In Hot Pursuit

by Karen Sue Burns

  “You have a nice collection of films.” He accepted a glass of wine.

  “It’s a hobby of mine, cheaper than collecting cars or crystal.” She settled in her favorite chair, swung her feet on the ottoman. “What’s new with the investigation?”

  “I’m off duty.” He found a comfortable spot on the sofa. “This isn’t an official visit.”

  “Right. Every visit from a cop is official. Tell me what you’ve been up to. I know you’ve interviewed several people.”

  “How do you know that?” He crossed his legs, as comfortable as a feline in a bucket of catnip.

  “I have my sources.” No way would she tell him whom she’d talked with the last two days.

  “I bet you do.”

  “Stop being a smart ass. By the way, are you married?”

  “I didn’t know you cared.”

  “Believe me, I don’t. Lynne Jenkins at First National wants to know.” Damn. Why’d she say that?

  “Really?” He tasted the wine, smiled. “You’ve been a busy lady. Who else have you talked with?”

  “Let’s cut to the chase. As HCU’s representative to work with the police, I’m entitled to learn what progress you’ve made in solving our theft.”

  “I’m not married, by the way.”

  If his flippant tone was a barometer of enjoyment, he was having one hell of a good time playing with her.

  “Peachy. I’ll let Lynne know you’re available. Talk to me.” She offered the plate of cheese and crackers to sweeten her request for adult conversation.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He popped a cheese cube in his mouth, then pulled out his notebook, flipping through the pages. “We’ve talked with several employees at the university, the foundation, the brokerage firm, and the bank.” He paused, drank more wine. “So far, no one has popped out as the primo-thief candidate. Usually, my detective skills work much faster. Guess I’m in a rut.”

  She couldn’t help herself and laughed. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. He had a great sense of humor. “I’ll put my money on you being in a rut. Surely you have a hunch or two. Even I have a theory.”

  “A theory? I love it when civilians think they’re smarter than the police. What’s your theory?”

  Quinn forced herself to hold back. She always did talk too much. What was it about this guy that made her blurt out silly questions and reveal her activities? Why not rent a billboard next to the police station?

  “You go first,” she said. “Tell me why you think the theft was committed in the first place, plain old greed or an easy way out of a nasty problem?”

  “You do know how to crash right into the heart of an issue.” Roddy’s face transformed to unemotional cop. “We’ve concluded the motivation was intentional. We believe the theft wasn’t a chance occurrence committed by some computer hacker.”

  Quinn nodded at that conclusion, way to go Houston police.

  “This crime was well planned with advance knowledge of the wire transfer. We checked a national database for similar crimes within the past five years and came up with zilch. This wasn’t a random theft. The reason could be — ”

  “Settling a grudge,” she said.

  He frowned. “That’s one theory. Or, someone at either the university or the foundation saw an opportunity to make easy money and took advantage of the situation. That would explain the familiarity with the details of the gift. We’re concentrating on employees as well as anyone else who knew about the transfer.” He closed the notebook. “That’s it so far.”

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  She licked her lips, took a deep breath. “Who’s on your radar at HCU?” She hoped he wouldn’t point to her.

  “No names right now. I’ll let you know once we have something concrete.” He topped off his wine glass, spread out on the couch. “Now, enlighten Uncle Roddy with what you’ve been up to since I dropped you off yesterday.”

  “What have I been doing the last twenty-four hours? Not much, but I did talk to one of our donors. A $20,000 gift from earlier this year is still outstanding on the cash analysis. I met with the donor and the check has been cashed.”

  “What’s the donor’s name?” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll have the cancelled check picked up.”

  Geez, her big mouth again. She couldn’t refuse to give him the name of Jack Franks. If she didn’t tell him she had a copy of the check he’d get it anyway and then she’d look like a fool or a crook.

  “I have a copy of the cancelled check. Let me get it for you.”

  Roddy’s mouth went weird, not a smirk, not a smile.

  She went to the study. While retrieving the copy from her purse, she concluded Roddy having the check could work to her benefit. The police would be able to locate the bank and account number where it had been deposited. If she sweet-talked him, hopefully he’d share the details. Sure he’d share. She grabbed the check copy and returned to the living room.

  “This is the cancelled check, front and back.”

  Roddy peered at one copy then the other then back to the first one.

  He gaze traveled to Quinn. “How does this check relate to the theft?”

  Good, they were getting somewhere. “Did I say they were related?”

  “No, but you wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of tracking it down if you didn’t think there might be a connection.” He picked up the wine bottle. “More wine?”

  “Just a bit. I’m not one-hundred percent convinced this check relates to the theft. Maybe it’s a coincidence the cash is missing.” She sipped the wine. “It’s not normal for cash deposits to be MIA. Guess I need to re-think our gift-cash procedures. There’s obviously a breakdown somewhere.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Don’t beat yourself up just yet.” He stowed his notebook and the check copy in his jacket pocket. “I’ll get working on this first thing in the morning.”

