by CJ Lyons
"The on-line stuff, that'd be easy. A lot were in the Shadow World chatrooms, at first anyway."
"I'll bet he inserted a Trojan horse into Ashley's computer," Taylor said. "He'd be able to monitor every key stroke she typed."
"He'd know her passwords, everything." Bobby's eyes narrowed in anger. "That sonofabitch. He cut me off from Ashley—probably pretended to be me, told her I had a new phone number or email address, sucked her right in."
"He's been watching her for a long time, would know everything about her," Taylor said.
"Watching her—" Lucy was close, there was something slippery just beyond her grasp. "Monitoring her." She made another circuit of the room. "Can you tell if he accessed the webcam on her computer? Trace the video feed or whatever you call it?"
"No. This guy has his own servers set up—that's why it's so hard for us to trace him through the game, he doesn't use a third party host."
Another dead end. But she was certain this guy would be watching Ashley. From a distance at first—his goal was to create a long-term relationship, he'd chose his partner carefully.
"So we have a white guy, computer savvy, Pittsburgh area, and he has access to Homeland Security computer programs." She shook her head. "That could still be dozens, maybe even a hundred or more men."
"At Quantico they told us some serial killers try to insert themselves into the investigation. To feel powerful, smarter than we are," Taylor said.
She stopped at the far end of the room, holding her body still as energy surged through it, feeling as if she leaned over the edge of a precipice with precious little to hang on to.
"No. He doesn't care about us. He cares about Ashley. He'll do whatever it takes to protect their relationship. If he gets involved with us it'll be to sabotage the case, throw us off track."
She feathered her fingers over the base of her throat she thought through every person connected with the case. Hated to think it could be someone on her team, right under her nose. Someone she'd trusted.
Then she stopped short. She knew where she was going—it had been right in front of her—but took time to take a deep breath in, let it out again before she condemned a man. After all, she had no proof. Just what Nick would call one of her "niggly" feelings.
"If I gave you a name, could you see if the scrubber program came from him?" she asked Taylor, reluctant to voice her suspicions. But the more she thought about it, the more certain she was.
"No, but I can check to see if he's used or downloaded the same version of the program. He'd have to download it from one of our computers and then transfer it." He squinted at her. "Who do you think it is?"
Lucy blew her breath out as if preparing for a leap off the high dive. "Fletcher."
"No way," Taylor said. "That guy's an idiot."
"It's him. I know it." She grabbed her phone. "You find me proof."
Chapter 25
Sunday 12:44 pm
Lucy called Walden, filled him in on her suspicions. "Not much we can do without proof," he told her.
"I know. Check out his workstation, see if you can find anything we can use to get a warrant. Have the H-Tech guys check out his computer—it's government property so he has no expectation of privacy. But for godsake, don't tip him off."
"Hang on, let me see if he's still around."
Lucy resumed her pacing, filled with an urge to use Taylor's phone and call Three Rivers to check on Megan. If she saved Ashley, Megan would be fine—what had Nick called it? Magical thinking? She didn't care. She believed it to her core. Had to, with two girls' lives at stake.
Walden returned before she could. "Security says he swiped out already. Want me to call him? Try to see where he's at?"
"No. I'll do it. You start checking him out, work on a warrant for his home."
"We don't have probable cause. Unless something shows up here." Walden, always the voice of reason. "And I don't think I should let anyone else in on this."
He had a point. In the federal building, gossip traveled faster than a laser guided missile.
"No sense riling up the brass on a Sunday," she reluctantly agreed, even though she hated the fact that they'd have to proceed slow and careful.
"Especially as we have no evidence. I'll call as soon as I have anything."
If Fletcher did have Ashley, what would he do when exposed? Kill her would be the obvious answer, and if he were a straightforward sociopath like Ivan, it was exactly what she'd expect him to do.
But Fletcher had spent months grooming her, had developed an elaborate ritual around his actions, even created an alternative universe to hunt in. He wasn't going to give up his prize, not easily.
