“To carry a gun here you gotta have a FOID card – a Firearm Owner’s Identification – issued by the Illinois State Police. Yeah, we can run searches on those, but the state doesn’t require individual weapons registration, so even if someone has a FOID card or a concealed carry permit, there’s no proof they have a gun.”
“Right. Do we know if Quimby has a FOID card?” I poured myself a cup of black coffee as O’Malley dumped his tea bag in the bin and took a sip.
“Huh. Interesting.” I assumed he was talking about the question of Quimby having a weapons permit, not the tea-flavored simple syrup he’d concocted. “I guess we might have run a search on the partners when we first took on ADDATA’s account, but that was a couple years ago.”
“Quimby has a partner?” I hadn’t actually done the research into Quimby’s company, just the man himself. That was an oversight I would correct as soon as I got back to my computer.
“On paper anyway. Guy’s a researcher at U of C. Teaches psychometry or some-fucking-thing like that.” He had his phone out and was doing a search.
“Who partnered whom?” I asked, taking a sip of the foul brew that masqueraded as coffee after four hours in the pot.
O’Malley smirked. “Listen to you – ‘whom.’ The ‘who’ in this case was the fucking researcher guy, Karpov.”
“Russian?”
He shrugged. “I guess. Name like that, someone on the family fucking tree was. My guess is Quimby was the hype man Karpov needed to turn his data science into cash money. Look ‘em up – there’s a file.”
He gulped his tea, then navigated to a screen on his phone and passed it to me. “There – Quimby’s got a FOID card. Picked it up three months ago.”
I examined the date on the listing next to Dane Quimby’s name, and it seemed familiar. I pulled out my own phone to check the case file. “That’s the same week the secret account was opened.”
“No shit?” O’Malley asked.
“No shit.”
“Sounds like something spooked old Quimby, huh?”
“It does indeed.”
13
Shane
“I cook with wine. Sometimes I even add it to the food.” – Shane, P.I.
The adrenaline spike Quimby inspired had made me hungry, but none of the food in my kitchen appealed to me for dinner. I was not generally a picky eater, in fact I was the opposite of picky when it came to food. Food was good. Fried food was better. Food with bacon or butter (or both) was best. But general dissatisfaction had a way of making what should have been a simple decision (yes, corn chips and tuna sounded like a great combination, thank you very much) turn into a case of standing in front of the open refrigerator waiting for something to reach out and embrace me.
I was getting cold and annoyed, and I finally closed the fridge in disgust. A very small voice in the back of my head told me not to leave the apartment in case Dane Quimby was driving around my neighborhood waiting to spot me. Which was exactly why I wasn’t going to take the easy way out and order a delivery. Fear pissed me off in principle, and I refused to allow it any control over my actions.
I pulled my hair up in a ponytail and debated my leg choices. No cheetah – I planned to wear shoes – but maybe I’d try one of the new superhero legs Sparky had designed for me. I had three of them: two had normal feet with titanium pole legs equipped with various MacGyver-inspired attachments, and one had a foot designed for a high-heeled shoe with a natural-looking leg that could be worn with a skirt. I’d never tested that leg, but tonight wasn’t the night for a skirt or heels.
I picked a leg with a couple of screwdrivers, a sheath for my knife, and a kinetic energy-powered flashlight. Imagining the scenario in which I might need to use all those tools made me smile as I pulled on sweats and trainers over the prosthetic.
Oscar grumbled as he got to his feet, which was dog for “I haven’t napped nearly long enough after our run, but you’re going out aren’t you, so I’m coming too.” I leashed him for his last walk of the evening, and pocketed phone, keys, and cash. I figured I’d find inspiration for my dinner from whatever smelled good at the Armenian market on the corner.
I loved my neighborhood at night. There was a comedy theater a half a block away, and I loved catching the audience coming out of a show. People were always smiling and laughing as they recounted their favorite bits, and things occasionally got a little hot when the comedians were political. The cafe and bar near the theater stayed open late, and sidewalk conversations there were some of my favorites to eavesdrop on as Oscar and I walked toward the park.
Despite the darkness, it was still early and the theater crowd hadn’t emerged yet. Oscar took me to all his favorite trees, and I let my brain wander around the problem of Dane Quimby.
“I thought to myself, if I owned a dog as big as that one, where would I go for his walks?”
I jumped at the deep voice that came at me from a bench about ten feet away, and if I hadn’t immediately recognized it, my fight or flight instinct would have kicked in hard. As it was, my hand had tightened on Oscar’s leash, and my brain had already plotted my escape route.
I reached down, pulled up the leg of my sweats, and unclipped the flashlight. It took effort to get my beating heart under control and I covered for it by flicking the flashlight on and shining it at the bench where Gabriel sat in the near pitch black night. He blinked but didn’t wince away, and I gave him points for self-control By the time I’d sat down next to him, I’d managed to make my voice sound normal and calm. “I guess I should give you props for not actively stalking me, but after this afternoon’s cat and mouse game with Quimby, I’ll admit to being a little jumpy.”
