Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1)

by Cat Connor

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, well that should prove without a doubt that my assailant was not a blood relative of mine, so why is she still gunning for Aidan?” A moment of horrendous doubt froze my insides. “It did show no link, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, Ellie, whoever attacked you was not a relative.”

  Caine turned and looked at me, his eyes giving nothing away. “He’s used so many people in his deception that we can’t be sure the assailant who cut your throat was the killer at all.”

  The television screen grabbed our attention as Aidan spoke. “I have been spending a lot of time out in Mauryville over the last three months, which is why the cat is in the cattery.”

  “Why have you been in Mauryville?” Owen asked, as she leaned back in her chair.

  “Working on a project with Holly Edwards.”

  “What project?”

  “How is this relevant?”

  I groaned and whispered, “Just answer her stupid question.”

  “What project?” Owen’s voice hardened a little.

  Aidan replied, “A book ... we’ve been putting together a book. It will make its way to shelves in Borders and Barnes and Noble next week. The launch is in Mauryville on this coming Saturday.”

  Oh, could that be the Holly’s secret? Damn!

  “Holly said something odd when I talked to her last, she had a secret ... I want to know what that book is about and why neither of them mentioned it to me. Is it a coincidence that the launch of this literary wonder, is on the same day as the dance at Taylor’s barn?”

  I didn’t have to wait long for some answers as Aidan went on, “If you go back to my Dad’s room, there is a small black plastic bag in his bedside cabinet. It’s an advance copy of the book.”

  Owen made a phone call; we couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it seemed reasonable she would have someone go for the book.

  She finished the call and turned back to Aidan, “Who else can verify your whereabouts over the last ten days?”

  “The local police … Mr. Parker who owns the apiary … most of the townsfolk. We’ve all been involved in this project. We discussed postponing it because of the current problems but after Ellie’s house was wrecked, we decided to continue. We all thought that she and Mac could do with some cheering up.”

  Owen pursed her glossed lips. “How nice of you all. Ellie is lucky to live in such a close community.” Insincerity oozed from every pore.

  The door opened, and an agent entered carrying a black plastic bag which he handed to Owen. I was dying from curiosity, desperate to see the contents. Watching her open the bag and remove the book seemed to stall time. Even then, none of us could see any detail. With bated breath, I waited while she flipped through it. How dare she get to see our surprise before us?

  Mac’s hand tightened over mine as she read the front cover aloud, “‘Eternity’s Whisper, a collection of poetry by Cormac Connelly and Gabrielle Conway.’”

  My stomach churned in response to what they’d done, a book of our poems.

  That’s not anything I ever would have guessed. They’re private. They belong to Mac and me and were never intended for the public.

  “Did Special Agent Conway give her permission for you to use her work?”

  “No.”

  “Did Cormac Connelly give his permission for you to use his work?”

  “No.”

  “How did you get the poems?”

  “I copied a poem Ellie had on the wall of her office that Mac had written for her, and I borrowed a disk she had containing over two hundred poems and Holly copied it.”

  “You stole a disk from your sister.” Owen’s nails clicked together. “When was this?”

  Aidan replied, “Three months ago. I took the disk, had it copied then returned it. We went through the poetry and chose pieces that reflected how their relationship had grown. I borrowed another disk about six weeks ago, with some of their newer work on it. We copied that too. I returned it.”

  All I wanted to do was get my hands on that book. Mac stood up. He paced a few feet. There wasn’t enough room for his customary pacing. I watched him and waited for whatever epiphany would emerge.

  “Book,” he said almost to himself and came to a stop.

  Caine looked up.

  “Book,” Mac said with more conviction.

  “What book? That one?” Caine asked.

  “No. Ellie’s yearbook from high school.”

  Caine twitched. “We seem to have taken a quantum leap here. Care to explain?”

  “In her yearbook was a comment, ‘One day you will notice.’ It was signed Tommy.”

