Duty and the Beast

by Chelsea Field

  “Why haven’t you?”

  Lines re-emerged on his forehead. Perhaps realizing I wasn’t as convinced as he wanted me to be.

  “Because I’ve got better things to do, and no one except fresh, unsuspecting blood pays any attention to him anyway.” He sat up straight. “Speaking of having better things to do, are we done here?”

  “Yes, Mr. Callahan. For now.”

  Hopefully, he’d take the hint and allow the poor receptionist to leave the extra chair here.

  Seeing as Hunt had inflicted Adeline upon us, we figured we’d return the favor by swinging past the police station. Plus we were getting nowhere fast talking to Tony Callahan and Damon Wood. We needed to up the pressure, and for that we needed ammunition. Our hope was that Hunt had fared better working on the hacking device angle.

  I was curious to see what Adeline would make of her aunt’s boyfriend. And vice versa too. It might be fun to see Hunt on his best behavior. But when Connor brusquely introduced them, Hunt gave a half nod of acknowledgment, Adeline returned it, and that was that.

  Perhaps I should’ve predicted their interaction—or the lack of it anyway. Adeline was proving, on the whole, to be self-absorbed, and Etta’s cookie bribe could only push Hunt so far. Still, receiving a half nod of acknowledgment was miles better than my first interaction with the commander.

  He gave us an update. “After confirming Anand’s security system was hacked through the microcomputer Mendez found, we’ve been reviewing the surveillance footage outside his home to see who had opportunity to plug it into one of his computers. We only have thirty days of footage, but we’re hoping our killer is on it.”

  “And?” Connor asked.

  “We’ve found four individuals connected with the case, and two of them are dead. I have the relevant footage isolated if you want to see it.”

  We crowded around the computer monitor on Hunt’s desk to watch people walking to and from Isaac Anand’s front door. The video was in color and better quality than what your average security camera recorded but still low resolution.

  The officer who’d gone through the surveillance hadn’t bothered to isolate every time Isaac went out or returned home, so the first person we saw was Richard Knightley. It was two and a half weeks before his murder and strange to watch knowing how his life had ended. He crossed the lawn like he’d been there before, dressed smart casual in jeans and a shirt with a jacket slung over his arm and a pleased look on his face. Was that because he knew Isaac was going to help him win the trial? He left half an hour later, his step confident, unhurried.

  Tony Callahan was the next to appear. A few days after Rick’s visit. Tony was in a business suit, carrying a briefcase that could’ve easily fit the hacking microcomputer inside it. He didn’t stay long. Within five minutes, he was striding back across the lawn, taking his briefcase with him.

  What had he been doing there? And why hadn’t he mentioned it to us? Five minutes was enough time to plant the microcomputer if Isaac had gone to the kitchen to grab drinks. Tricky but not impossible.

  I glanced at the file names of the remaining surveillance video snippets. Stanley Cox and Patty Wilkinson weren’t listed. So had they planted the device more than thirty days ago? Did they have an unidentified partner? Or were they innocent, with Stanley being a mere patsy as Damon wanted us to believe?

  Thinking of the devil summoned him to the screen. Damon Wood had visited Isaac one week before the murder. He was dressed in another fitted T-shirt and faded jeans and was carrying a black duffel bag. The zipper was partially open showing a splash of muted green.

  “How much does a duffel bag of cash weigh?” I asked aloud.

  Hunt didn’t hesitate, making me wonder how often this question came up. “About twenty pounds depending on the size of the bag.”

  So nine kilos then, my mind converted. “Can you play that again?”

  We watched Damon stride across the lawn to the door a second time. It was hard to tell, given he was a muscular guy, but the bag looked lighter to me.

  Then again, Harper had made her toolbox with its collection of lethal wrenches seem like it weighed nothing, and she was half his size.

  Adeline leaned over Hunt’s shoulder, trying to get a better view. “Can’t you zoom in on the image to see what’s in the bag?”

