Network of Deceit

by Tom Threadgill

  She switched back to the document and deleted his name. If he was involved in any way, it would be after the fact. Deal with that later. The three teens remained at the top of the suspects list. If this were a movie, she’d have each of them hauled into a separate interrogation room and spend the next several hours playing them against each other until one of them broke. Gave up the information she needed. Didn’t even have to be about the murder specifically.

  How did you get the money?

  The answer to that question would open the door to everything else.

  She checked her watch. Nearly one in the afternoon. Time to go back to Liam Walker’s address and try again. If she couldn’t make contact, she’d head to the office and work from there for the rest of the day. Later, she’d hit the gym for a long workout. Exhaust herself before going home to Larry.

  She packed her belongings, wiped the table clean, and stopped at the counter to order another bottled water and half a turkey club sandwich to go. The credit card terminal flashed its “waiting for approval” message for a few moments before she asked if they were having problems with the card reader.

  The cashier shook his head and checked the display on his register. “Says your card was declined.”

  What? “That doesn’t make sense. I pay it off every month. Can I run it again?”

  He gave her a do-you-know-how-many-times-I’ve-heard-that look, shrugged, and reset the order. “Try it now.”

  She repeated the process with the same outcome, then pulled out her debit card. “Let me try this one.”

  After nearly a minute, the cashier shook his head.

  Her muscles quivered as she slipped the card into her purse and gave the cashier a twenty-dollar bill. He glanced at her before using a counterfeit detector pen on the cash and handing her the change.

  She made no attempt to smile as she snatched her food and hustled to her car. The July heat was nothing compared to the steam radiating from her neck. The tires screeched as she backed out of the parking spot and headed toward Liam Walker’s house.

  Someone was messing with her finances. Probably the same person who’d called in the middle of the night.

  She squeezed the steering wheel with both hands and hunched forward. The emotions bubbling inside, the stress and frustration and anger and fear, begged to be set loose.

  All they needed was a target.

  22

  Amara parked two houses down from Liam Walker’s home. The same SUV sat in the driveway, seemingly unmoved. She pointed the air-conditioning vents away from her and gripped the cell phone. Had to chill before talking to him. She opened the app for her bank and tried unsuccessfully to log on. A message popped up advising her to contact customer service. She repeated the process with her credit card app and got the same result.

  The pounding moved from the back of her skull to the front. Dealing with banks was not on today’s agenda. She craned her neck and shoulders to chase at least some of the tension away. Might as well deal with this now. She dialed the number for her bank and began pressing zero before the voice could finish telling her to “please listen carefully as our menu options have changed.”

  “You’ve selected an invalid option. To check your balance, press or say ‘one.’ To open an account, press or say ‘two.’ To speak to—”

  “Three,” she said.

  A series of beeps sounded. “You wish to speak to a customer service representative. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  Another series of beeps. “Did you know that you can make changes to your account online? For instructions, please say or press ‘nine.’ Otherwise, please remain on the line and the next available representative will assist you.”

  She counted six breaths before she heard a click and music started playing. At just under two minutes, another click and a voice. “Thank you for—”

  “Hi,” Amara said. “Sorry. I’m in kind of a hurry. I need to—”

  “Thank you for choosing to bank with us. All calls are monitored and recorded. At the end of your call, you’ll have the opportunity to take a brief survey. If you wish to take the survey, please press ‘one’ now. If not, please press ‘two.’”

  She squeezed the phone, careful to keep her fingers away from the hang-up button. So much for calming down.

  “Please hold while we transfer you to a customer service representative.”

  What do you think I’ve been doing? An acoustic version of the Beatles’ “Yesterday” played as she waited. Appropriate, since it seemed like she’d been on hold since then. As the song neared its end, a click sounded, followed by silence. If they’d disconnected her, the car windows were about to explode outward.

  “Thank you for calling, Ms. Alvarez. How may I assist you?”

  Phone number linked to name. Things like that used to seem convenient, but with all that was going on, she could use a little more security and a little less convenience. “I’m calling because my, um, hold on.”

  The front door of the Walker residence opened and a young man, tallish and thin, stepped outside and shaded his eyes while ambling to the truck. Liam.

  Have to talk to him before he drives off.

  Unbelievable. “I’ll call you back.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror at the tiny vein throbbing on her temple, then turned off the car, pulled on her jacket, and hurried his direction. “Liam Walker?”

  He stared at her, glanced back at his home, and took another step toward the truck.

  “Hold up,” she said. She fished her ID from her pocket and quickened the pace. Seconds later, she stood in front of him. “I’m Detective Amara Alvarez, SAPD. Need to ask you some questions.”

  He frowned and dug his hands into his pockets.

  She angled herself and tapped her thumb on the Glock under her jacket. “Mind keeping your hands where I can see them?”

  He pulled them out and held his palms up. “What’s this about?”

  Nice try. “I’m investigating Zachary Coleman’s death, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “Do I have to talk to you?”

