A bit dramatic, isn’t it? Watched Terminator a few too many times? But someone had her data. They knew about bank accounts and Mama. “But you’re hooked up to the internet now, aren’t you?”
“Yep. But even if I wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Everything we do is recorded online somewhere. Banks, work, traffic cameras, my phone. Did you know there are major cities in the US considering the installation of facial-recognition devices in all public areas? That if you walk around London for an hour, it’s estimated you’ll be captured on video by nearly three hundred security cameras? Listen, I’m not talking about wearing tin foil hats and that nonsense, but think about it. Technology is a wonderful thing.” She waved her hand around her. “We love it when it makes our lives better. But nothing is free. There’s a cost to all this.”
The woman certainly had passion. “I have to ask,” Amara said. “I’m assuming you’d choose to move to the end of the earth if you could. Where would you go to get away from technology?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Barb smiled and turned back to the monitor. “Okay. You want to watch me play and I’ll explain as I go, or would you rather create your own character?”
“I’ll watch you.” Being online didn’t seem as appealing as it had moments ago.
The woman clicked several buttons and the screen zoomed to another section. “Tango Murked is a team-based multiplayer first-person shooter. First person means you see what your character sees, but don’t see yourself. Like in the real world. I mean, you’ll see yourself in mirrors or your arm if you raise a gun or sword, but, eh, you get the idea. You can have up to six players on a team, and they all work together to protect their base and attack their enemy’s home.”
“Capture the flag,” Amara said. “Try to get theirs while they’re trying to get yours.”
“Exactly. You’ve got a choice of, like, forty different characters, and you can customize them by buying unique skins, clothes, voices, and other stuff. I’ve actually got three other characters in progress so I can be someone besides Calina if I want to. She’s my highest level though. They get stronger as you win battles and gain experience. You can also find various weapons and armor to help. And it’s free to play.”
“Free? How do they make money? Selling fake clothes for pretend characters can’t be profitable.”
“This game generated nearly three billion dollars in revenue last year.”
What? For stuff that wasn’t even real? “I don’t know how to respond to that,” Amara said.
“Lot of money for sure. It’s entertainment, just like movies or books. Some people say it’s an escape. I call it an adventure. A chance to be someone you could never be in reality. You should try it.”
“Maybe one day. I’ve got enough adventure in my life right now. Can you show me how the chat works?”
“Easy enough.” She clicked the Friends button, and a list of twenty or so names appeared. “These are all people I know, but not necessarily in the real world. There are two ways to get on this list. One is to exchange identities outside the game. Obviously, in that case you’d be able to tie the real person with the character. The other way is by chatting at the end of a match.”
She moved the cursor about a third of the way down the screen. “See her? Freya Stormbringer. No idea who she really is. Or if she’s even a she. I got randomly paired with her in a game and liked her playing style. Chatted with her afterward and we agreed to match up again. After a few games, I added her to my list and she added me to hers. The red light means she’s offline.”
“So how do you let her know that you want to play?”
“I can ping her by clicking her name and the game will send her a message letting her know I’m online. Of course, she can disable that option. Let’s see if I can find your buddy.” She exited her friends list, clicked the Find Players button, and typed Mighty Mouse 12. No hits. She tried multiple variations of the name with no luck. “We’re not going to locate him this way.”
“Couldn’t be that lucky.” She leaned back in her chair. “So if you just wanted to talk to your friends without playing, how does that happen?”
“By talk I assume you mean chat? You can use voice but most of us older players don’t. Easiest way to communicate as a group is to go into a training server. They’re set up so teams can practice together. One player pops in, then invites the others. Nothing to it.”
But you had to be invited. Frustration funneled through Amara’s chest. “Is there anything you can think of that might help me figure out who MM12 is? Or a way I can get any useful information from the game? Something that would aid in my investigation?”
Barb shook her head. “You need more. The way the system’s built, you’re not finding anyone unless they want you to. Either that, or you get someone on their friend list to work with you.”
