One of the teens was feeding him information.
There was another explanation though. One that either complicated or simplified the investigation.
Liam, Haley, or Matias was MM12.
49
The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. If Liam, Haley, or Matias was MM12, they’d get a bigger share of each ransom. More voting power when decisions needed to be made. They’d be the wizard behind the curtain, controlling everything while the others remained clueless.
It meant that one of the teens had broken into the insurance companies’ networks, but so what? They had the skill, and as long as it didn’t become too obvious, the firms would be blind to the activity. Scatter the attacks around the country, vary the ransoms, whatever. All while being anonymous.
If true, they’d have to be online in the game with two different computers, one for themselves and one for MM12. How hard could that be? It wasn’t like they couldn’t afford a second computer. The others would be none the wiser. No way to know their friend was MM12.
And then Zachary Coleman died. But there was MM12, hovering in the background, waiting for the group to hit another customer. No doubt if that didn’t happen soon, he’d contact them to insist they get back to work. And why not? What had changed? MM12 was a very real person. And now, the teens knew, a very real danger.
She needed to talk to each of them again, but not without more information. This time she’d have the upper hand. Knowledge the others either didn’t have or didn’t know she had.
A notification popped up on the bottom right of her screen. New email from Sanchez. It would take a long time to get that kind of report together, he said. He’d look into it and get back with her ASAP.
Not happening. A face-to-face might speed things along. She typed a quick response of “See you in 30” and sent it. No more waiting.
“Looks like you’ll have a good crowd today,” Amara said. The monitors lining the security chief’s wall were full of people.
Sanchez made no effort to acknowledge the attempt at small talk. “My time is limited. Tomorrow morning would have been better.”
For you maybe. “I promise I’ll be out of here as soon as I can. Plus, this will work better with a lot of people around. Make the times more accurate.”
“I would like to state again, for the record, that the park is voluntarily cooperating with the SAPD.”
She nodded. “A fact I will emphasize when we file charges.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Depending on what we see in the next few minutes,” she said, “I’m certain I’ll present the case soon. You’ll be able to let your people know to prep for our press release. Of course, if anything were to leak early, the PD would take a dim view of the park. Could alter how Cannonball is presented in our statement. Neither of us want that.”
“I understand,” he said. He grabbed a handheld radio off his desk. “Cesar, ETA to lockers?”
“Should be coming onto camera now.”
The bottom left monitor showed a young man stop in view of the camera and hold his radio up. Behind him, a steady stream of guests rented lockers for the day.
Amara walked to the display. “Third row, six down on the left. The big one.”
Sanchez relayed the information and Cesar stooped and pointed at the locker. “This one?”
“That’s it,” Amara said. “That’s the one they used.”
“E62,” Cesar said.
Amara jotted it down. “Perfect. Have him go to Day’s End Cove, where we think Coleman died. Anywhere in the area is fine. You can kill the cameras when he gets there.”
Sanchez stiffened and paused, then directed Cesar to the appointed area. “It will take him several minutes to get there.”
She moved to the large park map pinned on the wall and tapped the image of the locker building. “Got to be a dozen ways to get from here to there.” Her finger traced a direct line to the Day’s End Cove. “For now, let’s keep the focus on the moments around the death. The first time we see him on the lazy river—”
“Crooked Creek,” Sanchez said.
“The first time we see him on Crooked Creek is one-oh-eight p.m. about here.” She rested her finger on the map. “You said this is the camera that first saw him, right? Can you have Cesar stop there and ask him to walk along the water’s edge toward the cove? When he drops off that view, we’ll have the first possibility for where Coleman went in the water. Have him mark it somehow. Then you can shut off the cameras in the area that weren’t functioning the day of the death.”
Sanchez relayed the message, and Cesar said to give him another few minutes.
Amara tugged at her bottom lip as she studied the map. “I appreciate this, Sanchez. I know you’re busy.”
“Yes,” he said. “As I mentioned several times.”
“If you need to go, I understand.”
“In that case, tomorrow morning would—”
“Just get someone else in here who knows how to operate your cameras. I can handle the radio.”
Impossible or not, she felt the heat from his glare burning holes in her back. Guess he won’t be asking me on a date when this is over. No loss. Besides, if he truly wanted her gone, all he had to do was tell her to leave and that he wasn’t providing any more help.
“There’s Cesar,” Sanchez said. He pointed to the monitor. “The five displays on the top row are around Day’s End Cove. We have extra personnel stationed there until we’re done. I need to release them to their normal positions as soon as possible.” He clicked his mouse and the five monitors went blank. “Cameras are off. Okay, Cesar. Start walking. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Guests and empty inner tubes floated past Cesar as he worked his way upstream. The water’s edge transitioned from concrete wall to sandy beach as he neared the side of the screen and dropped from view.
“That’s good,” Amara said.
Sanchez keyed the mic. “Mark that spot.”
“10–4,” Cesar said. “There’s a palm tree here. I’ll tie some caution tape around it. That work?”
“Close enough,” Amara said. “If we learn anything, it’ll all have to be done again by CSI anyway.”