  “No,” she said. “You are not required to answer any of my questions. However, you should think about how that would make you look. I’m trying to determine the circumstances surrounding your friend’s death. If you don’t want to cooperate, I have to ask myself why not.”

  He shrugged. “Because I don’t know anything about what happened, and I’ve watched enough documentaries to know not to talk to the police. So unless you’re arresting me, in which case I want a lawyer, I’m getting in my truck and leaving.”

  “What’s your license plate mean?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a sneer. “Rage quit. You’re too old to understand.”

  Ah, the boldness of the young. And just because she didn’t know what that meant didn’t mean she was old. “What happened at the water park?”

  “Zach died.”

  The way he said it made her want to smack the look off his face. Hard. She gritted her teeth and stared up at him. “You know, don’t you?”

  He stepped to the side to go around her. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You know your friend was killed, and you know why. That’s good enough for me. Maybe you didn’t actually do it, but worst case is that you go down for accessory to murder.”

  He opened the truck door and slid inside, then pulled the door shut and started the engine.

  She tapped on the window and raised her voice. “First one to talk gets to see the DA about a deal. The other two spend their best years behind bars.”

  He put the SUV in gear and motioned for her to back away.

  She smiled. Why not sow some seeds of dissension? “Oh, and better hurry. One of your friends already called me.”

  He backed out of the driveway and eased down the street before turning left at a stop sign. He’d been ready for her. His reactions came across as planned. Forceful. No indication of fear or concern. Either he
was a good actor or extremely confident. Or a psychopath.

  She googled “rage quit” while strolling back to her car.

  Get so angry, usually while playing a video game, that you quit playing and throw your controller, often breaking it.

  Fitting.

  Next stop was her bank. No more pushing buttons to talk to someone. After that, swing by the Coleman residence, and if they were home, ask to take another look around Zachary’s room. See if she’d overlooked anything that might hint at the victim’s online activities.

  A surge of depression washed over her as the truth clenched its arms around her chest and forced the air from her lungs. There’d be no clue. No aha! moment. Only more spinning in circles. Her chance to prove herself fading.

  Maybe it was time to ask for help. No shame in that. No weakness.

  That was for the best, what with everything going on with Mama.

  Mama.

  She slapped her palm on the steering wheel hard enough that she worried she’d injured herself. What would her mother think if she knew her daughter wasn’t fighting? Worse, was using someone else’s cancer as her excuse? Pity party over, Alvarez.

  Rage quit? Absolutely.

  Her rage. Their quit.

  Liam and Haley and Matias would play her game from now on.

  23

  Amara pulled into the Coleman driveway and parked by the garage. Zachary’s Mustang still sat there, another of those countless decisions the parents would have to make. Sorting through the aftermath of an unexpected death took time.

  Dealing with the bank and credit card companies turned out to be less painful than she expected. The local branch informed her the account was frozen as a result of her online request. No funds had disappeared. Whoever hacked her personal laptop obviously accessed her passwords too. She should have thought of that a lot earlier and changed everything. A project for when she got home tonight. After withdrawing a wad of cash, she told the bank to keep the account locked. Password change or not, no sense exposing her money to the internet until this was over.

  The credit card company gave her the same information. A zero balance and the card frozen at her request. No charges authorized until further notice. She told them the same thing. Leave it locked. Probably forever.

  She walked into the late-afternoon shade provided by the tall mesquites and oaks. Anywhere else, the trees would be considered small. In this part of Texas, you’d call them giants. She ambled toward the front door, taking her time to regain focus on her reason for being there. The cash was the key. Until she made progress on its origin, the investigation would continue to hover in place.

  A rapid chirping from the closest tree grabbed her attention. A mockingbird. She bowed her head slightly toward the animal. Point taken. Just trying to do my job here, okay? Positive attitude.

  She stepped onto the porch, raised her hand to knock, and paused. The cash. It was real. Tangible. Not a dollar amount on a bank statement. Somewhere, somehow, it had to be converted from the ethereal realms of the internet to paper. Whatever these kids were doing to earn the money, they needed a way to turn it into something usable. Most transactions could be done without cash but not without banks. Credit cards, checking accounts, all that. Zachary Coleman wasn’t old enough to open his own accounts, and even if he was, the kind of dollars he’d hidden didn’t move through banks without notice.

  Digital currencies like Bitcoin were a definite possibility, especially with the apparent technical expertise of the four teens. She didn’t know much about how online money worked, but the whole setup had always seemed shady to her. Like Monopoly cash, only more confusing and supposedly more real.

  She knocked on the door and took a step backward. The mockingbird continued its chirping, daring Amara to turn and look. The distinct click of a deadbolt sounded and the door opened slowly. A woman, substantially older than Zachary’s mother, smiled. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  From behind her, a familiar male voice echoed through the house. “Who is it, Mom? Hold on, I’m coming.”

  Paul Coleman. Zachary’s father. This woman must be the grandmother he’d mentioned. Did she know her grandson’s death was under investigation? “Hi there. I’m, uh, Ms. Alvarez.”

