Direct evidence, p.23
Direct Evidence, page 23
Why didn’t you shake his hand, Chase? Why didn’t you try to use your ‘voodoo’ on him?
Chase tried to push this thought from her mind, but it refused to go away.
You could go to the morgue, examine Jake Hollister’s body. Maybe that will give you some clues.
But over time, over the past six months or so, Chase had become increasingly skeptical of her special skill. It had become unreliable and sporadic. Had she gotten a read on Tate when they were naked, their bodies intertwined?
No.
Something must have shown on her face because Stu suddenly grew defensive.
“I’m sorry, Chase. I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t working hard enough. I know you’re doing all you can. It’s just—“
Chase stopped the man’s apology by shaking her head.
My voodoo…
The word, not the skill, had given her an idea.
Stu was wrong, she wasn’t doing all she could.
“You know what? Give me a sec,” Chase said, backing out of the room. She walked down a long hallway adorned with oil paintings that looked expensive. When she could no longer hear Will and Tate, she pulled her phone out and scrolled through her contacts.
At the very last moment, she felt her nerve waning.
How long has it been since I’ve spoken to him? She wondered. Six months? A year? And now you’re calling to ask a favor…
Deep down, she knew he would answer, knew that he would drop everything and take her call. And he would help, too, because that’s what he did.
The issue was that, once again, Chase felt guilty. After all, Tate wasn’t the first partner that she’d slept with.
“Fuck it,” she whispered and clicked send.
As predicted, FBI Special Agent Jeremy Stitts answered before the first ring had finished.
Chapter 53
“Nothing,” Tate grumbled as he leaned away from Will Porter and the computer. Happy Valley had an exhaustive list of current employees, complete with headshots, but no one came close to matching the man who had accosted both Stu and Jake, teeth or no teeth. For a significant fee and a promise to scour the Internet, they’d gone ahead and commissioned Happy Valley to run facial recognition on the man, which required signing about a half dozen disclaimers and legal agreements that not even Will read. But this would take time, and, for the moment, it left them exactly where they’d started.
Tate’s frustration, not just with this case but compounded by his issues back home, had left him anxious. So much so, that he even debated utilizing FBI resources to aid in their search. He could log into a remote server and run the man’s image through the FBI’s mugshot database, which included images that Happy Valley probably wouldn’t have access to. The only thing that stopped him was something that Floyd had said earlier. When Tate had initially heard about Chase’s affluent ‘friend’ being charged with murder, his thoughts had been twofold: payday and no way. The former still looked accurate but the latter? Guilty or not, if tried today, Tate wouldn’t bet on Stu coming out a free man. Which meant that Floyd was right. The unofficial involvement of two current and one ex-FBI Agent on this case wasn’t a good look. Tapping FBI resources to help said man would make for a PR nightmare.
Tate sighed and toyed with his mustache with his thumb and forefinger.
The longer they went without making any real progress, the more singular his goal became: money. It felt dirty. It felt wrong. But that was the truth, and the truth had a strange way of avoiding Tate Abernathy.
And as uncomfortable as it would be to ask Stu for money even though his contribution, any of theirs, really, including the harem of lawyers, Tate would swallow his pride and do it. Because he didn’t want to take another one of Marco’s devastating punches to the stomach. Because he needed to keep Rachel comfortable.
“I’ll tell you what, Stu,” Tate began quietly. He glanced at Floyd, but the man was lost in another world, and he doubted that with the ear buds in, the man would be able to hear anything. He knew that Chase wouldn’t care, knew from the stories about her that she was more concerned with finding out the truth than her own wellbeing, but even if she’d been a stickler for the rules like Floyd, she’d since left the room.
“Yeah?”
“If Happy Valley comes up empty, I’ll access the FBI servers, see if I can get a hit there.”
Stu gave him an approving nod.
Was that a ten-thousand-dollar nod? Tate couldn’t help but wonder. Or a, ‘thanks, bro’ and a slap on the back nod?
The man had stated that money wasn’t an issue, and if it were Tate in his shoes, then all of his personal wealth was a fair exchange for staying out of prison for the rest of his life and/or avoiding the needle.
Tate immediately scoffed at this idea.
Personal wealth? What personal wealth?
“You okay?” Stu asked and Tate realized that the man was still staring at him. He must have looked like a lunatic having an entire conversation in his head, complete with scoffs, frowns, chuckles, what have you.
“I’m fine,” Tate said, now observing Stu the way the man had been eyeing him. This was the moment, he knew. “Actually, you know what? There is one thing that I wanted to talk to you about.”
Stu straightened, his posture becoming professional. He knew what was coming and he didn’t shy away from it.
Was that a good sign? Or was this just the start of a negotiation?
“Sure, why don’t we go—“
“I think—I think I’ve found s-something,” Floyd suddenly exclaimed as he tore off his headgear.
Tate winced at the intrusion and then felt bad for his reaction. To make up for it, he hurried to Floyd’s side.
“What is it? What did you find?”
Now, it was him being professional. Well, as professional as Tate could muster.
