by Chris Carter
‘So our first step would be to check which health-insurance company each of our victims were with,’ Garcia said.
‘I’m on it,’ Agent Williams said, reaching for his cellphone.
‘How easy do you think it would be to hack into a health-insurance company database?’ Garcia asked.
‘Not easy at all,’ Hunter replied. ‘But I know just the person to ask if it can be done and how it can be done.’
Eighty-One
Michelle Kelly, the head of the Los Angeles FBI Cyber Crime Division, had just finished a meeting with two of her top programmers when Hunter, Garcia, and Agents Fisher and Williams walked into the large and uncomfortable cold room.
As she clocked the two detectives, Michelle paused, looking somewhat confused.
Hunter and Garcia also immediately spotted her across the room from them. How could they not? Michelle Kelly looked nothing like a typical FBI agent. She also looked nothing like most people would expect an uber computer and networks geek to look like.
Thirty-year-old Michelle Kelly was five-foot-eight, with long dyed black hair and a spiked fringe that fell over her forehead in a teenager’s skate-punk way. Her deep-green eyes were heavily framed by black eyeliner and purple eye-shadow. She had a thin, silver-loop nose-ring going through her left nostril and a second loop-ring that pierced the right edge of her bottom lip. She wore black jeans and a black T-shirt with a lime-green skull. Above it, were the words Killswitch Engage.
‘Detectives Hunter and Garcia,’ Michelle said, as she approached the group. Though confusion still masked her face, her tone was warm and welcoming. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
They shook hands.
‘Do you know each other?’ Agent Fisher asked.
‘Yes,’ Hunter replied. ‘Michelle and the FBI Cyber Crime Division helped us solve a serial-murder case a couple of years ago.’
‘Hi,’ Michelle said, extending her hand at the two FBI agents. Both of her arms were covered in tattoos from wrist to shoulder. ‘I’m Michelle Kelly . . . or . . . official title – Special Agent Michelle Kelly. I’m the head of this division.’
If Agent Fisher tried to hide her surprise, she failed miserably.
‘You are the head of the Los Angeles Cyber Crime Division?’ she queried.
Michelle frowned at her. ‘That’s right. Why? Is there a problem?’ Her eyes moved sideways to Hunter as if asking, Who the hell is this bitch?
‘No,’ Agent Fisher replied. ‘No problem at all.’ She back-pedaled like a pro. ‘I was just expecting to see someone who looked more like a mad professor than a rock star.’
‘Thank you,’ Michelle replied. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
She took a step back and regarded the group for no more than a split second.
‘It’s obvious that this isn’t a personal visit.’ Though Michelle addressed everyone, her stare settled on Hunter. ‘So what can I do for you guys this time?’
‘Is there a more private place we can talk?’ Agent Fisher asked, looking around the large open-plan room, which seemed to be in a league of its own when it came to high-tech equipment. Lights were blinking on and off just about everywhere she looked. The walls were covered by mega-monitors showing maps, moving images and lines of code; she had no idea what they meant or what they were used for. A multitude of desks, with agents typing frantically at their computers, were scattered around the space.
‘Sure,’ Michelle replied. ‘Follow me.’
She guided them to her office, located at the far end of the floor.
‘Better?’ she asked, as she closed the door to her office which, though spacious, was crammed with books.
‘Much,’ Agent Fisher replied. ‘Thank you. This is quite a sensitive case.’
‘Aren’t they all?’
Michelle waited for everyone to take a seat before taking hers behind her desk. ‘So what is this about?’
Agent Fisher took the lead and gave Michelle the run-down on what they needed.
She listened without interrupting.
‘We already have a team checking if the victims were all with the same health-insurance company,’ Agent Fisher said in conclusion. ‘What we need to know is how difficult it would be to hack into one of these databases and search them for anything specific.’
‘From the outside,’ Michelle began, ‘terribly difficult.’ She held the suspense for a few seconds. ‘But it can be done. And if your killer really is finding his victims that way then I’m willing to bet that the only database he hacked into belongs to the GlobalAmerica Health Group.’
‘The largest health-insurance group in the USA,’ Hunter said.
‘That’s them all right,’ Michelle agreed. ‘A few months ago we investigated a breach into one of their servers. They have over one million physicians, six thousand hospitals, and seventy million subscribers, but the very interesting fact, at least where you guys are concerned, is that they have an integrated information and technology platform called Optum, which is pretty much used in four out of every five hospitals in the US, regardless of whether the hospital is part of the GlobalAmerica Health Group or not.’
‘Wait a second,’ Agent Fisher stopped her. ‘Are you telling us that if anyone hacks into this Optum platform, they would be able to access records from everywhere, irrespective of which insurance group the patient might be with?’
‘Pretty much,’ Michelle replied.
‘Sonofabitch!’
‘There’s also a chance that the killer works for a branch of the health-insurance company,’ Michelle added. ‘Or any of the hospitals that use the Optum platform. In that case, accessing any patient health files would be a hell of a lot easier. The downside to that – to the person who is accessing the files that is – is that if those records were accessed internally then it will be much easier to track the digital trail.’
