by L E Fraser
Margaret caught Sam’s eye, raised an eyebrow, and nodded at Sam’s unspoken warning. “Thank you,” she said to Eli.
“What for?” he mumbled.
“For saying I’m pretty.”
Crisis averted. Sam rolled her eyes at her intern’s grin and noted with quiet relief that his muscles relaxed and the twitching had stopped. She started Bart’s computer. “There’s a password.” Disappointing, but she’d expected it.
Eli sneaked a peek at Margaret. “My hacker friend can crack it. Easy breezy,” he boasted.
“Really?” Margaret’s eyes widened with admiration. “I wish I knew a hacker. He could have snooped into my cheating boyfriend. I’m single now,” she said coquettishly.
Oh boy, Sam thought. “Guys, I’m not running a match-making service here. Can we please focus?”
Eli stood up straight, all business again. “I will take the computer, crack the password, and make a copy of the hard drive.” He returned Margaret’s smile but quickly dropped his eyes. “My hacker is great. She can access any database.”
“Oh, it’s a she.” Margaret smirked. “Is she about twenty-two with dark hair?”
Eli’s eyes widened and he vigorously shook his head.
Margaret laughed. “I’m teasing. Relax.”
“How are your folks?” Sam asked her, deftly changing the subject.
Margaret sobered. “Bad. Can I tell them you’re trying to find Bart? That would make Mom hopeful.”
“Let’s keep it between us,” she said quickly. “Just for the time being.”
“It is confidential because Sam is keeping it secret from Reece,” Eli said. “Reece wants to leave your brother’s case to the police.”
His candour annoyed her. “Confidential means you don’t blab, Eli. And I’m not keeping anything secret.” She scowled at him. “We’ll bring Reece up to speed if we find a picture. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time.”
“Angel wouldn’t let anyone take her picture,” Margaret said. “She and Bart both closed their Bumble accounts months ago, so that won’t help. The photos he showed me on Bumble didn’t look like her anyway.”
“How so?” Sam asked.
Margaret shrugged. “They were glam shots. Her hair was different when I saw her and she wasn’t wearing makeup. In real life, Angel isn’t as sexy as the photos she posted on Bumble.” Margaret’s eyes grew sad and moist. “But she’s pretty and way out of Bart’s league. That’s why my brother puts her on a pedestal and does everything she wants.” Her tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “I don’t like Angel, but I can’t believe she’s the Frozen Statue Killer.”
“The police could be wrong,” Sam said.
Margaret swiped her cheeks. “I hope so.” She glanced at her phone. “Shoot, I have class. Want to get coffee sometime?” she asked Eli.
He blushed and avoided her eyes. “I would be delighted.” His hand twitched at his side.
Sam gazed out the window as Margaret exited the building. She glanced up and Sam stepped into the shadows. As soon as Margaret looked away, she lowered her head to her hands and her hunched shoulders shook as she cried.
“I’ll bring your brother home,” Sam whispered. “I always keep my promises.”
But that wasn’t true. She’d failed to keep her promise to her sister.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sam
SAM RUBBED AT a dark streak of blush and brushed her fingertip across her eyelid to remove some of the taupe shadow. Now the ring of black liner was too severe. She swiped it off with a cotton swab and peered into the mirror above the sink. Her makeup was far from perfect, but she’d fussed with it for over half an hour. It was as good as it was going to get.
As she removed the back of a diamond stud, her phone rang. A cramp of disappointment bit into her stomach. Sam dropped the earring into its velvet case, kicked off her heels, and shuffled into the bedroom to answer Reece’s call.
“We received a brutal assignment in criminal law.” He exhaled a puff of frustration.
She unzipped her dress and flopped onto the bed beside Brandy. “You have to meet your study group.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said woefully. “Reading week is the end of February. How about we go to Cuba?”
Her mood brightened a bit. A week of sunshine and no study group was just the ticket to put their faltering relationship back on track.
“That’s a great idea.”
A woman was laughing in the background and music drifted over the line. It sounded more like a party than a study session.
