by L E Fraser
Bryce’s tone of voice was neutral when he said, “I’m unclear on how you discovered you were at risk and how you hid or wiped out your identity so fast.”
Knowing that Reece was a terrible liar, Sam leaned forward in her chair and spoke before he had a chance to answer. “I know someone in the US. I use her sometimes to gather information on cases.” She held up her hand. “It’s perfectly legal. You remember the Martina case. Jim Stipelli hired us to find Gabriella after she disappeared.”
Bryce nodded.
“Well…” She paused and cleared her throat. “We needed to find her father, Quentin LeBlanc. He had dual citizenship and we had reason to believe he was stateside. Instead of collaborating with a PI in the US, I hired an IT specialist to get information we couldn’t access.” Not exactly true, but she thought that reminding Bryce about the excellent work they’d done on the Martina case might soften his attitude.
It didn’t.
“A specialist who can infiltrate Canadian Government databases and financial institutions,” Bryce said. “A hacker.” He practically spat out the two words.
“Yeah, but one of the good ones,” Sam said with a smile.
Bryce snorted. “There’s no such thing. This one is a risk to national security. I want a name.”
Lying in business situations usually wasn’t a problem for her. It was unavoidable as a private investigator. You had to use whatever worked to get people to talk to you. But she was struggling today. Embedded in her DNA was respect for the chain of command. It wasn’t only because of her short career as a cop; it was because she grew up with a dedicated homicide detective for a dad.
“I don’t have a real name,” she said.
“Yet she works for you,” Bryce retorted incredulously. “How do you pay her?”
“Bitcoin.”
Sam hoped he wasn’t going to ask for further explanation. She had no idea what bitcoin was and didn’t know how to get it or how to pay people with it. Reece paid Behoo, but the less he spoke in front of Bryce the better. If she was struggling in this interview, she didn’t want to put Reece—who had followed the chain of command for over ten years—in the position of lying to a superior.
She could offer Bryce an online handle. This morning, when Behoo called with his new contact details, she’d asked for a name she could use. Behoo had supplied a legitimate handle to drop. He felt confident Canadian police would recognize the name but wouldn’t know the hacker had died. All they’d discern was that Cereus had disappeared from the online world, and she’d been a white hat hacker, protecting innocent people from malware and invasion.
“Her online name is Cereus,” Sam told Bryce. “It’s a white cactus flower that blooms one night a year. Disappears when the sun comes up.”
Too much information, a classic sign of lying. She clamped her lips together and placed her open palms on her knees, ensuring her eyes drifted off Bryce’s from time to time. Liars maintained eye contact, often covered their mouths, and closed off their bodies.
There was a knock on the door, and a young man entered. He pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced at Sam and Reece. He leaned against the wall and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops in his jeans. “What’s up, Inspector?”
“This is Detective Romero,” Bryce told Sam and Reece. “He’s one of our best cyber detectives. I invited him to sit in.”
Bryce explained the situation to Romero, and Sam interjected a few times to correct the facts.
“I don’t get it.” Romero’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me that Cereus was online and Bloody Widow went after her?”
Sam nodded. “Cereus was trying to find information for us. We think Graham Harris’s ex-wife is Bloody Widow. Cereus panicked, which was why she overreacted and wiped our data and identities.”
“Cereus panicked?” He smirked. “If you say so.”
“Do you know either handle?” Bryce asked.
Romero laughed. “Bloody Widow stole over six million from the financial sector alone. Over a year ago, there was a rumour that she’d branched out and hit racketeers.” He scrutinized Sam. “Weird someone like that randomly hitting you.”
“Well,” she said quickly, “she didn’t exactly hit us. She attacked Cereus. Like I said, we believe Caitlyn Franklyn is Bloody Widow. We got caught in the middle.”
Romero’s eyes lit up. “Is that so? Cereus tell you that?” He sniggered.
