by Ellen Butler
“Where do you think he went?” I asked.
“If I had to guess, he probably tried to pick the front door lock but couldn’t get in because of your slide bolt into the floor.”
Another video feed came on screen.
“Six minutes after he gets off the elevator, you can barely see his shoulder in the stairwell camera as he heads toward the roof.” Amir clicked another button and the rooftop camera feed popped up. “There is one camera that monitors the roof, it’s right by the door. I believe it was disabled using a laser pointer.”
We watched the door open, then something bright flashed and the screen went gray.
“Is that it?” Leon asked.
“Eighteen minutes later, we catch him in the stairwell.”
The intruder moved at a fast pace, skipping stairs as he went.
The last feed showed the basement door opening and a barely glimpsed portion of his body. He must have plastered himself against the brick to keep from being seen.
My brows knit as I replayed the videos in my mind. “I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get, K.C?” Mike laid a protective hand on my shoulder.
“Clearly, he had the capability of knocking out all the cameras with his laser. Why only knock out the roof? Why not all of them?”
“Monitoring. Knock out one feed and hope it’s overlooked or assumed a malfunction. Kill all the feeds and increase the risk of a police dispatch,” Amir replied.
“Okay, but why knock out that one?”
“That camera shows a good portion of the roof, and we would have been able to see his movements.”
Jessica’s head bounced up and down as she scribbled on her notepad.
Mike shoved his hands in his pockets. “Did we get any shots of his face?”
Amir’s mouth flattened. “I’ll review it back at the office, but it doesn’t look good.”
“Is it an open or closed circuit?” McGill asked.
“Closed.”
“What does that mean? Open or closed circuit?” I asked.
Amir gave a look that tech savvy people give when speaking to the technically challenged. “Closed circuit television, or CCTV, transmits its feed to a specific location on a limited number of monitors.”
“So, it’s hard to hack?” Jessica pointed her pen at Amir. “That’s why he knocked it out with the laser?”
“Not necessarily. Everything’s hackable. With a closed circuit, the hacker would have to be onsite or have an inside man, like the Capitol Hill hack,” Mike explained.
Jessica jumped on that statement before I could. “What Capitol Hill hack?”
“Christ! Why don’t you go ahead and deputize these two, Agent?” Shiney sneered.
My gaze darted around the table. Leon glowered at Mike, who grimaced. Amir busied himself with the computer, and Moore became fascinated with his wedding ring, spinning it around his finger.
“I’m afraid Agent Finnegan has said too much,” Leon replied, grim-faced.
“Gentlemen, really, there’s no need for all this secrecy,” Jessica cajoled.
I narrowed my eyes at Leon. “Are you telling us the footage of me with the senator in the tunnels has been compromised? You didn’t see him collapse, or see me waving at the camera for help?”
Leon licked his lips. “Yes, we saw it. However, someone piggy-backed onto the feed and it’s . . . fuzzy.”
“Fuzzy?” Shinebocker’s animosity and suspicion toward me became abundantly clear. As far as he knew—hell, as far as anyone knew—I was part of the plot. On a fuzzy camera feed, my attempts to save his life could be misconstrued. My stomach sank.
“What do you mean someone piggy-backed onto the feed?” Jessica asked. “Do you mean there was another perpetrator controlling the visual?”
“We believe Jablonski and an off-site hacker watched the entire episode play out,” Amir replied.
The coffee I’d copiously consumed churned in my stomach. “You’re saying, some sicko watched him die? Got his rocks off observing me try to save him?”
“They wanted to make sure the senator wasn’t getting up,” Mike said in a hard voice.
“So, what? They would have messed with his pacemaker some more if I’d successfully revived him?” My voice came out low and rough.
“That, or sent Jablonski in to finish the job.” All eyes turned to Amir. Nobody spoke. He glanced up from the laptop and realized what he’d said. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug, “it’s just a theory.”
The idea of someone watching me struggle to keep the senator alive—waiting to take steps to make sure he didn’t get up—seemed particularly nasty. Evil. The very definition of evil. That queasy feeling I’d experienced on the roof, when Mike asked if I was going to vomit, returned. “And you think I’m one of the conspirators?”
Mike opened his mouth, but Leon’s voice cut across before he could answer. “Actually, Ms. Cardinal, I don’t. Lack of evidence against you, and this break-in, leads me to believe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Lack of evidence?” Jessica leaned forward. “Have you been investigating my client?”
“We’ve been investigating everyone involved with the senator. The list is long,” Leon assured her.
A single brow arched high as she scribbled on the notepad. “I hope for your sake, McGill, that all of the investigatory materials were gained legally.”
“Of course,” replied Leon.
But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike tap his forefinger and thumb together. It was a tell of his I’d learned from our college days while playing poker. It’s how I knew he was bluffing, and I wondered how deeply the FBI had dug into my background and what kind of gray areas they’d crossed to get the information. It also occurred to me that maybe I should have Joshua return to sweep for bugs and check my phone after the FBI left.
The phone.
