Sam said, “What?” He didn’t give a shit where Alan slept. He was dialing Lucy on his burner. “It’s me. The Prado roommate? You have his particulars? Good. He may be in Knoxville. Try to find him, ask him about Beulah’s nephew. And run him.”
Kirsten said, “What’s that? Who’s Beulah?”
“Maybe a missing piece to a puzzle Lauren was trying to solve about Elliot.”
She said, “I’m going to get some water from the kitchen. Want anything?”
He said, “I’m good, thanks.”
Sam rotated the tension clips on the back of the frame. A section of a page of a newspaper was folded into a size that fit comfortably behind the photograph of Lauren sailing with her first husband.
The half page of newsprint featured a short column along with an accompanying photograph of seven young people smiling at the camera. And of one young man looking back over his shoulder as he exited the frame. The man exiting the frame was Elliot Bellhaven. None of the partygoers were identified; the column described a fund-raising event the group had attended. Sam flipped the newsprint over to find a date. September 8, 2001. Three days before the attack.
“Nine-oh-eight-oh-one,” Sam said quietly. “Bingo.”
The newspaper was the Boston Globe. “BG,” Sam said. Both flights that had flown into the Twin Towers had originated from Boston on the morning of September 11. “Bingo again.”
The pieces were filling in parts of a puzzle that Sam had difficulty believing was what it was appearing to be.
Elliot? 9/11? Really?
By the time he joined Kirsten in the kitchen he had a semblance of a plan.
He showed her the newspaper photo. “Ms. Lord, do you know what time Jonas gets home from school?”
64
FIRST, TELL ME WHY they want to arrest him,” Jonas said to Sam.
Sam had hoped to distract Jonas away from that line of inquiry. He was learning that Jonas wasn’t easy to distract. “Detain. Where’s Grace?” Sam said. “She’s not here?”
“With Clare. They dropped me off. They’re shopping or something. Why do the police want my dad?”
Sam said, “A misunderstanding. His lawyer and I are working on it.”
“Don’t bullshit me. I know about the guns. The new gun, too. I was here for the search, remember? That was me in handcuffs. What do they think Alan did?”
Jonas didn’t look up from the keyboard of his laptop. His fingers were dancing. Sam was mesmerized at the kid’s skill. He never seemed to touch the DELETE key. The DELETE key was Sam’s best friend on the keyboard.
In similar circumstances Sam’s son, Simon, would not have demanded more information from his father. He would have asked once, maybe. Sam would have said what he said to Jonas. Simon would have then told his father, “Whatever” or “I don’t care” and then retreated to his room. The next day Sam might have found a fist-size hole in the drywall next to Simon’s bed.
Sam was growing adept at drywall repairs.
But Jonas? He got right in Sam’s face, just like his mother, Adrienne, would.
Sam knew Jonas’s history. He had suffered way too much. Alan’s troubles had to be terrifying to him.
Jonas stopped typing. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
Sam said, “Those guns? You know where they are now?”
“If I do?”
“Hey, I’m sorry, Jonas. I’m anxious, too. I need to know if Alan has one with him. If he’s armed. Jesus, I hope he’s not armed.”
“I can check. You stay here. You follow me or look out the window, I won’t help you with your other problem.”
“Okay. Got it.”
“I mean it,” Jonas said.
“Check the guns, please.”
Jonas returned in less than a minute. “He’s not armed.”
“Thank you. You’re not either?” Jonas glared at him. Sam said, “That was a joke. Elliot and your dad? Alan is a … person of interest. The DA thinks he knows something about Lauren’s death that Alan kept to himself. I’m pretty sure Elliot wants to question him, not arrest him, but I’m not in the loop.”
“Why doesn’t Elliot arrange to question him through his lawyer? Or just come here? Lauren used to do stuff like that with witnesses all the time.”
“Why? Intimidation basically. The DA may be trying to make a point.”
“Alan could be charged with a crime so Elliot can make a point?”
Jesus. “It’s possible. It’s more likely he just has questions, for now.”
“Likely?”
“Alan has good lawyers, Jonas. This will get resolved.”