Floyd smiled broadly.
“I think I know what our g-g-guy was after.”
Chapter 54
“Is Floyd okay?” Jeremy Stitts asked.
Chase was taken aback by the question—and a little hurt. After so long, the man’s first question wasn’t about her but Floyd?
“He’s fine,” she said sharply.
“Are you—“
“Fine, too,” Chase replied preemptively.
Stitts exhaled audibly and Chase was suddenly at a loss for how to continue.
How are you or how have you been or any other facsimile, would come off as disingenuous or, worse, trite. Yet, Chase also knew that Stitts wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. His opening line—Is Floyd okay?—was already more than she’d expected without prompting. Stitts… the master of uncomfortable silences.
She eventually settled on, “How’s the leg?”
“Peachy. Running a marathon this weekend.”
“Yeah? Is Piper running with you?”
Stitts chuckled.
“Are you kidding me? That dog is the laziest thing on earth. Barely wants to lift his leg to take a piss.”
“Well, he is officially retired, so can you blame him?”
Another laugh from Stitts and Chase joined in. Their relationship had never revolved around humor, but it wasn’t until this moment that she realized how much she’d missed her ex-partner, laugh or no laugh. They’d been through a lot, more than most, high and low times—he’d taken a bullet for her, and they’d had sex, both of which had contributed to Stitts moving on.
“What about you?” Stitts said and it took a moment for Chase to realize what he was asking.
“Me? I’m not exactly retired,” she said, trying not to come off as too serious. “More like taking an indefinite hiatus.”
“Right,” Stitts said, and Chase was happy to still hear joviality in his voice. “So, you were calling to see how my leg is doing?”
“Yeah… aaaaand now that I have you on the phone, I wonder if I can pick your brain on something—purely for research purposes and purely hypothetical, of course.”
“Purely and 100% bullshit, you mean. But I aim to serve. This wouldn’t, pray tell, have anything to do with a criminal profile, would it?” Chase started to answer, but Stitts wasn’t done yet. “Particularly one involving a handsome man in his sixties who is charged with murder and two off-duty FBI Agents lending a hand?”
Chase balked.
“What? How did you know?” Stitts didn’t answer—not that she’d expected one. “Right, you’re a profiler. But, like I said, this is purely hypothetical.”
“Well, to be honest, Chase, I expected this call from Floyd, not you.”
Chase grinned.
“But you did expect it, meaning you’re familiar with this absolutely fictional scenario?”
A short pause.
“Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll slap some criminal psychology 101 to your words? That work?”
“Perfect.” Chase agreed and then told Stitts about the elaborate lengths that their unsub had gone to, to frame Stu. When she was done, Stitts didn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds. Chase knew that the man was thinking and didn’t interrupt his train of thought.
“A plan that elaborate, that orchestrated, is indicative of deep-rooted resentment. To kill someone is one thing, to kill someone and plan to frame another is something else.”
“Who’s the main target here?”
“Both. Jake—uhh, I mean, Joe and Steve. You said that their interactions with the unsub were limited?”
“With Steve, for sure, maybe just one visit,” Chase confirmed, keeping with the alliterative fake names. “Not sure about Joe, but we think that their interactions were minimal, as well.”
“Well, this crime doesn’t strike me as a, ‘he didn’t say thank you after I held the door for the man,’ type of slight. This is something bigger. What you’ve described is classic, paranoid-schizoid behavior. That, coupled with the highly sophisticated frame job, makes me think that this wasn’t your guy’s first kick at the can.”
Chase raised an eyebrow. They’d been so focused on Jake and Stu that they hadn’t considered this possibility before.
“You think he’s killed before?”
“I don’t know—maybe. I’m no expert when it comes to the tech world, but what I do know is that some of these guys are on the spectrum, and often morality gets pushed to the side in favor of productivity and profits. Someone with the characteristics we described might take this too far, too literally.”
“Sounds like pretty much every industry.”
“Yeah, no kidding. But tech is unique. If this guy has committed a similar crime in the past, I suspect it’ll also be tech-related,” Stitts suggested.
Chase exhaled loudly.
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re pretty good at this profiling thing?”
“Naw, just a hobby. But there is one more thing, Chase. If I’m right about this profile, then you need to be aware that these paranoid schizophrenics often jump from one idea to another, fixating on a certain industry or idea… or person.”
There it was, Stitts being Stitts—trying to protect her from everything, even hypothetical unsubs who had no idea who she even was.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll be careful. Always am. What about you? Seeing as you’re so good at this profiling thing, maybe you should think about becoming a field agent, you know? Hunting down bad guys. Ever thought of that?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what the FBI needs. A gimpy man in his forties and his lazy-ass canine chasing America’s Most Wanted.”
“What about an ex-heroin addict with zero regards for rules and a wanton penchant for self-destruction?”
Chase’s words hung in the air, seeming to cling to the invisible threads that linked their phones across state lines. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, nor did Chase perceive it as one designed by the man on the other end to get her to talk more, to extract information from her. It was just the natural comfort of two old friends and one-time lovers enjoying their company, even at a distance.
