by J. D. Webb
The grin on Heather’s face threatened to actually stretch from ear to ear. “Great! Let me know what I can do.”
“If all goes as the doctor told me, I should be released sometime tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give you a call and you can pick me up.”
“I’ll probably have to work till five, but I’ll shoot on over when I get off. Where do we start?”
“The only place I haven’t thoroughly searched myself. The house.”
* * * *
Heather picked up Trish in her new Mustang and they literally raced to the Tudor. Relieved she had arrived in one piece, Trish motioned for Heather to pull around to the back of the house.
Hmm, I guess it’s all mine, now. One thing I know, I’m going to get rid of it as soon as I can. Too many memories and bad experiences. Oh, Jim, why couldn’t we have lived happily ever after? What changed you? Was it me? She shook her head. Not the time to feel sorry for myself. The sooner I find what Cheever’s looking for, the sooner he’ll leave and I can start my life over. She headed up the sidewalk, resolving to tackle the sale of the house soon.
With the advent of fall the house was dark, even at 6 pm. Spiraling leaves blew across the driveway. Trish shivered in the chill of the evening as she unlocked the kitchen door. She noted thankfully the shattered glass had been cleaned up and a piece of plywood fitted to replace the broken pane.
Trish flipped on the lights. Heather practically bounced inside and began opening cabinets.
“No. We don’t need to look there. The Feds have gone over the house inch by inch. If something is here, it would be inconspicuous. Only I have no idea what or where. I’d guess it would be in a spot I don’t see very often. Some cubbyhole or back of a closet. You take the den and I’ll take Jim’s office.”
“Got it. Boy, this is fun. My first case. We’re looking for something containing evidence, right?”
“Yes. It’s all a riddle to me. How do you find something when you don’t know what you’re looking for?”
“They told me in PI school to look for the obvious. That’s the thing everyone misses.”
“Yeah, whatever that means.”
For the next two hours they examined every room in the house. Nothing even resembling evidence was found. Heather entered the office and tapped Trish on the shoulder.
She jumped. “Oh crap, you scared me.”
“Sorry. This isn’t getting us anywhere. I’m beat.” She plopped down in the only easy chair still usable. Stuffing flew up from the ripped cushion.
Trish nodded and sat on the floor. “Here, here. I’m all searched out. I’m beginning to think we’ll never find anything.” Her cell phone rang; Trish crawled on the carpet and pulled her purse from the desk. “Hello?”
“So, did you find the stuff yet?”
Mixed emotion flooded her mind. It was him. That man was like a giant hornet, buzzing in her ear. But, it would be best not to upset a murderer.
“What stuff? I have no idea what I’m looking for. Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“Now, where would be the fun in that? What we need is computer files. Records and receipts. Look for lists of numbers. You know your husband. Think where he would hide them.”
“Did you kill him?” Sure, blurt it out and make him mad.
A pause. “Nothing personal. Just a job.” Somehow the soft voice didn’t match the image she had of him.
Trish couldn’t stop herself. She had to know why. “Do you have no feelings? Are you an animal?”
“I’ve been called that. It probably applies. When that’s what you’ve been trained to do, it’s hard to find a nice cushy job with those qualifications.”
“I think you’re sick.”
“Can’t argue. I’ll be calling.” The phone went dead.
Heather pulled on Trish’s arm. “What was that all about? Was it him?”
“Yes. He told me we should look for records and receipts, lists of numbers. Whatever that means.”
Heather ran her hands over the keyboard on a pullout shelf under the desk. “Did you look in the computer?”
“The FBI took it and his laptop. They’ve found nothing so far.”
“Then we have to find a disk or flash drive. Did you have a safe deposit box?”
“Feds are looking at that as well. I’m inclined to agree with you that a disk or flash is where we’ll find what we’re looking for. But where?”
“Tell me about Jim’s work habits.” Heather threw her right arm across her belly, then rested her left elbow on her right hand. She chewed on her left thumbnail and leaned back in her chair.
