by James Carol
The laughter stopped and everything fell silent. Winter couldn’t see the other students, but he could sense their presence. They’d be pushing forward as close as they dared, eyes fixed to the toy bear. The fuse flared and burned, getting shorter and shorter, then it split into three, the flames chasing closer to the fireworks. All three went off at more or less the same instant, creating a series of bangs that sounded like rapid gunfire. The bear jumped three feet in the air before landing in a heap and bouncing to a stop. It was lit up white, blue, red and green. Unlike the killer, these kids hadn’t bothered to separate the gunpowder from the flash powder.
The cheering and laughter had started up immediately after the bangs, and was getting louder and more frenzied as the mob mentality kicked in. The last firework burned out and the kid with the camera ran over to get a closer look. The bear had been completely destroyed. Its head was hanging off and the stuffing had been blown out of it. The fur was smouldering and burning, the flames getting bigger. The picture cut back to the news studio. The anchor was describing how police had been called to break up a student party near the university. She actually called it an execution party. The whole thing had been organised via social media. Apparently a similar thing had happened last year.
Winter had seen enough. He switched off the TV and picked up his tumbler. This was just a case of dumb college kids acting like dumb college kids. There was no real harm intended. They were just out looking for fun. It had no doubt seemed like a good idea at the time. Drink some beers, have a few laughs, cause a little mayhem. As far as they were concerned it was all a big joke. This had nothing to do with reality. If they were to come face to face with that it wouldn’t end well. Put them in a crime scene or an autopsy lab and they’d last two seconds before puking or passing out. His cell phone rang. He picked it up, checked the caller ID, then connected the call.
‘People are going to talk, Jefferies. You know how gossip spreads around police stations.’
‘I just thought you’d like to know that Eric Kirchner is alive and well. His sister lives in the city. She’s gone over to his apartment to make sure he stays that way.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘Now here’s an interesting thing, and maybe it’s something you can help with. Kirchner is claiming that someone broke into his apartment and stole his laptop. He’s pretty pissed, and understandably so. I don’t suppose you know anything about this?’
‘Maybe he misplaced it.’
‘Or how about this? Maybe someone broke into his apartment and stole it.’
‘What else was taken?’
‘Nothing else was taken.’
‘Mmm,’ said Winter. ‘Someone goes to the trouble of breaking into his apartment but all they take is the computer. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’
‘That depends on their motivation.’
‘You know, when I was interviewing Kirchner, it occurred to me that he might have a drink problem. Maybe that’s what’s going on here. Maybe he got drunk and misplaced it.’
‘We’ve been all through his apartment and couldn’t find it. As you know, it’s not that big. There really aren’t that many places where he could have misplaced it.’
‘Looks like you’ve got a mystery on your hands.’
‘It certainly looks that way.’
‘Did you hear back from the lab about superglue being used on that tree?’
‘We did. It’s bad news, I’m afraid. No trace of superglue or any other solvents was found. And it gets worse. We matched the shoe print to the owner of the house opposite Myra Hooper’s. He was able to fill us in on what happened. Someone had stapled a lost cat poster to the tree. When he pulled it down, a chunk of bark came with it.’
‘Don’t you just hate it when an idea doesn’t pan out?’
‘We’ve got a first-rate IT department. They’d love to take a look at Kirchner’s laptop.’
‘And what would they be hoping to find?’
‘You tell me.’
‘Nothing springs to mind.’
‘You know, they’d be really pissed if they discovered that an amateur had been poking around in it and that evidence had been destroyed.’
‘I could understand that.’
‘So if I came over there I wouldn’t find the laptop.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. And I can state that categorically.’
‘Okay, let’s say that hypothetically the computer did somehow come into your possession, and let’s say, hypothetically speaking, that you found something on there. If that was to happen I would expect you to let me know exactly what was found.’
‘Hypothetically speaking, I wouldn’t have a problem with that. No problem whatsoever.’
‘Call me.’
‘Missing you already.’
39
Winter was dreaming of Marilyn when his cell rang. She was emerging slowly from a giant cake, singing ‘Happy Birthday, Mr President’ in a breathy whisper. The sequins of her dress were glinting in the bright stage lights. People were laughing and cheering. It was impossible to tell if they were laughing at her or with her. That was the tragedy of Marilyn. It could have gone either way.
The phone rang again and a rush of adrenaline burst through his body. His eyes sprang open. It was dark outside, which meant that it was still the middle of the night. Nobody called at this hour with good news, not unless they were in a different time zone and had got the math wrong. He grabbed his cell from the coffee table and connected the call. According to the screen it was twenty-three minutes after two. Whoever it was, they were calling from a phone that his cell didn’t recognise. For a brief second he wondered if the killer had somehow got hold of his number. Weirder things had been known to happen.
‘Who is this?’