‘Is there any way we can find out if certain files were accessed recently?’ Agent Fisher asked. ‘And in that case, by whom?’
‘We can try,’ Michelle replied. ‘If the files were accessed internally, then our chances of finding out who did it increases exponentially, but if Optum – or any health-insurance database – was hacked from the outside, things get harder.’
‘How much harder?’ Agent Fisher asked.
‘Depending on how good the hacker is,’ Michelle came back, ‘how well he was able to cover his tracks, it may range from “a hell of a lot harder” to “impossible”. I won’t really know until I try it.’
‘Can you try it?’ Hunter this time.
They held each other’s stare for a moment, which seemed to bother Agent Fisher.
‘Sure,’ Michelle finally replied, her gaze now moving to the two FBI agents. ‘But I will need an official request for that. After all, this is the FBI.’
‘Get started,’ Agent Fisher said, getting to her feet. ‘You’ll have the official request within the hour.’
Eighty-Two Hunter and Garcia had gone back to their office at the Police Administration Building and by lunchtime, the information on which health-insurance company each of the four victims had a plan with had come back to them. For the first time they seemed to have caught a real break.
Kristine Rivers had a student health plan with Direct Healthcare. Albert Greene had a senior-citizen policy with Cambridge Health Plans. Linda Parker was with Prime US Healthcare Services, and Timothy Davis with AtlantiCare Health. All four of those companies were subsidiaries of the GlobalAmerica Health Group. Their records shared not only the same central database, but they could all also be accessed via the Optum integrated information and technology platform.
‘So you think that the killer is finding his victims through their medical records?’ Captain Blake asked.
‘Right now,’ Garcia replied, ‘it seems like our best bet, Captain.’
‘And how is he getting to the database?’
‘Two ways of doing it: internally – if the killer works for any of the companies under the GlobalAm
erica Health Group, or for a medical establishment, like a hospital or a clinic with access to this Optum platform, and externally – by hacking into the system from the outside. What we’re doing,’ Garcia explained, ‘is checking to see when was the last time that any of the victims’ medical records were accessed. With that, there’s a chance that we’ll be able to follow some sort of digital trail and figure out who accessed them. It can take a while though, if we ever get anything.’
Captain Blake took a step back from Garcia’s desk and regarded both of her detectives for several seconds.
‘When was the last time you had a day off?’ she asked.
‘What?’ Garcia came back.
‘A day off. When was the last time you had one?’
Garcia looked at Hunter for help.
‘I’m not really sure,’ Hunter said. ‘A while ago. Why?’
‘Have you two looked at yourselves in the mirror? You guys could audition for The Walking Dead right now and get the part, do you understand what I’m saying? You have been on this case for about a week now, isn’t that right?’ The captain didn’t give them a chance to reply. ‘And just before that you were on that triple-homicide case, weren’t you? The one in Bixby Knolls?’
‘That’s correct,’ Garcia confirmed. ‘The father who raped and murdered his three daughters.’
‘Well, so that’s it,’ Captain Blake said, her voice as commanding as it had ever been. ‘You guys are taking the next two days off. I don’t really give a damn about what Adrian Kennedy or the FBI has to say. This is a joint operation, which means that you are still under my command. You were supposed to take a break after the Bixby Knolls murders anyway, so finish whatever it is that you are doing here today, then go home and get some sleep, and take the next two days off. From what you told me, unless this killer gives you a brand-new victim, there’s nothing else you can do, other than wait for Cyber Crime.’ She paused by the door to their office. ‘It’s not a request.’
Eighty-Three Hunter finally left his office at around 7:30 p.m. Despite being a workaholic, he had to admit to himself that he welcomed Captain Blake’s orders with open arms. He had needed to check his diary to find out the last time he and Garcia had had a day off: twenty-three days ago. Forty-eight hours off the clock, even if he didn’t sleep that much, would certainly recharge his batteries and re-sharpen his brain. Maybe he could even spend some of that time with Tracy.
That thought made him smile.
Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, as Hunter took the exit onto Soto Street in the direction of Huntington Park, a black Ford Fusion appeared on his left and cut in front of him. Hunter had to swerve hard right not to clip the Fusion’s bumper.
‘You have got to be joking.’
Hunter’s surprise came not due to the Ford’s maneuver, but to the fact that that same black Ford Fusion had pulled exactly the same move, at that exact same junction, the night before, just as Hunter drove home. Hunter had taken notice of the license plate.
‘That’s it,’ Hunter said to himself. ‘I’m pulling him over.’
But as Hunter stepped on the gas in pursuit of the Ford Fusion, his thought process did another somersault, jumping from A to Z in two seconds flat.
That was when he realized something he’d been missing.
Eighty-Four
The phone on Hunter’s desk inside their temporary office on the eighth floor of the FBI building on Wilshire Boulevard rang at exactly 7:56 p.m. There was no one there except Agent Fisher, who had been working on a report for the past few hours. She dug her heels onto the floor and kicked her legs, pushing her chair away from her desk and sending it in the direction of Hunter’s.