Sanchez clicked the radio. “From there, loop around the cove. Stay close to the water. I’ll let you know when to stop.”
“Heading that way.”
“10–4,” Sanchez said. “Make it quick.” He stood and touched one of the monitors. “That should be where we see him first.”
The stuffy atmosphere grew more awkward as they stood in silence and stared at the display. A few guests wandered around the cabanas, eating early lunches or taking a break in the shade of the tall palms. This section of Crooked Creek was still sandy beach, and a multitude of people lay out on colorful towels. Why come here if you were only going to broil? You could stay home and do that. And had none of them heard of skin cancer?
Her heart fell as her mind pivoted to her mother. No news today, but none expected. That was good, right? A couple more weeks until the next chemo treatment. How soon before they knew if it was working?
“Stop,” Sanchez said.
She blinked several times. Cesar was back in view on the monitor.
Sanchez returned to his seat and spoke into the radio. “Back up a few steps and mark that spot too.”
Amara nodded. “Best guess. Was this the largest area of the park without coverage when Coleman was killed?”
“Possibly. There were a couple of other spots with multiple camera outages clustered together.”
She crossed her arms and worked her mouth side to side. Coleman was the only one of the teens in the area at the time of his death. MM12 had to be among the hundreds of other people moving in and out of the space during the camera outage.
She checked her notes. 12:11. That’s when Zachary Coleman was last seen alive on camera. He’d walked across a bridge over Crooked Creek toward his death. Why? Haley said the ransomware attack was schedule
d for around twelve thirty. Surely Coleman was supposed to be somewhere busier if he planned to video? There were no rides other than the lazy river in that section. Nothing to attract crowds. Just a spot to relax and get some semblance of peace before venturing back into the chaos of the park. So why go there?
What would make a teenage boy go anywhere?
A teenage girl. Haley.
“Okay,” she said. “You can turn the cameras on now and let those people return to work.”
With another click of his mouse, the security chief activated the cameras and the five blank displays returned to life.
“Mr. Sanchez, I hate to ask this. I really do. But I may need a bit more of your time.”
He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and did a bit of deep breathing, then picked up his desk phone and dialed three digits. “Gabriela, you’re in charge for the rest of the day. My afternoon just got kidnapped.”
50
“Start when they’re all together at the lockers,” Amara said. “I want to see every time Haley’s not on camera. Where she disappeared and where she showed up next. Question. Is there a way to identify the credit card she used to rent the locker? See if it was used on anything else in the park?”
Sanchez rested his chin on his hand. “You want to give me some idea where you’re going with this? Might make things quicker. And less of an interrogation.”
Valid argument. He could easily force her to get a subpoena. Slow down the investigation by weeks or longer. A little cooperation from her was in order. “Zachary Coleman was murdered at Day’s End Cove sometime between 12:40 and 12:55. None of the three people who came with him to the park were seen entering or leaving the area during that time. My assumption was there was a fourth person. Someone I couldn’t identify.”
“Was?”
She nodded. “There’s another possibility. One of his friends somehow managed to get into the blacked-out area without being spotted.”
He stood, put his hands in his pockets, and jingled his keys. “Hold up. You can turn off any camera you want, but don’t make yourself invisible from start to finish? Why?”
“Work backward. The death has to appear accidental. And if anyone gets suspicious, a trail of disabled cameras would point right to a suspect. Whoever did this put a lot of effort into the planning. Wanted to make it look like Coleman was alone when he died. Or at least with none of his friends.”
“Why the girl?”
“Haley? I think she and the deceased were in a relationship. A fact she failed to mention when I spoke with her. Good a reason as any to start with her. So, can you get the credit card info off the locker?”
“I can’t do it, but I guarantee there’s a way. Somebody over in financials can probably pull some sort of report. Most likely won’t get the whole credit card number though. Maybe last six digits or something, but it should be enough.”
“How long?”
“Don’t expect it today,” he said. He leaned over his keyboard and typed, paused to read the message, then clicked the mouse. “Okay. I’ll let you know. And instead of the girl, let’s start with the victim. Like you said, work backward.”
He sat again and brought up the last clip of the boy. 12:06 to 12:11. Carefree and smiling. Ball cap, shirtless, water bottle. Dead within the hour.
Amara motioned to a dry-erase board, blank except for the myriad of faded words forever planted there, victims of a permanent marker. “Mind if I use this?”
“Go for it.”
She grabbed a red marker and wrote a barely legible 1. “Got any that aren’t dried out?”
He opened his desk, pulled out a new marker, and flipped it toward her. Panic surged through her body. Catch it, Alvarez. The marker bounced off her fingers and fell to the floor. She stooped to pick it up, keeping her face turned from Sanchez. Don’t give him the satisfaction. She wrote the times of the clip along with a short summary.
“Can you go to the clip before that one?” she asked.
He fiddled with his mouse for a few seconds. “Yeah, should be . . . here we go.”
The corner of the display showed a time of 11:32 and she jotted it on the board. Nothing about Coleman seemed different. Same grin. Same clothes. Pausing to watch people, leaning on a railing and watching guests shoot out the bottom of a giant water slide, and walking through a contraption that sprayed mist over everyone. At 12:01, he dropped out of the camera’s view again.