“That’s just it. I don’t know what they were. I was banned from the office. The only thing I ever did was deliver glasses of iced tea. He’d drink four or five in a three-hour period.”
“Iced tea? You brought it to him?”
“Yes, so?”
Heather pointed to the desk. “Then why did he need a thermos?”
“For water, I suppose…”
They both reached for the jug at the same time.
Heather held the jug and grinned at Trish. “My idea. Let me look, please.”
Trish grabbed the thermos as well. “It’s Jim’s, let me have it.” As she jerked it out of Heather’s hand they each lost their grip. The silver container banged onto the floor. Shattered glass could be heard as it rolled on the carpet. “No. It broke. Look what you’ve done.”
“Don’t blame me. I didn’t yank it out of my hand.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m still jumpy. It’s a little creepy being in this house again. This whole thing is pissing me off.”
“Just don’t take it out on me. I’m trying to help.”
“I know, Heather. My bad.” Trish picked up the thermos. She shook it. “Something definitely broke.”
“Duh, probably the glass bottle inside. Let’s take it to the kitchen and dump it out.”
They hurried to the kitchen holding the container as if it were fragile. Trish unscrewed the cap and looked inside. “Looks like water.” She dumped the contents into the sink. Water spewed out and nothing else. She looked inside and shook her head. “Nothing there.”
Heather grabbed the jug and shook it next to her ear. “Sounds like something else inside besides glass. Metal, I’d say. I’ve broken a few of these myself. The insides can be replaced from the bottom.” She twisted the plastic cap while holding it over the counter.
“Just a minute. I don’t want tiny pieces of glass all over the sink.” Trish unrolled some paper towel and smoothed it out on the counter.
Heather bent over the towel and turned the bottom of the thermos. She peered inside. “Don’t see anything.” She turned the jug upside down and gently pulled on the rim of the glass. Shards fell out.
“There. Look at that.” Trish pointed to what appeared to be a baggie wrapped in a rubber band, and taped to a large jagged piece of glass. She picked it up, carefully peeling back the tape, unwrapped the package, and emptied the contents.
Two silver flash drives lay like high-tech Pick-U Stix, one on top of the other.
TWENTY-SIX
Heather caught her breath and reached for the flash drives.
Trish blocked her arm. “No, don’t touch them. What about fingerprints?”
Trish’s friend scooped up the drives and headed out of the kitchen. “Silly, the fingerprints will be Jim’s. We need to look at this stuff.”
“Where are you going?”
“To my place. I have a computer.”
“Wait for me.”
They hurried to Heather’s car. Trish barely had time to get her seat belt fastened before they were lurching to a stop in front of Heather’s three-story apartment building. Old-fashioned streetlights, tall bushy oak trees, and Victorian homes lined the quiet avenue.
The women took the stairs two at a time pausing only long enough to unlock the imposing front door. Once inside the four-room apartment, Trish tried to slow her breathing by using controlled breathing. “Didn
’t realize you were trying to kill me, too.”
Heather pulled back the drapes and peered outside. “Never know who’s watching. Got a murderer out there, not to mention the Feds.” She slipped to the other side of the window and looked out once more. “I think the coast is clear.”
“Sheesh. Sounds like a bad episode of a ’Days of Our Lives‘ soap. Sorry, that was redundant.”
Heather dropped the curtain in place and made sure the edges were tight together. “Hey, I happen to like that show. Don’t get to see it except on the late-night rerun. Anyway, let’s go take a look at our evidence.”
Trish followed her friend down a hall toward the den. The walls of the hall were decorated with framed 8x10 photographs of flowers, landscapes and outdoor shots. She stopped in front of a two-tone pink rose in full bloom. “Heather, did you do these?”
“Yeah, my other hobby. Remember that art show I exhibited in last month? I sold four of my pictures that day.”