‘Special Agent Erica Fisher,’ she said, as she answered the phone.
A second of hesitant silence.
‘Did I dial the wrong extension?’ the female voice on the other side asked.
Agent Fisher immediately recognized who the caller was – Michelle Kelly – the head of the LA FBI Cyber Crime Division.
‘Hi, Miss Kelly,’ Agent Fisher replied. ‘No, you haven’t. This is Detective Hunter’s desk, but I’m the only one in the office right now. In fact, Detectives Hunter and Garcia prefer to work from their shoebox office back at the PAB. Is there anything I can help you with? Do you have any news for us?’
‘I do,’ Michelle replied.
Those two simple words took Agent Fisher’s heart rate from resting to one-hundred-yard dash.
‘What have you got?’
‘It took us a while longer than we expected,’ Michelle began. ‘But we’ve made some progress.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Albert Greene’s medical records were accessed via the Optum integrated information and technology platform exactly twelve days before his murder.’
‘Internally or externally?’
‘Externally,’ Michelle replied. ‘Someone hacked into the system.’
‘Can you trace it?’
‘We are working on it, but I can tell you this – whoever this guy is, he’s no amateur. He knows his way around cyberspace.’
Every hair on Agent Fisher’s body stood on end.
‘But that’s not all,’ Michelle announced. ‘Timothy Davis’s medical records were also accessed externally. Would you like to have a guess at how many days before his murder?’
‘Twelve?’ Agent Fisher’s eyes widened as she said the number.
‘Exactly, and here’s the kick – the same with Kristine Rivers’ records – accessed externally via Optum twelve days prior to her murder. Linda Parker’s records weren’t touched.’
‘The killer wouldn’t need her medical records to gather the information on her,’ Agent Fisher said.
‘Anyway,’ Michelle carried on. ‘Twelve days prior to every murder – you know what that tells us about this killer, don’t you?’
‘That he’s methodical,’ Agent Fisher replied.
‘Very,’ Michelle agreed. ‘Probably almost to the point of OCD, which would mean that he also doesn’t like to stray from routines, and that can increase our chances of tracking him down.’
‘So where are we right now with that?’
‘Crawling stages.’
‘But you’ve picked up a trail, right? I mean, finding out about the records being accessed externally and all.’
‘More like we’ve picked up a scent rather than a trail,’ Michelle clarified. ‘But yes, we do now have a starting point, and we’re going after him with everything we’ve got.’
Eighty-Five
The man had spent almost an entire week putting the final touches to his plan and making sure that everything would work exactly in the way he had schematized it. It was a complicated and bold plan. A lot more daring and complex than anything he had done so far. Every detail had to be perfect. There simply was no room for mistakes, but then again, the man never really made mistakes. He was way too smart for that.
Today, after purchasing a cheap pre-paid cellphone and an old-fashioned Polaroid camera, all the man needed to do was a couple of last-minute tweaks to the system; nothing major, just an adjustment here and there, and he’d be able to run his final test tonight. If everything went to plan, and there was no real reason why it wouldn’t, he would be hitting the road in the early hours of the morning and by tomorrow, he would have her.
Then the real fun would start.
As always, the man had already made the trip to where the girl lived. That was how he worked. Once he had identified a target, step two was always to go see them for himself. No matter where in the country they were. It gave him a much clearer idea of who the target really was and how to best approach him/her. He would, at least twice before he took them, stake them out for a period of never less than twenty-four hours each time, looking for patterns, routines, anything and everything that could make the job of taking them easier.
Only once had he deviated from this – while researching Linda Parker, whose daily schedule proved to be too elusive, to
o unpredictable. And so the man had decided to actually approach her beforehand.
Posing as an international photographer, he had booked a three-hour photo session with the model in a studio not that far from where she lived. It had been a risky move, the man knew that, but he also knew how to cover his tracks, and there was no way anyone would be able to track him through that photo-session booking.
But the man hadn’t needed to resort to any tricks with this new girl. She had the most predictable routine of them all, which, in a way, was expected, given who she was.
The man checked his watch, powered down his computer and sat back on his chair. As he envisaged what was about to unfold in the next few hours, he felt as if his body was being pricked by a thousand needles, injecting him with some new drug that electrified his veins.
The man smiled as he caught a glimpse of his reflection on the dark computer monitor.
It was time to go work on his disguise.
It was almost time to go get the girl.
No more Mr. Merciful.
Eighty-Six
‘Don’t eat so fast, Chiquita,’ the live-in babysitter said, as she poured the girl another glass of apple juice. She always called the girl ‘Chiquita’, which meant ‘little girl’ in Spanish. ‘Why are you eating so fast?’
The babysitter, who was fifty-four years old, with short black hair and kind, dark-brown eyes, still spoke with a slight Puerto Rican accent, despite having lived in America for forty years.
The girl had one more spoonful of her chili con carne before responding.