Silver Shirts

by Lee Perry

  Jordan looked away from Brady’s humorless eyes and took in the spacious surroundings, “Wow…” she blinked in surprise, “I wonder if he got headaches watching TV on a screen this big.”

  “It is theater quality.” Agent Brady was clearly making an effort to lighten his tone and pointed down the hall, “His office is down here.”

  Jordan resisted the urge to sigh and gave Catherine a reassuring smile and eye roll as they followed him.

  He gestured for them to enter a large room stuffed with racks of humming servers, “What we’ve been able to determine so far…”

  Catherine stopped in the doorway and froze, her eyes locked on the dark bloodstains in the thick beige carpet.

  Maybe this was a bad idea… Jordan bent close to her ear, “Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Catherine said her voice a faint squeak.

  “Look at me…” Jordan murmured, waiting until she did, “This is why I don’t want you looking at crime scene photos, but you don’t have to do this in here… Agent Brady and I can drag the monitors into the hallway…”

  Brady’s brows arched high on his forehead, “We’ll what?”

  “No.” Catherine shook her head determinedly, “I’m okay,” she gestured at the bloodstains, “that’ll be behind me when I sit.”

  “Okay,” Jordan gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’ll be right here.” Catherine quickly crossed the room, keeping her eyes focused on the three-widescreen monitors on the victim’s desk.

  “Jeez,” Jordan muttered, “it’s stifling in here…”

  “Yeah,” Brady pointed at the windows, “the fans are on but they don’t seem to blow out much heat.”

  Catherine stood behind the singular chair sitting in front of a long narrow desk, supporting only the mouse, keyboard and monitors and silently scanned the content on each of the three screens.

  “Andy Sanford began life as a systems analyst…”

  Jordan motioned for him to follow her into the hall, “It’s cooler out here...” she said, wanting to let Catherine have the room to herself so she could concentrate, “Can you tell me who found the body?”

  “A friend came by yesterday morning… an ex-boyfriend. He called it in around eleven.”

  “An ex?”

  “An amicable ex,” he shrugged, “he was pretty freaked out.”

  “I saw the photos.” Jordan folded her arms across her chest, “Murder by garrote is always gross…” She shook her head in sympathy, Andrew Sanford had died painfully; the wire his killer wound around his neck sliced into his flesh, arteries and esophagus. It would have hurt like hell but it would have been over a lot quicker than the death he gave Nancy. She shrugged inwardly, If this was Dudley/Schmidt too. The pictures taken of the body lying on the carpeted office floor where Catherine now worked showed a moderately overweight Caucasian male lying on his back in the middle of the computer-crowded room. His blood soaked t-shirt had been ripped down the front and the word FAGGOT carved sideways on his body. The first letter was cut into soft belly flesh just above the navel and the final letter, the T, was carved between sagging fleshy male breasts. Andy Sanford’s face had purpled in the struggle to breathe and his swollen tongue extended from his mouth. Seeing all that blood would have been bad enough, but if his ex saw his eyes… those eyes’ll haunt him for a long time. Andy Sanford had died with his eyes open wide in terror and agony and bulging from their sockets.

  “Anyway,” Brady continued, “as I was saying, according to his friend; he started out as a systems analyst. He was successful but he developed an online gambling problem and soon found himself doing hacker favors for people he owed money to.”

  Jordan brows arched, “Really? RICO charges?”

  “No,” he scoffed, “nothing that big, but he got caught, he got probation and as soon as he was allowed to have a computer again he became a hedge fund manager.” He copied Jordan as he spoke, folding his arms across his chest, “Now this was five years ago, apparently he was pretty smart, and when he started betting against the subprime industry in 2008 he made himself a massive profit.”

  She was listening, but she was watching Catherine when she finally sat down in front of Sanford’s keyboard. “How massive?”

  “Seventy billion dollars.”

  Jordan started then shook her head, “That’s Billion with a B?”

  “Yes.”

