Smith Investigation Series Box Set 1 (12 page)

Chapter 3

"Is everyone here?" Smith asked, tapping a blue file on the desk.

"Yes. What's this about?" I said, leaning against the wall next to the filing cabinet.

"I'm sorry to have to pull you out of your cases, but this is an important and sensitive matter. As you know, Spike is in charge of a new investigation. Spike?"

She nodded and stood up, her face a mask of seriousness, but I could see that behind it was, well hidden, a spark of pride and amusement. She fancied her new role as lead investigator.

"I apologize in advance for not being able to disclose more information than I am about to, but I assume you understand my position. The only ones fully briefed are Dylan, as he's working on the case, and Robert."

She paused for a second, as if to let the news sink in, then continued. "We have been hired by a certain public figure, a female singer, to confirm her suspicion about her husband's cheating. They are in the middle of an ugly divorce, and the estate to be divided is substantial."

"She's after the big money," DeMarco summarized, his intrusion making Spike frown.

"If you'd like to put it that way." I liked her tone, professional, succeeding at sounding unbiased. She would make a great investigator. "Anyway, we've been notified that the husband will be visiting Burlington for a few days on a—as our client colorfully explained—cheating trip. She was able to provide us with the name of the hotel, and the day of arrival, but not much else."

"When?" I asked.

"Tomorrow. He'll be in the city for three days."

I nodded.

"So, do you need our assistance?" DeMarco inquired.

"The reason we're having this meeting is because I want this case to be on your radar, and that you keep in mind that privacy is paramount," Smith said, coming forward again. Spike drooped infinitesimally, probably rather wanted to be the one giving all the details. Smith went on. "We will be paid with a percentage of the divorce settlement, which is dependent on us finding proof for our client. So, you see that we need to be careful about any information we give away, because, if word gets out, not only will it damage our reputation and upset our client, but the husband will hear and guard himself against further attempts at catching him in the act. And we'll lose serious money."

Everyone understood the significance of this. Smith Investigations needed all the money it could get, and a big payday like this one could potentially set the firm up for a long time.

"As the client tells us, he cheats routinely and has gotten very good at hiding it. We have assumed it'll be a difficult investigation and, although we've already put together a surveillance plan, there will be a lot of learning as we go. For this reason, we won't be available to assist on any other case. Thank you."

I was proud of Spike. She had stood tall, spoken clearly, and showed herself as a leader. Just like me, when I briefed my first team. I could've hugged her like a boastful mother, but I refrained, as Smith was walking towards me, his expression grim.

"How's your case going?" he asked.

"Not well. We seem to have no information to go on. The police believe it's a runaway situation and haven't found anything so far. We're talking with his school and to his father next. Hopefully someone has missed something that could help us."

He nodded, thoughtful. "This is gonna be hard."

"You mean, two high-profile cases at the same time?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Don't worry, Spike is more than capable of dealing with hers. And mine might not be a case after all. We're still in the intel-gathering phase, let's not jump to any conclusions yet."

"All right. You go do your thing, I'll go butter up a celebrity. They need special treatment anywhere they go, apparently."

With a grimace instead of a smile, Smith left Operations. DeMarco came to my side, hands in his pockets, awaiting further instructions.

"I'll go to Mickey's school, you talk to his father. We'll compare findings here, tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, already on his way out.

I gave Spike an encouraging glance and left the room myself. The fact that I had to take my car seemed to comfort me to some degree, so my trip was starting well.

On my way to Mickey's school, I could barely take my mind of what I was planning to write in my second book. There were so many possibilities for Fitzpatrick, it was hard to pick just a few. "Maybe I should write two books," I considered, as I parked the car.

The school looked like it had just been renovated. The hallways still smelled of fresh paint, which made me nauseous. And nervous. I never particularly liked schools.

The principal's office was near the entrance, for which I was grateful. The man, who reminded me of a priest more than a teacher, greeted me with warmth and invited me to take a seat in one of the most comfortable chairs I’ve ever experienced.

"Miss Walsh. Terrible business, with Michael Gerald. I was saddened to hear the news."

"Yes. A difficult situation, I can imagine. I'm sure you've spoken with the police?"

"Indeed, I did. But I couldn't help them much. Apart from what records we have on the boy, and his personal file, there wasn't anything to say."

"You gave a copy of those files to the police, is that right? Could I have a copy as well?"

"Since you've been hired by the family, I am sure it can be arranged. You said you had some questions?"

I nodded, opening my notebook.

"Did Michael have any problems? I mean both in school and with other kids."