11:32–12:01—ZC on camera
She left room to fill in the blanks and added the last video clip.
12:06–12:11—ZC crosses bridge, dies ~12:40–12:55
Sanchez clicked the rewind button until he came to the next clip with the teen. 11:18–11:26. More of the same. Maybe this was going nowhere. With his death near, surely by now there’d be some indication if one of the other three was involved.
“Rewind to the next one,” she said.
“Wait. You see it?” Sanchez asked. “No water bottle.”
She hadn’t. “So sometime in the, what, six minutes between clips, he bought water. We’ll need to identify possible locations in—”
“Didn’t buy it here. Blue wrapper. We don’t sell that brand. I assumed he got it from his locker, but he couldn’t have. Not enough time and we’d have seen him.”
“Jump to when they first got to the park. All of them carried water bottles in. See what color they were.”
He dragged the timeline to the beginning. “Blue.” He paused the video. “But I bet I could watch the footage from that morning and see a hundred people bringing that same brand in.”
She pulled her notepad from her pocket, flipped back several pages, and scanned her notes from the day before. “At 11:16, Haley took her tote bag out of the locker and returned it at 11:58. Forty-two minutes. Plenty of time to meet him.” She pulled her chair close to his desk and sat. “Go to that segment. Let’s see if where she goes matches to Coleman.”
He flexed his fingers and squinted at his laptop. “Give me a second. Do do do . . . fast forward to . . . there. Top left monitor.”
Haley Bricker squatted, keyed in her code, and pulled her tote bag from the locker. One of the boys’ bottled water rolled onto the floor and she stuck it back inside and stood. The locker door swung shut automatically as the springs in the hinges took over. She hooked her thumb under the bag’s strap and hitched it higher on her shoulder before moving into the crowds. She paused to study the menu at a snack bar, then strolled through groups of people.
“Not in any hurry,” Amara said. “She heading toward the cove?”
“Not directly, but the way the paths are laid out, you’ll eventually get wherever you want no matter how you go.”
For the next three minutes, Haley seemed to stroll aimlessly. Then, at 11:20, she was gone. Stepped out of the camera’s view beside one of those rolling ice cream stands.
Amara walked back to the board.
11:18–11:26—ZC on camera, no water
11:20—HB off camera w/tote
11:32–12:01—ZC on camera, water
12:06–12:11—ZC crosses bridge, dies ~ 12:40–12:55
“How close is she to Coleman at this point?” she asked.
“Close enough. You’ve got two cameras off there. The boy goes into the opposite end of that zone six minutes later. Plenty of time for them to meet.”
“Can you fast-forward to when she reappears?”
He sped the video, jumping past all the clips of the other three teenagers in that time frame, and stopped when Haley was back on screen. “Same place,” he said. “11:56. Off camera for thirty-six minutes.”
“Circumstantial, but good,” she said. “Coleman’s out of sight for six minutes. Means Haley probably was close to where he came into the zone. Question is, after she handed him the water bottle, what took her so long to get back to the lockers? She’d have at least twenty minutes that’s unexplained before coming in view. Keep running the video on Haley.”
After returning her tote bag
to the locker, the girl made a beeline back the way she’d come, once again dropping out of view near the ice cream stand.
“12:03,” Amara said. She wrote the time on the board. “And we don’t see her again until she appears near where the body was pulled from the water at 13:08. Theoretically, she’s got an hour to meet her boyfriend, kill him, and get as far away as possible, all without being seen.” She walked to the map. “Aqua Attack. Where is it?” The teen said that was her assigned spot.
“On the left about a third of the way down. One camera disabled there.” He walked beside her and traced the potential routes from Day’s End Cove to Aqua Attack. “Too many working cameras. We’d have spotted her.”
“Where did she and Coleman meet?”
He drew a circle and jabbed his finger in the middle. “Somewhere in here.”
Food vendors, benches, and a souvenir shop. “Beach Bum Louie’s,” she said. “What do they sell there?”
“Suntan lotion, flip-flops, T-shirts, you name it.”
“Got cameras inside?”
“No,” he said. “The store is open-air, like a Jamaican market. No walls. We didn’t want to air-condition the place. Too many people would come in to escape the heat for a while. Makes theft prevention a nightmare, cameras or not. Between the employees and the exterior surveillance equipment, we’ve done okay. Surprisingly little product loss. That’s good, I suppose, but makes it a hard sell to add more security.”
“Do me a favor,” she said. “Fire off another email about the credit card. Forget everything else for now. We need to know if she used it at that store between 11:20 and 11:56.”
“And did what? Put whatever she bought in the tote bag? The boy didn’t have it and her hands were empty after she left the locker.”
Good point. “Could she tell them to hold it? That she’d get it later?”
He returned to his desk and began typing. “She could.” He looked up and smiled. “We’ve been looking for the wrong girl, eh?”
“Right girl,” she said. “Wrong clothes.”
Network of Deceit Page 27