  “You’ll let me know as soon as you hear anything?”

  “Of course.”

  She figured Roddy’s good mood was due to an excellent California cabernet and decided to test the waters.

  “I want to switch gears for minute.” She pushed her hair back and dove into the deep end. “What progress have you made looking into the personal finances of HCU employees?”

  “Like who?”

  “Like the people who had access to the wire instructions, Scooter, Rebecca, Bill, and Bill’s assistant, Sarah Evans.”

  “I don’t have anything. We’re still working on access to their bank accounts,” Roddy said. “There are privacy laws so we can’t barge in like a rogue cowboy.”

  “The police could rummage around my garbage disposal if it suited them. What about a search warrant?”

  “As I said, there are laws and we don’t break them. Probable cause is necessary for a search warrant, not there yet.” He drained his wine glass. “Anything else?”

  “There is one small thing, a favor actually.” A bead of sweat rolled down Quinn’s back. Simply mentioning this to Roddy made her feel like a gossipy teenager. She wanted to know the truth. “This isn’t a big deal. It’s probably inconsequential. Could you look into the relationship between Rebecca and Bill?”

  “That’s easy, they’re co-workers.”

  “Don’t be a simpleton.” Just when she thought he was being open with her. “You should check them out.”

  “Why?”

  “I saw them together at a mall in Sugar Land last Saturday. It was strange. Number one, both of them live inside the six-ten loop, Sugar Land is out of the way for shopping. Number two, I swear they were holding hands. And, number three, Rebecca threw me this out-of-the-blue smile as they left. It was totally out of character for her.”

  “That’s it?” Skepticism flickered across his face.

  “Yes, that�
�s it.” She didn’t blame Roddy for doubting her logic. The reasoning sounded lame to her as well. “I don’t blame you if you I think I’m nuts. My gut tells me something is weird with those two. Won’t you at least consider they might have more than a working relationship?”

  “I’ll think about it.” He stood. “Gotta go. I need to visit my mother on my way home.”

  She followed him to the garage. “Please call my cell if you have any news.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He pulled his car in the driveway to turn around. After he backed out, he stuck his head out the window.

  “Lynne Jenkins thinks I’m hot, huh?” He winked and drove off.

  Men and their egos.

  The phone was ringing when she returned to the townhouse.

  “Mom, it’s me. I’m finally home.”

  “Jane, how was your trip? Did you do any sightseeing?” Twin daughter number two was finally home from D.C.

  “It was fine, tiring and boring. Training isn’t one of my favorite things. And, yes, we managed to do a couple of tours on Saturday, the White House and the Capitol.”

  “Wonderful. D.C. is still on my travel list.” In fact, Quinn had quite the list of cities, both domestic and international, that she hoped to visit on future vacations.

  “You’d love it. I heard about the big theft at the university. It was in the local papers.”

  “We made the news in Washington? Not the best kind of publicity.” She doubted Scooter or Dr. Arnold would be happy HCU’s problems were news outside of Houston.

  “There’s no such thing as bad publicity any more,” Jane said with a laugh. “Has anyone been arrested?”

  “No arrests, no suspects. I’m working with the police for HCU. Interesting stuff so far.”

  She heard a typical Jane sigh.

  “If you guys would use Texas South Bank rather than First National this probably wouldn’t have happened.”

  “I’ve told you a million times, we’re not changing banks. The Board will never consider it.”

  “Don’t forget we have a more updated computer system. First National hasn’t upgraded for at least five years. Maybe they were negligent in some way, considering they’re so far behind, system-wise that is.”

  “Who knows? That’s up to the police to figure out.” She wanted to know about her daughter’s life. “What else is going on? Dating anyone I should meet?”

  “Stop asking me that.”

  As usual, she didn’t learn a single thing about Jane’s love life and she wasn’t even that nosy. A mother had the right to ask questions of her children. Jane rarely disclosed anything about her private life while Liz talked nonstop. How could identical twins be so different?

  After the call ended, Quinn went to the study to check her email. The HCU security chief had sent the list of employee addresses. She printed it out, intending to research the appraised values of homes owned by Rebecca, Scooter, and Bill. After accessing the Harris County appraisal district website, she entered the first home address for a property record search. Rebecca apparently rented as her name wasn’t listed on the record for her home address.

  Quinn pulled a jackpot with the value of Scooter’s home, almost a million dollars. The value topped what she suspected he could afford based on his salary. He’d worked at HCU for years so she doubted he’d received a windfall from a corporate severance package. Maybe his wife came from money or maybe they spent beyond their means. Hopefully, Roddy would know the answer.

  $ $ $

  A few minutes after ten, Quinn slid between the sheets on her bed and clicked on the television. She hadn’t heard the news since that morning. Nothing was new, same old stories on bad weather, bad politicians, and bad criminals. She dozed off for a few minutes then woke up to a story on internet viruses carried by emails.

  Turning up the volume, she concentrated on the newscaster’s words.