  Her jaw dropped and she stared at him, incredulous, “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  Brady shrugged, “As I understand it there were quite a few people like Sanford who made a killing and a half on that sub-prime thing.”

  “Okay, but seventy billion.” Jordan shook her head, astounded.

  “And he was considered a minor player.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Oh I wish I was, Agent Hawkins.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure he had that much?”

  “All the financial reports I’ve managed to view so far substantiate it… He bought this place and tricked it out with some awesome electronics and he has some really nice cars out in his three-car garage… but he was quite reclusive and almost never went out. His ex said he bought everything online and had it delivered; groceries, whatever… even his cars.”

  “Holy crap…” Jordan muttered and Agent Brady finally smiled,

  “Tell me about it. The ex had his own key and said he always let himself in and when he heard thumping he called to Sanford and found him here. The cops found the backdoor open, so maybe the thumping was his killer slamming out the back way.”

  Catherine barely heard them as she worked, letting her fingers fly over the keyboard as she looked deep into Andy Sanford’s hard drives. The murderer had hacked into many of Andy’s offshore and Swiss bank accounts and was in the process of stealing one hundred million dollars in ten million dollar increments when he was interrupted. Where were you trying to send Mister Sanford’s money? Catherine followed the digital trail and found the simultaneous transactions had not been completed, Mister Sanford’s ex came in the door and you bolted, didn’t you? She stared hard at the screen; Oh my, Mister Schmidt… your codes are showing. She absently ran the pads on her fingertips over the keyboard; I’ll bet this is code Nancy wrote for you when you hacked Wall Street… Her eyes narrowed; Do you write code too, Herr Schmidt? Or did Nancy write all your code and you simply used it as your own, like Alex used my programs to... She blinked abruptly and sat up.

  “So we’re really hoping the murderer heard him come in, panicked, and ran out leaving fingerprints?” Jordan sounded hopeful but Brady shook his head,

  “No, our evidence unit found lots of smudging, like latex gloves were worn. They may come up with something when all is said and done. But so far… we got nothing.”

  “Oh no…” Catherine turned to them, pointing to the center monitor, “you have a lot more than that.” Jordan and Agent Brady stepped back into the room and she turned back to the screen, “The code used here was injected yesterday, beginning at ten forty-six.” She clicked up a window filled with lines of code, “The murderer hacked Sanford’s database for user names and passwords in order to access the encrypted folders where he kept all his banking information…” She pointed at the screen, “He was in the process of stealing one hundred million dollars from Swiss and offshore accounts and transferring the funds to his own offshore accounts when he was likely interrupted…” Her voice faded abruptly and she paused, forcing her thoughts away from her own ex’s betrayal and painful memories. “None of the transactions were completed… and he left in such a hurry he didn’t purge the system or run any destructive programs to cover his tracks.”

  “And the name on the destination accounts?”

  Catherine smiled, “Grace Goodale.”

  “And who is that?” Brady asked.

  Jordan gave him a look, “An alias used by our murderer… We’re screwed on the offshore but you can contact Interpol and get them to freeze the Swiss accounts.�
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  “Doctor Bernard can you make me a list of those?”

  She turned to him briefly, “Sure.”

  Jordan leaned over her shoulder and peered at the screen, “So aside from him using Grace Goodale as an alias we don’t have proof it was Schmidt?”

  “Oh yes, we do,” Catherine pointed at the screen, “this code will act like a fingerprint. Remember when I told you about encryption codes?” Jordan looked at her in bemusement. “When we talked about prime and semi-prime numbers?”

  Jordan’s face colored, “Yes...” she flashed her a private, feral grin.

  “He probably plugged in a flash drive loaded with his program to auto run when it’s connected to a non-home device… He downloaded his code to hack the victim’s bank accounts, but he was interrupted before he could complete his transactions and delete, or cover his tracks… So his code is still in here.”

  Jordan arched her brows, “And…”

  “So when you find Mister Schmidt and his programs, I’ll have to run a comparison but I’ll bet this code will match his so you can link him, inextricably, to this murder.”