  “You mentioned it about ten minutes ago. Where are you going with this?”

  “The Unsub may be someone who knew Ellie from High School.”

  Caine pressed his fingertips together, his eyes narrowed, his lip twitched as he looked over at me. “Tommy who?”

  “Vander something, I think. It was a long time ago. He didn’t make an impression then so how the hell am I supposed to remember him now?” I just hoped we weren’t grasping for straws.

  “Vanderguard,” Mac replied. “I looked him up in the yearbook.”

  Kurt tapped something into a laptop resting on his knee. “No record of anyone named Vanderguard working for the Bureau.”

  Caine reached for the phone book on the floor by his chair, and flipped through the pages. “There are nine listings. Any clue on his parents’ names?”

  “No.”

  “Kurt, see what else you can find.” Caine was thinking. It looked painful.

  Kurt obliged. “I’ve run that name through our complete database, we have nada. No civilian ever attached to the Bureau has gone by the name Vanderguard, nor has there been any agent by that name. But I did find three generations of Vanderguard who were all police officers in Richmond City and all highly decorated. Damn, he’s from one hell of an impressive family.”

  “An impressive family can lead to impressive psychological problems. Them there are big shoes to fill.” Caine picked up his phone and moved as far from our position as he could to make his calls, while Kurt carried on searching for references to Vanderguard.

  “This name isn’t getting me anything recent. He appears to have dropped out of sight after leaving College.”

  “Social security number?” Caine muttered, while he waited for someone to answer the phone on his fifth call.

  “I’m running a search through the DMV, if he held a driver’s license I might be able to get his social security number from that.”

  I leaned back into the sofa. The interview hadn’t progressed much. Caine yakked incessantly on the phone. Kurt’s fingers tapped against the case of his laptop as he waited.

  Mac plonked himself next to me and whispered in my ear, “I think he’s the guy.”

  “I hope he’s the guy, otherwise Owen the Superbitch will do her best to get Aidan charged.” For the first time since the mess began, I felt we were close to getting this sonofabitch.

  Caine held the phone to his shoulder. “Got his grandmother on the line.”

  Kurt said, “I got something, his social security number is registered to a Charles Boyd. He changed his name.” I sat up straighter and listened. “I’m running the new name through our database.”

  Caine disconnected the call. “He changed his name a year after leaving college. Grandma says he took a scientific research position.” He twitched. “Out in Quantico.”

  “I got him!” Kurt announced, with a definite smile in his voice, “He went from lab research to crime scene investigation and specialized in serology. So far, he’s had an undistinguished career although has had several promotions. He did six months in the technology division.”

  My heart caught in my throat. “Where is he assigned?”

  “He’s on active duty, working the Son of Shakespeare case.”

  “Jesus!” Caine bellowed. He snatched up his phone and made another call. “Find out where Charles Boyd is
– right now. He’s a crime scene investigator for the Bureau. Have him bought to me, now.”

  Caine made another call. I listened to his controlled voice.

  “It’s Grafton. All evidence from the Son of Shakespeare case is to be retested by an independent lab. I’ll have the paperwork for you by morning. I want everyone working on any forensics and crime scene investigation from that case to stand down, pending a full division inquiry.”

  On his next breath, he said, “Provide me with a list of everyone who has handled any evidence. I want to see the chain of custody A-sap.”

  Curiosity chewed away at me. “Hey, Kurt, can you pull up a pic of this guy?”

  “Sure.” He pulled up his identity picture and turned the laptop to face us.

  If I hadn’t seen the picture of the creep who went into my mother’s room, I wouldn’t have recognized him. But I had and it was him.

  “He’s the guy in the cam pic from Mom’s room.”

  Mac chewed his lip. “In the yearbook he was dark haired and wore thick glasses. Looks like Vanderguard reinvented himself as well as changing his name.”