MM12’s list probably had only three people on it. Haley, Liam, and Matias, though their real names wouldn’t be used. “Here’s what I know. My suspects are using this game to plan illegal activity. I’m certain of that. But you’re telling me there’s nothing I can do about it?”
“Pretty much. I’m sure you could go the subpoena route with the company that runs the game, but good luck. I’d bet that goes nowhere. Your best chance is to convince one of your suspects to cooperate and let you watch while the meeting takes place. Of course, proving in court who those people actually are is a whole different issue.”
Wonderful. “Thanks, Barb. I won’t take up any more of your time. Okay to call if I have questions?”
“Of course.” She nodded toward the desk behind her. “Sure you don’t want to stick around? We didn’t even play the game yet. I’ll set you up on the hubs’s rig and get you going. I know you’d enjoy it.”
Nope. “Sounds great, but I’ve got a full schedule. Maybe some other time.”
Never gonna happen. Couldn’t because she knew how every game would end.
If her team didn’t win, it could be ugly.
Rage-quit ugly.
47
Amara stretched out on the living room rug in her apartment and whispered “Who’s a good boy” repeatedly as Larry responded by flicking his tongue toward her. Midafternoon on Sunday and a clear schedule. Mama had been released from the hospital and was now at home surrounded by family. Larry had explored the area for a solid hour before finding a spot of sunshine creeping through the curtains and planting himself firmly in the center. As the day progressed, he inched along with the sun, basking in its rays.
She rolled onto her back and adjusted her sweatpants so they weren’t twisted at the waist. Her fingernails looked iffy. Needed to do some work on them tonight. She stretched her legs to get a peek at her toes. Ugh. Worse than the fingers. Might have to dig out the pumice.
In a little bit, she’d head out for dinner and free Wi-Fi. Check her email one last time before bed. For now, her work laptop was connected to her TV and running the videos of the teenagers from the water park. She’d seen them numerous times, start to finish. The group entering the park, splitting up, coming together, on camera, off camera. Watching the backgrounds for anyone paying unusual attention to them. Someone who might be MM12. Several trips by each to the locker to get water and/or alcohol and check their cell phones. Haley grabbing and returning her tote once. Bathroom run probably. All the way until the three teens left after their friend was hauled off in the ambulance. A bunch of disjointed clips, none of which were helpful.
She flipped onto her stomach as the next scene began. Crowds entering the water park. The four teenagers shuffling through the ticket line to the security guards. Haley being delayed while her tote was searched, then hurrying to catch the others. Coleman glancing back at her, grinning.
She clicked the mouse to pause the video, sat up, and rewound the clip a few seconds. Liam and Matias moved into the park while Coleman slowed. Letting Haley catch up to him. When she was beside him, her smile broadened and sh
e casually brushed the back of her hand against his.
Amara paused the video again. It might have been a while, but she still knew the signs of flirting. Zachary Coleman and Haley Bricker were a couple. The touch happened so fast. Seemed innocent enough that if Liam or Matias had noticed, they’d have thought nothing of it.
She grunted as she pushed herself off the floor, grabbed a pen and notepad, and sank onto the sofa. Larry opened one accusing eye and scooted toward the shifting sun. “Sorry, boy. Didn’t mean to disturb you. Mind if I hang out here the rest of the day?”
He shifted himself so his face absorbed the light, then flicked his tail her direction.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she said.
By the time Amara arrived at her card table early the next morning, she knew that, despite the girl’s prior statements, Haley and Coleman were either dating or headed that direction. She’d documented nearly twenty instances of physical contact between the two. A gentle tap on the arm. A too-long hand on the back. Always safe. Never blatant. But there. Adults didn’t touch like that unless there was some familiarity. Intimacy.
Time for another talk with Haley. The girl lied, or at least misled, in her statement regarding her relationship to the deceased. What else had she lied about?