  Mr. Coleman appeared behind her. “Ms. Alvarez,” he said. “How nice to see you again. Would you like to come in?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She moved inside and waited until the older lady closed the door.

  “Mom, Ms. Alvarez took care of some of the arrangements for Zach’s funeral. I asked her to stop by so we can finalize a few things.”

  Amara nodded. “I’m so sorry about your loss, ma’am.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Thank you. But where are my manners? I’m Eugenia Coleman. Zach was my grandson. His passing has been very difficult for all of us.”

  The woman’s straight posture, modern clothing, and pixieish hairdo served her well, though the heavy age spots, large rings, and high veins on her hands couldn’t disguise the truth. Close to eighty, probably. Amara lowered her chin. “Yes, ma’am.” Was she supposed to say something more?

  Mr. Coleman touched his mother’s arm. “Mom, would you mind checking on Lori again? She ought to be getting up soon.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  The two waited until the grandmother was out of earshot.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate you playing along. If Mom found out that Zach might have been killed, I’m afraid of what it could do to her. She’s already devastated and, well, you know.”

  “I understand. And I’m sorry for dropping by without calling first, but I was out this way”—she resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind her back—“and wondered if it’d be okay to take another look around Zachary’s room?”

  “I have to leave to take Mom back to her home in a few minutes. Can you be done by then?”

  “Sure. And have you had a chance to get copies of the statements from your joint checking account?”

  He nodded. “I’ll print them and meet you in his room. I’ll bring the phone records too.” He flicked his hand toward the hall. “You know the way.”

  She strode to the room and scanned the area. Other than new blank spaces on the computer desk, everything appeared to be just as it was the last time she was in here. Too soon for the family to even begin thinking about packing their son’s things. Assuming they ever did. Things tended to become so much more when they were all that remained.

  She sat in the chair and stared at a dark spot on the wall in front of her. The now-gone computer’s fan must have been pointed there. A headset, complete with microphone and heavy padding, lay beside the huge monitor. The keyboard, probably one of those that lit up so he could type at night, rested next to a mouse with more buttons than she’d ever seen. She sighed and stood. Zachary was far too computer literate to do something as stupid as leave a password on a Post-it note or any other physical evidence of online activity.

  A shadow on the hall wall caught her eye and she stepped away from the desk as Eugenia Coleman walked into the room. The woman frowned and pointed at Amara. “You didn’t tell the truth, did you?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Lori told me. You’re a detective, aren’t you?”

  Amara’s stomach fluttered. “Yes. I’m sorry for misleading you, but your son thought it was for the best.” Where was he?

  “Why are the police involved in Zachary’s death?”

  “This is all routine.” She glanced past the woman to the hall. Now would be a good time for Mr. Coleman to arrive.

  “Young lady, I was a schoolteacher for more years than I like to remember. I know when someone’s not telling me the truth.”

  You didn’t know earlier. Amara rolled the chair to the grandmother. “Please have a seat. I’ll get your son and we can chat.”

  “Pish posh. If this involves my grandson, I have as much right to know what’s going on as Paul does.”

  Um, technically, no you don’t. “Did you s
ee Zachary often?”

  “Changing the subject.” She eased into the chair. “Hate these things with wheels. Afraid I’ll fall. They say that’s the beginning of the end.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “The fall. ‘Poor Eugenia. Fell out of that chair and broke her hip. Mmm mmm mmm. Beginning of the end for her.’ Course, I could live another twenty years and people would still say it was the fall that got me.”

  Amara smiled. “Best to be careful.”

  “Paul and Lori have been after me for years to move in here. Scared something will happen to me. ‘Won’t be any bother to us,’ they say.” The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. “What about the other way around? I live alone and prefer to keep it that way. I can still drive if I need anything, and when the time comes, I’ll move out of my cottage into the assisted living building. That’s a long way off though.”

  “I’m sure it is. If you don’t mind me asking, your son mentioned that Zachary planned to visit you on the day he, uh, the day he passed?”

  The woman nodded. “He’d come by at least once or twice a week. Sometimes he’d bring a pizza and we’d pull out the TV trays and watch one of my programs. He was a good boy.” She pressed her elbows into the armrests and leaned forward. “I don’t know what you’re looking into, but my grandson was not a troublemaker.”

  Uh-huh. Didn’t all grandmothers think that? “Yes, ma’am.”

  Steps echoed down the hall and Mr. Coleman moved into the doorway. About time.

  He glanced at his mother. “Lori okay?”

  “She’s fine. This young detective was just about to explain why she’s here.”

  “Actually,” Amara said, “I was about to leave. Thank you both for your time.”

  Mr. Coleman gave her a manila envelope. “The bank statements and phone records. If you need anything else, you’ll let me know?”

  “I will.” She laid her hand on top of the grandmother’s. “Again, ma’am, I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll leave you with your son to discuss any questions you may have. I hope you understand.”

  “Certainly,” the woman said. “And I hope you’ll understand when I phone you later to get all the details.”