“Franklyn has a record,” Reece said to Bryce. “Manslaughter. I dropped off everything we have for Detective Alston at York and have copies here for you. Including an address north of Toronto.” He handed Bryce a file folder. “With your permission, we’d like to speak with her. Obviously after Detective Romero here and York Police conclude their investigation.”
Bryce’s lips thinned with displeasure. “Reece, York Regional Police know about Caitlyn Franklyn. Alston’s investigating the murder of her ex-husband. If you’d spoken to him about the progress of your investigation, as I requested, you’d know that.”
“I did speak to Alston,” Reece said firmly. “He was rude and uncooperative. I’ve left three messages for him over the past week to update him on what we learned. He hasn’t called back.”
Romero stepped forward to stand in front of her. He leaned his back against the front of the staff inspector’s desk. “I wanna get back to this online angle.” His brown eyes drilled into Sam’s face, and she struggled not to squirm around on her chair under his scrutiny.
He crossed his arms against his chest and smiled down at her. “Caitlyn Franklyn, a convicted murderer, is the notorious Bloody Widow, one of the best hidden hackers in the virtual world.” He chortled. “And Cereus discovered this revelation last night. How about you run through it from the start?”
Sam outlined their investigation to date, explaining the online connection. Watching the amusement on Romero’s face as she spoke, her nervousness increased.
Bryce sighed and addressed Romero. “Are either Sam or Reece at risk?”
“Of what, breaking the law?” He sneered at Sam. “Over my pay grade. If you mean electronically, nah. It was lucky Cereus moved so fast. Remarkable, under the circumstances.”
He knew Cereus was dead. Sam quickly ran options through her head. She’d plead ignorance, suggesting that someone else was using the handle. She waited with tense anticipation, but Romero didn’t challenge her. Yet. Sam suspected he would at some point.
Bryce stood. “I’d appreciate your help with this, Detective. Until York clears Franklyn in their homicide, keep this quiet. If she’s Bloody Widow, the cybercrimes fall under our jurisdiction. I’ll speak to Alston and ask him to keep the cyber angle out of his interview with her. I don’t want her tipped off that we’ve made the connection.”
Romero shrugged. “Whatever you say, Inspector.”
“We’ll talk more about this later,” Bryce warned Reece and pointed his finger at him to emphasize that the talk wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience. “For now, get out. I have a staff meeting.” He turned his back to them and browsed through a file cabinet.
“I’m going to the parking garage,” Romero told Sam and Reece as they walked out of the office. “I’ll ride down with you.”
They followed Romero to the elevator. When the door opened, he glared at two constables who were waiting to get into the empty elevator car. “Take the next ride.”
Inside, he stared up at the numbers descending. “Oleander.”
Sam exchanged a look with Reece but said nothing.
After a beat of silence, Romero said, “Hybrid.”
He was fishing but that was too close to home for Sam’s comfort. She decided a flippant response was the best strategy. “Oh, I’ve always wanted one of those,” she replied. “I have a restored 1973 Grand Am. What a pig on gas.”
The elevator stopped, and Romero politely shooed two civilians away. After the doors slid closed, he said, “Belladonna.”
She ignored him this time, deciding a snappy comeba
ck wasn’t advisable.
At the ground floor, he turned and put his hand on Reece’s arm to prevent him from exiting the elevator. “Behoo.”
Sam tugged Reece’s free arm and they stepped off.
Romero leaned his shoulder against the elevator door to prevent it from closing and smiled unpleasantly, studying Sam’s face with hard eyes. He held out his index and middle finger, cocked an imaginary hammer with his thumb, and clicked his teeth while jerking his outstretched fingers upward. “Watch your backs, amigos. You’re in over your heads.”
“Makes life interesting,” Sam replied with a bright smile.
“True dat.” He released the door and it slid closed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
SHE NEVER TOUCHED me, not in that way, but she’d come into my room late at night.
“A little cuddle?” she’d whisper through the darkness.
I’d lay still and silent, willing her to go away. It never worked. She’d crawl in beside me and coil her thin, cold body around mine.