I was watching Oscar sniff around the bench before he casually nosed Gabriel’s hand and accepted ear scratches as his due. I flicked the flashlight off and stowed it back on the leg. Gabriel noticed the motion with what looked like interest, but he didn’t comment on my built-in tool kit.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I figured I’d be less likely to have the police called on me if I waited here rather than outside our building.” His voice was like a caress on my slightly frazzled nerves.
“Our building?” I asked, incredulous.
“I couldn’t pass up that apartment, could I? Despite the slightly dodgy neighbor with the enormous, bicycle-crushing hound, it suits me quite well.”
I opened my mouth to say something that I’m sure would have been clever and scathing if I’d actually been able to think, but my mind had gone completely blank. So I closed my mouth, and turned on the bench to look at Gabriel.
In the dark, his eyes shone pale and serious. I’d expected him to laugh at me, but there was nothing mocking in his gaze.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” he murmured back.
Oscar barked, and I jumped back. Apparently I’d been leaning forward, almost as if I’d wanted to kiss the man who kept finding me. Gabriel had gone still at the bark, and he searched the darkness for signs of whatever had startled my dog. Nothing else moved around us, and after a moment of alertness, Oscar went back to nosing the ground for signs of squirrels.
Gabriel stood and held his hand out to me. “I haven’t eaten yet. Are you hungry?”
I hesitated, then took his hand, and he helped me to my feet. His skin was warm and callused, and that seemed to fit better with the jeans and cashmere sweater he was wearing now than it did with the suit I’d seen him in earlier.
“I was going to pick something up from the Armenian market on the corner,” I said. I let him keep my hand about five seconds longer than I ever let anyone touch me, but instinct kicked in and I pulled it back. He let go, but he walked close enough to me that our hands continued to bump into each other.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked.
I shrugged and then remembered it was too dark to see. “When do you get the keys to your new place?” I asked instead of answering.
“I’m going to rent it
for the month it’s in escrow, so I’ll move some things in this weekend.”
I stopped before we got back to the street, and I stared at Gabriel. “That’s really fast.” My tone came out somewhere between panicked and angry, and he must have sensed it because he took his own volume down to something quiet and calming.
“I don’t know why I keep calling, or why I want to run into you, or even why I’m waiting for you to tell me your name,” he said. “I do know that even though you’ve managed the job just fine all these years without me, somehow I feel responsible for your safety where Dane Quimby is concerned.”
“So, it’s a job?” I asked, and then immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut, because I didn’t really want to hear the answer.
“No. It’s personal.”
I turned to keep walking, and Gabriel kept pace beside me. After half a block, I spoke.
“Dane Quimby thinks I have his money,” I said.
“As long as his wife is missing, you’re his only link to it,” Gabriel agreed.
“I refuse to be afraid.” I might have snarled a little. I hated feeling even a tiny bit of fear, and I generally went out of my way to avoid it whenever possible. “I guess I need to find Denise Quimby,” I mumbled.
“Do you know where she is?” he asked quietly.
“No. Nor do I really want to throw her to the wolf that is her husband, but I don’t need him breathing down my neck in her absence. I have work to do, especially since she stiffed me on my bill before she left town.”
“Ah, I had wondered,” he said.
“What did you wonder?”
“Whether you’d been hired by the wife, or whether you worked for a government agency of some variety.”
“Why would a government agency be interested in Dane Quimby?”
He was silent for a few steps. “You may have noticed there’s something a little … off.”
“You mean besides the fact that he’s an indiscriminate wharf rat with a Napoleon complex and a bad dye job.”
Gabriel laughed, and I got a warm and fuzzy feeling, like I’d just done something wonderful.
We stopped at the light, and I nodded. “He is a little … desperate,” I said.
“I was tasked with finding you,” he said. I tensed and he saw it, but he continued speaking as though everything was just fine. “My bosses want to fire Quimby and ADDATA from their client roster, but since the money went missing on our watch, they can’t cut him loose yet.”
“Until the money’s found, or until you can dig up something bigger on him to make him go away?”
“Just so.” We crossed the street and continued on to the Armenian market. Gabriel held the door open for me, then grabbed a shopping basket as though we did this every Thursday night. I handed Oscar’s leash to Mr. Basmian behind the counter and told my dog to lie down. He did so immediately, and Mr. Basmian slipped him a piece of jerky, as he did every time I brought Oscar into the market.
Gabriel smiled at Mr. Basmian and followed me down the produce aisle. We were next to the apples when I finally turned to face him. “This is weird,” I said.
He stood at eye level with me, and the distance between us was no more than a few inches. He studied my eyes for a moment, and then he smiled. “I propose,” he paused, and my eyes widened. He smiled and continued, “that we get enough food for a picnic, and then find someplace quiet to discuss just how weird this is.”
I studied his face for another moment and then answered with my own smile. “We’re going to need wine.”
“Without a doubt,” he said.