  “Want to read a book, or watch a video?”

  Cameron watched his mother’s hands forming the signs and signed back, “Dog Book.”

  “Okay…” Catherine said aloud, tapping open the library on her tablet, “Favorite book about doggies… comin’ up.”

  Jordan finished buckling his seatbelt then sat back in her own seat, waiting for a moment when no one on the plane was looking her way so she could slide her paddle holster around to the small of her back, By the time we get back my jacket’s going look like a wrinkled accordion… She clicked her seatbelt into place, stifling a yawn. After Catherine finished uploading the entire digital contents of Andrew Sanford’s collection of networked servers, they picked up Cam from the bureau daycare center and Jordan drove them to the small local zoo where they had lunch and she and Catherine took turns taking pictures of each other holding Cameron up to see the animals. She watched Catherine as she watched her son expertly tap the book open at the beginning and gaze intently at the picture of the dog that filled the screen.

  Catherine could feel her eyes on her and she looked up, “What?”

  She shook her head and signed, “It was a mistake to bring you to the victim’s house, I’m sorry. I said no fieldwork for you…”

  “It was not a mistake,” Catherine kept her signs small but she still signed emphatically, “I just didn’t anticipate the blood stains…”

  “If you have nightmares I will never forgive myself…”

  “I won’t, Jordan… please, I was just startled, really. We see worse things on TV all the time.” She held her hand out over Cameron’s head and Jordan took it,

  “Okay.” She said aloud, kissing the small palm and Catherine pulled her in for a quick kiss.

  “And Cameron and I had a very good mini-vacation, thank you.”

  Still gazing fixedly at his doggy picture book on Catherine’s tablet, Cameron agreed, “Good vacation, Jordan.”

  Winthrop, MA

  “Jason Wong?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Joseph,” he extended the bouquet of flowers he held; “I’ve come to extend an invitation from an anonymous group of hacktivists for an important upcoming event.” Joseph thought Jason looked like he was still in his twenties.

  Not taking the flowers, Jason shoved his hands in his pockets, “Uh, huh… and We Are Anonymous makes house calls to recruit new members?”

  He smiled, “Would you believe us if we sent you an email?”

  Jason snorted and shrugged, “Alright…” he stepped back, “come on in.”

  He handed him the bouquet and stepped inside the beautifully appointed home, “Nice place… settled in okay?”

  Jason left the flowers on a side table and closed the door, “Yes, it’s great. What else do you already know about me so we can save some time here?” He led him through the two-story brick Colonial home and into the back half and Joseph licked his lips, trying not to show his surprise at the stunning views of the harbor,

  “Nice view.”

  “I was lucky; I never even considered a waterfront property… I have my agent to thank for that.”

  “I am not from WAA; I am a member of a sub-group, we call ourselves Fawkes Frackers.”

  “I’ve heard of you.”

  “We are aware of your stunning success in the subprime market…”

  Jason sat on one of the couches facing the bank of windows that faced the harbor, “You’re kidding, you’re here looking for a donation?”

  “No.” Joseph took the seat opposite him, feeling less distracted having the stunning view at his back. “We are aware of your many unique talents, only one of which was the killing you made in the market a few years ago.” He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and relaxed, crossing one leg over the other, “We are also aware that you have a prankster side to your online activities… and an awareness of social issues relating specifically to inequality.”

  “Okay,” Jason laced his fingers together behind his head, “you definitely have my interest peaked.”

  “Good.” Joseph tapped his phone and swiped his finger across the screen, “then all you have to do to accept our invitation…” He tapped the screen again and stood, holding his phone out to him, “is send an instant message to this address for access to a private chat room.”

  He took the phone and stood, “Just like that?” He snorted in disbelief, “I log on in a chat room and I’m in Fawkes Frackers?”

  “No.” Joseph shook his head, “We are currently extending only limited membership for one particular event we think you could contribute to. Full membership will only be considered after completion.” He pointed at his phone, “All the information you need to help you decide will be provided during the chat.”

