Eye of a Needle

by Lee Perry

“Great, you can explain it to me at the bureau.” She looked down at his slippered feet, “Get your shoes, you’re going to have a formal interview while the team examines the apartments again.”

  “But why?”

  Her temper suddenly flared, “Because Brenda has been murdered, Gary. Because she worked for Helga Lynch and a lot of Helga’s art is missing.”

  “I have nothing to do with any of that.” He insisted.

  Mary appeared behind him, “Mister Tauscher? Agent Hawkins’s warrant includes your car, so I’ll be needing your keys.”

  Jordan had asked her to access Gary’s laptop and other hard drives remotely while Mary’s team again processed Helga’s apartments on the ninth and twelfth floors. Catherine first scanned his online history and shrugged, He was online, but activity was non-existent for ninety minutes during Brenda’s established time of death and then he was offline. She grabbed her phone and tapping the lighthouse icon, quickly composed and sent a text to Jordan. Well, she returned to her screen and checked her email, that’s not going to be helpful one way or the other. She clicked open an email from Cyber Division’s Assistant Director Bea McNamara and her eyes flew over the text,

  “My techs scoured the data you forwarded from both Lynch apartments. Focusing on the mirror drives in the servers; they found a third in each and recovered encrypted data. They will forward it to you as they crack it, but you’ll probably beat them to it.”

  She snorted and grinned, Very funny, Bea. Mirror drives functioned as redundancies, utilizing parallel processing. So whoever hacked into Gary’s servers knew enough to look for a mirror but they weren’t smart enough to look for another. She quickly accessed the data she sent to the bureau’s independent servers and scanned the data as rows of letters and numbers streamed off the top of her screen. Hmm… Her brows arched; surprisingly sophisticated encryption for a server he likely bought in a box store… She bit her lower lip as her eyes kept skimming through the streaming data. She cracked the code in less than ten minutes and quickly restored Gary’s data in the original spreadsheet format before creating another program to search for the remotely deleted entries. The program completed in less than a minute and she sat back in her chair, Twenty-eight deletions, and that’s Mattie missing list; a Monet, a Picasso, and a bunch of other less famous names.

  She returned to the IP address used by the hacker when the remote breaches were made and traced the physical address to a Starbucks. This is the problem with free wifi… She sighed and rotated her neck; anybody can be permanently anonymous unless you find the device they used with all their aliases and cracking software still in it.

  “Just because she worked for Miss Lynch you cannot focus on just me as a suspect…” Gary waved a hand dismissively, “Anyone could have killed her, Agent Hawkins…”

  “Brenda got her driver’s license where she grew up in Albany… but she didn’t have car.”

  He emitted a tired, exasperated snort, “And that has what to do with me?”

  “Her body was found dumped in the alley next to her apartment building.”

  “Again…” He sputtered, sounding increasingly impatient, “what…”

  “Excuse me, one moment.” Jordan’s phone vibrated and she looked down at the lighthouse that filled the screen and the words, “Catherine is sending you a message…” She tapped the screen and read, “Just checked Gary’s laptop; he was online 90 min. during Brenda’s TOD, but he was inactive then signed off. A case for guilt or innocence, I guess. Sorry.” Careful to maintain a neutral expression, she slipped her phone in her jacket pocket and looked down at her notes. Mary’s team had processed Brenda's apartment and the alley where her body was found and the only thing she or the medical examiner could tell her was Brenda was not killed in either location. Come on, Mary, she pleaded silently, I’m gonna’ run out of questions for Mister Tauscher here… “You pay alimony?”

  “Yes, and I imagine you already know how much.”

  “And Helga only left you three hundred thousand in her will?”

  Gary was silent and he turned his head to glower at the wall.

  “Your alimony payments are pretty high, but I imagine you’ve still managed to save quite a bit over the years, living for free in Helga’s opulent ninth floor apartment.” She sat quietly, unmoving in the chair, “You must have enough to retire now that she’s gone.”