So much to do today. Ronnie’s suggestion to not think so far ahead was a non-starter. Scheduling her day would take a chunk of the morning. Sanchez had finally sent over the park map detailing which cameras weren’t functioning at the time of the boy’s death. At least he hadn’t demanded a subpoena for that. Plus she needed to track down the lawyers in Phoenix, the ones Haley said were the other option MM12 gave. And somewhere in there was talking to the girl. Too early to start calling Arizona, and confronting Haley might work better if she’d been awake for a while.
She opened the PDF of the water park map and zoomed in. The color image was speckled with dots. Black ones were working cameras, red were not functioning. Each camera had a tiny arrow beside it to indicate the direction it pointed. Not good enough. Without knowing how wide the angle of coverage was, she couldn’t verify what was or wasn’t within view. Surely he knew that.
“Alvarez.”
She looked over her shoulder at Travis Rutledge. “Morning, Detective. Can I help you?”
“Whatcha looking at there? Some sort of map?”
Go with sarcasm or play nice? “Yeah, some sort of map. All pretty colors and big pictures. Makes it easier for idiots like me to understand.”
He grunted. “Still waiting for my apology.”
“For what?” This should be good.
“Parking garage the other day. Trying to make me look bad in front of other cops.”
You don’t need my help for that. “If that’s what you thought I was trying to do, I’m sorry. Good enough?”
“It’ll do for now.” He adjusted his fedora so it slanted a bit more left. “Tell you what. We got off on the wrong foot, yeah? How about I talk to Segura? Arrange for you to ride shotgun with me for a few days. Let you see how it’s done.”
Her anger hid behind a smile. “I’m sure I could learn a lot from you, but I’m really busy.”
“Your loss. I know you don’t like me, Alvarez, but you need to understand that respect is earned, not given.”
“Works both ways, Rutledge.”
“That’s where you lose me. See, I don’t care whether or not you respect me. Your opinion means nothing around here.”
“And I suppose yours does?”
He chuckled. “What do you think?”
“I could give you the whole psychoanalysis of your needy behavior toward the new girl, but I’ll do us both a favor and throw out the short version. You’re ten pounds of guano in a five-pound sack.”
His breathing grew loud and heavy. “You want to start with me?”
Behind him, Starsky hurried her direction. “Everything okay over here?”
She frowned at him. “Morning.”
“What’s up, Starsky?” Rutledge asked. “Coming to protect your girlfriend?”
His face instantly reddened. “One. Not my girlfriend. Two. She doesn’t need my protection.”
Rutledge nodded. “Yet here you are.”
“Yep. Here I am.” He rocked back and forth on his feet, both hands in his pockets. “So what’s up?”
“Both of you go away,” Amara said. “I don’t have time for this today.”
“I’ll talk to Segura,” Rutledge said. “Set you up to shadow me for a few days. Maybe even a week or two.”
“You do that,” Amara said. The big man walked away, probably to find someone else to annoy. “Go away, Starsky.”
“You know he’s baiting you, right?”
“I don’t need you interfering. Makes me look weak. I can handle myself.”
“No doubt in my mind.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Just don’t do it here. Nowhere public. Too many cameras around.”
She smiled. “Maybe I should have it on video for posterity.”
“That’s why you’re giving me a heads-up before it happens. Oh, and the not my girlfriend thing. I, uh, when I said that, I didn’t mean I didn’t want to be, uh, well.” He turned away. “Have a good day, Alvarez.”
“I’m trying.”
48
Amara responded to Sanchez’s email with a request for more information about the cameras. Either the range and angle of coverage for each, or if it was easier, the areas that were blind while the system was down. She’d give him an hour, then call. In the meantime, she’d contact the United Divorce Group in Arizona. See what they had to say about ransomware, especially whether they had insurance and if so, with who?
