by Sharon Sala
Compton’s heart was racing. This was their first real lead. “Do you know the make of the van?”
“No. Like I said, it was raining really hard, lots of lightning and thunder. But it was a light-colored van with a sliding door on the side. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I just didn’t think I knew anything that mattered.”
“Everything matters,” Compton said. “Listen, I need you to hang tight for a bit. The FBI team who’s after the Stormchaser is in town, and they’re going to want to talk to you, too. Are you okay with that?”
Gunner shrugged. “I don’t mind. I don’t suppose you have anything I could eat while I wait? I haven’t eaten since sometime yesterday.”
“Coffee and doughnuts coming up,” Compton said, and left the room.
By the time he got out to the office area, the other detectives were smiling.
“Our first break in the case,” one said.
“I have to call the feds. Someone take him some coffee and a couple of doughnuts.”
A small discussion ensued as to who would venture into the room with the food, considering the small space and the odor attached to their witness, but Compton didn’t care. He called the chief, who made the call to the feds.
* * *
Jo was in one of the bedrooms, talking to the Director and trying not to sound defensive. Despite her expertise with computers and her efforts to find a money trail connected to Hershel Inman, he’d somehow managed to make off with the only money they could directly tie to him, with nothing to show where it went. After she explained the searches she’d made that should have immediately turned up the transfers, he was inclined to agree with her initial assessment.
“I agree. This isn’t your regular hacker.”
Jo stifled a sigh of relief that she wasn’t being blamed. “My first instinct says the hacker bounced a signal from an international location. Can you put some people on that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Have them check China and Russia first.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Thank you for your information, and carry on.”
“Yes, sir, thank you,” Jo said, and disconnected.
She walked back into the living room. “Well, I guess I still have my job.”
Tate frowned. “Of course you do. It was never in question.”
She shrugged. “I was being a little facetious, okay?”
He smiled. “Okay.”
“Where’s Wade?” she asked.
“Running an errand.”
At that point Tate’s phone began to ring. He glanced at the caller ID.
“It’s the police,” he said, and then answered. “Tate Benton.”
“Agent Benton, this is Chief Sawyer. Thought you’d like to know we had a homeless man come in with some information about the Stormchaser.”
“What kind of information?” Tate asked.
“He identified our first victim and witnessed the second getting into a van during the storm.”
“Keep him there. I’m on the way.”
“Will do,” Sawyer said.
Tate hung up. “Grab your stuff. We’ve got a witness down at the police station.”
Jo began looking for her iPad and shoulder bag as Tate went to get Cameron.
* * *
Hershel gassed up his van at a local gas station, bought a map of the area, a sandwich, a MoonPie and a cold bottle of Pepsi from the deli, and drove away. He stopped at the same park he’d gone to before to eat an early lunch while he checked out the map. He was looking for a heavily wooded area, preferably a place with wildlife. He didn’t know what kinds of animals were common to the area, but he hoped they had sharp teeth.
After circling a couple of spots that looked promising, he headed west out of St. Louis. Once he exited the city he turned north, angling toward one of the destinations he had circled, but there were too many homes around to suit, so he backtracked to I-44, then angled south before cutting back to the west again into Robertsville State Park. The farther he drove, the better he liked it. Yes, there were marked trails and camping areas, but it was the remote, off-the-trail areas he was looking for, and this place had them.
He drove until he ran out of road and then backtracked, but he was confident this was the place. He wanted Jolene Luckett to know she was lost and at his mercy. He wanted his face to be the last thing she saw as he choked the life out of her.
He made a note of the road he was on and how many miles into the park he’d driven, then headed back to St. Louis. All he needed now was to get her alone.
* * *
Gunner was getting anxious. He’d eaten the food and been accompanied to the bathroom, and still the FBI team had not arrived. The little room they’d shut him in was making him sweat, but the one time he’d tried the door it wouldn’t open, and now he felt like he was a prisoner.
He’d yelled once that he wanted out, but no one had answered. By the time the agents arrived, he was fit to be tied. When the door suddenly opened he bolted to his feet and tried to run out.
Cameron was in front and caught the brunt of the smell and the contact. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.
“I need to get out of here, but no one will let me out. I wanted to do a good thing, and they’ve locked me up.”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, but that’s not it at all,” Cameron said. “We just want to talk to you about your friend.”
“About Teach? You want to talk about Teach?”
“Absolutely, and about the second victim. You knew her, too, right?”
“Yeah, Proud Mary,” Gunner said, and reluctantly backed up and sat down as the agents introduced themselves.
“I’m Agent Winger,” Cameron said.