“Sounds like you’re having fun,” she stated callously.
“What?” He covered the phone and said something to whoever was with him. “Sam, I have to run but I’ll see you later,” he said briskly and disconnected.
She rolled over and hugged her dog. Brandy licked her cheek with a sympathetic whine. It was immature to be upset about a cancelled date but tears brimmed in her eyes. She trusted Reece but she wasn’t impervious to the way women looked at him. Her fiancé was tall, fit, and handsome. He was charming, accomplished, and exuded confidence. And she was a tomboy who didn’t even know how to put on makeup.
She sat up and opened her laptop. In the Toronto Life online archives, she found a picture of Reece at the December charity event. He was with Gretchen. The Crown prosecutor was tall with auburn hair and hazel eyes. A fitted brown gown accentuated full breasts and a tiny waist. Her makeup was flawless. Reece wore a black tuxedo and his hand rested on her shoulder. They made an attractive couple. Reece’s pleasant expression was stiff, staged for the photographer. Gretchen’s sardonic smirk bothered Sam. So did the direction of the woman’s eyes. She was gazing at Reece’s face, as if they shared a secret.
Her insecurity disgusted her. There was no evidence that Reece was having an affair. In fact, the opposite was true—Sam had heard Gretchen scolding him. Why did she suspect they’d orchestrated an elaborate scheme to trick her?
Closing the laptop with a snap, she stepped out of her dress and stripped off her sexy lingerie. She rolled everything into a tight ball and stuffed it into her closet. Never wearing the dress or lingerie again would suit her fine. She tugged on jeans and a T-shirt.
Going out for dinner alone was a depressing prospect. She wasn’t in the mood to work on her PhD thesis. What she needed was a compassionate ear. Sam texted her best friend and Lisa responded that she’d love company. Jim was working late and the kids were sleeping over at their grandparents.
Sympathy was a short drive away, and being in Lisa’s house could provide an opportunity for Sam to solve a worrisome problem. What she had planned was deceitful. It was also illegal. But if she were careful, Lisa’s husband would never know.
She chose a bottle of Chablis from the wine fridge and went out to grab a cab. Rather than the forecasted snowstorm, it was pouring rain. The sidewalks were vacant of pedestrians and she snagged a taxi before the downpour soaked through her jacket. As they drove across town to High Park, she stared at the raindrops pattering against the window. Was it possible for someone to send a text from someone else’s number without the owner’s knowledge? Curious, she called Eli.
After she described a hypothetical scenario, he answered, “On a smartphone, yes.”
“How do you do it?”
“If the creeper didn’t have great hacking skills he could put a remote access app on your device,” he said. “Once installed, dude could remotely send text messages without your knowledge.”
She smiled at how relaxed his language was when he didn’t have to face his audience and could engage on a subject that interested him.
“What if the person couldn’t gain physical access to the phone?” she asked.
“Malware would work,” he said. “Hide it in an app or attachment.”
Because of the confidential nature of a legal job, it was unlikely that a Crown prosecutor would download apps or open unknown attachments.
“What if the user didn’t downlo
ad anything?” she asked.
“It’s not too hard to hack into a connected email account.” He paused in thought. “If you had moderate tech skills, IMSI catchers would work. International mobile subscriber identity acts as a cellphone tower. If the perp was in the vicinity of the device, he could catch the signal. There are other ways but they take serious tech chops.”
“So a hacker could be within my phone’s proximity and days later send messages without my knowledge?”
“Sure,” he said. “Did someone hack your phone?”
“Not mine. Is there antivirus software available?”
“Yeah, but if the user downloads embedded malware it’s not too effective,” Eli said.
“If you don’t download anything and an IT department installed antivirus software, you’re safe?”
Eli laughed. “No way, but a newbie couldn’t bypass it. If a skilled hacker wants access to a device, he’ll get it.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She paid the cabbie and scuttled through the rain to Lisa’s front door. It was unlocked and Sam let herself in, shaking water off her coat.
“You should lock your doors,” she shouted.