He'd run. Take Ashley with him. Go underground and hide in the shadows just like in the fantasy realm he had invented. Probably had a lair stocked and waiting.
She had to take a chance, lure him back before he ran.
She dialed Fletcher's cell.
"Jim Fletcher," he answered, his voice bright and cheerful.
"It's Lucy," she kept her voice bright. "I was wondering how the surveillance footage from this morning came out. Was the quality okay?"
"Yes, Lucy. The quality was just fine. In fact, I just hung up with the tech who was processing it. Why, is there a problem I don't know about?"
"No. No problem. I was worried that with everything going on things might have gotten garbled."
"Shouldn't you be worried about bigger things than me doing my job? Like your daughter. Is she okay?"
"She will be. Thanks for asking. I was wondering if you could meet me at the office, give us a hand with the Ashley Yeager investigation."
Fletcher's laughter sounded relaxed and carefree, hardly the sound of a killer on the run.
"Sorry, Lucy. Normally I'd be happy to oblige, but you see, the tech guy also told me your team had cracked Ashley's computer. Not to mention the fact that Taylor or one of his klutzes just tried hacking into my server. Hope he didn't have anything sensitive on that hard drive."
She spun around and slapped Taylor's hand from his keyboard.
"So, Lucy, have I finally gotten your attention? Before I go, I just want to let you know how much I enjoyed working with you. Don't worry about Ashley. She won't ever have to worry about anything again. I'll keep her safe."
The line went dead.
"He said something about your hard drive," she told Taylor. "He knew you had reached his server."
Taylor's fingers dashed across his keyboard. "Not me, I wasn't even close."
They both turned to Bobby who had a wide smile on his face. "Got him," he said triumphantly. "I got the sonofabitch."
"Bobby, what did you do?"
"He had an early warning system, but I saw it and made a back door in. Before I triggered his alarms, I sent him a very nasty bit of code."
"Is it something I can use to track him? He has Ashley and he knows we're onto him."
"Maybe. Next time he uses his password, his C drive is going to be copied onto mine."
"He said something about destroying the hard drive of whoever was going after him. Was he bluffing?"
"Nah. That early warning system of his included a nice tape-worm. But the guy thinks pretty linear—it was easy to contain once you knew it was there."
Taylor slapped Bobby on the shoulder and beamed like a proud father. "Wow, kid. You're pretty amazing, you know that? You can come work for me anytime."
It was good to see Bobby actually smile for the first time since she'd told him about Ashley's disappearance. Lucy just wished she had time to enjoy it herself. Instead, she was back on the phone to Walden.
"I was just getting ready to call you. His workstation is clean. No evidence there, unless it's on his computer."
"Nevermind. We've enough for a warrant. He admitted to having Ashley. Trace his cell and ask Burroughs to issue a BOLO. I'll meet you at his house."
"We're are on our way," Walden told her. "You might want to call the SAC first—Fletcher's boss is looking for y
ou."
"Of course he is. I'll take care of it, just get me that warrant." She hung up and motioned for Taylor to gather his gear. "I have to go now, Bobby, but I'm going to send one of our tech guys over to monitor your computer. Is that all right?"
"Sure, that'd be great. Let me know as soon as you find Ashley, okay?"
"I will."
She let Taylor drive while she manned the phone. Her first call was to John Greally, the Pittsburgh field office's Special Agent in Charge.
"Lucy, what the hell have you done this time?" came his greeting. "I've got ICE supervisors calling me from DC, wanting to chew your ass, saying you're investigating one of their guys without going through proper channels. What's the deal?"
"James Fletcher, one of their support people on Innocent Images, is the same guy who killed that woman in Murrysville and abducted Ashley Yeager."
"Shit. Are you certain?"
"John, he just admitted it to me on the phone. I'm heading out to his house now. Walden is getting us a warrant as soon as he can find a judge on a Sunday afternoon."
"Just so happens I've one right here with me on the eleventh hole. I'll expedite the warrant. You do your best to document the hell out of everything and keep the press as far out of this as possible."
"You know I can't—"
"Just do your best. Last thing we need is for this to turn into a shark feeding frenzy and spook Fletcher into killing that girl."