  She watched as he silently cleared his throat and licked his lips before saying, “I understand why my financials are under scrutiny, but since you have a warrant for them too I don’t believe I am required to discuss them.”

  Her phone vibrated again and she pulled it from her pocket. She saw Mary’s caller ID, Oh, please tell me you found something I can book him with… “Hawkins.”

  “Hey, Jordan, all we’re finding in his car is a bunch of the usual; fibers from almost everything everywhere, but no blood, no obvious crime scene, sorry.”

  “Okay, thanks, Mare, email me the results when you can.” She slipped her phone back in her pocket and when she looked at Gary, she was surprised to see his expression was not triumphant.

  “I believe I’ve answered enough questions, may I go now?”

  “For now,” she nodded, “yes.”

  He sighed heavily and stood, “I hope you catch those responsible for murdering Missus Babcock and Brenda, I really do.”

  Jordan’s brows knit in part frown part confusion, I don’t get it, he looks and sounds so sincere. “Then tell me who it is.” His eyes were unreadable and he looked away as he hurried from the room. Shit.

  Millburn, NJ

  “I don’t see it… wait!’ She turned the book nearly upside down and pointed triumphantly, “There, right?”

  Cameron sat tucked between them on the couch, “Yes! Jordan! That’s the elephant!” He chortled, making the sign for elephant by outlining a long trunk from his nose with his hand.

  Catherine checked her watch again, “Okay, I said you two could find one more animal, but now it’s past your bedtime…”

  “Okay.” He closed the book, “Thanks Jordan.” He twisted on the cushion and got on his knees to plant a kiss on her lips, “I like finding animals more than Waldo.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jordan snickered and scooting to the edge of the couch, pulled the toddler and book into her arms. “I loved these books when I was a girl….”

  “Come on, mom.” He beckoned to Catherine and the trio trooped off to his bedroom.

  Having completed Cameron’s bedtime ritual, she joined Catherine at the dining table, “Whatcha’ doin’?”

  “Nothing really, just checking email again.” Jordan sat next to her and she quickly opened a spreadsheet on her screen, “Did I tell you? We now have an official list confirming art remotely deleted from the hard drives in both apartments as being stolen and not missing. I sent it to you and Mattie.”

  Jordan grinned, “And how long did it take you to do that?”

  She shrugged as she stared at her screen, “I don’t know, about half an hour I guess.”

  Her voice was low and seductive, “You are amazing, Doctor Bernard.” Catherine smiled shyly and blushed. “So,” Jordan scooted her chair closer so she could squint at the screen, “how many?”

  “Twenty-eight works were deleted from the hard drives that Mattie says weren’t given away or loaned.” Jordan was quiet and she added, “So what’s next?”

  “Jeffers’s federal trial for the domestic terrorism charges and the White Plains murders is finally starting tomorrow and I’m being called up first.”

  “At least you can come home after.”

  “True, that’s always a plus. The prosecutor has three days set aside for me, but Jeffers is just spinning his wheels for personal entertainment, I think. I have a feeling his lawyer may try to pull some trick from his sleeve, but there’s really nowhere for him to go since Jeffers is pleading innocent.”

  “I was surprised when he didn’t plead insanity.”

  “Me too, his delusions m
ust be running on high. I think he’s just trying to get every second out of his fifteen minutes of fame so he can take the stand and use it as his soapbox to tell everyone how great he is.”

  “What can I do to help while you’re stuck doing that?”

  “Well…” Jordan’s brow knitted thoughtfully, “the coroner who did Hannah’s autopsy found some red carpet fibers stuck on her…” Avoiding the gruesome details of where they were found she said, “It’ll be boring as hell, but it would be great if you could find a red carpet in any of the picture files Mary’s teams got when they processed Hannah’s nine properties.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah,” Jordan winced sympathetically, “sorry.”

  “Okay,” Catherine shut down her laptop, “then let’s go to bed so I can think of some way you can show your appreciation.”

  New York City, NY

  She waited outside the courtroom and sent Catherine texts via their private, highly encrypted text program and the lighthouse icon again filled the screen on her phone, “Catherine is sending you a message.” She tapped it and the message appeared.