  “Okay,” he gestured to a beautiful oak desk that held only a lamp and a laptop, “let me boot up…”

  Joseph followed him, “Is that all you have?” He sounded incredulous, “Just the one laptop?”

  “No,” he snorted, “I have a home office upstairs, but this is networked into it, I didn’t want to junk up this room.” He set Joseph’s phone down next to the laptop he powered on and turned to him, “Want a beer? I got some Space Barley; it’s made from barley grown on the International Space Station.”

  “What?” Joseph blinked, “Uh, wow… no thanks, I just dropped in on you, you’re probably expecting company or something. I’ll just wait till you get through then I’ll go.”

  “Nah,” he crossed the room to a bar area and opening a refrigerator set in the wall, withdrew two beer bottles, “it’s okay, I’m only expecting family and that’s not for a couple days.” He passed him a bottle as he walked back to his laptop, “Have one.”

  “Okay.” Joseph took the bottle and twisted off the cap. He followed Jason back to his desk and stood between it and the panoramic window. He gazed out at the boats, wanting to indicate he was affording him all the privacy needed to enter the password to unlock his laptop and log on.

  “Okay…” Jason said in a quiet voice, concentrating as he quickly created a new email account for safety and sent an IM to the email address on Joseph’s phone, “and what do I say?”

  “Enter your name, first and last…” While he spoke, Joseph walked back around the desk and placed his beer quietly on an end table. “Then enter these words; what good fortune for governments that the people do not think.” He slid a hand into his jacket pocket and froze when Jason turned in his seat to look at him,

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” he nodded, feeling sweat beginning to bead on his upper lip, “really.”

  Jason shrugged, “Okay…” He began typing and Joseph quickly pulled two latex gloves from his jacket pocket and pulled them on his hands,

  “What good fortune…” he repeated as he pulled the garrote from his other pocket, “for governments that the people do not think.”


  “Well,” Jason finished typing and hit the enter key, “that’s intense, who said that?”

  In one smooth movement, Joseph stretched the wire taut between his hands and quickly stepped behind him, murmuring, “Adolph Hitler.” He quickly dropped the wire in front of Jason’s face and crossing his hands behind him, pulled as hard as he could, closing the wire tight around his neck.

  Jason reacted instantly, he was unable to comprehend what exactly was happening to him but he reacted violently nonetheless and braced both his sneakered feet against the edge of the heavy desk and kicked with all this might. Joseph grunted aloud and fell backward, nearly losing his grip on the handles of the garrote. Jason and his swivel chair landed on top of him and he pulled the ligature even tighter, not bothering to get out from under the dying man until he felt blood soak his shirt.

  Grunting aloud with effort, he rolled Jason’s chair, still supporting his limp form, off to the side and relaxed his hands. Panting, he struggled onto his knees and shoving Jason's body face down on the carpet, again took hold of the wooden handles. Kneeling on the man’s narrow back, he crossed his hands and tightened the deeply imbedded wire again, his eyes squeezing closed with effort until he felt and heard the wire sever Jason Wong's windpipe with a soft popping noise. “Ah!” he snorted in relief. “Sinewy little Jap motherfucker…”

  PART 2

  Terror

  Winthrop, MA

  Hearing and feeling Jason die beneath him left Schmidt with a growing erection in his pants and leaving the garrote around Jason’s neck, he sat up on his knees so he could pull off the bloody latex gloves, careful not to pull them inside out. Discarding them for the moment on the floor, he pulled another pair from his pocket and pulled them on his hands before fishing a condom from his back jeans pocket.

  “Here’s a little gift for you, Jason.”

  He snorted in amusement, “Stupid fuck...” He jerked the dead man’s pants down past his buttocks then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, “As soon as I’m in charge I’m having all you idiot hacktivists hunted down…” He pushed his jeans and underwear down and suddenly stopped. Gazing admiringly at his stiff member he said, “It really is my time, this time.” He rolled the condom onto his erection, “And I’m going to take my time… and purge my bloodlust so I can concentrate on more important matters.”