“They’re gorgeous. You have a real talent. I knew you took a lot of snapshots, but I had no idea you were this good. They weren’t up when I was here last. How long has it been? A month? I’m impressed.”
Heather did a low bow. “Why, thank you, ma’am. I guess I am pretty good.”
They entered a small room containing an easy chair, two bookshelves filled to overflowing, and a desk. On top was a Dell computer with a keyboard on a shelf underneath. Heather took one of the flash drives and leaned over the computer. She inserted it into the back and sat in the leather swivel chair.
“Here we go.” The screen flickered; the Brad Pitt wallpaper vanished. Seconds of black screen with an hourglass in the middle transformed into a box stating “J. Morgan, broker – File Pirate 1 – Password ______”
“Crap. What’s his password?” Heather’s hand poised over the keyboard.
Trish looked at Heather with a blank stare. “I have no idea. Like I told you, this office was off limits. I wasn’t even allowed to dust it.”
They tried birthdates, mother’s maiden name, favorite color, first car. Nothing worked. The second drive opened the same way, needing a password.
Trish plopped into the easy chair. “We’re stuck. I’ve run out of ideas. I tried to think if he had a pet he told me about. Nothing hit me.”
“We can’t give up. What about old girlfriends, or places he loved to visit?”
“We never went on vacations. He thought they were a waste of time. If you love your work, why go somewhere and miss out?”
“Wow, I feel for you, girl. For six years you never went anywhere?”
“He did, on business, but not me. He said I’d be bored to tears and he didn’t want me to endure that.”
“He didn’t have any other interests at all?”
“He enjoyed opera, and as a young man was a very good tennis player. Promising, even, until a knee injury sidelined his dream.”
“Any famous relatives or acquaintances?”
“He met some Hollywood people on one of his trips, but no one he was impressed with. Thought they were all show and no substance.”
“Got to think harder. Anything, no matter how insignificant.” Heather stood up and stretched. “I need a drink. How ’bout you? Got some Heineken or some wine.”
“Maybe some ice water. If I have anything stronger, I’ll probably slide under the table and nap for six hours.”
“One ice water comin’ up. Want some lemon?”
“Great, thanks.”
Heather walked into the hall and hollered over her shoulder. “You try to think of something else to try while I’m gone.”
Trish got up and sat at the desk staring at the screen. What would you use, Jim? My name? Her fingers touched the keys. Nope. What else? Something Heather said suddenly triggered a memory. Famous relative. Jim had discovered he was a distant relative of Henry Morgan. The pirate. He had been intrigued and had done some research on the buccaneer. He became an expert on the man’s history.
On the screen it said, File name Pirate 1. No, it couldn’t be. She typed in “Henry”. Nothing Then she typed “Henry Morgan” and the screen flipped to a flying parrot saying “Avast, ye landlubbers.” The parrot disappeared and a listing of files filled the black space.
“Holy shit! I got it. Heather,” she yelled.
“You did? Wonderful.” She set a glass of water on the side of the desk. Taking a swig of beer, Heather sat and studied the file names. They were a mixture of numbers and letters that made no apparent sense. She double clicked on the first file, another password box appeared.
“Nuts, looks like he had passwords for each file. What was the key that got you in?”
“Henry Morgan.”
“Who’s that?”
“The pirate. Jim was a relative.”
“Ah, I see.” Heather thought a minute. “What were pirates always after, besides damsels?”
“Treasure?”
“Voila! That works on this file anyway. We need to copy these files to another storage place. I’ve got a place on the Internet that stores files for you. I’ll download them to it. Take a few minutes. Drink your water and leave it to me.”
Trish sat back in the easy chair and relaxed. How good is it to have a friend like this? When this ordeal is over, I’m going to do something special for her. Hopefully it’ll be over soon. Don’t see the problem…
Heather’s phone rang interrupting Trish’s thoughts.