  Hunt snorted. “Not unless you’re on TV. In the real world, you zoom in on a blurry image and you get an even more blurry image.”

  Somehow Adeline transformed the jibe into a positive affirmation. “Guess I’m in the right industry then.”

  I had to admire her easy confidence. Even if I did find it irritating.

  Whatever was in the duffel bag, it appeared emptier when Damon left three and a half hours later. What had he been doing with Isaac for so long? One thing was certain: he’d had ample opportunity to plant the microcomputer. But why on earth would he tell us about it if he’d been the person to do so?

  The last snippet of footage was Rick on the night of the double homicide. He was still wearing the clothes we’d gone to dinner in. The realization made my stomach flip. He strode up to the door, expression eager. No way could he have known he was about to die.

  So who had?

  14

  We were back at Tony Callahan’s office twenty minutes later. I was as weary of seeing his face as he was of seeing mine.

  While I didn’t think the receptionist felt any differently, she did a better job of faking it. Even when she had to fetch the chair for the third time today.

  I was tempted to just sit on Connor’s lap. But instead, I waited until we were seated, and she’d shut the door behind her, before saying, “We know you visited Isaac Anand two weeks before his murder. What were you doing there?”

  Tony took a moment to respond. I wondered if he was counting to ten under his breath. Or imagining shoving my wheeled chair straight out his office window. “Like I said, Ms. Avery, I observe the industry and collect talent. I heard rumors Mr. Anand had made significant advances in the field of AI robotic communication and so made him an offer.”

  “What was the offer?”

  “Well, I wasn’t sure of the specifics of his breakthrough, so I told him I was interested in learning those specifics and that there were millions of dollars on the table if it was of use to me.”

  It said something about how long I’d been rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous that my eyes didn’t boggle at his casual mention of millions. “What did he say?”

  “No.”

  Bet that wasn’t a word Tony heard often. But why had Isaac said no? Did he have his own plans for the breakthrough? Or—it hadn’t occurred to me until now—but was it possible the entire breakthrough was a lie? A rumor Isaac had started to somehow disguise the lump sum Rick might pay him for rigging the court cases? It would explain why no one knew any details. I shelved the possibility for later and focused on Tony.

  “How come you didn’t tell us about your visit earlier?”

  “Because you didn’t ask.”

  “Is that why? Or is it because it makes Mr. Anand’s subsequent death, which gave you the ability to buy a significant share in his company stocks, even more convenient for you?”

  Tony glanced at the window, lending credence to my suspicion that he was fantasizing about shoving me out of it. “Convenient, yes. Evidence of foul play, no.” He stood up. “I’ve been cooperating with you lot all day. If you’re not going to arrest me, I’m done talking, and if you are, I’m still done.”

  Well, at least I’d pushed him past the point of this being a game.

  “One more question, Mr. Callahan, then we’ll let you get on with business. Why are you still doing business? Don’t you have enough money?”

  He frequently earned more cash from a single contract than Richard had managed to scam out of all his victims combined. Tony was only in his late forties, but he could’ve easily never worked another day of his life.

  The man in question threw back his head and laughed.
“My dear girl, no one has enough money. Now please kindly escort yourselves out so I can make some more.”

  With that terrible sentiment bouncing around my brain, we traveled to Tony Callahan’s ex-boyfriend’s office. An office which suggested Damon took a different view on the value of wealth—at least where that wealth went hand in hand with stealing from a friend.

  But there was one subject the pair agreed on. They would’ve been happier to answer the door to Tom Cruise selling Scientology than our tiresome trio.

  Nevertheless, Damon led us into their company meeting room. His colleagues had no such sentiments about our presence and swiveled in their chairs to watch Adeline pass by.

  At least one of them must’ve eaten their lunch in the meeting room because it smelled like fried onion instead of stale body odor and the cheap formaldehyde-treated furniture. We all took the same seats as the first time, and resignedly I raised my mental hackles and psyched myself up for the conversation.