‘Sobek. You said to call when my guy had looked at Kirchner’s laptop. Well, he’s looked at it.’
‘And?’
‘He found a rat.’
‘I take it we’re talking in acronyms here. You mean a Remote Access Trojan, right?
‘That’s correct. The killer is able to access the webcam whenever the computer is switched on. It’s set up so the camera light is disabled. Kirchner wouldn’t have known he was being watched.’
‘Is there any way to trace the RAT back to the killer?’
‘Let me ask.’
‘Your computer guy’s still there?’
‘He is.’
‘Put him on.’
There was a quick muffled conversation, then a new voice came on the line.
‘How can I help?’
The voice sounded too bright and efficient for this time of the day. Winter was picturing a guy wearing the most expensive suit he could afford, a mid-level white-collar worker with aspirations. A realtor or an accountant or maybe an office manager. What he wasn’t picturing was your standard-issue computer geek.
‘I want to know if it’s possible to trace where the RAT came from.’
‘Not really. This guy’s hidden his tracks well. He’s routed and rerouted through multiple servers. Given enough time and computer power you might be able to find him, but it wouldn’t be easy.’
‘He must have known Kirchner’s IP address.’
‘He targeted Kirchner’s laptop specifically, so, yes, that’s my conclusion.’
‘How difficult would it be to get hold of that?’
‘Assuming that Kirchner is as negligent with his security as ninety-nine point nine per cent of the population then it wouldn’t be too difficult.’
‘How would you do it?’
The line went quiet. ‘Do we know where he lives?’
‘We do.’
‘In that case I’d go in through his Wi-Fi router. I’d park as close to where he lives as I could, then I’d compare signal strengths so I could make an educated guess as to which router was his. Once I’d done that I’d launch a brute force attack to break the password.’
‘How long would this take?’
‘It coul
d take a while. Am I worried about being seen?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, I’d lock my laptop in the trunk, leave the car parked at the kerb and come back later. You don’t need to be sitting in the car while the program’s running.’
‘What about Sobek’s computers? Any RATs on them?’
‘No, his computers are clean. There was evidence that someone had tried to infiltrate his systems. Fortunately, he belongs to the point one per cent who take security seriously.’
‘When did this happen? Kirchner’s RAT, I mean.’
‘Three months after his wife was murdered.’
‘Was any attempt made to infiltrate his computer before the murder?’
‘No. Only afterwards.’
Winter went quiet while he thought things through. The victims had not been chosen at random, they’d been targeted, which meant that the killer needed to carry out surveillance. Two facts came into play here. Fact number one: this guy took a hands-off approach. In hindsight, sneaking around outside Myra Hooper’s house, planting cameras, just wasn’t his style. Fact number two: the killer had accessed the webcam on Kirchner’s laptop and that established a behaviour. If he was using webcams to watch the victims post-offence, then it made sense that this was how he’d be watching them pre-offence.
‘Are you still there?’ the computer guy asked.
‘I’m still here. Can you put Sobek back on?’
The line went quiet and there was a muffled conversation that was the complete reverse of the last one. The computer guy would be holding his hand over the mouthpiece and telling Sobek that he was wanted.
‘What?’ Sobek asked.
‘Did Isabella own a laptop?’
‘Of course she did.’
‘And do you still have it?’ Before Sobek could answer, Winter added, ‘Dumb question. Of course you do. Get your computer guy to take a look at it. I want to know if the killer managed to get a RAT in there. Call me as soon as you’ve got anything.’
Winter hung up and tapped the phone against his leg. The tune going around inside his head was annoying, and of his own invention. It seemed to blend everything that was bad about pop and dance music. The tempo was 120 beats per minute and the tune was annoyingly repetitive. It could have been a hit. Sobek called back six minutes later.
‘He got into Isabella’s laptop.’
40
Anderton answered on the fourth ring with a sleepy, ‘This better be good, Winter. It’s the middle of the goddamn night.’
‘I’ve had a breakthrough.’
There was a rustle of covers and a gentle grunt. It was easy to imagine her sitting suddenly bolt upright in bed, alert and completely awake. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’
‘This is one of those things that’s best done in person.’
A sigh. ‘Fine. I can be at the Shangri La in twenty minutes. I just need to throw some clothes on.’
‘You don’t need to go anywhere. I’m standing outside your apartment block.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘Do you have any idea how creepy this is?’
From where Winter was standing in the middle of the street he had a good view of Anderton’s apartment block. One of the windows on the second floor suddenly lit up. A second later the drapes parted and a face appeared. He gave Anderton a little toodle-oo wave. She didn’t wave back.
