“Anyway,” continued Carl. “According to my buddies at Eazy-Com, if those messages went through their network, we’ve got a real wizard on the keyboard this time. I’ll keep you posted if anything new comes up.”
* * * *
Dave McCall was definitely not pleased with the progress, or lack thereof, of the investigation. Following six months of nothing, they suddenly had three leads; two in the form of computer messages from the killer himself and one as a witness who had actually seen the guy when he had so kindly saved her life. So far however, these three leads amounted to what they had had before; zip.
Frustrated and flustered as he might be however, McCall was not about to give up. Though an impatient man who always strived for quick results, he was also tenacious to the point of obsession. Cold cases did not exist within the Special Homicide Task Force and never would under his command. Cases might remain unsolved for a time but he refused to accept defeat and his team knew it. They would dissect the case files to find the slightest clue they might have missed, brainstorm, even investigate hunches and would track down and stop this Vigilante.
He was still waiting for some good news from the computer boys but it was slow in coming and initial reports held little promise. However, in Dave’s mind, the girl might eventually lead to something.
When he and Tim had met with her, she had seemed sincere enough and had been quite cooperative considering what she had gone through. She had not even attempted to deny her being there. It was understandable why she hadn’t gone to the police. When one went through what she had, one generally tried to forget the whole thing. However, she had remembered the whole thing, quite clearly in fact.
Although she had been in a state of shock and fright while Tuesday night’s events had unfolded, her mind had been keen enough to record what was going on. She had described what had taken place that night quite fully, to the finest detail. Yet, when they had asked her about the Vigilante, she had only been able to give a flimsy, vague description at best.
Dave wondered if she was holding out on them. Maybe he’d drop by to see her one of these days, to jog her memory. Perhaps, with a little encouragement, she might manage to remember more about her hero.
* * * *
It was 11:30 p.m. and he was still busy at the desk in ‘the office’, working on some files on his notepad. Sandy came into the room, clad in nothing but a long t-shirt, and reached around his chest from the back, leaning down and kissing his neck.
“Working late?” she enquired softly, switching over to the other side of his neck.
“Not too late,” he replied, tilting his head to one side to allow her better access.
“What are you working on?” she asked, unbuttoning his shirt to get at his chest.
“Just getting some files in order and setting up my schedule for the coming months,” he responded, his concentration waning.
“Don’t you ever worry about getting caught?” she questioned as her hands roamed, exploring his body.
“Constantly,” he answered. “That’s what keeps me alert. That’s why I’ll never get caught.”
“You better be right,” she half-threatened, the ever roaming hands getting closer to their target. “Otherwise, you’ll have to deal with me.”
“Yes ma’am!” he replied, no longer aware of what was on the screen.
“I’m going to bed,” she whispered throatily, one hand lingering very close for a few seconds.
Pulling away, she sauntered teasingly toward their bedroom, removing her t-shirt as she went. He turned off the computer, turned out the lights and followed her.
Chapter 7 - Tuesday, July 2, 1996
9:57 a.m. Dave McCall sat in the plush reception area at CSS Inc. headquarters, located on Viau, overlooking Maisonneuve Park. Chris Barry had called him earlier that morning, suggesting they get together to discuss the message tracings done to date. Although they had now spoken on several occasions, they had not yet met face to face.
Dave had arrived a little early, slightly before 10:00, but hadn’t minded the wait. He had been served premium coffee in a real china cup, the over-stuffed chair was extremely comfortable and the attractive young receptionist was a pleasure to gaze at. It was at times like this that he wondered why he had chosen to be a cop and work for the public.
‘Stupid genes,’ he thought, smiling to himself. Maybe, he hoped, Chris would be delayed.
“Dave, I presume,” Chris called with a smile as he entered the reception area, unknowingly ending McCall’s moment of pleasure.
“At your service,” replied Dave, rising to his feet as he examined Barry.
He had not really stopped to think about what Chris Barry might look like but the man standing before him was not what he would have guessed. The suit was made-to-measure and obviously expensive. He was young, early thirties at best, with dirty blond hair and perfect teeth. Approximately five-ten and one hundred seventy-five pounds, he seemed to be in fine physical shape. His most striking feature however, was his eyes; ice-blue, intelligent, powerful eyes. Chris Barry was an impressive looking man.
“Come on, let’s go to my office,” Chris invited, shaking his guest’s hand.
He led the way down a short corridor to another large reception-like area, occupied by an equally attractive young lady, and into a huge corner office.
“We’ll be more comfortable in the living room,” he jokingly suggested, motioning towards a couple of large leather armchairs and divan in one corner. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“More of that wonderful coffee would be great,” McCall politely accepted. “You’ll have to tell me where you got your vending machine. It sure as hell is a lot better than the one we have at the office.”
