False Front (11 page)

Initially, the sheriff balked and peered at them through suspicious, slitted eyes. He was not the stereotypical sheriff with a pot belly and swaying jowls. He carried his six-foot-three height on a thin frame. His chin jutted out firm and solid without a trace of middle-aged slackness. The two men assured him that Jake was not on the scene in any official capacity. Eventually, a wary but more relaxed sheriff opened up about Dylan’s death.

‘I do want a resolution here. If Seth doesn’t let go of this, the county will be forced to bury him with the unclaimed bodies. I don’t want to do that to the family. It just doesn’t seem right. But I can’t make Seth budge.’

‘What makes you certain it’s a suicide?’ Jake asked.

‘Let’s start with the gun. It’s a pearl-handled ladies’ pistol – the same one Martha’s father gave her for her sixteenth birthday.’

Jake looked at both their faces. ‘He gave his daughter a pistol for her sweet sixteenth?’

The sheriff chuckled. ‘Oh yeah, ol’ hanging Fred Clooney. He was a judge in criminal court. No defense attorney ever wanted to be in front of his bench. He was as tough as beef jerky left out in the sun. Why, he even wore a gunslinger’s holster with a pair of six-shooters under his robe. Don’t make ’em like that anymore.’

‘What about fingerprints on the weapon?’

‘Nobody’d wiped off that gun like they were trying to hide anything. Most the fingerprints belonged to Dylan. The other couple of prints we found matched Seth and Martha. It seems to me like they’re the only folks that coulda killed the boy if he didn’t kill himself.’

‘What about the truck he died in? What did you find there?’ Jake asked.

‘Nothing you wouldn’t expect. It was messy. Blood spatter, pools of blood. But it was only one person’s blood and it all belonged to Dylan. No signs of a struggle. Lots of full and partial fingerprints on the dash and the door panels – some identifiable, some not. And before you ask, we did check that boy Todd’s prints – not one matched.’

‘Did he have an arrest record?’

‘Nah. His parents gave us permission to print him.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. His father’s one of my deputies – not like he could say no.’

‘I’d like to talk to the boy.’

The sheriff cocked his head sideways. ‘I don’t know. I told Deputy Childress that there wouldn’t be any problems.’

‘Sheriff, the boy knew Dylan. He can give me some perspective on the boy – help me deal with the family.’

‘Let me think on it.’

Jake nodded. ‘Did you do any interviews after his death?’

‘Quite a few. Talked to a lot of kids at the school – but it didn’t seem like he had any real friends. He was a loner. Lately, they said, he’d withdrawn even more. One kid told me that Dylan fretted a lot about the end of the world. He seemed to think the death of Osama bin Laden would herald the commencement of the final jihad that would annihilate the world. Pretty dark musings for a kid.’

‘So you think, psychologically, it all fits a suicide scenario?’

‘Not just my opinion – I talked to Dylan’s guidance counselor. She was very concerned that he might be clinically depressed. She recommended that the O’Haras take him to see a psychiatrist six months ago. She said that Martha seemed willing to try anything but Seth simply said it was against their religion.’

‘What religion is that?’

The sheriff shrugged.

‘Ricky, do you know?’ Jake asked.

‘Can’t say that I do. I know he doesn’t come to my church – but Martha does sometimes. When Dylan was younger, she used to bring him to Sunday School. But I can’t recall Seth ever going to any church.’

‘Folks out in these parts tend to see visiting a shrink as a sign of weakness. Old prejudices die hard out here in the country.’

‘I think people cling to their biases everywhere, Sheriff. They’re just probably a bit more honest about them out here.’

‘That’s a kind way of putting it. Anyway, physical evidence, psychological evidence and interviews with everyone but Seth O’Hara point to suicide. I’ve looked but I can’t find a thing to tell me otherwise.’

‘Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll be talking to the medical examiner next but I’d like to speak to Dylan’s counselor, too, if you’ll give me a name. And I really want to talk to Deputy Childress’s boy.’

‘His counselor’s name is Jane Salvadore. And I’ll talk to Childress and set up a meeting for you.’

‘Thanks again, Sheriff.’

