Case of the Chatty Roadrunner

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  A loud, ear-drum shattering bark sounded, and I’m honestly surprised the windows still had glass in them. Vance sighed, rolled his eyes, and offered Emily a grin.

  “Sorry. Down there are Sherlock and Watson.”

  Emily leaned over the counter and saw both dogs staring up at her. Her face softened immediately and she made cooing noises at the dogs.

  “Aren’t they the cutest things?” Emily gushed.

  “They are,” I confirmed, “and they know it.”

  “As I was saying,” Vance continued, “we are here in town to investigate the unfortunate demise of one Mrs. Samantha Anderson.”

  I watched Emily’s eyes flick over to the computer screen. They widened with surprise, as she no doubt noted the name of the file Carl had pulled up on the computer. Then she glanced over at me and her eyes widened even further.

  “Yes, she’s my late wife,” I confirmed, before Emily could ask the inevitable question. “Look, ma’am. I’ll be honest with you. My wife died nearly two years ago. Everyone thought it was an accident, including the police. Hell, that’s what I believed, too, until…”

  I deliberately trailed off, hoping that Emily would be hooked and be motivated to ask the inevitable question.

  “Until what?” Emily finally asked, when I didn’t continue.

  “…until I watched a video shot by a guy with a camera on his dash. The footage showed my wife’s Audi, careening off northbound I-17, down the median, and over to southbound I-17. It, uh, smashed headfirst into a semi-truck.”

  Emily’s hand flew to her mouth in horror, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Anderson. Do you believe one of us had something to do with that?”

  “Honestly? No. But, what I would like to do is chat with one of your technicians, preferably one who has worked on that car. However, if that isn’t possible, then anyone familiar with that model will do.”

  “What are you hoping to learn?” Emily asked. I noticed a healthy dose of caution had returned to her voice.

  “I’d like to know if it’s possible for a car to be remotely hacked.”

  Emily’s eyebrows shot straight up, “Hacked? As in, taken over? You think someone might have been able to force your wife’s car into oncoming traffic?”

  Vance and I both nodded.

  “That’s the ongoing theory,” Vance confirmed.

  “And all because of that video,” I added.

  “What about the video?” Emily wanted to know. “I mean, is this an ongoing investigation? Are you allowed to tell me?”

  “The video which shows my wife’s car plowing into a semi,” I stated. “The guy who shot it was so shaken up that he’s become paranoid behind the wheel. But, the reason I think its proof that something was wrong with the car, was the simple fact that not once did Sam hit the brakes as she drove off the road. Not once did she slow down. Now, let me ask you something, Emily. If you suddenly swerved off the road and knew you were headed for oncoming traffic...”

  “...on a freeway,” Vance hastily added.

  “...on a freeway,” I amended, “wouldn’t you be slamming on the brakes? Wouldn’t you try to swerve out of the way?”

  “So, you’re suggesting someone remotely took control of your wife’s Audi and sent it straight into the path of a semi-truck?” Emily slowly asked. “And on top of that, whoever was responsible also managed to disable the brakes?”

  “That’s what we want to know,” I agreed.

  Emily picked up the phone and punched a few buttons on the console, “Harrison, would you report to the Service Department front desk please? Harrison, report to Service, front desk.”

  “We really do appreciate your help,” Jillian softly told the customer service supervisor. “And for the record? I truly hope the answer to this is a resounding ‘no’.”

  “You and me both,” Emily admitted.

  The door opened and admitted a middle-aged man wearing the same blue polo shirt the rest of the staff seemed to favor. He was wearing khaki pants that had stains on his pant legs, as though he had wiped the grease off his hands regularly instead of washing it off, and had tattoos covering both arms. He briefly smiled down at the dogs before navigating around us to approach the counter.

  “These people are hoping to have a word with you,” Emily formally told the mechanic.

  Harrison slowly turned until he was facing us.

  “Do I know you? Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Harrison was the last technician from our dealership to look at your wife’s car,” Emily explained. “Perhaps he has the answers you’re looking for?”

  “Has something happened to your wife’s car?” Harrison asked me, concerned. “Bring it on in. I’ll be more than happy to get it up on the racks and see what we can...”