  It was exhausting being the hard-ass asking the questions. Something I’d never appreciated when Connor was doing it.

  “Why were you at Isaac Anand’s home a week before his murder? Carrying a duffel bag that was a whole lot emptier when you left three and a half hours later, we noticed. Seems you had plenty of time to plant that hacking device you told us about.”

  Damon’s hackles were already raised. “Unbelievable. I hand you the keys to your case, and you think I did it. Check your records. You’ll find the DEA received an anonymous tip that day leading to the seizure of four hundred pounds of cocaine being shipped into the Los Angeles/Long Beach Seaport. That was our doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ever heard of a group called Vigilance?”

  “No.”

  “That’s because you’re not supposed to have heard of them. We’re an anonymous, global community of hackers who do what we can to prevent or expose major criminal operations foolish enough to leave clues online.”

  “What does Vigilance get out of it?”

  He studied me for a second and let out a harsh laugh. “What happened to make you so cynical? You look so sweet and innocent.”

  I smiled—or perhaps bared my teeth. “I have an asshole ex-lover in my past too.”

  There, Adeline, how was that for rapport building?

  I could hear her scribbling in her journal again.

  Damon seemed pleased with my revelation. Maybe because I’d inadvertently called Tony an asshole.

  “What we get out of it varies depending on the individual. Most Vigilance members have normal lives with ordinary day jobs. Maybe they have a social conscience and want to be part of something bigger or better or more exciting. Maybe they’ve been victimized and want to be empowered instead. Maybe they’re trying to atone for something. Hell, I don’t know.”

  “What do you get out of it?”

  He crossed an ankle over his knee. “None of your business.”

  Right then. “So you and Isaac were both part of this… Vigilance group?”

  Damon sighed. “Yes. Member anonymity is a big deal, and I wouldn’t normally reveal someone’s affiliation, but Isaac’s dead, so I guess it won’t hurt him now.”

  “What was his motivation?”

  “The subject never came up. Some people can take someone’s good intentions at face value and not be so suspicious of every damn thing.”

  Subtle. “If anonymity is such a big deal, how did you guys meet?”

  “We both worked enough local angles that we started to recognize each other’s online aliases. Every now and then a job comes along that’s a particularly difficult hack, one that takes multiple people to pull off. You can link together online, but it’s easier to coordinate in person, so Isaac and I would team up sometimes.”

  That didn’t fit with the picture I’d built of the man who’d been working with Rick. “If Isaac was so interested in justice, how come he was helping the likes of the scammer Richard Knightley?”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he’d never do that. He was one of the good guys. That’s why I’m trying to make sure you solve his murder!”

  That was the most genuine emotion I’d seen from Damon—a break from his usual veneer of superior contempt. “Why would Stanley Cox say he was then? You read the confession.”

  “How would I know? I’m an expert on computers—not people. You’re supposed to be the detective here.”

  I ignored the false assumption behind that statement. “Why didn’t you point out the inconsistency when you came into the station?”

  “Because Cox was lying! I thought I’d made that clear, and it seemed pretty inconsequential compared to lying about a double homicide. If you took everything else he said at face value after that, I guess I overestimated your intelligence.”

  Lovely. “And the contents of the duffel bag?”

  “I brought snacks. You know, energy drinks. Chips. Pretzels. Twinkies. Do you need to see the damn receipt?”

  “Do you have it?”

  His hands jerked upward in frustration then returned to his lap. “No. Do you have your receipt from the last time you bought food?”

  Yes, because I never cleaned out my bag. But no need to mention that. “The duffel bag was partially unzipped, and we could see a muted green color inside. None of the snacks you mentioned fit the bill.” Not that I’d memorized the packaging of every variety of snack food, but the ones I could think of were all bright, bold colors.

  Damon frowned, trying to remember—or invent a plausible lie. “It must’ve been the wasabi peas. Isaac loved them.”