‘I really want this resolved. I really want the boy to be put to rest. I know how upset his mother is – I don’t want it to drag out any longer. But – but – if you find anything I missed, anything that indicates a possibility of foul play, I want to know about it. If you find evidence that someone took Dylan’s life, I will not ignore it, even if it’s my deputy’s son. I’m more interested in protecting this county than I am in protecting any individual. If we missed something, I truly hope you find it.

‘Oh, and you might want to sit down with little Becky Carpenter. She seemed more upset about his death than anyone outside of the family. She was the only person I could find who considered Dylan a friend. She indicated that she wasn’t surprised that he committed suicide but I had a feeling she was holding something back. Maybe you could find out what it is – if you can get her to stop crying long enough to talk.’

TWENTY

A
fter leaving Frank Eagleton’s office, Lucinda checked for messages on her cell. Ted Branson had more information about the computer analysis. She hit the call back button. As soon as she heard the ringing stop, she started talking. ‘What have you got, Ted?’

‘The Internet Service Provider got back to me with the origin of the email. It came from a computer at Scott Technologies.’

‘As in Scott computers?’ Lucinda asked.

‘Yes, and Scott phones, Scott printers, Scott modems, you name it.’

‘Whose computer?’

‘There’s the tricky part. The ISP claimed that they can’t go any deeper into the origin. It seems Scott has a built-in security system that randomly switches IP addresses on all their computers. Because of that, they can’t pin down the specific device.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘Wish I were. And it gets worse. Scott employs more than sixteen hundred people. Everyone has access to a computer – most have their own personal computer. Not counting what’s on the assembly line, that easily means more than a thousand PCs on the premises.’

‘So now I have sixteen hundred persons of interest?’

‘You got it. But, while I’ve been waiting for your call back, I used the original search warrant request to draft a new one for you to serve on the security department at Scott. They should have data that can lead you to the exact computer at the time the messages were sent. I’m emailing it right now.’

Lucinda added a few details to Ted’s draft, printed it out and headed down to courtroom level to find a judge to sign it. It was a busy day on everyone’s docket but finally the detective found a jurist on break to handle the warrant and she was on her way to the campus of Scott Technologies. As she drove she wondered who was the first technology company to call their compound of offices and factories a campus and why. Odd use of the word, she thought. Was it to make freshly graduated computer engineers feel comfortable? Or did they think it somehow enhanced their corporate image?

The center front of the main building was a wall of glass. She pulled open the door and heard the sound of a camera activating. A bodiless voice said, ‘State your name, corporation and your business, please.’

‘Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce, police. I have a warrant.’ She held the document and her shield towards the camera. She heard a click and pulled open the interior door. The ceiling of the lobby soared up three or four stories. To her right was the reception desk. Straight ahead was a solid wall broken only by a steel door with an identity card scanner standing beside it. To the right of that was a one-station security checkpoint that looked just like the ones at the airport.

Lucinda walked over to the front desk. The young woman behind the counter had a set of headphones with a mouthpiece wrapped around her head. Her right eyebrow was pierced and a partial tattoo was visible on her neck – it looked like the top of a dragon head. She raised one eyebrow at Lucinda but didn’t say a word.

‘I have a warrant.’ Lucinda held up the signed papers.

‘So you said.’

‘I have a court order from a judge granting me permission to search the databases in the security division.’

‘As if,’ the girl snorted.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Hold on. I’ll call up to security.’ She turned away from Lucinda and put her hand over the mouthpiece. Lucinda could hear the sound of her talking but could only recognize a word here and there.

She disconnected and turned back to Lucinda. ‘Someone will be with you shortly. Have a seat.’

Lucinda thought about demanding immediate access but then thought better of it and sat in the waiting area. She checked the email on her iPhone but found nothing of interest. She went to the Internet and pulled up the day’s headlines, read a story or two and grew bored. Twenty minutes after she’d sat down, she was still waiting. She walked over to the receptionist and said, ‘This is unacceptable. I demand admittance now.’

‘I was told to tell you to wait.’

‘I’m sorry, waiting time is over.’

With sarcasm dripping off every word, the receptionist said, ‘No, ma’am, I’m the sorry one ’cause I just can’t do that.’