Jonas emitted a sardonic laugh. “You know he slept with one of those good lawyers last night.”
“What?”
Jonas said, “Uh, yeah. After you guys were done drinking.”
Sam couldn’t get his arms around that. Alan and Kirsten? “You— How— You saw them?” Sam’s mind’s frame was instantly filled with the texted photo from the beguiler in Aspen. Not her?
“Right there. On the couch.” Jonas shook his head. “Slept slept, for all I know. For Alan, maybe more like passed out. How much did you two drink?”
“A lot. How do you know all this?”
Jonas was growing exasperated. “Diane shot my mom. Alan saw it. He told me. He’s a witness. And a victim. What’s Elliot’s problem?”
He told you all that? He told you? Sam was recalibrating his judgment about Alan’s parenting skills. How old are you, kid?
“Alan was the only witness, Jonas. Eyewitness testimony can be unreliable.”
“Unreliable? What? Alan got really confused somewhere between ‘she shot her’ and ‘I shot her’? That’s your explanation for what Elliot’s up to, Sam?”
Sam didn’t want to continue the conversation. “Can we move on? Sometimes forensics can’t settle all the ambiguities. Investigations can get complicated.”
“That’s crap. Elliot thinks Alan’s lying. Why? What does he have?”
“Elliot is challenging Alan’s initial statement. It’s his job.”
“My mom didn’t trust Elliot. You know that?”
“I do know that.”
“Now Elliot thinks Alan shot my mom? That’s crap. He’s setting him up. Why?”
Sam didn’t want to go on record agreeing with Jonas. He said, “That’s what I’m hoping you can help me discover today. The why. There’s another crime that may be part of all this, too. The DA may want to question Alan about a woman who died in Weld County a few years ago.”
“For a cop you don’t lie very well. I thought you’d be better at it.”
“Jonas, you’re a kid. Anyway, I think you’re a kid. I would rather not be discussing any of this with you. Do you get that?”
“When you want my help I’m a genius. When my questions make you uncomfortable? I’m a kid again. Must be real pleasant in your house for Simon.”
Sam sucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep from reacting to that taunt. He left it pasted there until the urge passed. He said, “The other crime took place while you were in New Mexico picking up your dog. Do you remember that trip?”
“That makes me Alan’s alibi. Give me Elliot’s number, I’ll tell him myself.”
“It’s not that simple. I wish it were.”
Jonas said, “If you have something to tell me, tell me. Don’t pile bullshit on top of bullshit.” He focused his attention on the keyboard. “Got it. This is a digital photo file—of that picture from the Boston Globe. I need it to do image comparison. Which guys do you want facial recognition on?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Google Image will search the Web for matching images—photos in this case. Find another one just like this one. But I think what you want is facial recognition. You want software that identifies the same individual in different photos? Is that right?” Sam said it was. “That’s different software. Which people?”
“All of them. Men and women.”
“The guy
on the right is Elliot.” Jonas digitally cropped off Elliot’s portrait, then copied and pasted it elsewhere on the screen. “If we’re lucky they’re all on Facebook. Facebook’s software tags faces. Good accuracy, not great accuracy. I’ll start there and then confirm the results with other … options.”
“Do I need to understand what you’re doing?”
“No. It’s better if you don’t. Turn around, Sam.” Sam didn’t turn around. Jonas took his hands from the keyboard. Sam started to protest. He turned around.
“Wait,” Sam said. “Is there a Facebook archive? Maybe they were all on Facebook in 2001? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
Jonas sighed again. “Do you go to the movies? The photo is from 2001. Facebook didn’t exist until 2004.” In seconds Jonas had a facial recognition match of the 2001 newspaper photo of Elliot’s face with his current headshot on the Boulder County website. “Worked. You can look. Ta da.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open. “It’s that easy?”
“If I knew all their names, or if they were on Facebook, or if I knew where they worked—now, today—this might not take long.” Jonas sat back. “But first you need to explain why it’s me doing this and not some IT guy at the police department.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“I figured. Then this is when you need to leave. You can’t be here. I may go places you won’t like. I assume part of your job is to prevent … trespassing.”