She’d cry. Not the soft weeping of private despondency, but gut wrenching sobs that tore from her throat. How I hated the smell of her misery and the feathery touch of her fingers trailing across my forehead. A warm layer of snot from her running nose would coat my cheek, and tears would drizzle down my neck and soak the collar of my pajamas. The rancid odour of fried onions would drift across my face as she gasped and wailed, clinging to me as she drowned in her weakness.
I wouldn’t move. I’d concentrate on counting the spaces between breaths, mimicking the even flow and ebb of deep sleep. Even then, I was good at pretending.
When the first hint of light from the rising sun inched across the windowpane, she’d disentangle her body from mine and lean over to tuck the damp sheets beneath my chin.
“Such a sweet child,” she’d murmur. “Everything I do is for you.”
I’d watch the sunrise and think about how to kill her. I’d imagine sticky blood staining my hands, and the expression of shock and betrayal before the light died in her eyes. I’d wonder how long her heart would beat after I tore it from her breast, and if her entrails would squish between my fingers when I spilled the spongy ropes from her withered body.
“Everything I do,” I’d say to the sun while it rose from a shimmering pool of blood, “will be for you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Reece
THERE WAS ROGER’S car snuggled tight against Brenda’s in the yard of the Harris farm. Immediate distrust washed over Reece. Before they visited Bryce yesterday morning, Reece had called Roger to warn him about a possible hack. In the course of his explanation, he’d let it slip they had an address for Caitlyn and were speaking to the police before confronting Brenda and the kids today. Reece had quickly reiterated Sam’s previous warning of not mentioning Caitlyn. They needed to gauge the family’s spontaneous reaction to the discovery that Graham’s ex-wife was a suspect. And here was Roger, where he wasn’t supposed to be. Again.
Reece laid his hand on the hood of Roger’s vehicle. Cold. He’d been here for a while, enjoying a tête-à-tête. Everything about the man made Reece angry and suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
He joined Sam on the front porch. “The engine’s cold.”
With an indifferent shrug, she knocked on the door. Roger—new master of the house, apparently—answered.
“Hi, we’re in the living room.” He stepped aside so they could enter.
Brenda, who had been standing and wringing her hands when they entered, perched on the edge of a loveseat. Roger settled in beside her, patting her trembling hand.
Jordan was slouching against the arm of a sofa across from them, putting as much distance as he could between himself and Jennifer, who sat in the lotus position on the middle cushion. Jordanna sat on the other end of the couch with her long legs crossed. Today, she was wearing a tight T-shirt with a scooped neckline that showed enough cleavage that she could carry a good-sized cell phone between her breasts, if she’d been so inclined. A thin gold chain circled her waist. She’d threaded the ends of the chain through a pierced belly-button hoop on her naked midriff. Arrow charms decorated the chain ends and fell into her crotch. Jordan’s surly expression implied he’d rather be anywhere than with his family. Jordanna’s bright smile looked staged, and Jennifer wore no expression. In her hands, she clutched a grubby white bible.
Reece eyed the three teenagers sitting in a row in various positions of displeasure. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, he thought.
Sam sat in an armchair, and Reece leaned against the wall beside her chair. Short of sitting on the floor, it was his only option.
“Oh, that outfit is the bomb-dot-com.” Jordanna widened her artificial grin and pointed a crimson fingernail at Sam.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Sam’s face. Considering she was wearing a black Alter Bridge band T-shirt and a pair of jeans, Reece figured the false flattery pissed her off.
“We’re here to discuss Caitlyn Franklyn.” Roger blushed, avoiding Reece’s glare.
Son of a bitch!
“I have an ethical requirement to disclose information to protect people from harm,” Roger said in a sanctimonious tone. “After much consideration, I felt your directive to remain silent over Caitlyn to be incompatible with my code of ethics, and I divulged the potential threat.”
Brenda’s cheeks flushed with colour, but her eyes remained on her lap, where she once again twisted the fabric of her skirt into a rope.