Lisa came to the door. “Relax. I was expecting you. I’ll grab a towel.” She crossed the foyer to a powder room off Jim’s office and returned with a fluffy purple towel.
“I brought wine.” Sam scrubbed the towel against her sopping hair.
Lisa’s mouth gaped, as if horns had sprouted from Sam’s short wet curls. “You’re wearing makeup.”
“It looks terrible, I know.” Lisa’s makeup was impeccable. Her long black hair flowed in silky waves across her shoulders. “You look great, as usual,” she said. “How are my amazing godchildren?”
“Kira is jealous of Max. You have to ask Reece to stop spoiling him,” Lisa said.
Max was Reece’s first godchild. Over the past five months since the baby’s birth, Reece had visited every toy store in the Greater Toronto Area. Reece always remembered a treat for Kira, too, but adjusting to a baby brother was hard for the six-year-old.
“And Kira is nagging me about February adventure day with Auntie Sam,” Lisa went on.
Sam had created “adventure day” once a month as a special treat that she and Kira shared. Last month, they had taken a train ride to Hamilton and visited a fire station. The little girl had charmed the firefighters. They’d taken her for a ride in a fire truck and let her slide down the pole in the fire station. Topping that would take some creativity.
“I’ll come up with something awesome and text you my plans.” Sam’s eyes fell to a large vase full of white lilies.
Lisa followed her gaze and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She snatched the flowers. Water sloshed from the vase and dribbled across her hands. Clutching the vase to her chest with one arm, she opened the hall closet with the other and stuffed the vase onto the top shelf.
Even with the closet door closed, the flowers’ strong scent lingered in the foyer. Sam breathed through her mouth in shallow gasps.
“I’m so stupid,” Lisa said. “Are you okay?”
There was no reason to ruin their evening over a bouquet of flowers. “It’s fine,” she murmured. “Did Jim buy them for you?”
Lisa shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that. Someone sent them this afternoon. They forgot to add a card. I intended to get rid of them before you came.”
“Mind if I use the restroom?” Sam asked.
Lisa tucked the wine under her arm. “Take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Sam headed down the hall to the washroom, but passed the door and instead snuck into Jim’s home office. She rummaged around his printer, found what she needed, and tucked it into her shirt.
She joined Lisa in the kitchen and said, “Want to guess why I’m wearing makeup?”
“Reece cancelled another date,” Lisa said with a sympathetic smile.
“Study group.” She slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, rolling her eyes at Lisa’s new French door fridge. “Why do you need a television in the fridge?” A stupid question because Jim and Lisa were addicted to television.
“It’s a smart screen,” Lisa said. “I can look up recipes, post pictures of the kids, and there’s an interactive calendar.” She glanced at the news and reduced the volume, then uncorked the wine with expert ease and placed two glasses on the table. “I’m sorry about the cancelled date. I remember all those lonely nights while Jim was in his final year of law school.”
Sam filled their glasses. “Do you know Gretchen Dumont?”
“She’s a pit bull.” Lisa sipped her wine. “Jim hates arguing cases against her.”
“Have you spent time with her socially?”
“She attends the same events as we do, if that’s what you mean.”
“What’s she like?” Sam asked with studied indifference.
Lisa shrugged. “Rude and tactless.”
“But very attractive,” Sam ventured.
“Assuming you can ignore her unpleasant personality.” Lisa studied her over the rim of her glass. “What’s going on?”
Lifelong friends know you better than you know yourself, which was the point of Sam’s visit. But shame over her vulnerability made it difficult for her to figure out how to share her qualms.
“It isn’t just the cancelled dates,” she confessed. “Reece is thoughtless, picks fights, and disappears for long periods.”
“He talked to Jim,” Lisa said. “It’s shocking that police suspect Reece’s ex-girlfriend’s sister of those hideous murders.”
“We visited Angel’s parents this morning,” Sam said. “They abandoned their sixteen-year-old daughter and had the nerve to complain about her emotional immaturity. They had all these photos of Sarah and not a single snapshot of Angelina.”