  I looked at the picture of a blond male, no glasses and not hideous looking. Even knowing what he looked like I couldn’t recall seeing him anywhere except on the hospital security cameras.

  “How tall is he?” Mac asked.

  “Six feet two, medium build with blue eyes, according to this.”

  Caine made yet another call. “We have a lead on a possible suspect.”

  I watched the television screen and saw Owen talking on her phone. It took me a few minutes to realize Caine had called her. If she kept frowning like that, she’d need some serious Botox.

  She put the phone on the desk, and I waited for her to tell Aidan he could go. She didn’t. Instead, she told him she had a few more questions.

  “Where were you when your mother was killed?”

  Aidan stuttered, “Wh-wh-what are you talking about?”

  You evil troll-bitch from hell! That was unnecessary, he doesn’t know yet!

  I felt a sharp pain as though something jabbed my head. I scrambled to my feet and flung open the door.

  Words flew across the room at Owen, “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!”

  I strode across the floor area between us, stopping twelve inches from her face.

  “Special Agent Conway!”

  “What?” I snarled.

  Her cultured, smooth voice came back at me. “I would hate to see your record marred by an outburst like that.”

  Did nothing ruffle her perfectly-groomed feathers?

  Lee stood and moved to Aidan.

  “Not as much as I hate to see an investigation warped to fit your own preconceived ideas.”

  Troll-bitch from hell!

  “What are you talking about?” Her hand flapped sideways.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Kurt closing in on me. I flashed him a warning glance. He stopped. “We have a legitimate suspect, and it is not Aidan.”

  “That maybe so, but I haven’t finished speaking with your brother.”

  “Oh, yes, you have. You want to talk to him again, go through his lawyer.”

  Aidan looked stunned, as if someone had smacked him with a sledgehammer.

  “You had no right to mention our mother. No fucking right!”

  Kurt’s hand landed on my arm. I ignored him and looked at Lee. “Get him out of here!”

  She had no right!

  Owen spoke, “Lee, you’ll do no such thing. I am not done.”

  I glared at her and hissed, “You are done. Aidan is going back to our father’s room. You can sit here and wait for the real suspect to be bought in.”

  Lee motioned Aidan to his feet. “Sorry, ma’am, but unless you are prepared to charge Aidan he can walk whenever he feels like it. He is under no obligation to answer any questions.”

  My eyes landed on Lee’s solemn face. He said, “Looks to me like Aidan has had enough.”

  My vision blurred as I fought threatening tears.

  Don’t cry!

  Kurt’s grip tightened on my arm, as he pressed me into a chair and whispered, “As your doctor I am advising you to be still and calm down.”

  I’m okay.

  I heard Mac’s voice behind me, speaking to Aidan in low, calm tones. I wondered where Caine was. He would have a full-blown fit over the whole “fuck you and the horse you rode in on” outburst. I was a little surprised that his hand hadn’t grasped me warmly by the neck as soon as the words burst from my mouth.

  She had no right to mention Mom. What was that bitch thinking?

  Aidan’s voice broke through. When I looked up, he was standing by Owen and had the book in his hand. He placed it back into the black plastic bag. Clutching the book to him protectively, he said with struggled calm, “If you get run over by a car, it shouldn’t be listed as an accident.”

  Owen bristled. “Did you just threaten me?”

  “No. If it was a threat I would have said ‘When.’”

  Owen nodded. “I am very sorry about your mother,” she said with as much sincerity as a rattlesnake.

  Aidan shrugged and turned away. As he neared me, I saw a small smile on his lips. He whispered, “Ding dong, the bitch is dead.” I blinked, unsure if I had heard that or not. He touched my shoulder and said, “The poems, they’re really good. The world needs more poetry.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

  “I know. I’m sorry and I’m sorry she ruined it.”

  “Aidan, don’t tell Dad. We’ll tell him after his surgery tomorrow, when he’s stronger.”

  “Okay.” He smiled. Everything Mom stole from him was in that smile: his lost childhood and lost innocence.