Sam considered reframing the nature of his profession for Jonas. He decided it wouldn’t be appreciated. Instead he said, “For relaxation I pick locks. I think you do, too. No harm, no foul? I’m asking how long it will take to pick these locks. Best guess.”
“You know how to pick locks? Where do you get ’em? Will you show me how?”
“eBay mostly. Some at garage sales. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“This might take five minutes, or five hours. The VPN I use can drag this time of day. I may need to … borrow some software. And I don’t know what databases I will need to access if Facebook doesn’t work. I can’t get into some of the best databases. I won’t go into others. I avoid traps.”
Sam didn’t know what a VPN was. He’d Google that later. “Stay in public databases, Jonas. If these people showed up once in the Boston Globe, they’ll show up someplace else that’s just as public. Remember, to help your father, I need names. Not just a match for the photos.”
Jonas said, “My father was Peter Arvin. He is dead. We’re helping my dad. His name is Alan Gregory.”
Sam thought, Wow. He said, “Let’s help your dad. What’s your cell number?”
Jonas recited the digits as though they spelled out the letters of his name. Sam pecked the ten numbers into his burner and texted Jonas. “Text the word done to that number when you’re ready. Don’t use the landline. Don’t call me. Don’t email me. I’ll come back when I get the text. Got it?”
“Is our landline tapped? Is your phone tapped?” Jonas asked. “Cool.” Headshots were appearing and disappearing on the laptop screen faster than Sam could make visual sense of them. The progression became so rapid that the screen was a blur of fractals.
Sam let himself out the door. Under his breath he said, “Jeez.”
65
SAM WALKED TO THE DOUBLEWIDE. He explained to Ophelia what was going on with Alan. He left out the part about Jonas and facial recognition and VPNs. He didn’t leave out the part about Alan sleeping with Kirsten.
Ophelia thought that was nice, that Alan was finding some comfort. She sat beside Sam and pulled his head to her chest. They didn’t talk. Five minutes became ten.
Lucy interrupted their moment with a call to Sam on his smartphone. He asked her if it concerned the last conversation they’d had. She said it did. He told her he would call her right back. Sam kissed Ophelia softly on the lips and walked from the trailer toward the old barn. He returned Lucy’s call from his burner as he walked.
“The roommate in Tennessee is dead, Sam.”
“Shit. Details?”
“Almost three years ago. Overdose. Antidepressants and benzos mixed with one too many pints of tequila. Long history. In and out of rehab prior to his death.”
“No foul play?”
“They didn’t find any, but I doubt they looked very hard. It was an adios hasta luego death. Multiple arrests, including a couple for assault, all when he was high. He did eighteen months for cracking a guy’s skull with an oar outside a bar in Wailuku. I’m sure I pronounced that wrong.”
“No, you got that right. It’s oar. Hawaii I take it?”
“Cute, Sam. Yes. Wailuku is Hawaii. What was your clue?” She said, “Sam?”
He had already pocketed his phone.
Jonas’s one-word text—Notdone—arrived ten minutes later, twenty-five minutes after Sam had left the kid alone for his hack-a-thon. Sam had set a child’s drawing on fire and was rubbing the ashes of the paper into the dirt with the toe of his shoe while his brain was busy trying to assemble a plan B, or C. He read the text message. He broke into a jog back down the lane.
Jonas was on a stool at the kitchen counter scooping peanut butter out of a jar with celery spears. Sam sometimes did the same thing with chocolate-covered pretzel sticks. He could see how the celery sticks might be a healthier food choice.
“Clare and Grace?” he asked.
“You’re a detective. Did you see a car?” Jonas said.
Sam again sucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “You find them, or no?”
“All but two.” Jonas slid a few sheets of printer paper Sam’s way. “Three of them have Wikipedia pages. That was like cheating. Two others have detailed profiles on LinkedIn. Slash you’ll like this—one of those two is in a database of facial matches of people who are in amateur sex tapes or erotic photos online. And—”
“There’s a database of people who are in online sex tapes?” Sam almost asked why Jonas knew that, and why he thought Sam would like that.
