"Let me show you something else." Will brought up the other two letters to his screen again. "These have the same handle: USER. Who's that?"
"Okay, these were both written on one of the generics."
"What do you mean?"
"Anyone can use a computer in here on their study hour. You're taking a computer course, so you've got a code. But if you come here on study hour and just want to use a computer, you don't get a personal code. If you want to send something E-mail, you get the generic USER handle. You can change it, if you want, but they didn't."
"So there's no way of finding out who wrote those two letters."
"Well, everyone is supposed to sign in. I'd say we get about a couple of dozen people a day using the generics. But the thing is, they don't always sign in, especially if they're only here for a few minutes."
Aaron, Will thought, wasn't taking a computer course. He recalled the song about him that Aaron had made up at Paige's party. It was the same sort of doggerel that had been sent to him on E-mail.
He rolled his chair back and looked down the row of cubicles. The one where Aaron had been sitting was empty now. He must have been leaving when Will arrived.
"What's wrong?" Baines asked.
Will shook his head. "Nothing." He scrolled down to the third letter. "I wonder why Fanz here doesn't use a generic."
"Maybe he or she is afraid of getting caught. Using your code is almost foolproof."
"Almost?"
Baines stared a moment longer at the screen. "Let me work on it. I'll see what I can find out."
As soon as school was out, Will drove out to a new ski resort that had just opened a few miles from town. He'd heard that Jerry Wharton was working there for his father, who owned the resort. When Will arrived, the snowmaking machines were at work on the slopes.
It didn't take long to find Jerry. A woman in the gift shop directed Will to the docking area for the cable cars. When Will stepped up onto the concrete pad where the cars were loaded and unloaded, Jerry glanced at him, then turned his attention to the control panel.
"What do you want, Lansa?" he asked, keeping his back to him.
"Why were you at Ashcroft Sunday?"
"I was out for a ride and saw all the action so I stopped to take a look." He turned to Will. "Something wrong with me stopping?"
"Why did you take off when you saw me?"
"Because I didn't feel like talking to you. You got a problem with that?"
"Do you know why we were all there?"
"I heard about your girlfriend. Tough luck."
Will thought he saw the hint of a faint smile. He struggled to keep himself from lunging at him. Instead, he changed the subject. "What do you know about a drug called the Chill?"
"What?"
"The Chill—what do you know about it?"
Jerry laughed. "Why, do you want to Chill out, Lansa?"
"So I guess you've tried it."
Jerry started to say something, then stopped. He poked Will in the chest with his index finger. "If I were you, I'd keep looking for your girlfriend and stay out of my business."
Will grabbed him by the front of his jacket. "It is my business if you had something to do with Myra's disappearance. Where is she, Wharton? What do you know?"
Jerry shoved him away with both hands. "Get out of here before I have you thrown out. I don't know anything."
Will backed away. "I hope you're telling the truth, Jerry."
As he walked away, he wondered what he'd hoped to accomplish by confronting Wharton. Even if he'd had something to do with what happened to Myra, he certainly wouldn't confess to him.
Still, there was something about Wharton he was forgetting. Something important that related to Myra. It was starting to come to him. He almost had it.
He stopped in his tracks as he saw a woman with short blond hair in blue jeans and a ski jacket standing outside the gift shop. She blended in well with the clientele of the resort. But Detective Olsen wasn't here for pleasure. She must have followed him.
"Hello, Will," she said as he approached. "What's up?" Her tone was casual, as if there were nothing unusual about her meeting him here.
There was no use trying to hide what had happened. He told her in as few words as possible about Wharton and his suspicions about him.
She didn't look impressed by his story. "What if I find out that Jerry Wharton is involved with the Chill and maybe selling a little of it on the side?"
Will looked down at the sidewalk. "That wouldn't be very good for him, I guess."
"Or for you, Will. Or for you. If you're using it, you just may have led me to your source."
"I didn't come here to buy drugs. I told you and Sheriff Kirkpatrick that I've never touched that Chill. I don't know anything about it."
"That's what you said. But I'm finding that hard to believe right now."
"Why?"
Olsen stared at him in silence until Will looked away. "Can I ask you a question, Will? Or do you want to have a lawyer present?"
"Go ahead. Ask me anything you want."
Olsen waited while a couple carrying skis walked out of hearing range. "If I had killed Myra in that parking lot and wanted to hide her body so nobody would find it, I certainly wouldn't leave it near Ashcroft. That doesn't make any sense. Where would you hide it, if you were me?"
Will jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. "I don't like that kind of question."
"Why not?"
"Because I'd never do something like that."
"But what if you did? Where would you hide her, Will?"
"I didn't hide any body. I didn't do it. I've told you that."
"Listen. It'll go a lot easier for you if you tell me the truth. Get it off your chest. You'll feel a lot better."
"I am telling you the truth."
She handed him her card. "Anytime you want to talk, give me a call."