“I miss you, Chase,” Stitts said suddenly.
“I miss you, too.”
And now the silence was uncomfortable.
Does he want me to say I want him back? Wait… want him back? Are we talking partners again? Partners…
Chase could think of two distinct meanings.
She chewed her bottom lip.
“When I’m in town, do you want to—“
Tate suddenly busted into the hallway, his face red.
“Floyd found something—Chase, you’re going to want to hear this.”
“Is that… is that Agent Abernathy?” Stitts asked.
Chase nodded at Tate.
“I’m sorry, Stitts, I have to go,” she said, ignoring the man’s question. “Thanks for your help.”
She hung up and followed Floyd back into the kitchen.
“What is it?” Chase asked, thoughts about partners of any capacity long since gone from her mind. “What did you find?”
Chapter 55
“Cerberus,” Floyd said with a little flair.
He didn’t get the response he obviously wanted.
“The fuck is that?” Tate blurted. He looked to Chase who just shrugged.
“In the video, Jake says,” Floyd continued, “There was no code. Cerberus isn’t about code—never was. It’s about you!”
Still not the reaction he expected.
“What?” Tate balked. “What the fuck is Cerberus?”
It was Stu who answered.
“Cerberus is Hades' pet dog—three-headed dog, to be more specific.” Everyone waited for Stu to elaborate, and eventually, he said, “You guys skip Greek mythology or what?”
“Wasn’t high on the Academy’s required reading,” Tate replied.
Stu frowned but continued.
“Cerberus, the three-headed dog, is responsible for keeping souls that have been banished to hell from escaping. I think the dog was eventually slain by Hercules, but I could be wrong on that.”
“Cool lesson,” Tate said, clearly annoyed now. “But what does this have to do with Stu? Or Jake?”
Nobody had an answer.
Every time they uncovered something about this case, something that should be a great reveal, they got no closer to figuring out who was actually behind all of this.
“You didn’t happen to kick any mutant dogs recently, did you?” Tate asked Stu.
The question was ignored.
“What’s this about code?” Chase said.
“Cerberus isn’t about code—never was. It’s about you!” Floyd repeated. “Something like that, anyway.
Chase internalized this, then said, “I just spoke to a friend who has experience with profiling.”
Tate knew that she was referring to Stitts and wondered why she didn’t address him by name. He also noticed that while she was looking at everyone else in the room, she seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him.
“He doesn’t think that this is the first time that our unsub has done something like this.”
“Like what?” Stu asked, suddenly sounding concerned. “Framed someone? Or murdered someone?”
Chase shrugged.
“To be honest? Probably both. Will, do you think you can search for any connection between Cerberus and recent accidents or deaths? Maybe something also related to computer programming?”
Will looked skeptical, a sentiment shared by Tate—it was a broad task to say the least—but the lawyer addressed the computer without complaint. They all waited, to his obvious discomfort, for him to look through the first few Google search results.
“I dunno,” he said, sounding dejected. “Lots of stuff here about Hades, and death, but… I mean, I can keep looking but I… I…”
“Waste of time,” Tate mumbled. “What about the Happy Valley face recognition search? Can you add Cerberus to the parameters, or whatever?”
Again, Will nodded and his fingers clacked away at the laptop.
“Done,” he said after just a few moments. “I think. I added an additional search, just so—“ he was interrupted by the sound of an incoming email. The man’s eyebrows lifted as he looked at the screen. “Shit, they found something already. Two things, actually. Hold on.” Tate, Floyd, Chase, and Stu moved to get a better look. “Pinged right away. Happy Valley employees Jake Hollister and Isaac Lomax working on Cerberus, a new type of metaverse.”
Chase inhaled sharply.
“Isaac and Jake? Wait a second, if ‘C’ is Cerberus then that fucker lied to me.” Tate put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. “He knew all along what ‘C’ was. When was that article from?”
Will leaned into the computer.
“Three years, give or take.”
“Three years?” Chase shook her head. “The timeline is all messed up. Jake was supposedly selling this thing the night he died.”
Tate, worried that they were about to get sidetracked with the why when the who was most important, said, “What about the other thing? Did they find a match for our guy?”
Will cocked his head.
“Yeah… his face pinged from a newspaper article. Here it is: Randy Milligan, CEO programmer for PopTop Games found dead of an apparent suicide.”
Tate felt his heart rate quicken.
“Another software CEO dead? What else does it say?”
Will clicked the trackpad and then pulled both hands back from the laptop as if it had suddenly become hot.
“What’s wrong?” Chase asked.
“I dunno—the email. It’s gone.”
“What do you mean it’s gone?” Tate inquired.
Will replaced his hands on the keys and then moved around his inbox, before going to the trash, then the junk folders.
“It’s not here. I—what the hell? The email with the two hits was here and now it’s gone.”
Tate had seen the email with the two hits, but his mind had wandered when Will had mentioned the CEO.