‘Oh, really. Then I guess you leave me no choice. I’ll have to cuff you, stuff you in my back seat and take you to the justice center.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘Obstruction of justice.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘You don’t want to dare me.’

The receptionist pushed a button and turned away from Lucinda again. Although her words were still unintelligible, her voice rose an octave, making her state of mind obvious. She spun back around. ‘OK. You’re going to have to go through security first.’ She removed her headset and stepped out from behind the desk. She pointed to the security set-up and said, ‘Over there. Empty your pockets into the bin and walk through the metal detector.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘No outsider goes into the facility without going through there. You have to.’

‘I am a police officer.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Do you have a pacemaker or a plate in your head?’

‘No.’

‘Then you have to go through here.’

‘I’m carrying a weapon.’

‘Weapon? You can’t take a gun in there. What’s wrong with you?’

‘I am a police officer.’

‘You’ll have to give the weapon to me.’

‘Not hardly.’ Lucinda chuckled.

‘Then put it in the bin.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Then there’s nothing I can do.’

‘Play it your way, then,’ Lucinda said as she pulled handcuffs out of the waist of her skirt.

The receptionist squealed. ‘No. Get away from me!’ she shouted as she took shelter behind the front desk.

Lucinda walked towards her as a man in a suit walked through the outer doors. The girl slammed a hand down on the release button and he stepped into the lobby. ‘Lieutenant Pierce?’ he said, his hand outstretched, a plastic smile plastered on his face.

‘Yes,’ she said, without reaching for his hand with hers.

‘I am the attorney of record for this corporation. At this moment, my colleague is presenting a motion to the judge requesting a stay on that warrant. I expect to receive a call any moment informing me of his success.’

‘You think you can squash a warrant?’

The attorney pushed the corners of his mouth a bit broader. ‘Yes, Lieutenant. I do believe we can. As a high technology corporation with multiple government and commercial research and development projects in progress at any given time, we have a vast amount of proprietary information on our servers. It would create a breach in security to allow anyone to have access to our data. We have successfully fought these attempts before in a number of instances.’

‘You have a number of employees engaged in criminal enterprises?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then why would you fight a court order?’

‘We have successfully proven that there are other ways to obtain information without putting our company at risk of corporate espionage. Even an innocent leak from a police officer could endanger my client’s viability as a profitable business.’

‘Mr – you didn’t introduce yourself.’

‘Fischer. William Fischer.’

‘Could I have your card, Mr Fischer?’

He hesitated for a moment, then pulled one out and handed it to her.

‘Mr Fischer, I am involved in a homicide investigation. Someone in this building has information I need. I’m sure Scott Technologies doesn’t want to be known as a corporation who shelters killers.’

‘We also included a motion for a gag order to prevent you from going to the media and smearing the reputation of my client.’ His cell phone trilled a tidbit of classical music. Lucinda was annoyed by the pretentiousness of his ring tone and downright angry when she saw a genuine smile sneak across his face.

He disconnected the call and turned to face her. ‘We have a stay, Lieutenant. My secretary is scanning it now and will email it to my phone. You can wait to see it if you like. Otherwise, I believe our business here is concluded.’

Lucinda clenched her teeth and rose to her feet. Anger sent vicious comments flying to her tongue but she kept her mouth shut. She walked away without saying a word. That a corporation could trump law enforcement and impede the pursuit of justice seemed wrong to her on many levels. But she wasn’t going to roll over and die – this was only the first volley. She could not let them win. At that thought, the email address, [email protected], ran through her thoughts and she knew that person would not be an easy adversary.

TWENTY-ONE

J
ake was disappointed after his visit to the medical examiner. The doctor was cooperative and forthcoming but unfortunately could not point to any additional indicators of suicide.

He headed to the sheriff’s office where Deputy Childress was waiting for him with his son, Todd. He went straight to the booth on the other side of the glass from the interview room and sized up the pair. Todd, his T-shirt and jeans full of holes, slouched in the metal chair, legs outstretched, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. His father, in his neat, pressed brown uniform looked to be the polar opposite of his son as he paced back and forth in the room. Jake suspected harsh words had been spoken judging from the boy’s expression and the red flush that had risen in the deputy’s neck.