  “This was nearly two years ago,” I interrupted, as the mechanic took a breath. “I don’t think you’ll remember this particular car, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Harrison began. “I work on a lot of cars. I don’t think I’ll remember it, either. Can you tell me exactly when it was and what type of car?”

  “November 16th, 2016,” I began. “And it was an Audi Q7.”

  “A blue one,” Jillian helpfully added.

  Emily rapped her knuckles on her monitor, getting the technician’s attention, “I have her file here, in case it might jog your memory.”

  Harrison walked around the counter and was silent as he stared at the screen. He eventually looked up at me and gave me an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, I really don’t remember this particular car. It says here I gave it an oil change and one of our 20 point inspections. Nothing out of the ordinary was mentioned. It’s not surprising. After all, this car was less than 6 months old.”

  “Did this car have something called ‘Driver Assist’?” Vance asked.

  Harrison nodded, “Correct. It’s a feature designed to assist people who can’t parallel park their car. Once properly lined up, Driver Assist will perform the necessary calculations to maneuver the vehicle into a perfect parallel parking job.”

  I nodded, “That goes along with what I was thinking. Now, here’s the million dollar question: can a car be hacked?”

  I’m sorry to say that Harrison didn’t even bat an eye. He nodded, without giving any consideration to the question. Emily, I might add, had clearly expected a different answer.

  “What?” she sputtered. “You’re telling me it’s possible?”

  Harrison sighed and leaned up against the wall behind the computer.

  “This is why all the cars I own, or have driven, were made prior to 2005.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Vance wanted to know.

  “Any vehicle manufactured in the year 2005 or newer has an onboard computer system that can be hacked,” Harrison matter-of-factly stated.

  The three of us collectively groaned, while Emily continued to wear a shocked expression on her face.

  Harrison grinned and crossed his arms over his chest, “Let me guess. You’d like me to expand on that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I sure as hell would,” I mumbled.

  “Ditto,” Vance echoed.

  “I think I’d like to trade in my car for an older one,” Jillian softly whispered.

  “Computer scientists have been doing studies on this very topic for a while now,” Harrison explained. Judging from the sighs and grimaces he was making, this was apparently a sore subject for him. “Once your car’s computer has been hacked, then signals can be sent to the power steering, or the locks, or any number of systems to get your car to do something you ordinarily wouldn’t want it to do.”

  “How?” I demanded. “How is that even possible?”

  “Easy,” Harrison answered. “Modern day cars will typically have somewhere between 50 to 100 control units, which are essentially small computers. These control units control many of the vehicle’s functions, from power steering, to power windows, to the locking system, and
even the brakes.”

  The four of us, including Emily, gave visible jerks as we all gasped with alarm. I sucked in a deep breath and held it. It was possible? Someone could have given Samantha’s car the order to turn off the brakes? How horrible that must have been for her! To know what was coming, and not being able to do a damn thing about it, was almost unbearable for me.

  I felt myself taking deep, ragged breaths and then noticed both of my hands were gripping the counter so hard that my knuckles had turned white. Vance was the first to notice. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, harder than he normally would have, to get my attention.

  “Zack, are you okay? Do you need to wait outside?”

  I ordered my hands to release the counter and then took a few steps back. The dogs were there in a heartbeat. Sherlock and Watson whined as they both craned their necks to look up at me. I squatted and draped an arm around each of them.

  “I’m okay, guys. Thanks. I just got some alarming news, that’s all.”

  I turned around to see Emily reaching for a bottle of water. She drained nearly half of it before she leveled a look at Harrison.

  “Okay, if what you say is true, how do we make sure our cars are protected? I mean, can we go buy some anti-virus software or something?”

  Harrison grinned, but sadly shook his head, “The manufacturers need to be held accountable for keeping their vehicles safe and protected. New technology is being created each day to try and keep the consumers safe. Hey, did you guys hear what happened to Jeep in 2015? Researchers proved they could use the Internet to remotely take over their Cherokees. Commands were given to change the radio station, modify the climate, and then, with the complete cooperation of the driver, they issued commands to shut off the transmission, which caused the accelerator to fail while they were going over 60mph. And this happened on a freeway.”