He thought for a second, like he was unsure whether to tell me the whole truth. I didn't let on that I already had an idea of the sort of kid Michael was.

"Michael was . . . a difficult student. While he managed well enough with his grades, I believe his problems lay with his home life."

"What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't go so far as calling him anti-social, but he was a loner. And a bit of an enabler, if you know what I mean."

"He got other kids in trouble."

The principal closed his eyes for a second, signaling both his approval of my conclusion and the fact that he was no longer willing to discuss this issue.

"I understand," I said, and moved on. "What about Internet use?"

"Access is restricted to just a few educational sites, and the students are always supervised."

"Any personal devices? Smartphone?"

"Those are not allowed on the premises." He sounded defensive at first, and I would have liked to explain to him I didn't give a rat's ass about his policies, when his expression changed. He looked like some great mystery had been revealed to him.

"Come to think of it, the fact that cell phones are prohibited on the premises is precisely why I remember an incident from a couple of weeks ago. I don't know exactly when, I'll have to check."

"What incident?"

"Well, it wasn't really an incident, as there was no proof of the offense, but there was a ruckus on the playground, and when the teacher went to deal with it, Michael's classmates insisted he had a BlackBerry with him and was showing off."

"Did he?"

"We never found one and assumed it was just kids being kids. Besides, I find it peculiar for a twelve year-old to prefer a BlackBerry to a smartphone."

I had an idea of why this particular kid might've had a Blackberry.

I thanked the principal and hurried out. On my way to the car, I called DeMarco.

"Are you with the parents?" I asked, unlocking the car door. "Get back there and ask if they have a BlackBerry. They do? Take it, we need to check and see what Michael used it for."

Chapter 4

Whenever I was in a hurry to get somewhere, I would take the stairs. Today I was in the biggest hurry of my life, so I ran up the steps and didn't stop for the usual breather in Reception. I just burst through the door to Operations and looked for DeMarco. We didn't have any information on this kid's whereabouts, and I’d had a strange feeling in my gut since this afternoon. The situation needed clarification.

"He's on his way," Robert answered my silent question.

I exhaled loudly, unsure of how to spend my time waiting. I never had been one to fidget impatiently, but today, somehow, seemed to be the day for strange things to happen.

To avoid looking too deep under the surface and—God forbid!—find the real reason behind the peculiarities of this day, I started looking around, searching for any distraction.

At her desk, Spike sat slumped, looking like she was having difficulties coping with her new role.

I reckoned a pep talk was in order. "What's up?" I asked her.

"Oh, I wish I could tell you," she said, sighing.

"That bad, eh? You can't find the bastard?"

She shrugged, but I could see she was dying to tell me everything.

"Let's try another tactic. Let's say, hypothetically, my husband, who I knew was about to cheat, is staying at a certain hotel and I need compromising pictures of him doing the dirty. What could constitute an obstacle to this?"

Spike's face lit up.

"Well, maybe, since we're talking hypothetically, he's very rich and has paid the personnel to keep his suite number quiet. And, although getting into the hotel could be a breeze, what use would that be? It'll take days to figure out where to look, right? By then, he'll be gone."

I nodded. Spike's problem was unusual, because a PI rarely dealt with hired hands who wouldn't cop up this sort of information. The dreaded rich target had the potential to overthrow this already delicate ecosystem and, in Spike's case, that was precisely what had happened. At this point, a bit of elbow grease and some experience would've done wonders for the investigation. I smirked.

"What is it?" she inquired, hope sparkling in her eyes.

"I dunno. As a wife, especially since I know for sure he had cheated before, I could have an idea of what he likes on these trips. Maybe blondes, maybe Asian. Regardless, I'd have plenty of ideas, and all someone would need would be to ask me."

"Wow. That is . . . actually, brilliant. Thank you, Rob!"

She jumped out of her chair, leaving it to swivel behind her, pecked me on the cheek and ran out. She was already calling Dylan by the time she reached the door.

When DeMarco entered the room, he was welcomed by my lingering smile. He raised the hand in which he had the cell phone, and my smile shrank.

"All right, let's check this out," I said, as Robert connected the BlackBerry to his computer.

If we were in a movie, now would have been the time to cue the epic music and show close-ups of Robert's genius, but the matter was far less glamorous. In a few clicks, Robert had retrieved whatever was there to be found.

"Bingo!"

"Bingo?" I asked, eager to know what the phone had to tell us.

"There's a chat app, presumably the father's, that has had substantial data deleted in the last week—I suspect even before that—but it has been erased and quite a bit has been overwritten with new data."

