Killer Ambition

81

We all weighed in with our opinions about which way the jury was leaning. The unsurprising consensus was that most of them looked ready to acquit.

“I think there might be a few on our side, but they don’t look strong,” Bailey said.

Meaning, they’d be easily talked out of their inclination to convict by the others. I agreed.

“So, what do we do now?” Declan asked.

It was a fair question. Our rebuttal was largely over. The crime lab hadn’t come up with anything on Russell’s letters. The postmarks on the envelopes were authentic, and the letters didn’t appear forged. All of our hopes now rested on Parkova’s findings, which weren’t in yet. But I couldn’t just go back to the Biltmore and wait all weekend. I’d go crazy. I should go to the gym, but I wasn’t in the mood for that either. I knew what I wanted to do.

“I want to go watch Parkova.”

“Me too,” Bailey said.

“It’s unanimous,” added Declan.

We walked out into the early evening. The sun had painted rosy streaks through the clouds and the sky was just beginning to fade to indigo. I watched low shafts of sunlight grow on the horizon as the clouds retreated over the mountains to the east. I enjoyed the short walk to the Police Administration Building, knowing it was my last chance to breathe in the warm, smog-filled air for several hours. Then it occurred to me that most of us downtown dwellers had the lungs of dedicated smokers. The thought made me take shallow breaths until we were inside the building.

Parkova was hunched in front of Ian’s laptop, talking into her recorder in an accent so thick I could barely pick out three words. If we had to play that thing back to the jury, we’d need an interpreter. Parkova turned and took us in. “I have cheering section now?” She glared at us through her heavy glasses and noted Declan, our new addition, but showed no interest in him whatsoever.

“We’re just here to help,” Bailey said.

“You expect to be able to help, how?”

I shrugged. “We could bring you food, coffee…methamphetamine?”

“Just be quiet, is all I ask.” And with that, Parkova turned around and went back to work.

After an hour, the hollow feeling in my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten in a while. “I’m going to raid the vending machines. Anybody want anything?” I gestured to the half-eaten PayDay next to the laptop. “Another PayDay?”

“Yes,” Parkova said without looking up. “And a Coke. Not diet.”

Bailey asked for Doritos-a personal favorite of mine also-and Declan asked for an apple.

“An apple?” I was incredulous. “Really?”

Declan laughed. “It’s Speedo weather and my homies are not forgiving.”

“Don’t even think of asking me for sympathy.” I gestured to his slender, perfect-looking body.

When I returned with provisions-and Declan’s sad little apple-I settled in and watched for a while. But there wasn’t much to see, unless you find watching someone type, swear at the computer (that part of her English vocabulary was rich and varied), and scowl an intriguing sight. For the next four hours Parkova worked while we kept whispers to a minimum. I made notes on my closing argument and tried not to think about how this case was likely to end. On occasion, one of us would nod off.

At ten o’clock, Parkova spoke her first non-swear words. “Hah! I knew it. There.”

I sat up, rolled my head to unkink my neck, and rubbed my face to get circulation going. “What? There…what?”

“Original e-mail.”

I couldn’t process that. “What are you talking about?”

Parkova turned around in her chair to face us and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I found MITM attack. This Ian set up so he intercepts Russell’s e-mails-”

“So all of Russell’s e-mails go through Ian’s server first? He can see everything Russell gets?” Declan asked.

“Correct.”

“How on earth did he do that?” I asked.

“Probably bribed engineer at data center. Put Russell’s server behind his, put his server closer to router. Everything Russell’s server gets, it has to go through Ian’s before it reaches router. Clear?”

Not really, but I didn’t care at the moment, so I lied. “Clear. Go on.”

“Once e-mails go to Ian’s computer, he has choice. He can stop it, change it, let it through. Whatever he wants. So I look at ransom e-mail from kidnapper. I can see it comes from computer. It goes into Russell’s server, goes to Ian’s computer, then…changes. E-mail that goes to Russell is different.” Parkova paused and looked at me for recognition. “You get it?”

“I-maybe,” I said. “The e-mail got changed…?”

Parkova nodded impatiently. “E-mail originally sent out to Russell is not e-mail Russell got. E-mail changes after it goes to Ian’s server.”

“Changes how?” Bailey asked.

Parkova quickly scrolled through Russell’s phone, then held it out. “Here is e-mail on Russell’s phone. One you give me.”

We read the ransom demand and the description of where to drop the money in Fryman Canyon-the e-mail we all knew about.

Then Parkova turned the laptop so we could see it. “But that was not original. Not e-mail that was sent. Here is original e-mail.”