“Just like your mother,” Lisa stated.
Sam snapped her head up. “What? No.”
“Angelina has a deceased older sister and a parent who favoured Sarah and neglected her.” Lisa tilted her head. “It’s reasonable that the visit would upset you.”
“I’m not transferring my feelings,” she retorted. “This isn’t about me.”
“Isn’t it?” Lisa asked.
“No.” Sam sighed. “Okay it is, but it’s about my relationship with Reece. He received these suggestive text messages from Gretchen. When he called, she claimed she didn’t send them.”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “That’s why you’re asking about her.”
Sam tore a hangnail off her thumb. Blood pooled against the ragged cuticle.
“You can’t believe Reece and Gretchen are lovers,” Lisa said incredulously. “Where would you get such a ridiculous idea?”
Sam rubbed her fingers across the mass of scar tissue on the back of her hand. She wasn’t a vain person and had always viewed the burns as a badge of honour. They represented justice because she’d caught and punished Incubus. Tonight, though, she saw the puckered brown skin in a different light, as a hideous deformation.
“Gretchen is tall and gorgeous and an accomplished lawyer. They have lots in common.” Sam licked her lips. “She’s very feminine.”
Lisa laughed outright. “She’s a wicked witch.” She reached across the table and clasped Sam’s hand. “Reece loves you.”
“Sarah was gorgeous, too. Tall and willowy, nothing like me,” Sam muttered. “I’m a foot shorter than him and look like his dowdy little sister.”
“Reece is no Casanova.” Lisa tightened her grip on her hand. “He’s anal about honesty. If your relationship dissatisfied him, he’d remain true to his core values and leave.” Her tone brooked no argument.
The reasoning was sound, but Sam’s sprout of distrust wouldn’t wither under the logic. She rubbed the heel of her palm across her forehead, trying to identify the root of her cynicism.
“The recent murders must be bringing back awful memories for you,” Lisa said with sympathy. “Are you sleeping?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what you said last time. Your obsession with Incubus nearly destroyed you,” Lisa said. “You’re biting your nails again and you’re jittery. Are you having nightmares?”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t want to talk about what she had become after Incubus murdered Joyce. Remembering how far she had descended into madness was too shameful.
“You aren’t a jealous person,” Lisa said. “What prompted this?”
She shrugged. “The charity event Reece attended with Gretchen. Were you there?”
Lisa nodded. “If they were intimate, I would have noticed.”
“There was a picture in Toronto Life,” she said.
“So? There was a picture of me with Judge Langley,” Lisa replied. “You can’t think I’m sleeping with the man.”
Sam chuckled at the image of Lisa frolicking between the sheets with the withered old judge.
“Someone’s messing with you,” Lisa insisted. “Who accused Reece of being unfaithful?”
“No one. It’s just that his behaviour changed after that event,” she said.
“It was December. Upper-year law exams are brutal and he was applying for an articling position.” Concern had crept into Lisa’s voice. “Are you taking his desire to mentor with the Crown prosecutor as romantic interest?”
Rather than sympathy, Sam detected pity in her friend’s expression.
“I’m not delusional.” Her defensive tone made her wince. “Assuming Gretchen didn’t send those text messages, I doubt Reece is in the running for the positon. You could ask Jim to hire Reece next year,” she suggested.
Lisa frowned. “Why can’t Reece talk to Jim?”
“He wouldn’t want to ask for a favour,” Sam said.
Lisa sighed. “Unlike you, since you had no issue with asking Jim for a huge favour. Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”
“I never asked Jim for a favour.”
“You asked him to represent Incubus at appeal,” Lisa said.
Blood warmed Sam’s cheeks. “Oh, that. Jim refused and it wasn’t a favour. It was part of a ruse.” She dropped her eyes and stared at Lisa’s immaculately manicured fingernails. They were dark red, a shade that complemented her Mediterranean skin. The colour was identical to the polish Incubus had applied on the nails of Joyce’s cold, dead hands.