“Why do you think he risked breaking into my apartment to get the senator’s phone?” I twisted in my seat to get a better look at Leon. “What’s on it?” This was the second time I’d asked. However, the director hadn’t been here the first time. I hoped I could prey on his current geniality to get better answers.
He shrugged. “We can only speculate.”
To everyone’s surprise, the soft-spoken tones of Investigator Moore asked, “Was the phone making any noise, like an alarm going off, when you picked it up?”
My mind went back to that night. “No-o, it looked normal to me. Why?”
“The senator’s pacemaker should have been setting off an alarm on his phone, and on his doctor’s phone.” Moore’s lips twisted. “That didn’t happen.”
“Wait a minute.” Jessica splayed her fingers across the table. “Whoever hacked the pacemaker also hacked the video cameras and the phone?”
Amir closed the computer. “We believe Jablonski might have been using a jammer to block incoming signals.”
“So, obtaining the phone was—what? Tying up loose ends?” I mused to no one in particular.
“Conceivably.” Leon got to his feet. “I apologize, but I have a meeting to attend. Gentlemen—” He glanced at the D.C. and Capitol detectives. “If you don’t have any more questions, I think it’s time we let this lady be.”
Shinebocker put up a finger and opened his mouth, but Leon quelled him with a single glance. The finger wilted and he mumbled, “No, we’re done.”
Jessica rose as the men gathered their things. “Just a minute, Agent. What about the safety of my client? She had a break-in. Is she safe to stay here alone?”
Leon surveyed me. “Was anything else taken beside the phone?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then I’d suggest you get something to secure the back door better.”
“Secure the door? Is that all you’ve got?” Jessica harrumphed.
“An alarm system wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
My lawyer settled an arch look on McGill.
“In addition, I’ll have Agent Finnegan reach o
ut to Alexandria P.D. and put in a request to increase patrols in the area,” he said genially.
Jessica sniffed, but I had no interest in getting back on my local police radar. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine. He got what he wanted. I can’t imagine whoever broke in will be back. No need to contact the local cops.”
“You’re probably right. Nevertheless, we’ll contact them.” He held out his hand to my attorney. “Jessica, always a pleasure. Miss Cardinal.”
“Call me Karina. Thank you for coming by, Director.”
To my surprise, Mike followed the crowd out the door with nothing more than a brief farewell.
As they rounded the corner, I heard Mrs. Thundermuffin’s thready voice. “Heigh-ho, gentlemen. And will you be installing the surround sound?”
“I’m afraid not,” Leon responded.
I quickly shut my door and prayed she wouldn’t come a-knockin’ anytime soon.
Jessica stared at me, shaking her head. “What have you gotten into?”
“I have no idea.”
She gave a hefty sigh as she loaded her bag. “Well, best lay low and stay out of that D.C. detective’s way. He’s a real piece of work. It sounds like the FBI has already cleared you, but that Shinebocker fellow has taken a distinct dislike to you. Either he thinks everyone is lying, or he’s pissed that the FBI has sidelined him and has decided to take it out on you.”
“Why me?”
“It is obvious; Mike cares for you. Those two were like circling dogs. I’m sure your friend only wanted to protect you, but Shinebocker might not believe the FBI did their due diligence investigating you since you have a relationship with one of the agents on the case.”
I couldn’t argue with her logic. There was a definite pissing match going on between the pair.
“Remember, don’t speak to anyone without my presence.”
“Listen, Jessica . . .” I shifted from foot-to-foot. “We didn’t discuss your fee.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take it out of your referral fee.”
“My . . . referral fee?”
She finished packing the last of her belongings and checked her cell phone. “Martin Dunne has put me on retainer.”
“Ah. Glad I could increase your clientele.”
“Tell me, are you going to be okay? Staying here alone?”
I glanced around the apartment, taking in the fingerprinting dust spread over the counter, on the door, and other various hard surfaces. “Any ideas the best way to clean up this printing dust?”
“First, use a dry cloth to wipe away the powder. Then try Windex or something with ammonia in it to get rid of the rest.” Her beautiful, dark gaze studied me. “This has been quite a day for you. Is there someone I can call to come over? I’m not sure I should leave you alone.”
I thought about calling my sister and my mom, though I figured both of them would completely freak out and tell me to move in with them. Latesha? She wouldn’t freak out, but this was her weekend with the kids. Soccer season had started, and I didn’t want to intrude on her time with them. I shook my head.
“You’ll be okay?”
Mustering a smile, I said with false confidence, “I’ll be fine. It’s a lot to process, and all. . . . ”
“I have a relationship with Le—I mean, Director McGill. I’ll see if I can find out anything more about the case. You work your magic on our handsome Agent Finnegan, and we’ll talk again. I think their preliminary investigation, and the fact someone broke into your home, removes you from the suspect list.”
“I hope so.”
She gave my arm a reassuring pat on the way out the door. “Stay safe.”
Chapter Twelve
A persistent knocking woke me at seven on Saturday morning. I wasn’t pleased. My brain spent the night circling around the facets of the case like a tornado spins through Kansas, only to come up with no good answers. Right now, seven felt like four a.m. I shuffled to the front door, shoving the tangled mane away from my face. The peephole revealed Mike’s smiling countenance. It didn’t make me any happier.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes grew wide and he stepped back. “Well, I—”
“You didn’t return my phone calls or texts.” I walked away, leaving him to close the door.