“We figured out how to program the thing,” Chris winked as he headed for the door. “Have a seat, make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
Dave took advantage of Chris’ absence to examine and admire the man’s office, located on the twelfth floor of the CSS building. The two outer walls were glass, allowing for an incredible view of the St-Lawrence River to the south, the Olympic installations across the way and the downtown area beyond to the west. A third wall was actually a huge bookcase, filled with volume upon volume from floor to ceiling. Four doors, including the one through which they had entered, were set in the fourth wall and a variety of plaques and paintings adorned the spaces in between the doors.
The tasteful decor was modern and expensive; white oak flooring, dark furniture. A large crescent shaped desk, placed diagonally before the glass walled corner, faced the mammoth room. A conference table, large enough to accommodate eight people comfortably, stood alongside one glass wall while a bar could be found along the other. In the corner opposite from the desk, the armchairs where he presently sat and a leather couch placed around a coffee table created a cozy little salon area; an impressive looking office for an impressive looking man.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Chris apologized as he returned, carrying a tray loaded with a complete coffee service. “I had to find change for the vending machine,” he added, winking at McCall.
“No problem,” replied McCall with a grin. “Nice place you have here. Maybe I should start learning to use these damn computers.”
They continued with small talk for a couple of minutes while Chris poured the coffee and then officially started their meeting.
“Well, let’s get down to business,” Chris said, leaning back in the comfortable chair. “We’ve asked our friends at Eazy-Com to review all of the transmissions which took place on the dates when the Vigilante messages were sent. Their system is supposed to record all information related to the sending of a message through the network. Not the message itself, mind you, due to privacy laws and all. What the system tracks is the sending and receiving addresses, the routing, meaning the switches, satellites, etc., the message went through, and the time and duration of the communication. Make sense?”
“Similar to what would be don
e by phone companies, right?” McCall suggested.
“Right,” confirmed Chris. “Now the strange thing is there is no such record. Eazy-Com was baffled and so were we. Now, we are confident that the people at Eazy-Com are competent individuals and that they do their jobs well. But just in case we were wrong about them, we decided to quietly re-do the exercise ourselves.”
“I guess you’re not supposed to do that?” Dave stated more than questioned.
“It’s not exactly proper, you understand,” Chris continued with a smile. “But our intentions were honourable. Unfortunately, we didn’t find anything more than they had. What it boils down to is this. The messages exist in your records. But that’s it. Past that, it’s as if they were never sent. We remain baffled.”
“Can you explain that?” McCall asked, perplexed.
“There are three possibilities I can suggest,” replied Chris, nodding. “The first; Eazy-Com’s system has a flaw and does not in fact record all transmissions as it’s supposed to. However, I wouldn’t bet on that one. Eazy-Com is the most advanced communication network which exists today. Brilliant people, including some from this very company, were involved in its development and subsequent testing. It’s some of the finest and most advanced computer work I’ve seen to date. The second possibility; your Vigilante has developed some even finer computer work which erases the message’s path behind it, or bypasses the Eazy-Com computer. This is highly possible if we’re dealing with someone who really knows systems. In our fight against viruses, we’ve seen, and even developed, programmes which do just that. Strong knowledge of communication networks would be required under this alternative however, because the Eazy-Com programmes are quite complex. An alternative to this option would be that he enters the data bank following a message transmission and erases the record. Different and much easier approach with the same end result. Option three, is the simplest. Your culprit enters the data bank where your Eazy-Com messages are stored. Types his message, sticks it in your inbox and exits the system. The deed is done; no traces on the network’s system because the message never went through it.”
“Could this be done easily from any computer?” asked McCall, confused.
“Nope,” replied Chris. “Two options; your system must be connected to a communications network. We’ve already ruled out Eazy-Com as that network. Are you linked with another carrier; cable, telephone?”
“No, I do know that much,” answered McCall. “All our external electronic communication is done through Eazy-Com.”
“Okay then; here’s your second option. Someone is accessing your system internally and entering those messages.”
“You’re telling me the Vigilante is a cop!” exclaimed McCall indignantly. “Impossible. I’ve known these guys, worked with them, for the last three years. We’ve been busting our ass trying to get a handle on this psychopath for the last six months. There is no way in hell that he’s a cop.”
“I’m just telling you what the possibilities are,” Chris responded quietly. “I presume you want to investigate them all. I believe you wanted us to tell you where the messages came from, right?”
“I’m sorry,” McCall apologized, calming down. “That wasn’t fair. I just have a problem with the suggestion that one of my men might be the Vigilante. We’ve all put in so much time trying to solve this one. It just doesn’t make sense, Chris.”
“I understand,” replied his host. “But you can’t leave a stone unturned. Listen, Dave. We’ve done what we can with the messages you received so far and we’ll do everything we can with any future ones which come in. In the meantime, there isn’t much else we can do computer-wise. However, we are an investigation firm and we’ve grown this company’s revenues one hundred and fifty times over the last eight years. That wasn’t just luck. We do some reasonably intelligent work. Let us give you a hand.”