Chapter Twelve
There were advantages to having parents in the computer industry. Corey could spend hours surfing the Net without anyone complaining about it. It was almost as if she were expected to be proficient in several computer languages, at data transfers, programming, and even hacking—although the last wasn't a skill her parents encouraged.
Tonight, though, she was determined to put all her talents to use to pinpoint who was using Will's code to post E-mail. She was curious, of course, to find out how the person had gotten the code, but her interest extended much further than that.
It was too early to tell, but she had a hunch that it was more than a simple case of a student's prank. Someone was trying to destroy Will's life. There was a good chance that the intruder knew what had happened to Myra Hodges. Or maybe the intruder had killed her. The thought made goose bumps rise on her arms.
She tapped at the keyboard, then leaned forward as the first of the mysterious letters to Will appeared. This was the one that everyone with an E-mail address had received. But this time she'd gone into the E-mail system itself and could see Will's private E-mail code, which was not available to regular users. Even though the code had been changed, the intruder had quickly regained access.
She looked at the time the letter was sent. Seven-ten A.M. Before the first class, before almost anyone was in the school. The time element was the first thing she and Baines had discussed when he'd asked for her help. He'd talked to the custodian, who'd claimed that the door to the computer lab had been locked Monday morning, as usual, until 7:45.
She sat back in her chair and puzzled over the time and the code, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Her thoughts drifted to Will.
There was so much she wanted to say to him, but she still felt too uncertain of herself to say anything directly. She'd taken the first step in that direction by sending him E-mail, telling him how certain she was that he was innocent. Sure, she'd only used her initials, knowing there were nine other students with the same initials. But it was a step, a baby step, but a step nonetheless.
She would never
have sent the note to him at all if Will hadn't sat at her table yesterday at lunch. They'd actually eaten together and it had been Will's choice. The thought still astonished her. Not that she thought he was interested in her. She knew that his so-called pals were giving him the cold shoulder. But that was their loss. As for her, she'd hardly been able to eat a thing or even look at him. All she'd done was babble to Charlie about programming. Will had probably thought she sounded like a machine, but she couldn't help it.
She focused again on the screen. There was something wrong with the code. It took her a moment to pinpoint what it was. Too many digits. She counted them. One extra. What did that mean?
She bit her lower lip. Of course. The E-mail had come from outside the school's computer system. That explained the time it was sent. But how could that be? You couldn't send E-mail from outside the system. The school administration had restricted E-mail usage a couple of years ago after some jerks were caught using the system to buy and sell steroids. Baines had said something about it after she'd started working as a sysop.
Only someone with her own level of expertise could get into the system from outside. Unless the administration had approved an outside user. There was one way of finding out. She'd hack into the administration's file of E-mail codes. If there was an outside user, she would pinpoint who it was. It might take a while, but she was prepared to stay up all night.
Chapter Thirteen
That evening Will was trying to concentrate on his chemistry homework when he heard the engine of his mother's Grand Cherokee as it eased into the driveway. He'd been dreading telling her about his encounter with Detective Olsen and especially the reason she'd confronted him.
He leaned toward the door and listened to the voices in the hallway. He heard his mother and Tom Burke, but there was another voice. A quieter voice that he couldn't place. Yet it was familiar. He pushed away from his desk, then walked out of his room and over to the bottom of the stairs. He listened for the voice again and this time when he heard it, a smile spread across his face.
He bounded up the steps to the landing and looked past his mother and Burke. "Dad!"
Pete Lansa wasn't the type of man who hugged people, so Will stuck out his hand. Lansa smiled, shook his hand, then clasped him on both shoulders.
His dark eyes stared into Will's and the look of support he saw bolstered his confidence.
Will and his father were both five-foot-eight and husky. But the elder Lansa outweighed Will by about ten pounds. His shiny ebony hair brushed his shoulders, a contrast to Will's, which was shaved off an inch above his ears. "Good to see you, Son. How are you doing?"
"Well, things haven't gone too well since the game."
"Your mother called and told me all about it this morning. I took a plane from Flagstaff as soon as I could."
"Tom and I just picked him up at the airport," Marion said.
"You didn't have to come, Dad. I didn't do anything wrong."
"I know you didn't. But you still need all the help you can get."
"There's something you don't know, Will," Marion said. She spoke calmly, in an even voice, but Will could tell she was tense and nervous.
Just then the front door opened and Will's grandfather walked into the house. Will knew he'd just come back from the Ute City Banque where he'd probably had a drink or two with his friends. When his gaze settled on Lansa, he frowned, then a smile spread across his face. "Well, look at this. Pete Lansa. Good to see you. How come nobody told me about this?"
"Well, I wasn't sure Pete could make it, Dad," Marion said, sounding somewhat uncomfortable. "Why don't we all go sit down at the dining room table."
Talking in the dining room meant that whatever needed to be said was important. After they were seated, Will's mother got right to the point. "This morning at about nine o'clock I got a call from Sheriff Kirkpatrick. He told me that your urine sample tested positive for the drug that was on the knife."