Jennifer studied Roger with a strange expression Reece couldn’t identify. Jordanna’s fake smile stayed firmly in place. Her eyes were cold when they flitted between her sister and brother. Jordan twisted his head to the side and muttered something under his breath that Reece didn’t hear.
Foregoing small talk, Sam turned to Jordanna. “When you and I talked, why didn’t you tell me Brenda wasn’t your biological mother?”
She shrugged. “I thought you knew. Why did you think I called her Brenda instead of Mom?”
“Brenda, why didn’t you tell us?” Sam asked.
“I also thought you knew. You’re investigators, after all.”
Reece could see the frustration in Sam’s face when she caught his eye, suggesting he take over.
“How old were you when your mother left?” he asked Jordan.
“Didn’t leave, she—”
Jordanna shot him the evil eye, and he clamped his mouth shut. She answered for her brother. “Jordan and I had just turned twelve and Jennifer was nine. Mom killed our grandmother. We were there when she stabbed her over and over.” Her tone was nonchalant and she absentmindedly picked a piece of lint off her shorts.
“What was your mother like?” Sam asked.
“Overprotective.” Her expression suggested it wasn’t a positive attribute.
“She came to my class,” Jordon blurted out. “What an epic fail!”
“Was that last year?” Reece asked him. “In Mrs. Alistair’s class?”
“She sent me perverted Snapchats.” His nose crinkled in disgust.
Sam looked as puzzled as Reece felt over Jordan volunteering this information.
“Who did? Your mother or Mrs. Alistair?” Sam asked, clearly confused.
He rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Alistair. There’s something wrong with her. I kept telling her to fuck off, but she wouldn’t leave me alone. She’d photobomb pics of my friends and me. You know, sneak up behind us so she’d be in the picture. Who does that?” His harsh laughter grated against Reece’s ears.
Sam leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, studying Jordan. “Really? Do you have copies of the pictures she wormed her way into?”
“Nah, trashed them.” His eyes darted to Jordanna.
“How about the Snapchats?” Sam asked. “Did you take a screenshot?”
Jordan sneered at her. “Right, like I’d keep disgusting shit a pervy teacher sent me!”
“Really? You didn’t want to share it with y
our friends and make a fool out of your teacher. That seems odd, what with you being so disgusted and upset,” Sam said sarcastically, leaning back against the chair and shooting Reece a doubtful look.
Reece understood her skepticism. Sending a provocative picture on social media was risky, and it was unlikely that a teacher would put her job on the line by using it to lure a student who had made it clear he wasn’t interested. But, then again, Snapchat wasn’t like other social media applications. Reece didn’t personally use Snapchat but understood a bit about it. It was possible that Mrs. Alistair had believed it was a safe means to entice a student. Since the video messaging app allowed users to set a time limit of mere second for their recipients to view the snap, many people believed that the content completely disappeared without leaving an electronic trail.
Reece didn’t see the point in challenging Jordan. He’d like to know Caitlyn’s motivation for breaching a restraining order and risking arrest by going to the school.
“Why did your mother come to the school and what did she want?” he asked.
“It was awful!” Jordanna exclaimed with Academy Awards–worthy dramatics. “Mrs. Alistair spoke to her in the hall, but Mom shoved her way into the classroom and grabbed me.” She rubbed her arm, presumably where her mother had seized her. “She was yelling I had to go with her. Jordan tried to get her off and she totally freaked, yelling horrible stuff at him. Mrs. Alistair got in between us and my mother hit her. One of the kids called the office, and the principal went on the intercom and ordered lockdown.”
Jordanna trembled and scrunched up her face, fighting tears. The emotion felt over the top to Reece, but the one thing he understood about teenage girls was they loved to be in the centre of a good drama.
When he didn’t comment on her harrowing experience, she said, “Everyone was freaking out, like she might have a gun. It was sooo embarrassing.”
“Then Mrs. A got all weird and up in my shit,” Jordan said.
Reece turned to Brenda, ignoring Jordan’s attempt to focus the conversation on Sally Alistair. “Did Caitlyn ever have visitation rights?”
