Mortal Crimes 1

by Various Authors

  “See?”

  She opened the message and clicked on the hyperlink in the body of the email, which would take her directly to the filed version of the opposition.

  Only it didn’t.

  She stared at the 404 Error message that filled the screen.

  “That’s impossible.”

  She clicked over to the docket to try to reach the file that way and blinked. The last entry on the docket was the Court’s order rescheduling the trial. The entry before that was the defendants’ motion in limine.

  Where was the opposition?

  Her palms grew damp and her mouth went dry.

  “I don’t … Where’d it go? I filed it. I got the confirmation.”

  Rosie peered over her shoulder at the monitor. “It must be a glitch. I wouldn’t worry about it. You did get the confirmation.”

  Her words were reassuring, but Aroostine could tell the younger lawyer was as baffled as she was.

  “Mierda,” Rosie swore, pointing a manicured nail at the blinking email icon. “The judge just entered another order.”

  Aroostine hurriedly clicked the notification and her heart dropped into her stomach as she read the text of the short order:

  Defendants’ Motion in Limine to Preclude Recording (Doc. #42) is granted as unopposed.

  “Oh my God. I’m going to puke.”

  Rosie pushed her into her desk chair.

  “Listen, don’t stress about this. I’ll get on the phone with the Clerk of Court. I’m sure it’s just some kind of weird mistake. We’ll get it cleared up, and Judge Hernandez will issue a new order.”

  Aroostine searched Rosie’s eyes. As always, it struck her that looking at Rosie was like looking in a mirror. Despite their disparate ethnic backgrounds, Rosie’s Hispanic features and her own Native American characteristics were almost identical. They shared the same coloring, the same glossy black hair, the same brown eyes, and the same bone structure. Add to that the fact that they were both within an inch or two of six feet tall, and it was no surprise that people constantly asked if they were sisters.

  Right now, Rosie’s pale, tense face belied her casual confidence and probably mirrored her own expression. She really did feel like she might vomit.

  “Hernandez hates Sid,” she mumbled. “What if he doesn’t?”

  “He will.”

  Aroostine closed her eyes and focused on her breathing until the wave of nausea passed.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am; you’ll see. Let me go get this straightened out.”

  “Thanks, Rosie.”

  “No worries.” She started out of the office and then turned back. “Oh, I totally forgot. I heard an interesting piece of gossip this morning?”

  “Yeah?” Aroostine feigned interest.

  “Rumor has it Sid’s on the short list for a promotion.”

  “Good for him.”

  “It’s good for you, too, you know. If he gets the bump, Tony Henderson is a lock to take over his job. And you know what that means?”

  “We’ll all have to pretend to be Redskins fans?”

  Rosie ignored the jab at Henderson’s football mania. “His job will be open.”

  “And?”

  “And if we can pull off a guilty verdict, you’ll be the logical candidate to replace him as Deputy.”

  “In what universe?”

  “The one where you win a big FCPA case and happen to be a coveted double minority. That universe.”

  Aroostine winced.

  She didn’t consider herself any sort of minority. For one thing, roughly half the world was female. And for another, she’d been adopted by a prosperous white family when she was seven. The Higginses had given her everything she needed to build a foundation: stability; love; shelter; clothes; education; and support. She wasn’t disadvantaged, and she hardly needed a leg up. The federal government’s insistence on giving her extra credit for the accident of her birth was a constant irritant. Like a grain of dust in her eye.

  “Hey, are we running today at lunch?”

  Rosie blinked at the subject change, and, despite herself, Aroostine swallowed a laugh.

  Her discomfort must have been more extreme than even she realized. She never suggested running. Usually, Rosie had to threaten to drag her bodily from her desk chair or bribe her with cupcakes to get her to reluctantly lace up her trainers.

  “Uh…”

  “You know, exercise gets the brain moving, too. And if we’re going to win this trial, a little extra brainpower will come in handy.”

  “Okay, sure.” Rosie gave her a look like she’d grown an extra head, but she went along with the idea. She left the room, pulling the door closed gently behind her.

  Aroostine tried to put the docket mishap out of her mind and started working through her endless to do list.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Franklin chewed on the cuticle around his left thumb without realizing it. The raw skin bled easily, and he looked down in surprise when he tasted blood.

  Disgusting, he thought. On top everything else, now he had a gross nervous habit thanks to the man.

  The thought of the nameless man made Franklin’s heart pound with impotent anger. He’d promised that if Franklin tapped into the federal court’s docket system and make a stupid document disappear, he would return Franklin’s mother unharmed. If Franklin didn’t—or if he contacted the authorities—he said he would give Franklin directions as to where he could find her corpse.

  And Franklin had done everything exactly as the man wanted. The man, whoever he was, clearly knew enough about Franklin’s work to realize that deleting an electronic record from the electronic docket would be child’s play for Franklin.

  Although he’d never before done anything more illegal than fail to come to a full stop at a stop sign, he had access to an array of systems and networks that most hackers couldn’t imagine in their most power-hungry dreams.