Winter hung up and hurried over to the entrance. The door was buzzing when he got there. He went inside and took the stairs two at a time. Anderton was waiting in the doorway of her apartment. She’d thrown on a baggy Canucks T-shirt and some jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a quick ponytail. The look suited her. It seemed to smooth off some of her sharper edges. She headed back inside without a word. The implication was clear. Follow me. Winter walked into the narrow hallway and pushed the door closed behind him. Anderton was already at the other end of the hall. She disappeared through a door on the right. The hallway was short, so it didn’t take long to catch up.
The living room was as neat and tidy as her SUV, which was no great surprise. Anderton lived to impose order on a world that was fast turning to shit. All the books were lined up neatly on the bookshelf, the remote controls were in a pile next to the DVD player, and the cushions were plumped and arranged on the furniture like a magazine photoshoot was about to take place.
‘Take a seat,’ she said.
‘I’m not sure I want to. I don’t want to mess anything up.’
‘Very funny. So how did you know where I live?’
‘Sobek told me.’
‘So, what? You’re BFFs now?’
Winter smiled. ‘I wouldn’t go that far. Let’s just say that we’ve put our differences aside and found a place where mutual co-operation, although tenuous, is obtainable.’
Anderton let loose with a small chuckle. ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much the same place that I’ve got to. Okay, start talking. What’s got you so excited?’
‘The killer has been watching Kirchner. He planted a Remote Access Trojan on his laptop and is using that to hack into his webcam.’
Anderton took a moment to process this. If she was excited by the news, it didn’t show. She was chasing the implications inside her head, seeing where they might lead. Her expression was pensive and thoughtful, her gaze fixed on one of the wall pictures, a print of a poppy on a large canvas.
‘And how exactly did you reach this conclusion? Or to put it another way, how did you get access to Kirchner’s laptop?’
‘I broke into his apartment and found him passed out drunk. Given the state he was in, I figured that he wouldn’t be needing his laptop for the foreseeable future, so I stole it. Sobek had one of his people take a look at it and they found the RAT.’
Anderton shook her head. She was trying to look serious but the hint of a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m going to be honest with you, Winter. Right now, I’m not sure whether you should be praised for your initiative or arrested.’ She fell silent again. ‘What about Sobek and David Hammond? Have their computers been infiltrated?’
‘Sobek’s haven’t, but not through want of trying.’
‘Because he’s so paranoid about security?’
‘Exactly. Isabella’s laptop had been, but that would have happened before the paranoia kicked in. As for Hammond, I don’t know. I’m considering letting Jefferies run with that one.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’
Winter responded with a shrug.
‘Winter?’
‘Okay, okay. Jefferies suspects that I stole the laptop. I’m figuring it wouldn’t do any harm to throw him a bone.’
‘You do know that stealing is a crime?’
‘And you’ve never broken the rules, Anderton?’
‘Maybe once or twice,’ she admitted. ‘But only when the end justified the means.’
‘And in this case the end justifies the means.’
‘Are we thinking that the killer is some sort of computer genius?’
Winter shook his head. ‘He would need to be comfortable with computers, but he wouldn’t necessarily need to be an expert. The malware is readily available online. The people who download it are mainly teenage boys, and men who want to spy on their wives and girlfriends. These programs are simple enough for a kid to use, which means that our guy isn’t going to have too much trouble using it.’
‘Okay, now that we have a direct connection with the killer, how do we use that to our advantage?’ She went quiet, considering the question. ‘I need coffee. What about you?’
‘Always.’
Anderton got up and headed for the hall. Her office door was open so Winter was able to get a good look as they passed it. If you compared the size of the room against the footprint of the apartment, then this had to be the main bedroom, which meant that she was using the spare one for sleeping in. Her map of the city covered more or less the same area as the map in his suite. She’d marked off the target ar
ea with a red circle. Red crosses for the murder sites, and a brand-new cross where Myra Hooper had died. The photographs were arranged in three distinct groups, one for each of the first three victims. Winter had seen most of these before. Some of them were on the wall of his suite. All of them were in Sobek’s office. There were no pictures of Myra Hooper. It was too early for Anderton to have got hold of those yet.
The kitchen was as spotless as the living room. Anderton filled the kettle and put it on to boil. She didn’t say anything, just used the time to chase her thoughts. She finished pouring and handed Winter a mug. He sugared it and took a sip.
‘The killer’s at his most vulnerable when he accesses the webcam,’ she said. ‘There must be some way of working backwards to find his computer. If we find that then we can work out where he is.’
‘Sobek’s guy doesn’t think that would work, but it’s worth getting a second opinion. When you speak to Jefferies ask him to get his computer people to look into that.’
‘We could use the webcam to contact the killer directly,’ Anderton suggested. ‘But what do we say to him?’
‘Before we answer that we need to work out what’s motivating him. If he’s hacking into the webcams before the murders then the reason is fairly obvious. He’s gathering intel on his victims. The more information he’s got, the smoother things are going to go. But why would he want to watch the husbands afterwards? I’m figuring that he must be interested in their reactions. That’s his payback.’