"We're on the same wavelength there."
"And Lucy, this is going to get hairy, political-wise. You'd damned well better bring home the bacon, cooked and smelling so good no jury can resist."
"Don't worry." But she was worried—with Fletcher's access to federal computers and resources, they might have a tough time finding hard evidence. His unrecorded confession wasn't enough. And he damn well knew it.
"Call me as soon as you finish at Fletcher's."
"Yes sir."
"And Lucy, be careful. Just because this guy isn't a fully trained agent doesn't make him any less dangerous." He paused. "How's Megan?"
"She's fine. We're just waiting for tests and seeing where to go next." The knot at the corner of her jaw began to pulsate, and she gave up pretending that everything was all right. "John, they say it might be cancer."
He made a tiny, aborted choking sound before he spoke again. "I'm sure everything is going to be all right. I'll try to stop by and bring Jackie to visit her." Jackie was John's youngest daughter and was the same age as Megan.
"Thanks John. She'll appreciate having someone other than us to talk to. You know how it is, being cooped up with booooring adults all day," she mimicked Megan's whine.
Grimwald, the ICE Special Agent in Charge, pulled up alongside Lucy and her team at Fletcher's modest house in Lawrenceville, not far from Three Rivers Medical Center and Megan, Lucy couldn't help but notice. She decided it was a good omen.
The SAC barged out of the unmarked black Suburban like he was being launched from a cannon. "You can't do this!"
Lucy waved her team inside Fletcher's two-story bungalow. "Taylor, priority is the computer, any electronics and any papers. Look for photos, maps, anything to give us a clue where Ashley may be. Walden, look for any possible hiding places on the premises. I'll join you in a minute."
"No. Stop. You cannot do this. You have no right!" Grimwald shouted.
Taylor and Walden didn't hesitate, which made her smile. She pivoted and blocked Grimwald as he stepped forward. "I have a search warrant which I am legally serving. Detective Burroughs, you're my witness. We are in Pittsburgh city jurisdiction, are we not?"
"Yes ma'am, Supervisory Special Agent Guardino."
"Am I violating any state or city laws as I am lawfully executing this federal warrant?"
"No ma'am, not that I can see."
She darted a glance at Burroughs. A smirk sprinted across his face and he rocked back on his heels, obviously enjoying his stint as straight man.
"And is there any evidence that Immigration and Customs Enforcement would have jurisdiction in this matter?"
"No ma'am."
"To hell with jurisdiction," Grimwald sputtered, his face now a apoplectic shade of red. "There's ways to do things, intra-agency cooperation, you can't just—"
"This is a man who is holding a fourteen-year-old girl, who already killed a woman!" Lucy was shouting, leaning into Grimwald's space until her chest was almost touching his. Grimwald stepped back.
"Fletcher is my responsibility. Let me handle things my way. You're hysterical, jumping the gun. What if the media hears about this? About the way you launched a one woman witch hunt?"
"If you'd like to discuss this with the media, be my guest. Detective Burroughs, if you would remain with Special Agent in Charge Grimwald and ensure that he doesn't interfere, I'll join my team."
She could swear she heard Burroughs snicker as she turned her back on the men and started towards the house.
"This isn't over, Guardino! I'll have your job!"
Lucy ignored him. Her phone rang and she grabbed it just as she stepped onto Fletcher's porch. "Guardino here."
"Hi Lucy, it's Jimmy Fletcher. Boy, Agent Grimwald sure does look angry. What did you say to him?"
She froze and pivoted, turning in a complete circle. Ahh, up in the eaves overhanging the porch was a small camera. Clever boy with his gadgets. She stood under the camera and waved. "How's it going, Jimmy? Want to come on in and talk about it? Maybe tell me where Ashley Yeager is?"
"You know I would never hurt Ashley. You of all people should understand that. I've saved her. We're a lot alike, you and I."
What warped planet was he living on? "Gee, I'm flattered. Listen, let's talk about it. Where do you want to meet? You pick the place, anywhere you feel comfortable."