I turned and picked up a honey crisp apple, then placed it in the basket and continued down the aisle. He added a salami and sharp cheese, and I contributed rosemary crackers, fig jam, and a mild brie. He grabbed a package of chopped salad vegetables, and I added cucumbers, feta, and garbanzo beans. The roasted chicken was by mutual choice, and we both reached for the same bar of hazelnut chocolate. He stood back and let me choose the wine – a full-bodied red blend – but he blocked me out at the register when it was time to pay. I didn’t argue; I just poked him in the ribs and whispered, “Next time.”
He shrugged, took the bags, and said, “Sure,” but I saw the smile, and Mr. Basmian winked at me when he handed over Oscar’s leash. I took the lead and walked us to the door of my … our building. I said nothing as I let him in and directed him toward the stairs and up one flight.
He was silent when we stopped outside my apartment and I unlocked the front door. It was nothing he couldn’t have found out from the realtor, but it was still significant that Gabriel Eze now knew where I lived. He seemed to realize it too and was properly respectful of the fact that I’d let him in on another piece of information about me.
I refilled Oscar’s water dish while Gabriel plated the salami, cheese, and crackers. We made the salad together, exchanging just enough words to find knives, the can opener, and ingredients for dressing. He carved up the roasted chicken and plated that too, while I tossed the salad and opened the wine.
“Can you pair your phone with the speaker and put on music?” I asked. It was presumptuous of me, but I hadn’t shaken the feeling that the whole night straddled the line between work and something way too strange to contemplate. I didn’t want to choose the music – I didn’t want to inadvertently pick something romantic, or angsty, or just wrong – because I honestly didn’t know what could be right. Country music was out, because everyone was either cheating or getting left, rap music was definitely out because I really only liked Eminem, and I shuddered to think what that said about me, and I definitely wasn’t putting on one of my mixes, because there were at least two bagpipes tunes, an Indigo Girls song, and an angry female rocker in every one of them. I could probably get away with classic rock, but by this point, the overthinking was working its way into my confidence and taking big, toothy mouthfuls of its fleshy bits.
The fact that I was wildly attracted to this very random Englishman I knew almost nothing about was the most disconcerting thing of all.
I carried dishes to the table while he fussed with the music. He had the speaker paired just as I added napkins and silverware to the place settings. I collected handmade pottery and stoneware from art fairs and second-hand stores, so nothing matched, but I liked the way the table looked – sort of rustic with a mid-century modern vibe.
I looked up at him in surprise when the first notes of the music played. “Hamilton?” I grinned.
He answered with a smile of his own. “It was either that or Jesus Christ Superstar. Book of Mormon would have been too much, and Greatest Showman is better for cleaning dishes than for dinner.”
I laughed in delight, and just like that, all my overthinking disappeared.
14
Gabriel
“Live a life that lets you sleep at night, but if you dream, make sure you can live with yourself in the morning too.” – Miri Eze
Her eyes laughed even when her expression gave nothing else away. She’d moved two electric pillar candles into the middle of the table, and they gave her skin the glow of summers spent outdoors. I served her some chicken and a large portion of the salad.
“Dane Quimby has a partner in ADDATA,” I told her as I served myself. “A post-doctoral student from University of Chicago named Karpov.”
She grabbed her phone from the table and typed in a search. My sister always did the same – instantly accessed information – and it impressed me every time. The years I’d spent with the Peacekeepers, where internet was often a luxury, hadn’t trained me to expect to have information at my fingertips at all times.
I watched her face as she scanned the screen intently. “Alex Karpov did his doctoral thesis on psychometric applications of beliefs and thought processes on consumer behavior. He developed a personality quiz that provided his research team information on individual demographics, income, and interests which could predict trends among specific data sets. Then he applied for and received permission from various
social media platforms to collect the data from among their users for research purposes.” She looked up from the phone to meet my eyes. “It’s a whole different deal to use that data for commerce though. If Karpov is partnered with Quimby in ADDATA, which sells ad space, is he using his research access to predict buying trends for the clients of their company?”
“It would explain the ADDATA questionnaire on Facebook,” I said.
“It would also be super unethical.”
“And possibly illegal.” I considered the implications, both to Cipher’s relationship with ADDATA and to her involvement in moving Quimby’s money for his wife. “Would you consider working with me on that angle?”
She took a sip of wine and contemplated me over the rim of her glass. “We haven’t addressed the elephant in the room,” she said finally.
“Which one?” I asked. “The really big one about the fact that you appear to have taken something that doesn’t belong to you, and my job is to find you and get it back? Or the obvious one that is the fairly significant attraction between us, despite the fact that we know almost nothing about each other?”
I could see her smile behind the rim of her glass. “Part of me is hoping I don’t actually have to tell you my name – that you’ll figure it out for yourself.”
“I know the name you go by … Shane,” I said significantly, “but it’s not your name.”
Her eyes widened and she tilted her head. “Hmm. Interesting. My mail, my neighbor, or something else?”
“We have a rather extraordinary computer genius in the office—”
“And by computer genius you mean hacker?” she said with an arched eyebrow.
“That is information I can neither confirm nor deny,” I said with an answering smile. “I can, however, suggest that your client’s e-mails were accessed in order to determine whether there was foul play involved in her disappearance. Your final bill for service was among her unopened messages.”
Code of Conduct (Cipher Security Book 1) Page 8