  “What’s taking so long?”

  Jordan typed a reply, “Prosecutor says defense is trying to narrow the scope of what I can discuss.”

  “How can he obstruct your testifying to factual events?”

  “Evidently he can’t, he’s lost every argument. I hope to go in soon.”

  “Agent Hawkins?” The prosecutor’s assistant stuck his head out the door, “We’re ready for you.”

  “Great.” She quickly typed, “Going in now.” She tapped send and followed him inside the courtroom. She walked directly to the witness stand and stood before the bailiff who waited for her and raised her right hand.

  “Do you solemnly swear,” he said, “or affirm that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth under pains and penalties of perjury?”

  “I do.” She responded and he motioned for her to sit in the witness box.

  “Mister Atkins,” the judge sounded tired, “you may begin.”

  Christopher Atkins was the attorney representing the federal government and he approached, “Special Agent Hawkins, please tell us your full name and current position with the FBI.”

  Catherine spent the morning gazing at dozens of forensic photos taken by Mary’s teams in Hannah Babcock’s nine residences, beginning with her primary residence and her children’s three apartments. Red carpet… red rug… She chanted silently, red rug… looking for a red rug. She forced herself to click through the pictures more slowly, taking time to scan each picture. Looking for a red rug and RedRum… Searching for a red rug where a woman was murdered. She suddenly yawned and stretched, twisting her neck and back from side to side. It’s so odd, I spoke to Helga Lynch for all of maybe two minutes but… She shrugged and clicked the folder closed before clicking open another, It’s strange to feel such kinship with a deceased old woman with whom I had nothing in common…

  Her head tilted to one side and her nose wrinkled in bemusement, What folder is this? She clicked through a few pictures until she recognized the interiors, Oh… oops, these are Mattie’s pictures of Helga’s twelfth floor apartment. She clicked through the picture files, feeling oddly nostalgic for her and Jordan’s visits there. And there’s Helga’s creepy bedroom clone of her mother’s we never got to see… She clicked through the bedroom photos when her finger suddenly froze stiffly over the mouse, “Oh, my god!” Her eyes flew open wide and her jaw dropped, “There’s a red rug!” She pressed close to the screen; a small ornate red area rug lay in front of an equally ornate carved stone hearth, replete with angels painted in gold. She quickly opened the digital index card associated with the image and willed her heart to slow. Mattie took this series on her first visit to Helga’s apartment… the rug looks to be about four by five or six feet, big enough to roll a petite woman into…

  She grabbed her tablet and ran across the hall; forgetting to peek inside first, she ducked in the empty auditorium and plugged it in the podium, waiting impatiently for it to connect. She reopened Mattie’s folders, positioning the images of the identical hearths from Helga’s bedroom on the twelfth floor and her mother’s on the ninth side by side. On the huge, curved wall screen, the furniture appeared life-sized and she sighed somewhat dejectedly.

  “Identical red rugs…” she muttered aloud, “except Mary’s teams checked both apartments after Hannah’s murder and they found nothing…” She slumped against the podium, “no blood evidence.” She sighed again and turned back to her tablet. This time she opened the folder of forensic pictures taken by Mary’s team in Helga’s apartment and quickly clicked through the images with the remote, There it is, the hearth… “Oh, my god…” she rasped.

  The red rug was gone. She rechecked the digital index card for the image; This was taken in Helga’s bedroom on the twelfth floor… Mary’s photographer must have stood in the same place as Mattie because the viewpoints are nearly as identical as the bedrooms… but the rug is gone.