  He was SystemSource, Inc.’s lead programmer. That meant he was in charge of testing and debugging the company’s flagship off-the-shelf industrial control systems product, RemoteControl. SystemSource sold the RemoteControl system to office buildings, residential apartment buildings, government agencies, hospitals, colleges, private industry—anybody who wanted to control and monitor complex systems remotely. Which was just about everybody. Why pay a guard to sit in your building and watch your surveillance cameras, when you could outsource that task to some guy sitting in his living room monitoring your cameras, controlling the HVAC systems, making sure the elevators stopped on all the floors, and keeping pretty much every essential system running?

  To enable the company to provide real-time support, updates, and monitoring to its customers, Franklin left a door open in the configuration data of each unit. He was the only person at SystemSource who knew how to get into the configuration data, but once he was inside, he could gain access to the administrator’s password and, from there, the username and password of any user. Logged in as an employee, he could control whatever systems that login identification managed.

  So, when the man told him to delete the opposition to the motion in limine, all he had to do was log in to the electronic court filing system as the system administrator and type in the docket number the man had given him. It took him all of eight seconds to wipe away any trace of the filing.

  He’d been surprised to see that the caption named his very own company as a defendant, The United States v. SystemSource, Inc., et al. After he’d removed the opposition papers filed by the Department of Justice, he poked around the docketed documents long enough to learn that his employer had settled with the government months ago, paying a thirty-million-dollar fine but not admitting wrongdoing.

  The only defendants still remaining were two former sales representatives, Craig Womback and Martin Sheely—men he’d never heard of, let alone met. The two had overseen the company’s fledgling Latin American Division and were charged with bribing Mexican government officials.


  He thought that would be the end of it, but of course the man had reneged. And now he spent his working hours looking over his shoulder, worried that someone inside the company was involved in his mother’s abduction. Who else would know that he could access the docket?

  This new worry made him even jumpier and more paranoid—a state he didn’t even know was possible.

  As if to prove the point, the cell phone rang, and he leaped, nearly spilling his French roast on his wrinkled khakis.

  “Jeez, buddy, switch to decaf,” one of the interns said as he strolled by Franklin’s cubicle.

  Franklin ignored the guy and hissed into the phone, “Hello?”

  “Your employer was awarded the contract to install a new security system at the Criminal Division’s F Street location. Are you aware of that, Franklin?”

  “Yes,” Franklin said, his stomach sinking. The system had just come on-line a few hours earlier, and he’d spend the first part of morning testing it to ensure it was working properly.

  “Of course you are,” the cold, foreign voice continued. “What you may not know is that your company won that contract over a year ago. The start date and installation were pushed back until SystemSource settled the FCPA lawsuit. It would have been very embarrassing if your American taxpayers learned that the Department of Justice was business partners with one of its criminal defendants, no?”

  Franklin was distracted by the man’s use of “your” in front of “employer” and “American.” Was it a slip of the tongue or did he not care that Franklin knew he wasn’t connected with SystemSource and wasn’t a U.S. citizen? Or had he said it because he was a SystemSource employee and he was trying to throw Franklin off his track? God, the last thing he needed was for this terrible man to think he was on his track.

  “No?” he prompted.

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry, I thought that was a rhetorical question,” Franklin hurried to explain.

  “Stop thinking. Answer the questions I ask and do what I tell you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry.” He tried hard to convey his contrition to the madman on the phone.

  “Good. Now, before we get to your next assignment, I believe I said you could speak to your mother. You have thirty seconds.”

  There was a crackle in his ear as the man must have activated his device’s speakerphone feature.

  Franklin wet his lips, cupped his hand around the phone, and croaked, “Mom?”

  “Franklin.” His mother’s voice echoed hollowly through the speakerphone.

  “Is he feeding you? Has he hurt you?”

  “He wants me to tell you he’s treating me appropriately.”

  “Is he, though?”

  She paused. “It’s not the Ritz, but I’m fine.”

  He thought she sounded weaker and wearier than she had four nights ago, but she’d never cop to discomfort.

  Tears stung Franklin’s eyes, and he gripped the phone so hard he was surprised it didn’t break in his hand. “I’m going to get you home, I promise.”

  “He wants the phone back. I love you, honey.”

  His mother’s voice faded, replaced by the harsh, ugly tones of her captor. “How touching.”

  Anger flared in Franklin’s belly, but he choked it back and said nothing.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Franklin said neutrally.

  “Good. You are to monitor the attorney who filed the opposition. The Higgins woman.”

  “What do you mean by monitor?”

  The man huffed. “I mean to keep an open channel. I want you to keep track of when she arrives at work. When she leaves. Her incoming and outgoing phone calls. How long they are, who she speaks to, and what she says. When she logs onto her computer and what she does. What databases does she access? What websites does she visit? What documents does she create? What does she save? Print? Delete?”

  “You—you want me to spy on her all day?”

  “Precisely.”

  Franklin’s mind raced. How was he supposed to do that all day long without anyone else in the company noticing? It simply wasn’t possible.

  “I don’t think I have access to all that information,” he lied.