My heart began to pound as I read the original ransom note.

We don’t want money. All we want is for you to make a DVD admitting that you stole Tommy Maher’s screenplay for “Wonderland Warriors.” Bring it to God’s Seat on Boney Mountain at 7:30. If you do not comply within twenty-four hours, we will tell every media outlet about what you and Ian Powers did to Brittany Caren.

“Here is e-mail you have.” Parkova showed us the e-mail on Russell’s phone. The one we’d presented in court:

One million dollars in cash in a duffel bag. Go to Fryman Canyon. Take the small path on the left for fifty yards, then turn right. Walk until you see two trees with white string tied around the trunks. Leave the bag between them. Go home and wait for the call. If you bring in the police, Hayley’s dead.

Bailey and I turned from the screen and stared at each other for a long minute. The “original” e-mail had raised so many questions I didn’t know which one to ask first.

“So did the original e-mail get altered before it reached Russell?” I asked.

“Yes. Has to be.” Parkova pointed to Ian’s laptop. “E-mail you see on this computer”-she then pointed to Russell’s phone-“is not e-mail received here on this phone.”

“So Ian Powers altered the e-mail before it got to Russell?” I asked.

“I cannot tell you who did it. I can say only someone who has access to Ian’s server, or his computer. But correct-it was changed before Russell got it.”

Someone with access to Ian’s computer. Who besides Ian himself? No one we knew of. We’d found it locked in his desk drawer. And who else would’ve had the opportunity? Or, more important, the motive? No one. I said as much to Bailey.

“No, you’re right. It’s gotta be Ian,” Bailey said. “So, at least now we know why everyone wound up on Boney Mountain-”

“Yeah, but Brittany Caren?” Declan asked. “How does she fit in?”

I said, “Well, Ian obviously knows-”

“And so would Russell,” Bailey said. “The original ransom note says ‘you and Ian’-meaning Russell-”

“Right,” I said. “Something both Russell and Ian did ‘to’ Brittany.”

“What the hell would they have done to her?” Bailey said.

“That is the question. But whatever they did, it’s got to be ugly, or Hayley and Brian wouldn’t have used it. We need to find Brittany, like, yesterday. You said she was MIA?”

Bailey nodded. “She had that big blowout on the set and took off before Hayley turned up dead. Problem is, if she’s at the heart of this thing, then Ian Powers may’ve had something to do with her vanishing act.”

“And if so, any move we make in her direction is only going to cue his people to push her further away,” I said.

“Assuming she’s still alive,” Declan said.

We all fell silent. I turned the question over in my mind, looking at it from all the angles.

“I’d bet she’s alive,” I said. “Ian can’t afford to have any more bodies land on his doorstep. Not this soon. Besides, whatever it is she knows, she’s kept it quiet this long. So there’s no pressing reason to make a move that risky at a time like this. But the question is, how do we find Brittany?”

We didn’t have much time to hunt her down. And I couldn’t think of anyone we could tap to help us. I remembered how cagey and uncooperative Brittany’s mother had been. Was she in on whatever this was? Or was she just being an obnoxiously jealous gatekeeper? One thing was certain, though: she was tight with Russell, and that meant she was tight with Ian. We couldn’t take a chance on asking her for help. We had to find Brittany, but we had only seventy-two hours left and no leads. I stood up and began to pace. For a change, Bailey was too distracted to give me any grief.

There was an old desktop computer in the office they’d requisitioned for Parkova, and while we’d been talking, she’d started it up. The home page had a banner that flashed the news of the day, and the story on the top right was a wrap-up of the trial. I stopped to look at it.

“Kind of amazing how much coverage-” Declan began.

The news story…I had an idea. I quickly pulled out my cell phone, found the number I was looking for, and made the call. This had to work. It had to. I crossed my fingers. “Please pick up,” I silently prayed.

“Well! Ms. Knight. What an unexpected pleasure.” The British accent of tabloid reporter Andrew Chatham was music to my ears.

“As I recall, you said you could be useful,” I said.

“And I was, was I not?”

“You were. But this time is for the big money.” I took a deep breath. “I need to find Brittany Caren, ASAP.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you that. Can you find her within the next seventy-two hours?”

“Well…yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

Success. I couldn’t believe it. My heart soared. But the calm, absolute certainty in his voice made me curious. “How? No one’s that good.”

“First of all, I am that good, and second of all, because I already know where she is. So, as your people say, ‘What’s in it for me?’”

“I’ll owe you one?”

Andrew was silent for a moment. “Very well. I believe you’re honorable.”

Wow. I just got called honorable by a tabloid reporter. What a great day.