McCall gazed thoughtfully at Chris, considering his offer. What did he have to lose? They had nothing after six months. His new friend, definitely a bright individual, eager to help and highly recommended by Thompson, was offering the vast resources of the country’s fastest growing investigative firm. In addition, with the sudden, however slight, possibility that the Vigilante might be a cop, an outside source of help could prove to be extremely useful.
“Why not,” Dave agreed, rising to his feet. “Mind you, I can’t give you any kind of official status on the case. That’s against department policy. However, I have nothing against a helpful ear, some friendly advice and a little unofficial help. There’s more than enough frustration to go around. Welcome aboard.”
“Hope I can be of some assistance,” Chris grinned as both men shook hands.
* * * *
On his drive back to the office, McCall pondered Chris’ suggestion. The Vigilante, a cop? He had difficulty accepting that but, it was possible.
What really bothered him was that only his team had access to the data bank. As a security measure, access to various parts of the system had been narrowly defined when the computer network had been revamped a year or so earlier. Traffic cops could not access murder records, nor could homicide simply tap in to review parking tickets.
He thought of each person working for him and could not even begin to doubt any one of them. They were his people, his team. Grudgingly, he accepted that he would have to put personal feelings aside and start digging.
Yes, it was a good thing that Chris Barry had offered to help. He, McCall, would most likely need the moral support.
* * * *
Following McCall’s departure, Chris mused over his conversation with the lieutenant as well as the one he had had with Carl Denver the previous afternoon.
Of the options he had presented to McCall, his choice was number two. Having been personally involved with the development of Eazy-Com, he had no doubts about the efficiency of the network’s systems, which eliminated the first option. As he didn’t really buy into the theory that the messages had been entered directly into the data bank at McCall’s office either, option three could also be discarded.
No, the police were dealing with an extremely intelligent and calculating individual. Someone who had committed nineteen murders to date without leaving the slightest of traces. Such a person would no doubt establish a method to send messages through a network like Eazy-Com without being detected.
Chris had many highly intelligent people working for him, all of whom had exceptional systems knowledge. Maybe the Vigilante worked for CSS. Maybe the messages were being sent from this very building.
The more Chris thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He could easily monitor the activity on his people’s PCs if he wanted to. It was done occasionally for security reasons and attempting to identify the Vigilante certainly qualified as a security reason. He would have to look into this further.
* * * *
He sat in the car with the engine running, waiting nervously in front of Taylor’s convenience store. With the gear shift already in drive, he held the vehicle in place with his left foot on the brake while his right foot hovered just above the accelerator. He would be ready to get the hell out of there when the time came. At that moment, a blast from the shotgun exploded from inside the store.
Carl Denver awoke in a sweat, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Breathing deeply to calm himself down, he quietly sat up in the bed as he glanced at the clock radio on the night stand. It was 2:50, Wednesday morning. He glanced at his wife and was relieved to note that she continued to sleep. At least this time, the dream hadn’t woken her up as was sometimes the case. He hated having to fabricate stories to substantiate why he sometimes woke up screaming in the middle of the night. She never quite seemed to believe him in the end and he would never let her in on that part of his past.
It had happened sixteen years ago and still, the nightmare came back to haunt him on a regular basis. He had only been fourteen at the time and, all in all, had not been a bad kid. However, he had not lived in the best of neighbourhoods
and most of the kids there had a penchant for crime. Gang fights, car hopping, drinking, drugs and B&Es had been regular pastimes.
Several of his buddies had participated regularly in such activities and on those occasions, Carl had stayed away. Oh sure, he had always been more than willing to get into the drinking and had been able to smoke a joint as well as the rest of them. He had even occasionally experimented with acid, mescaline and coke. But the real crimes, the stealing, the violence, he had kept at a distance. Mike and Eddy, his closest friends, had tried to convince him to tag along more times than he could remember, but Carl had always stubbornly resisted.
Then came that night, a Friday. They had been sitting in their ‘clubhouse’, an abandoned store, smoking hash and drinking a bottle of scotch which Mike had found somewhere. Carl was feeling great.
“Should we tell him now?” Eddy suddenly blurted, addressing Mike with a smirk.
Mike, a silly grin on his face, hesitantly replied, “I don’t know. Maybe we should wait. Maybe he’s not old enough yet.”
“Tell me what? Old enough for what?” Carl curiously questioned while his two friends just sat there, grinning at him.
“Tell me what?” Carl impatiently insisted. “I’m just a year younger than you two fucks. What?!”
“Okay,” Mike agreed, feigning reluctance. “I guess we’ll tell you. Come out back, we have a surprise for you.”
They proceeded towards the rear entrance of the building with Carl wondering what kind of surprise these two idiots might have in store for him.
Upon reaching the alley, Mike and Eddy shouted, “Surprise!” in unison, both pointing to a navy blue Trans Am parked in the alley.
“Tonight, my friend,” Mike proudly announced. “You are going to learn how to drive!”
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