  “The Blaster Worm has again made its way through corporate America. Email servers have been shut down across the country, stifling electronic communication and frustrating IT professionals. It’s expected that more than 500,000 computers will be impacted before the worm runs its course. In other news — ”

  A worm? Bingo. She jumped out of bed and began pacing in front of the television.

  A worm … of course. An article she’d read a couple of weeks ago described these nasty things as a computer virus triggered when an attachment to an email message opened. Usually the virus screwed up the client computer it was received on, along with any servers the computer was networked with. It spread like a spider web crack in a car’s windshield.

  Quinn conjectured that a worm developed for the HCU theft would have a different purpose. When the attachment opened, a virus could have been sent through the server to the system managing wire transfers. The sole purpose would have been to alter the instructions and change the destination of the funds.

  She stopped pacing, clenched her fists, felt a shiver along her spine. My god, a message could have been sent several days before the actual transfer. Then waited for the Bridge Foundation’s wire instructions to enter the system.

  Holy shit.

  She sat on the edge of the bed. This was what Ruthie had been talking about. A mole, she said. Quinn looked at the bedside clock; too late to call anyone. First thing in the morning she’d contact Lynne at First National and ask her about recent emails from HCU employees.

  She needed evidence, not a hunch or a great idea, before she’d talk to Roddy about this. She’d already played the hunch card with her suspicions about Bill and Rebecca. Her first step was talking to Ruthie about her theory and whether there was the remotest chance it could be true.

  Quinn knew she was close to discovering the “how” part of the theft equation. However, the “who” part remained open and would require the full extent of her detective skills. Scratch that, the “who” would require the full extent of her skills to be nosy and a obstinate pain in the ass. Somehow those skills would lead to an answer. That was the number one goal, regardless of where it might take her.

  SIX

  Wednesday, 8:05 A.M.

  First thing on Wednesday morning, waiting for the coffee to finish, Quinn checked her HCU email, hoping for a follow-up message from Rebecca. Nothing. Time to increase the pressure. She sent another message referring to the previous one, and advising Rebecca’s input was critical to the ongoing police investigation. Bill and Scooter were copied for good measure. If she didn’t respond by the end of the day, then a third message would be sent to Dr. Arnold and most likely, the Pope.

  The phone rang as Quinn headed back to the kitchen.

  “Mom, I forgot to ask you something last night.”

  “Sure, Jane, what is it?”

  “Are you free for dinner on Friday?” She hesitated a fraction of a second. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “You want me to meet someone?” Quinn’s heart performed a loop-de-loop. Jane wanted her to meet a man friend.

  “Don’t start planning the wedding. This is merely a meet-and-greet. No big deal. Understand?”

  “Of course, I understand. Meet and greet. What time and where?” Jane provided the details before ending the call.

  Jane had to be serious about this man if she wanted to introduce him to her mother. This was happy news and she would hold off on thoughts about the wedding … until she met the man.

  Finally it was after nine o’clock — time to call Ruthie, who was available.

  “I have a quick question for you,” Quinn said.

  “What’s up?”

  “When we talked yesterday you mentioned that a targeted virus could have been used to change the wire instructions.”

  “Yes, that’s a possibility.” The clicking of Ruthie’s nails on the computer keyboard acc
ompanied her words.

  “Could the virus have been launched by opening an email?” Quinn hoped that wasn’t a cyber idiot question.

  “Sure, but usually something else is involved.”

  This was the confirmation of her theory. The pot of coffee had made her stomach queasy. “Could an attachment be used to initiate the virus?”

  “That’s the most common way. It wiggles its way through the system and finds the target server. Then it carries out its mission,” Ruthie explained. “Fairly simple if you know what you’re doing.”

  Quinn performed a mental cartwheel then pounded a fist on the counter. This was the “how” part of her speculation.

  “My working theory is that the wire instructions were altered by an attachment to an email.”

  “Good possibility.”

  “Thanks, I’ll call you later.”

  Quinn basked in the glory of their conversation for less than fifteen seconds. Before executing a happy dance, she called Lynne.

  “I need your help with something.”

  “Sure,” Lynne laughed. “As long as it’s legal.”

  “Not to worry. Would you check your email log of received messages during the last week?”

  “Won’t take a minute. What am I looking for?”

  Quinn heard the curiosity in Lynne’s voice but she held off on sharing her theory until she had verification of any email attachments. “Look for messages from any HCU employee.”

  “Let’s see, last Monday there’s one from Scooter Taylor, on Thursday one message from Rebecca Holland, one from Dr. Arnold and two from Scooter, then another from Rebecca on Friday. That’s it. Why are you asking?”

  “Curiosity, mostly. Is there anything strange or odd about the messages?” She looked out the window above her kitchen sink. It was going to be another beautiful day.

  “They all related to the gift transfer. Scooter and Rebecca both wanted to make sure the bank was alerted to the transfer. Nothing unusual.”