Some Degree of Murder

Wednesday, April 21 st 1319 hrs Special Services Unit

TOWER

“What can you do with it?” I asked Adam.

He looked at the number I handed him, his brow furrowing. “Well, first off, it’s a cell phone. That’s the bad news. The good news is that maybe it’s in our records somewhere.”

I frowned. “That’d be great, but…”

“All it takes is for the owner to have ever given it just once to any cop in the county and it’ll be in here.”

“Like I said, it’d be great, but…”

“Huh. No record found.” Adam glanced up at me. “That’s all right. We’ll just have to get into some technical wizardry.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Adam typed furiously at his keyboard. I looked around the small room. Tucked away in the basement of the police station, the Special Services Unit had all the gadgetry necessary to run a modern day police department. Surveillance, video recovery, computer encryption, you name it. Adam was a police officer for four years, but when this civilian position came open, he resigned from RCPD and took the job. Rumor was that he made even more than top rate patrol pay. He was probably worth it, too, though I knew that most of the time his work consisted of trying to clean up video surveillance tapes from convenience store robberies or department store shoplifters. It was a waste of talent.

“The key is going to be keeping him talking,” Adam told me, sliding across the room in his chair to a small bank of equipment that I didn’t recognize.

“Huh?”

“Whoever answers the phone. You have to keep them talking as long as possible.”

I watched him flip a couple of switches and make adjustments to the equipment. It reminded me of the engine room in the old Star Trek series. “I see.”

Adam looked over at me. “No, you don’t.”

“You’re right, I don’t. How are you going to trace a cell phone?”

Adam smiled and slid back over to the computer. “All cell phones operate off of cell towers. I can narrow down which tower in about ten seconds.”

“That fast?”

He nodded. “That’s the easy part. Each tower covers a certain geographical area. I establish that as my search region, then use the other cell towers to begin to triangulate the location of the cell signal.” He pointed to a separate screen. “Then I just overlay the signal result onto a satellite map of the area that’s in the same resolution and I can give you the address the call is coming from. As long as he’s not mobile, anyway.”

“How long does that take?”

“A minute. Maybe longer.”

“I don’t know if I can keep him talking for a minute.”

“You don’t know for sure it’s his number, though, right? I mean, it’s not listed to him or to anyone in our records. It’d take you weeks and a subpoena to figure out which cell company the number belongs to.”

“Don’t offer an encouraging word or anything, Adam.”

“Let me ask you something. For your case, does it matter how you locate the guy?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is how you found him ever going to get into court?”

“I don’t think so. Not as a material issue, anyway. Why?”

Adam took a deep breath and leaned forward. “If it isn’t an issue, I can hook us up with some help on this triangulation. But it can’t be known to anyone else.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just promise me that this issue will never come up,”

“I promise. We found him with your equipment. Nothing more. Or would an anonymous tip be better?”

“No. Just no mention of anything beyond my civilian-made police equipment.”

Adam went to work, typing furiously again. After a few moments, he picked up a cell phone and dialed, then resumed typing.

“Grant?” he said. “Adam. Go secure.”

Adam stopped typing briefly, bringing his cell phone from his ear and pressing a button.

He put the phone back to his year and resumed hitting keys. “Back? Okay, good. Listen, I’d like to run a triangulation test. Yeah, homeland security cooperation. Can you give me your towers?” He glanced over at me and nodded. “Good. Okay, I got ya. Seven minute window. Thanks, Grant.”

Adam hung up. “Are you ready to violate the Patriot Act?”

“Don’t say that.”

He grinned and handed me his phone, then hit a few more keys on the keyboard. “Go ahead and dial the number but don’t hit send. We have to wait for the connection to go green — oh, there it is. Never mind, go ahead and dial.”

I dialed the number and hit send. I could hear the digital ring in my ear.

“Yeah?”

It didn’t sound like Rowdy, but I didn’t take any chances. “Hi. I was calling about the Harley?”

“Harley? Oh, Rowdy’s bike. Yeah. Well, I’m not sure where he’s at. You want me to take your number or sumpin’?”

Adam made stretching motions to me with his hands and pointed to his watch.

“Well, sure,” I said, “but maybe you can tell me something about the bike.”

“Whattaya want to know?”

“It looked like it was in good shape.”

“I s’pose so.”

“What’s he asking for it?”

“I think all he said was best offer.”

“Well,” I said, “that doesn’t help out much.”

“Sorry.”

Adam nodded and tapped his watch.

“It’s just that if a guy’s going to sell a motorcycle, you think he’d have an idea what he wants for it. Maybe a starting place or something.”

“Don’t know what to tell ya. Say ten grand for starters, how’s that?”

“Steep,” I said.

“No shit,” he said. “You know hogs?”

“Not really.”

“You just some yuppie wanting to look like the guy in the commercial, then?”

“I just want to get out and ride. And I want to buy American.”

“All right, man. You can’t go wrong with a Harley. Best motorcycle ever made.”

“You own one?”

“’Course. Mine’s a little older than Rowdy’s, but he’s got connections.”

“Connections?”

“Never mind. You want to test drive the hog?”

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

“Awright, well, I’m busy today, but I can meet you tomorrow. Say around two?”

“Okay. Where?”

“At his mom’s house, man. Where the hog is. Where the hell did you think?”

Adam tapped his watch furiously and made fevered stretching motions with his hands.

“Yeah, of course. I’m just excited. It’s my first motorcycle. Hey, what’s your name?”

“Brian.”

“Brian, I’m John. I have a question for you.”

“What? Hurry up, though, my show’s coming on.”

“Do I need a helmet?”

“Yeah. Unless you like hundred dollar tickets from the cops.”

“No, I know it’s the law and all. I just meant tomorrow. Do I need a helmet for a test ride?”

Adam’s face broke into a huge smile and he flashed me a thumbs up sign. “Got him,” he mouthed.

“I’ll bring mine over,” Brian said. “You can use it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Yeah. Anyway, gotta go. My show’s on.”

He hung up.

I handed the phone back to Adam, whose entire face was one giant grin. He handed me the address he’d written down. “We got him. Do you know how awesome that is?”

“Thanks,” I told him.

“Thanks? John, this was an awesome feat of technology.”

“Awesome and illegal,” I reminded him, clapping him on the shoulder as I left the room.