“Not by name, but by facial recognition. But from there you are only a quick step from a home sex tape to a Facebook tag or an ID on Instagram.”
“I had no idea,” Sam said. Degradation of personal privacy worked to cops’ advantage. But Sam was beginning to think it had gone too far. Maybe way too far.
“Sexting is for fools,” Jonas said.
“You guys still say ‘sexting’?” Sam said.
“You guys do. And this doofus …” Jonas laughed as he pointed at the guy in the middle of the original photo. “Is on JDate. Look at his profile”—Jonas clicked and brought it up—“I’m thinking he’ll be date-less for a while. We’re down to two people we don’t know. This woman, this one here, has no facial recognition match in any of my databases.”
“That means she didn’t make any sex tapes,” Sam said. “Good for her.”
“She’s not on Facebook. And the guy next to Elliot? Can’t find him, either, so I’m thinking he’s the one you want.”
“Why?”
Jonas crossed his eyes. He said, “Life is like that. You haven’t noticed?”
Sam tried to recall if he was that nihilistic as a kid. Nah. “I need them both.”
Jonas asked, “Do you know anything more about them? I need new databases to search.”
Sam took the jar of peanut butter from Jonas’s hand. He said, “Stop eating. Please. For a minute?”
Jonas’s face became a mask. He said, “Go on.”
“This was right before 9/11. You know about 9/11?” Jonas winced. Sam said, “What? You were like a toddler then.”
“It turns out there are references to that event on the Internet.”
Sam stepped away to compose himself. He recalled the search he’d done on the phone for HBL when he was sitting with Alan in the hallway of his office. “You want more information? Try ‘Habib Bank Limited.’ H-a-b-i-b. It’s a big Pakistani bank. See if that gets you anywhere. Cross-check Elliot with the bank, too.”
“I hope the website’s in English
. I don’t read Urdu. Was the bank involved in financing 9/11?”
Urdu? “I don’t know. Terrorism isn’t my beat. I’m out of my comfort zone here.”
“No worries. Easy to check,” Jonas said. “Why a Pakistani bank?”
“The flights that hit the World Trade Center took off from Boston’s Logan Airport. The guy you’re having trouble identifying has features that—”
“I get it. He has brown skin. He looks Arabic-ish. We’re looking for terrorists.”
Sam couldn’t tell if Jonas was being sarcastic. That bothered him. He also thought Jonas was growing a little hyper.
Jonas said, “I’ll pull the original 9/11 terrorist photos off Google. You’re thinking—or what, hoping—that this guy in your photo was a go-between with Al Qaeda’s bankers or that he was partying with the terrorists in Boston before 9/11?” Hearing Jonas say it out loud made it seem absurd to Sam. He didn’t know how to respond. Jonas let him off the hook. “Give me ten minutes. Then I’ll tell you it’s all a dead end.”
Sam started to walk away. Jonas said, “But if it’s not? Think about the attack ads against Elliot when he’s running for governor. Every ad will be about him palling around with terrorists.”
Sam had a thing for Sarah Palin. Politically and not politically. He continued to grieve the 2008 presidential election. He thought Jonas might be taking a cheap shot at Sarah with the “palling around with terrorists” quip. He decided not to defend her because he was worried Jonas had set a trap. “This is our secret. All of it. You can keep a secret?”
“Sam? My mother was bisexual. My father was murdered by a ghost in the Boulder Theater. You really want to know if I can keep a secret?”
Sam’s face went soft. “Thank you, Jonas.”
Jonas sighed. His shoulders fell two inches. “I don’t have enough information. This won’t work. We would have to find a link between the guy in your photo and the Al Qaeda assholes in Boston. I can’t do that with what I have.”
Sam stared off at nothing. “Check anyway, please. Look for any connection you can. Being right helps. Being wrong helps less, but it helps.”
“Sam?” Jonas lowered his eyes to the keyboard. “Can I tell you something? Personal?”
Sam was wary. But he said, “Sure.”
Compound Fractures Page 34