“I’m Agent Benton, and this is Agent Luckett,” Tate added. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to us.”
Gunner began to relax. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t know anything more than what I already told the cops.”
“So tell us, in your own words, what you saw the night Proud Mary was murdered.”
So Gunner told the story again, from start to finish. It was less than they’d hoped for, but more than they’d had before they came in.
“If we showed you some pictures of different models of vans, would you be able to identify the one you saw?”
Gunner shook his head. “It was too dark and raining too hard. All I know is that it wasn’t a junker, and it was a light-colored van with a dome light that didn’t work.”
Tate pulled some pictures out of a file.
“These are pictures of the Stormchaser. His real name is Hershel Inman. This one is a DMV photo, and this is an artist’s rendering of what he might look like today.”
Gunner stared at the two images, then eyed the one with the burn scars closer, trying to remember if the guy he’d seen get into a van at the motel had scars. “I can’t say as how I’ve never seen either one of them,” he said.
“Okay,” Tate said, and handed the man his card. “If you think of anything else, or if you see the van again, please give us a call.”
Gunner thought for a second about mentioning the man at the motel, but he hadn’t noticed any scars, and so what if it was a light-colored van? They were all over the city.
“Can I go now?” Gunner asked.
“Yes, and thank you for coming in,” Tate said.
“I’ll walk you out,” Jo said, and led the way through the station to the front door. She opened the door and then followed him out into the sunlight. “Mr. Holly, I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, but because of your concern, his family will have the blessing of knowing what happened to him. You did the right thing. Thank you.”
Gunner looked away as his eyes suddenly filled with te
ars. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel emotions in so long it scared him. He was through talking for today.
“I’m gonna leave now,” he said, and put his head down and started walking.
Jo felt sad for him as she watched him leave. According to the info they’d been given on him, he’d served two tours in Iraq. She couldn’t help but think how wrong it was that someone who’d served his country in time of war would wind up in this situation.
Her phone rang as she was waiting for Tate and Cameron to come out. It was Wade.
“Hey, where is everyone? I called Tate, but he didn’t answer.”
“We’re at the police station. There was a witness of sorts who showed up with info on the Stormchaser. We’ll fill you in on the details when we get back. Are you at the hotel?”
“I’m on the way.”
“What have you been doing?” she asked.
“Picking up some electronics for Tate.”
“See you soon,” she said.
“Love you, honey,” Wade said.
“I love you, too,” she said, and disconnected.
It felt good to be able to say that again. She glanced up, saw a light-colored van driving past the police station and frowned. Then saw another, and across the street another one parked in front of a business. All of a sudden their big break in the case didn’t seem so big anymore.
Wade was already in the suite when they got back to the hotel.
“Did you get the stuff?” Tate asked as they walked in.
“Yes. I went to the MSBI for most of it. They told me where to get the rest.”
Jo frowned. “What’s at the Missouri State Bureau of Investigation that we would need?”
“Some basic tracking equipment,” Tate said. “It’s apparent that the Stormchaser’s M.O. has evolved until there’s no predicting what he’ll do next, although one thing hasn’t changed, and that’s his fixation with the three of us. And that means you’re still at risk, Jo.”
Wade dumped the stuff out onto the table.
“These can go on our cell phones. They look like a decoration, but each emits a signal that we can track from the app I downloaded to my iPad.”
“So you guys are in danger, too?” Jo asked.
“Not that I know of,” Tate said. “We’re part of the team…his team. But he’s become such a wild card, I’m just playing it safe.”
The men sat down at the table and began opening packages, while Jo picked up her laptop and moved to the sofa. She couldn’t get over the fact that she couldn’t find any trace of how that money had been moved or where it had gone.
“Hey, Tate, what about the bank manager in New Orleans?” she called over. “What was his explanation for what happened?”
“Supposedly he didn’t know anything until we contacted him. I mean, once the flag was removed, it was just a simple computer transaction, after all. The challenge was in removing the flag without alerting the FBI, then in making the transfer trail disappear.”
“Somebody will probably get fired over that, which is too bad, because there isn’t a single thing they could have done to stop it,” she said. “It happened overnight, when the bank was closed, and I can guarantee when our people begin looking, they’re going to find out the initial move came from China, or maybe Russia.”
Cameron frowned. “You mean someone from China was helping Inman?”
“No. I mean the hacker bounced a signal that made it look that way, which means this is not your average virus-uploading cybercrook. This is espionage-level stuff. Are we one hundred percent sure there’s no one in Inman’s background with those kinds of skills or contacts?”
“We’re sure,” Wade said.
She couldn’t let it go. “He never worked with anyone with those skills?”