His laugh was a tinny echo as if machine-made. "I might not be a special agent, but I've read the protocols. Please, don't insult me."
"If you don't want to talk, then why did you call?"
"I thought it only fair to warn you. And your people. I'm not like the scum you're used to dealing with. Like I told you, I don't want to anyone to get hurt. You've twenty seconds to evacuate my house. Starting now." He hung up.
Lucy sprinted into the house. "Taylor, Walden, out! Now! There's a bomb, clear out, clear out!"
Walden came pounding from the rear of the house.
"Where's Taylor?" she asked.
"Upstairs." He started towards the steps but she beat him to them.
"Get out. Get fire, police rolling," she called over her shoulder as she dashed up the steps. "Taylor!"
She was counting seconds down in her head as she ran. Three open doors, one closed. Seven, six... Taylor was in the front room, the solid oak door shut behind him. She burst into the room, the door bouncing off the wall with a loud bang that made him jump to his feet. He held an evidence bag in one hand and a laptop in the other. Ruffled edged lace curtains danced around the large open window beside him.
"LT, what's the deal?" he asked.
Four, three.
"Bomb," she cried out. She hurled her weight across the room, propelling them both out the window. They hit the porch roof as the world shattered.
A fireball of heat and glass and wood and flame launched them into space. Lucy grabbed onto Taylor, his eyes registering shock and fear.
Heat seared her back. A loud roar devoured her senses, obscuring everything except the sight of the ground racing up to slam into them.
A shock wave smashed through her. Her ears popped and suddenly she could hear again. Sirens and a car alarm and men yelling and someone screaming. She tried to inhale, tasted dirt and grass. Coughed, gasped and coughed once more.
That wasn't her screaming was it? She rolled over onto her side, regretted it as pain spiked through her back. No. She wasn't screaming, she could barely breathe. It was Taylor who was crying, whimpering in pain.
The peaceful blue sky had been ripped asunder, now filled with swirling debris, smoke and fl
ames. They weren't far from the house, only twenty feet or so. Flames shot out of the old frame structure, greedily reaching out to neighbors on both sides. Then she spotted the propane tank in the neighbor's side yard.
She tried to struggle to her feet, to reach out to Taylor, but strong hands beat her to it. Burroughs and Grimwald dragged Taylor back, away from the inferno while Walden and Lucy did their own bizarre version of the three-legged race.
"Need to evacuate," she managed to grate the words past her tattered vocal cords. "Propane—" She couldn't speak, so she raised a finger in the direction of the tank.
"Already working on it," Walden reassured her. "You okay, boss?"
"Fine." She straightened against the car bumper and immediately regretted it as more pain lanced through her. So much pain that she wasn't even certain where it came from. "Taylor?"
An ambulance screeched to a halt beside them. Burroughs and the medics helped Taylor onto a stretcher. Taylor's left forearm arm was bent like a Kennywood roller coaster. Medics crowded around him, blocking her view.
Lucy looked around, her gaze swimming. She must have lost a few minutes because firefighters already swarmed over the house, hoses blasting water in every direction, sending rainbows arching over the crowd of cop cars and gawkers.
The grins on their faces told her this was another fun day at the office for them—no fatalities, no collateral damage, they had things under control, this was their kind of fire.
"Make sure they know this is a crime scene. We need as much evidence preserved as possible." Her voice was stronger now. If she didn't move, didn't really breathe, the pain wasn't too bad. "Someone take a look around the yard. Taylor was holding a laptop when we went out the window."
"Got it," Burroughs told her, holding the splintered remains of a laptop keyboard aloft like a prize. "He fell on it." The detective sauntered over. "Think I'm going to think twice about letting you feds step on my turf again."
"Bastard. He was watching us through a wireless camera. Probably more than one."
"I've got guys scouring the neighborhood, but with all the hubbub, he's had plenty of time to get away. If he was ever even here—he could have the cameras rigged so he can watch them from anywhere, through a computer." He took a step back and stared at her long and hard. "The medics see you yet?"