“Hello, talk to me.” Heather listened and inhaled deeply, then glanced sheepishly at Trish as she hit the speaker button. She mouthed, “It’s him. The son of a bitch has my number.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
“Did you and your friend find my stuff?”
At the sound of his voice, a bead of sweat rolled down Trish’s back.
Heather regained her composure. “No, we haven’t. Don’t call me any more.”
Trish pictured the sneer on his face as he made a clucking sound with his tongue. “You’re not a very good liar. I know you have it ’cause I saw you run out of the Morgan house and zip over to your place.”
Damn, he knows where we are. Bastard must be right outside! Trish ran to the window and stood sideways. She grabbed the shade between her thumb and forefinger and looked outside. Carefully replacing the shade she went over to Heather’s desk and picked up a sticky note pad. She wrote, “Don’t see anyone. There’s a Fed car out there.”
To the phone Heather said, “All right, we’ve got it, but it’s password protected. You want to try to figure it out yourself?”
Silence then, “You do that. Find the password and let me know. I’ll give you one hour. No more.” The phone clicked off and a steady annoying buzz replaced the man’s voice. Heather slapped the off button.
Trish rubbed her head. The perpetual headache from the past couple of days pounded, frustration surfaced. She was sick of this whole mess. The doctor had said that with her illness she would easily tire. She wanted everything to go away. “Let’s just give him what he wants and be done with it.”
Heather got into Trish’s face. “You think he’s going to let us walk up to him, hand him the drives and then let us go? Are you insane? We’re witnesses. And you know what criminals say about witnesses. The only good one is a dead one.” The doorbell rang and she jumped. “Crap. Who’s that?”
Heather opened the door as Agent Cheever was about to push the bell again. “Hey, Heather. Get any calls lately?” He smiled knowingly.
Heather looked past Cheever. A nervous young man stood behind him, grinning with a plastic, forced smile. She frowned. “You guys tapped my phone, didn’t you?”
“Of course. We couldn’t take any chances. Um, may I come in?” Cheever didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped inside. His companion followed.
Heather swept her hand from shoulder to knee and bowed toward Cheever’s back. “Pardon my manners. What would my mama say? Shame on me. Do come in.” She slammed the door. “What the hell do you want now?”
“We wondered
if you found the code word yet?”
“We’re working on it. And we don’t need any help, thank you.”
Cheever pointed to his partner. “This is Agent Biff Robbins. He’s a genius on the computer. He can decipher any password. He’ll find it for you.”
“Biff? Who would name their kid Biff?” Heather asked.
The man gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I know. Mom wasn’t good with names. But I can solve computer problems. Where’s the computer?”
Heather stepped in front of the man. “Hold on, Biff. I think we can do it. Do you think the guy you’re after would feel comfortable with FBI geeks hogging the keyboard? I suggest you two hightail it out of here and make it obvious so it looks like we are still trying to get the info for him. Otherwise we’re dead.”
“Oh, no, we’re not leaving. We’re dealing with a professional killer here. If this is who we think it is, he’s done at least twelve jobs in the past five years.”
Heather jabbed her hands on her hips. “I don’t give a rat’s behind about anything but saving our butts. We think we have something but if we can’t deliver we’re goners. Do you want that on your conscience? You need to go look for him. He’s in the area right now.”
Cheever rubbed his chin. “Maybe you’ve got a point. Okay. We’ll monitor and remain close. I don’t like having civilians involved, so be careful. Don’t take any chances. Let us handle everything else.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to get in trouble if we get hurt. Looks bad on your record,” Heather said.
Cheever grinned and winked. “That, too. Okay, we’re out of here. Come on, Biff.”
The Feds left, Heather and Trish retreated to the den. Heather refreshed the computer screen. She typed a few commands and the startup of Spider Solitaire filled the picture.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Nothing to do but wait for a call. Might as well get in a game or two. Uh, why don’t you make us some coffee? I can’t stand mine.”