  Her hand shook slightly as she quickly opened the forensic team’s folder of photos taken of the apartment on the ninth floor. She found the picture taken of the hearth and her mouth dropped open in shock and surprise yet again, “Oh, my god, the red rug is still in her mother’s bedroom.” She swallowed audibly and gripped the podium until the knuckles showed white, “Okay… okay, calm down now…” The discovery made her dizzy and she shut her eyes against the tilting auditorium and gripped the podium even harder, “just calm down for a minute and think!” So Hannah was murdered in Helga’s bedroom after Mattie took her pictures and before Mary took hers… She fell face first on that rug and… and Gary rolled her body in it. So now I call Jordan and… “Wait,” she pried her hands from the podium and patted the air, calming herself, “she’s testifying, and this’ll blow her concentration…” She drew a deep breath and sighed audibly. So let’s take an extra few minutes to be thorough and have a look at the forensic photos Mary’s team took after Brenda Jensen’s murder, shall we? She drew another deep clearing breath and opened the folder of pictures taken in the ninth floor apartment. She hurriedly clicked through the images until she got to the bedroom photos. “And there’s the hearth and…” The red rug in front of the hearth was gone.

  “NO!” She shouted at the screen, “You have got to be kidding me!” She checked the digital index card to check the date stamp on the image and shook her head, “Unbelievable!” She checked the pictures taken in the twelfth floor bedroom that same day and muttered, “Dammit, he took the rug from the ninth floor bedroom after the apartments were swept by Mary’s teams for Hannah’s murder and before Brenda’s… and now they’re both gone.”

  Her eyes flicked from the pictures on the screen to her phone she left next to her tablet and parked her hands on her hips, glaring at it.

  “Shit.”

  She tapped the lighthouse icon and quickly typed a message.

  Jordan struck a professional pose but still tried to make herself as comfortable possible, assuming she was going to be testifying for the remainder of the day. The prosecutor led her succinctly through the events leading to her confrontation with Warren Jeffers in the White Plains datacenter and the resulting multiple homicides and electrical blackouts that affected the eastern United States. Gerald Collard, Jeffers’s attorney, objected strenuously each time Jordan answered a question but the judge overruled him, and after scolding him for wasting the court’s time, she noted how his objections faded until he simply sat, uncomfortably silent while his client periodically scribbled him a note on his pad, glaring at both him and Jordan. When the prosecutor finished, the judge ordered a brief recess and when she returned to the stand, it was the defense’s turn.

  “Agent Hawkins,” he stood and approached, “for the record, can you again identify my client in this room?”

  Wow, she nodded, is this as good as you can do? “Yes,” she answered and pointed at Jeffers, seated at the defense table, “That
is Warren Jeffers.”

  As he did when the prosecutor asked Jordan to identify him, Jeffers smirked at her before looking back down at the notepad he scribbled on.

  “You had quite a bit of difficulty hunting my client down, did you not?”

  “Objection,” the prosecutor waved a hand, “relevance?”

  He turned to the judge, “If I may be allowed some leeway here, Your Honor, I promise relevance will be immediately forthcoming.”

  “Alright,” the judge nodded, “I’ll allow it, but it had better reveal itself pretty damn quick, Mister Collard.”

  “It took several weeks,” Jordan answered, “yes.”

  “According to your testimony, you said Mister Jeffers coerced you under false pretenses, to that datacenter in White Plains?”

  “He held an employee at gunpoint and forced him to call me and arrange a meeting…”

  “Yes, yes…” he waved a hand dismissively, “and when you arrived and were finally face to face with my client, you were enraged, weren’t you?”

  Jordan suppressed the urge to smile; she knew where he was headed and she answered, “On the contrary, I was at first surprised to see Mister Jeffers and I then was horrified when he instructed his assistant to murder the employee he’d taken hostage, a Mister Arthur Mills, by shooting him point-blank in the head.”

  “Objection!” Collard whirled to face the judge, “You Honor, instruct the witness to answer the question.”

  The judge rested his chin on his hand, “I believe she did, Counselor… overruled.”

  Collard turned back to her, “I asked if you were angry that day, Agent, because when push came to shove, you were so angry… you hated my client so much that you deliberately shot him in his genitals, isn’t that true?”

  Jordan drew a careful breath through her nose and looked at Jeffers who stared determinedly down at his notepad. “Pushing and shoving is a poor way to describe what happened in that room; Mister Jeffers was personally responsible for the murder of seven people before getting to that datacenter…”