“Sorry. I brought you a present.”
“Is it coffee?” I continued on my path without a backward glance.
“No, it’s not. Hey, where are you going?”
“Back to bed.” I closed the bedroom door with a sharp snap.
“Where are your tools?” he called.
“Check the furnace room off the back deck.” I faceplanted onto my fluffy pillow, pulled the comforter over my head, and ignored the noise coming from the other side of the bedroom door.
It didn’t work.
Twenty minutes later, I tossed the blankets aside and dragged myself into the bathroom.
Yowza.
The rat’s nest was worse than I’d expected, and I’d forgotten to remove yesterday’s makeup too. No wonder Mike did the jerk-back move. I wrestled the mane into a ponytail and washed away the evidence of my rough night.
Mike had kindly started a pot of coffee, and I drank half a cup before speaking. “What are you doing?”
A hammer and various drill bits were spread across the living room floor and he was screwing a silver metal piece into the sliding door frame.
“I’m putting a security bar on your back door.”
“I was going to take care of that.”
A doubtful brow rose.
“Okay, I was just going to shove a broom handle in the track, but it would have worked just fine.”
“This is better. I’ve also emailed you some links to good home security services in the area.” He tossed the screwdriver aside. “All your tools are pink.”
I grinned to see my bubblegum-colored tools in his long, manly fingers. “Yeah, I know. The grips are built smaller for ladies hands. My dad gave them to me when I moved into my first apartment.”
He grunted and picked up a long metal bar.
“I’m sorry I was pissy earlier. I didn’t sleep well. And . . . ”
“And . . . ” He slid the bar into place and picked up a tiny screw.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, staring into my coffee cup.
“K.C., what’s up?”
I paced away. “You . . . you just left. After all that crap, the interrogation, the FBI brigade in my dining room. Someone broke into my house, and that Shiney guy thinks I’ve been a party to murder. You didn’t answer my calls or texts, and you! You just left!” Tears burned my eyes. “Oh, hell.” I stomped into the bathroom to retrieve a tissue, slamming the door behind me.
It was lack of sleep. Consciously, I realized that’s all this fit was about. Yet, it was also something a little deeper, as though my best friend had let me down. Our relationship was getting . . . complicated. I know that’s such a cliché. The case. His job. My role in Harper’s death. Could things get any more complicated? Still, I wanted to look to him for comfort. We’d had such a great relationship in college. Why couldn’t things be that simple again?
The redness from crying and lack of sleep only sought to brighten the green of my eyes. I swiped away the remnants of my ridiculous emotional outburst and pulled the door open to find Mike, right outside, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed.
“I left because I didn’t want Shinebocker whispering in my boss’s ear. I left because I knew you’d be safe with Jessica, and I figured she’d want to debrief with you—her client—without an FBI agent hanging around. I left because this case is part of my job, and I knew if I stayed and continued to show partiality, my boss would remove me from it, and I can’t have that because you are a part of it. And I didn’t return your texts or phone calls because I didn’t leave the office until after one in the morning, and my phone is locked away while I’m at work, as you well know.” He spoke in a calm tone, but the frowning brows, rigid posture, a
nd hard face let me know the tone was a façade.
Getting a closer look, I saw the tightness around his eyes mirrored my own. I laid a hand on his forearm and sighed, “I’m such a brat. Sorry.”
The stiffness disappeared and he pulled me to his chest. “Me too. I got caught up in the case. I should have called you at some point.”
My ear lay in the crook of his neck; I could smell the sandalwood scent of his soap. “Do you have any leads?”
“A few.” He laid his chin atop my head.
“Am I still a suspect?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“But they may keep you out of the loop when it comes to me.”
His chin moved against my skull in a brief nod.
“Thank you for installing the security bar. Is it finished?”
“Almost.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
The chin waggled no.
“I’ve got eggs. How about an omelet?”
“I’d love an omelet.”
After breakfast, over the dregs of our coffee, we rehashed the case. Mike couldn’t say much more about his leads, except that he was following some, so the conversation mostly consisted of me asking questions he couldn’t answer.
“What do you think was on the phone?”
Mike followed me to the couch, stretching his legs onto the coffee table, while I curled up against him. “Could be anything or nothing.”
“No. Something was on that phone. They sent a guy to break into my apartment to retrieve it. Would a hacker leave some sort of signature from that alarm thingy for his pacemaker?”
“Sounds as if there was a jammer. I doubt the phone was hacked.”
“If there was a jammer, how did the hacker get past it to mess up the pacemaker?”
“That is an excellent question.” Mike played with a lock of my hair.
“I wonder if there was some sort of communication—a text or phone call—that pointed to the killer.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me all sorts of ideas aren’t running through your head too.”
He yawned. “It’s all speculation, and since it’s unlikely we’ll ever find the phone, I can’t run my investigation on ‘what might be.’ I have to go with the information I have.”