  “Go with Lee, everything’s going to be fine.”

  How many times had I said that to him? Too many to count. Normally I followed it by saying “I’ll take care of it Aidan, don’t worry.” It’s what big sisters do. It’s part of my job description.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Soon.”

  Lee placed a meaty paw on Aidan’s shoulder, “Come on bud, let’s get you to your Dad.”

  Mac sat down next to me. “Caine is still on the phone. You okay?”

  “Yep, I’m okay.” My head is going to explode in tiny messy pieces and cover Owen’s tasteful suit, and bits of brain matter will lodge in her perfect red hair. But apart from that, I am okay.

  “Liar,” he whispered with a smile.

  I smiled back and with my voice just above a whisper replied, “We have no motive. I don’t like our chances of a confession from this guy, he’s too clever for that and without a motive, we’re fucked.”

  Mac hugged me hard. “Have a bit of faith. We have a sample of his handwriting from your yearbook.”

  I grimaced. “Writing bad poetry isn’t yet a federal crime.”

  Although I often thought it should be; we’ve read some bad poetry over the years that would even make the Son of Shakespeare cringe. Thinking of poetry caused a well of sadness as I remembered the friends from our poetry room who’d died.

  “What about leaving bad poems stuck to dead bodies?”

  “Unless we can prove he was the one who did the killing.” A smile crept in. “Although this could be a case of serial bad poetry. If it’s serial it should come within the Delta Team perimeters, therefore making it federal.”

  Mac grinned. “Let’s hope his computer will turn up some irrefutable evidence.”

  Kurt moved, turning in his seat towards us, “If Boyd is responsible there will be something, no matter how good he is.” His voice dropped even lower, “It’s been my experience that people who kill as he supposedly has, tend to be quite proud of their achievements. Some even document each death to relive it later.”

  “You think he’d store something like that on his computer?”

  “Hell, no, but he may store it in cyber space. We will find it if it exists.”

  “I might know wher
e to look,” Mac said, chewing his lip, “Got a laptop?”

  “I’ll fetch it.” Kurt hurried back to the annexed room. He returned seconds later.

  “Caine’s looking grim.”

  I smiled. “How could you tell?”

  Kurt grinned. “Same way you can. Years of experience.”

  Mac tapped away on the computer. We watched as he accessed our Cobwebs group site and started reading his way through screeds of information by members. Using owner privilege, we could access private areas of the site used by individual members. Many kept online journals; some were public, others weren’t.

  He typed in Addict_man. We waited as Mac scrolled through screens and screens of poems. I had almost forgotten Owen was still in the room, until her fingernails clicked annoyingly from the far end of the table.

  She spoke somewhat reticently, “May I ask what you are all doing?”

  Kurt replied in a smooth tone, “Looking for something. We’ll let you know if we find it.”

  “What was the name linked to the photos on this site, the ones with the key loggers embedded?” Mac asked.

  “Poetman,” I replied.

  “Ah, yes.” Mac typed again. “Poetman has a journal. The first entry was seven months ago. There are links in here to other websites. Let’s go see what they’re about.” Mac brought up the first web page, to a secure site and we didn’t have the password. “Kurt, can you get us in?” He pushed the laptop past me to Kurt’s outstretched hand.

  “This could take a long while, but it’s worth a shot.” He opened another program and set it to run.

  “How long?” I asked.

  “From minutes to hours, depending on the encryption.”

  “And then?”

  “Hopefully, we’ll have either a password or a way to bypass the security features.”

  “We need another laptop.” Mac looked at Lee’s which was sat open on the table in front of his empty chair.

  Owen looked over, “Go ahead if you need to use it.”

  Mac retrieved the laptop just as Lee walked in, “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “Nope, you go right ahead.” Lee pulled a chair over and sat with us, “Sam is coming up.”

  Mac grinned. “Did I really call him Mr. T?”