down.
“There!” Kiernan cried, pointing. “Certificate of Marriage, 1980!”
Matt clicked on the link. They strained forward, waiting anxiously. When the page loaded, Kiernan’s fingers closed on his arm.
“‘November 18, 1980,’” Matt read aloud. “‘Bride: Samantha Elaine Neumeyer. Groom: Ambrose Garrett…Preston.’” His voice trailed off into silence, and Matt stared, his heart leaping into his throat.
“Holy shit,” Kiernan gasped.
The words had no sooner left his mouth than the screen went blank.
“Son of a bitch.” Matt repeatedly punched the Refresh button. Nothing happened for several seconds, but then a box appeared. In bright red capital letters were the words ACCESS DENIED. “Goddamn it!”
Matt closed the lid of the laptop with a sharp snap. “Come on,” he said, abruptly pushing to his feet. “We need to get out of here.”
“Why?” Kiernan asked, but he stood as well.
“That Access Denied message means someone knows I was in
the system. They have IP addresses, remember? It’s only a matter of time before they hit on the fact it’s for a computer registered to another Bennett. Then they’ll have the house address. We need to be gone by then.”
He started from the room, pulling Kiernan along by his arm.
“You think they might come looking for us?” he asked, sounding startled. “It’s not like we broke the law or anything.”
“No. But we still have to assume we just found information someone went to a boatload of trouble to hide.”
They’d arrived in the kitchen, and Matt paused to look out through the curtains on the door, his hand instinctively reaching under his jacket. His fingers closed around the butt of his service revolver, but the back yard was dark and silent.
“Matt,” Kiernan whispered. “Ambrose Garrett Preston.”
“Yeah,” Matt said, his voice equally hushed.
“As in, Assistant District Attorney Garrett Preston.”
Matt held Kiernan’s wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume he’s named after his father.”
Chapter Fifteen
Matt cranked up the heat to take the chill from the Bronco’s cab and clear the frost from the windshield. He chewed the corner of his lip as his mind raced, trying to decide what their next move should be.
“So, now what do we do?” Kiernan asked.
Matt looked at the earnest, almost eager face. “I should take you straight to the airport,” he said, his voice rough. “Get you on the first available plane out of here if there is one.”
Kiernan’s mouth dropped open. “What? Why?”
“Don’t you get it? It isn’t safe! Someone has already taken a shot at you, leveled threats against you. As long as I thought they didn’t know where you were, I believed I could keep you safe. But they aren’t stupid, Kier. They’ll have figured out you’re with me. Whoever talked to the media took care of that.”
“‘They,’ who, Matt? Preston?”
“At the very least, Preston.” Matt lowered his voice. “Whoever just denied me access to a departmental website knows we’re on to something. They can trace the pages I went to. Christ.” He ran his hand over his hair and stared at the back of his brother’s dark house. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
A Reason to Believe Page 22