  “You disappoint me,” the man said quietly.

  There was a rustling noise, then Franklin heard a distant shrieking.

  The hated voice filled his ear again. “Shall I break your mother’s wrist then? To motivate you.”

  Franklin’s stomach roiled, and acid rose in his throat. “No, I’m sorry! Don’t hurt her—I’ll do it.”

  “Next time, there will be no negotiation, Franklin. Do not ever lie to me.”

  “I won’t. I won’t … just, please, don’t hurt her,” Franklin panted.

  “Very well. Do you understand your assignment?”

  “Yes. Do you really want to know everything she does?”

  “Everything,” the man confirmed. “I will call you for regular reports. If, however, you see or hear something that you think will be of great interest to me and will hasten your mother’s return, then you may call this number.”

  “Wait! Wait—what’s of interest to you? I really don’t understand.”

  “Be creative, Franklin. Anything that provides leverage over Aroostine Higgins.”

  The line went dead.

  Leverage, Franklin repeated to himself silently.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Friday afternoon

  Joe stroked the silky fur of the mournful golden retriever sitting at his feet.

  “You miss her, too, don’t you, boy?”

  Rufus cocked his head and gave Joe a look that said that was a stupid question.

  He sighed. Of course Rufus missed her. After all, she was the one who had found him, caked with mud and shivering in a cardboard box by the side of the road. She was his mistress—the one who’d taken him in, cleaned him up, and took him for long walks in the woods. As far as Rufus was concerned, Joe was just some guy who was handy with a can opener.

  Feeling increasingly stupid, he continued his one-sided conversation with the dog.

  “She’ll be back. You’ll see. She just needs to get this big city lawyer thing out of her system.”

  Rufus whimpered, and Joe scratched his long, soft ears.

  “You’d hate it in D.C. Living in a cramped shoebox apartment. No backyard. No ducks to chase. No ponds to swim in. Dirty, crowded, noisy. Fast, impersonal, expensive.”

  Rufus nosed his hand, turned in two circles, then immediately fell asleep.

  Must be nice to be a dog, Joe thought, jealous of the canine’s uncomplicated emotional life.

  He stared sightlessly into the dying fire for a long time. She’d been gone for four months. Maybe it was time to face the fact that Aroostine wasn’t coming back.

  You could go there, he told himself. She’d asked him repeatedly to give it a try. He waffled, thinking of how much he’d like to see her liquid brown eyes and hear her throaty laugh. What harm could one visit do?

  No. He knew himself. He had no intention of uprooting his life and following her to D.C. Even if Rufus wouldn’t feel penned in by city life, he would. And she was working all the time, anyway. A visit would confuse things and send the wrong message.

  What message is that? That you love her and miss her and you’re willing to support her dreams—the way you told her you would?

  Joe shook his head to get rid of the nagging, judgmental voice that sounded in his ears. His eyes fell on the papers from the lawyer’s office. He knew he needed to stop delaying the inevitable and deal with them, but right now, he couldn’t bear the thought.

  He picked up the phone from the nearby end table and punched in the area code for Washington, D.C. Then he jabbed his finger down to disconnect the call. He bounced the heavy, old cordless phone in the palm of his hand and thought.

  It’s Frugal Friday, he realized. Tencent wings, fifty-cent drafts, and bad karaoke to country music at the Hole in the Wall bar would chase the ghos
ts away.

  He turned on the phone and dialed again, punching in the numbers quickly before he weakened and called her.

  Three rings.

  “Brent, man, you up for some beer and wings?”

  “You know it, my brother.”

  Joe exhaled, and relief at having narrowly avoided a pitiful show of weakness flowed over him like water or, better yet, a frosty glass of Yuengling.

  “Meet you there in twenty.”

  Rufus lifted one eyelid and eyed him disapprovingly. Then he pawed his nose, snorted, and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Saturday morning

  Aroostine crouched alongside the creek and listened. Most of the trees were winter-bare, and their dried, fallen leaves blanketed the ground, covering twigs and rocks.

  There. A faint crunch sounded from the other side of the water.

  She scanned the opposite bank, her eyes narrowed and focusing hard, her head cocked. Another crunch, this one barely audible.

  It, whatever it was, was moving to the south.

  She slipped through the icy water, making no sound, causing no telltale splash. As she stalked the animal through Rock Creek Park, she felt just a bit silly. Her behavior was ridiculously out of place for an urban park. But she had to do something to clear her mind and recenter after her disastrous work week.

  Some people golfed. Others meditated or practiced yoga. Her adoptive mother knitted intricate, colorful sweaters and scarves and hats. Rosie, in an obvious display of mental imbalance, trained for and ran marathons. And she sat. She sat for hours in all sorts of weather in whatever wilderness environment she could reach and observed and tracked the wildlife. She was beginning to adjust to doing it in an urban park setting. She filtered out distant traffic noises and learned to disregard the occasional dogwalkers or couples looking for privacy who ventured deep into the woods.

  It was worth it. The natural world was a balm to her heart. Peace. Oneness. A connection with the planet and all its beings.