Will leaped to his feet. "But that's impossible. I've never taken it."
"Will, please, sit down," Marion said firmly.
"It could be a mistake," Lansa said. "You may not have been the only one tested. The samples could've gotten mixed up."
No one said anything for a moment.
"I want to take you to a lab where we can get a second test," Lansa said. "If it turns out negative, we'll have something to counter their evidence with."
"I don't like any of this," Will said. "I wish it would all just go away."
"If they're so damned sure it's Will, then why haven't they arrested him?" Connors asked.
"That's a good point," Lansa said. "They're being cautious. They want more evidence and a body."
"There's something that stinks about this whole thing," Connors muttered.
"What puzzles me is why they haven't taken you in for more questioning," Lansa said.
"I was questioned again—by Detective Olsen after school. Over at the Wharton Resort."
"What were you doing there?" Marion asked.
Will explained what had happened.
"That was a mistake, Will," Lansa said before Will's mother could say anything. "You just made Olsen more suspicious. You should have told her about Wharton and let her talk to him."
"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Connors asked. "You said you stayed late at school."
"I didn't want you worrying or getting mad, Grandpa."
"Well, I'm a little mad right now, boy. I believe that you're a good kid, that you're innocent, but you can't go around doing stuff behind our backs."
"I thought you trusted me." Will's voice sounded shrill.
"Your grandfather is right, Will," Marion said. "You're only going to get yourself in more trouble by pulling stunts like that."
Lansa raised both hands and patted the air. "Let's go over everything, starting with your last evening with Myra."
For the next half hour Will told his father all that he could recall. He even mentioned the misunderstanding he had with Coach Boorman about the last play of the game and Aaron Thomas's role in it. Lansa listened closely and asked a few questions.
After Will described the search at Ashcroft, Lansa stopped him. "It's strange that your cap and knife were found there, but no body."
"That's a large area," Tom Burke said, speaking up for the first time.
"But you'd think a body would be easier to find than a knife."
"Do you think she might still be alive, Pete?" Connors asked hopefully.
"I don't know. It just seems that if a person is concerned about hiding his involvement in a crime, he doesn't toss his knife into a field that is sure to be searched or let his hat blow away. That is, unless it was someone else's hat and knife and he intentionally left them behind to be discovered."
"But why would the body be hidden?" Marion asked.
"Fear, guilt. Or maybe the killer was concerned that the body might provide leads that would point to him."
"What kind of leads?" Marion asked.
"The killer's hair or his blood," Lansa responded. "So where do you think it would be hidden, if not at Ashcroft?" Burke asked.
Lansa was quiet for a moment. "A place that seems safe, a place the killer knows."
Will thought about the cave in which he'd seen Myra's body. But the cave was just part of a dream with John Wayne, Myra, and Masau. Still, he wanted to talk about his dreams, about Masau. If anyone could help him understand what they meant, it was his father. He would wait until they were alone.
Chapter Fourteen
En route to school the next morning, Will imagined Sheriff Kirkpatrick and several deputies were preparing to arrest him in the parking lot. The entire student body would be gathered eagerly, anticipating his arrival, and then, as he was handcuffed and escorted away, they would all applaud.
But when he pulled into the parking lot, it looked just like any other morning. He walked to his locker, then to class, without incident. But everything seemed unreal. He was just going through the motions of a
ttending classes while he waited. It would be horrible, of course, to get arrested and be charged with murder. But the waiting was almost as bad.
His father had told him he was going to stay in Aspen as long as it took to clear Will's name. Will knew it was a sacrifice for him to make such a commitment. He would have to make arrangements for someone to take over his duties on the reservation. He might even have to take a leave of absence. Besides, the world of Aspen was alien to him. He didn't like the closed-in feeling he got in the mountains and all the up-and-down driving. Not only was his own life being pushed aside, but he also had to face his past. Even though his parents seemed to be getting along, Will knew that it must be a strain for both of them.
Chemistry class began with a test about yesterday's lesson. He hadn't finished his homework, and now he was confusing the valence powers. Fortunately, his grades were good enough so it didn't matter if he did poorly today.
The rest of the morning went smoothly until he stopped at his locker between classes and saw Claude talking with Paige in front of her open locker across the hail. She was moving her hands and shaking her head, as if she didn't agree with what Claude was telling her.
"So what do you think they're talking about?" Taylor stopped at his side.
"Hi, Taylor. I don't know, but they've been avoiding me like the plague."
"They know something about Myra. I'm sure of it."
Just then Paige slammed her locker door. "What makes you think so?" Will asked, watching as Paige walked away, with Claude trailing after her.
"Because Paige is acting, like, real strange. I feel like I don't know her anymore. Oh, great. Here comes my worst nightmare."
Aaron Thomas walked up to them. "Hey, what's going on here? Is it a conspiracy or do you need more than two people for that? I forget."
"Good-bye, Aaron," Taylor said. "Talk to you later, Will."
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