After forty-five minutes of upbeat hold music punctuated by brief interludes of “I don’t handle that but let me transfer you to someone who does,” she had a name. Walter Dreysdale, a broker, took care of insurance for the attorneys. But no, they would not authorize him to release any information without a subpoena. Haley was right. Lawyers are lawyers.
She phoned Mr. Dreysdale and identified herself.
“San Antonio, you say? What can I do for you, Ms. Alvarez?”
Detective Alvarez. “I’m gathering some information, Mr. Dreysdale. I was told you’re the man to talk to about ransomware insurance?”
“I am indeed,” he said. “May I ask who referred you to me? I always like to thank anyone who sends me new—oh. You’re not interested in buying any, are you? Sorry. Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of me. I do sell ransomware insurance, in addition to burial, homeowners, life, death, auto, boat, motorcycle, you name it.”
“I understand if you can’t go into specifics,” she said, “but could you tell me if you’ve ever been involved in a payout on a ransomware claim?”
“I have not. Very rare, but unfortunately, as I’m certain you’re aware, becoming more common. The good news is that now’s a great time to buy. Rates are low.”
I’m sure they are. “I spoke to one of your clients. United Divorce Group. They told me you handle their coverage?”
“Yes, that’s correct. I set them up with LockShield. Big company in Delaware. Hundred-thousand-dollar policy. Cheaper than you’d think.”
So much for confidential information. “Um, are you sure about that?”
“Positive. They’re scheduled for renewal soon. I just looked over their details, and between you and me and the fence post, I’m going to try to talk them into doubling the amount. Wouldn’t make sense not to.”
Not to try to talk them into it or not to double it? “I see. Well, thank you for your time and I wish you luck.”
“Thank you, Ms. Alvarez. Insurance is all about taking care of the client. Building relationships and trust. I hope if you ever move to Arizona, or perhaps have relatives or friends currently here, you’ll allow me the opportunity to review your existing policies and show you how I can do better.”
“Of course.”
“Do you? Have relatives or friends in Arizona?”
“No problem. Hold on. Okay. Is the number you’re phoning from a good way to reach you?”
Nope nope nope. Don’t need your Texas buddies calling me. “Have a nice day, Mr. Dreysdale.”
She wrote $100k—United Divorce Group—LockShield on her notepad. Way bigger payout than the thirty-five thousand they’d received from Barstow. Probably at least another ten thousand deductible on top of that. Too bad for TOXICftw. She circled the $100k and dotted her pen around it.
And LockShield again. If they were one of the bigger companies providing this insurance, was that a surprise? Certainly didn’t prove anything. The Barstow, Indiana, payout had been handled by Carbonis. MM12 gave the teens two options, unrelated as far as she could tell.
She pressed her palms against her ears to shut out the background noise. Barstow. 35k. Lawyers. 100k. Something about those numbers annoyed her. She closed her eyes.
Thirty-five thousand dollars. Eighty-five hundred to each teen plus a thousand to MM12. The numbers added up. Haley had been certain of that.
Numbers and dates and names swirled through Amara’s brain, and she grabbed at each of them, desperate to combine them into anything that might ease the chaos. Open a door. Offer a solution.
Explain why MM12 knew to ask for thirty-five thousand dollars.
She opened the recording from the interview with Haley. There. The girl said, “MM12 said to let him know when we were ready. Set the fee at thirty-five k. Way more than we’d ever been paid.”
Amara stood and pushed her chair away with the back of her legs. Too much energy to sit. She rewound the recording to find the section she wanted. “The four of us talk it over and choose this podunk town in Indiana. Barstow, wherever that is. But we told MM12 we picked the other option, some lawyer group in Phoenix.”
Uh-uh. MM12 would want more from the lawyers. $100k plus deductible at least. Instead, he’d asked for a much lower amount. The exact sum Barstow could pay. That had to mean he knew they were targeting Barstow, despite Haley’s statement. MM12 had insider knowledge.
Network of Deceit Page 26