“He didn’t have friends he hung out with. It was just him and Louise, and then she died and it was just him.”
She sat there for a few minutes, remembering the files she’d read. “He was in a mental hospital for a while, right?”
Wade nodded. “Some place around New Orleans called Stately Hill, I think.”
“What about the people who were there with him?”
Tate turned, then looked at Jo and slowly smiled. “And that’s why new eyes on an old case always help.”
“What do you mean?” Jo asked.
“Wade, did we run a check on the names of the other patients who were in Stately Hill with Inman?”
“I didn’t.”
“Neither did I,” Cameron said.
“I’ll do it,” Jo offered.
“Let me know if anything pops up,” Tate said.
She nodded, already online and looking for a contact number.
* * *
It took a search warrant and a face-to-face visit from an FBI agent in New Orleans to get the list, which the agent promptly scanned and sent to Jo.
Slightly daunted that there were upward of two hundred names to check, she settled in at her computer and did what she did best, slowly but surely eliminating possibilities. Too deep into researching the backgrounds of the people on the list in the hopes that someone would pop, she begged off dinner, and the men went downstairs to the hotel restaurant to eat without her.
About one-third of the way through the list she came to the name Conrad Taliaferro. Just as she had with all the others, she typed in the name to see how many, if any, links popped up, but when they did, she leaned back, staring in disbelief.
Reclusive billionaire. Owner/CEO TriDine Corp. A picture of him on the front of Time magazine, and the list went on and on.
She ran a search on the TriDine Corporation, only to find out it was an umbrella name linked to at least six more corporations, but she kept digging deeper and deeper. When she finally confirmed that Conrad Taliaferro was not only an investment shark but the developer and copyright owner of several dozen very popular computer games, she knew she’d found a very promising link. She kept searching, gathering all the information she could find, when all of a sudden she hit a wall.
“What the heck?” she muttered, and tried again, searching from a different angle, and not only was the info blocked, but her screen suddenly went blank. “Oh, shit,” she said softly, and picked up her cell phone and sent Wade a text.
Don’t order dessert. You guys are going to want to see this.
Less than five minutes later, Wade and Cameron came hurrying back.
Wade kissed the side of her neck and set a plastic fork and a to-go box down near her coffee cup. “It’s cake. If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it,” he said. “What’s up?”
“What did you find?” Cameron asked.
“Where’s Tate?”
“He got a call. He’ll be here shortly.”
“I’ll wait,” she said, then picked up the plastic fork and opened the cake box.
“It’s Italian cream cake,” Wade said. “With cream-cheese icing,” he added.
“Sounds wonderful,” she said, and popped a big bite into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Mmm, tastes wonderful, too.” She handed him the rest.
“Are you sure?” he asked as he happily took it out of her hands.
“I’m sure, but thank you for thinking of me.”
At that point Tate came in. “What did I miss?” he asked.
“I waited to tell all of you at once,” Jo said.
“So you found a link?” Tate asked.
“Not just a link. I’m pretty sure I found the hacker, but I’m equally sure we’ll never prove it.”
“What? Why not?” Tate said.
Wade leaned over her shoulder, reading from her notes. “Hey, I have that computer game on my Xbox.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jo said. “He’s done dozens. Here’s the name. Conrad Tali
aferro. He’s an older guy, nearly seventy. He’s a billionaire investor who just happens to have mad computer skills. According to my searches, among many other things he designs and creates computer games for one company, then markets and sells them with a second one, then hides the ownership of both under the umbrella of something called the TriDine Corporation.”
“So he would have the knowledge to do what needed to be done to move Inman’s money?”
She nodded. “But you’re never going to prove it happened.”
Wade frowned. “Why not?”
“Because when I dug deeper, not only did the sites block me out, but the last one wiped out my entire search and my screen went dead.”
“Oh, my God! He works for the government, doesn’t he?” Wade asked.
“Yes, I’d bet my last dollar on it. And if I’m right, our fearless leader here will be getting a phone call from the Department of Defense any minute, telling him to cease and desist whatever he’s doing.”
Tate blinked. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack,” she said.
They stared at each other, waiting, and within moments Tate’s phone began to ring. He looked down at the caller ID and then back at Jo.
“Blocked number.”
She shrugged. “I’d answer it anyway if I were you.”
He picked up the call, and the first time they heard him fire off a firm, “Yes, sir,” they knew Jo had been right.
“Wow. So how do you think Inman made this happen?” Cameron asked as Tate walked into one of the bedrooms for privacy.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, and I’m betting that whatever Taliaferro does for the government trumps a serial killer getting his own money out of the bank.”