  I thought back to the footage. The green could’ve been wasabi peas. A duffel bag of snack foods would’ve been lighter than the nine kilos of cash too, so he might even be telling the truth. “Okay. Thanks again for your time, Mr. Wood.”

  He pushed to his feet. “Ugh. Just solve the case already. Then I can do the polite thing and tell you you’re welcome and actually mean it.”

  Connor, Adeline, and I let ourselves out—an easy feat since this was the fifth time that day we’d interviewed one of the embittered ex-lovers.

  “Gosh,” Adeline said. “I thought it was only actors that had to repeat the same scenes over and over.” She pushed a strand of glossy hair behind one ear. “Are you sure you’re doing this right?”

  Damon’s story checked out. Or at least the timing of it did. Four hundred pounds of cocaine had been seized after an anonymous tip that day. It was possible he’d anticipated we’d find the footage and concocted the whole Vigilance spiel in preparation, but I was beginning to believe him.

  That left a discrepancy in the case. Maybe an important one.

  “The relationship between Isaac and Rick is bugging me. Damon is adamant that Isaac wouldn’t be helping him, but then what possible reason could Stanley have for claiming he was?”

  Adeline straightened in the backseat and declared with great solemnity, “Somebody’s lying.” She waited for a beat before adding, “Was that good? I think that was good.”

  It took me a moment to cotton on that she’d said it like the final line of a high drama TV show before cutting to commercial. Apparently, she’d gotten bored observing and had moved on to practicing her lines.

  It had actually been pretty good. Not helpful, but good. I didn’t feel charitable enough to say so though.

  Thankfully, Connor prevented me from having to analyze that further by answering my original question.

  “We know Cox is hiding something. Maybe he’s trying to protect a partner who planted the microcomputer in Isaac’s house. Or maybe he wasn’t involved in the crime at all and doesn’t know how the microcomputer got there. But that doesn’t mean he’s lying about what Rick and Isaac were up to. Most of the details of his confession were correct, and even good guys have a price.”

  “So Damon might be wrong,” I mused. “In which case, I guess Patty Wilkinson would be our top suspect given her affilia
tion with Stanley and the fact that it gives her motive to kill them both. A motive that no one else seems to have. But if Damon is right, and Isaac wasn’t helping Richard, what would someone like Callahan get out of claiming he was?”

  “A willing patsy,” Connor said. “Cox might not have agreed to confess if he knew Isaac was innocent. That the murders weren’t about justice or vengeance—just acquiring some tech breakthrough he didn’t care about.”

  Geez. That was cold. But strategic. Like Callahan. But would he have planned it all out in advance, killing Rick so he could pay one of the scam victims to confess and tie up the story in a neat little bow? Or had it been a happy accident that Rick was killed along with Isaac and quick thinking on the murderer’s part to acquire a patsy out of Rick’s dirty laundry? And if it was the former, how the heck would the murderer have known about Isaac and Rick’s meetings?

  I had a lot of questions and very few answers.

  But I had an idea for where we could find some. “With so much hinging on whether Isaac was helping Richard or not, why don’t we do some digging into Mr. Anand’s character?”

  I saw Adeline’s nose wrinkle in the rearview mirror. “Digging? Is that code for just talking to more people? Not even suspects this time? Because my phone reminded me I have a nail appointment this afternoon I need to get to.”

  Connor kept his expression bland as he said, “Good. The first step to any successful investigation is to have trustworthy hands.”

  I managed to contain my snort. Barely.

  Before Adeline left, Connor informed her she’d need to leave her notebook with us as part of her nondisclosure agreement.

  “But there’s nothing about the case in it,” she said.

  What? Then what had she been writing all those times?

  Connor held out his hand. “Let’s see.”

  She rolled her eyes but dug it out of her clutch and gave it to him.

  Inside were impressively drawn sketches of everyone. On the first page, Tony was sliding down a pile of money, prominent nose first.