"So?"

"I recovered some of it. If these deleted texts weren’t sent by Michael, his father is into some really weird fetishes."

"What are they saying?"

Robert scrolled a few seconds, reading some of the texts.

"It looks like the boy was talking to someone—maybe another child. Mainly about cars, model cars and toy cars."

"Right. Anything else?"

"This other kid is asking some pretty personal details . . ."

"And Mickey gives those details away. That's not a child, that's a textbook predator. We need to get this to the police."

"Wait, there's something here."

I turned to Robert, waiting with my phone out. "Well?"

"The last deleted messages talk about Michael making the car for school. Very proud of it, very excited. The other guy says 'I wish I could see it' and the conversation goes on to Mickey sharing schedule for the next day. He even talks about the time he would get home."

I didn't need to listen any more, I was already searching for James' number.

"You don't have it," DeMarco pointed out. "You forgot to ask his."

"Right. Let's go, then."

Robert threw us the phone and DeMarco caught it as he walked backwards to the door. Lucky for us, the elevator was on our floor, so we took it down.

As I drove, I couldn't help but obsess over the possibility of not finding detective Bellagio at the station. What if he was on another case and we had to wait around? What would happen to Mickey in the meantime?

DeMarco interrupted my thoughts when he pointed out a parking spot closer to the station. I would've missed it, distracted by my strange worrying fit.

I flung the door open and ran into the station. Instinctively, I took the stairs and didn't look back to check what DeMarco was doing. The fact was, he hated stairs. This being the reason he was trying to quit smoking. He could never hold a steady pace for more than a couple of flights of stairs, and it didn't help his self-esteem any. Or personal well-being, for that matter.

I figured he was a grown man and would find his way. My main concern was to find the lead detective, and relate our findings.

"James!" I called to him over the noise of the squad room. He had his back to me, filling his cup of coffee.

"Oh, Rob! What brings you here so soon?"

"The boy, he was talking to someone on his father's phone. He might've been abducted."

James eyed the BlackBerry and pursed his lips.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Tell me what made you think of that?"

"It's all in here. Mickey used his father's phone to access the Internet. He wasn't allowed a phone or computer at home and was being supervised at school, so he must've figured a way to use his father's. Our tech guy found deleted messages to someone posing as another boy. They shared an interest for cars and that's how the guy reeled Mickey in."

"It could very well be another boy."

"Look, I haven't seen all the messages, but from what I've seen? Only a grown up could dig for this sort of personal information about Mickey. And the boy told him about his schedule on the day he disappeared. If this isn't suspicious, I don't know what is."

James nodded, his coffee long forgotten on the table behind him.

"What is it?" I asked again, suspicious that he was holding something back.

"That phone is evidence," he started, looking like he was searching for a way to avoid sharing information with me.

"I know. But, what do you know?" I insisted. I hadn't noticed when DeMarco had caught up with me, but now he stepped forward, creating a barrier at my side. We were blocking James' way, united in the effort to get the information we needed.

He scratched the top of his head. "Look, guys, I . . . I can't confirm anything. I need the phone to make sure; you can't just throw suspicions around like that."

"What is it?" I asked again, this time through gritted teeth.

He sighed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine, but don't ever go public with this information. If what you're saying is true, there is a possibility we might've seen this MO before."

"You mean other missing children?" DeMarco spelled it out, visibly angry.

"I can't say that. But what I can say is, if this turns out to be the case, it becomes a matter of life and death. And on a very tight schedule, if you know what I mean."

"For f—"

"DeMarco, let's go," I stopped him. "We have work to do."

I turned to leave, but James called my name.

"What?"

"The phone," he pointed. I threw it over the short distance between us and hurried out.

"What now?" DeMarco asked, running beside me. "We have nothing to go on. The phone is with them and . . ."

But as he spoke, my cell phone was buzzing in my pocket, and I slowed down and pulled it out, DeMarco matching my pace. "It's Robert," I interrupted him, reading the caller ID. DeMarco nodded as I answered my phone. "What is it?"

He was calling to check up on how our meeting went.

I related everything in one word: "Crap."

Then, he made my day. "You did what?"

DeMarco threw me a puzzled glance. I raised a finger to shut him up until I finished talking. "You're a genius, kid. I'll see you in ten."

"What?"

"Robert cloned everything on Mr. Gerald's phone."

"Sweet."

This time, DeMarco took off first, leaving me to deal with the first signs of fatigue for the day. I wasn't one to budge, so I ran after him.