  “Holy shit,” I softly breathed.

  “Not good,” Vance agreed.

  “I’m definitely trading my car in for an older model,” Jillian told me.

  “Wait a moment,” I said, as a thought occurred. “This ‘Driver Assist’ feature only tells the car to parallel park, right?”

  Harrison nodded, “That’s right.”

  “So, then, it wouldn’t be possible for the car to drive itself across the road into oncoming traffic, would it?”

  Harrison shrugged, “If the car’s onboard computer has been compromised, which means someone else is in control, and since the Audi’s computer can control the steering system, then it can theoretically happen, yes.”

  “I’m liking this less and less,” I groaned.

  “Now that we know it’s possible,” Vance began, as he furiously jotted down notes in his notebook, “how easy is it? You say that any car that has access to the Internet is vulnerable, so what would it take to hack one of these systems?”

  Harrison held up his hands in mock surrender, “I’m a technician. The only computers I’m familiar with are the ones we use in the shop. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would take. However, with that being said, I’d like to point out that I’m very happy driving my 1976 F250. Why risk it?”

  We thanked Emily and the technician for his unsettling news. Not a word was said as we all climbed back into the Challenger. Jillian volunteered to ride in the back seat with the corgis, allowing me a chance to stretch my legs.

  Once we were back on the road, I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. My face felt clammy and my hands were cold. For the record, I can’t even begin to remember how long it’s been since my hands were chilled. November 23rd suddenly popped into my head and I cringed. I stand corrected. Apparently, I could. It would have to be the day I got the news Samantha had…

  Sorry. I veered again. For those that may not remember, I have a tendency of veering off topic. I’ll try to control myself.

  “Well, we know it’s possible,” Vance slowly began, as we navigated through the thick traffic on Camelback. “What I’d like to know is, how easy is it to do? I mean, can anyone Google instructions how to do it and become an instant hacker?”

  I started shaking my head, “I doubt it. You heard what Harrison said. The cars don’t just have one computer controlling everything, but essentially one minicomputer for every system. What did he say? 50-100 control units? No, I figure you’d have to be a computer expert to be able to do it.”

  “I wonder how many people could do it,” Jillian wanted to know.

  “Do what?” Vance asked. “Hack into a car? I’d like to think that number is small. You’d definitely need to know your way around a computer.”

  “A computer whiz,” I agreed.

  “You know this area better than us,” Vance reminded me, as he glanced my way. He downshifted and zipped around an articulated bus, which had just pulled over to pick up some passengers. “Where can we find someone who might know how to hack in to a car?”

  I shrugged, “I don’t know. We could always find the closest big corporation and ask their IT department. They usually have a one or two know-it-alls on staff.”

  “A big corporation,” Vance slowly repeated. “Which big corporation?”

  “Any, I guess. Why?’

  “What about a certain pharmaceutical company?” Vance carefully asked. “Would they have their own IT department?”

  For the umpteenth time that day, my blood ran cold.

  SEVEN

  Later that evening found the three of us, er, the five of us, reclining in Vance’s casita, listening to some soft music, and going over our notes for the day. The mood was somber and the room was quiet, until I looked up with annoyance. Someone had a loud whistle emanating from their nose and it was driving me nuts. I leaned down to look at the dogs.

  Sherlock, as was always the case, looked up just as I looked down. He blinked his eyes at me a few times and then returned his attention to his chew toy. Watson was sound asleep, snuggled up against Sherlock’s side. I held my breath and listened. The whistle didn’t appear to be coming from either of them.

  Now that I think about it, I didn’t hear the whistle any more at all. Uh, oh. Was it me? I cautiously let out a breath. A blast of noise, reminiscent of a sharp note from a piccolo, sounded. Both dogs jerked their heads up and looked around the room. Aghast, I looked over at Jillian and saw that she was trying her best to suppress a giggle. Vance was staring at me, as though I was an alien from outer space. Then he stuck his finger in his ear and jiggled it.

  “Dude, blow your nose or something. Damn. That made my ears ring.”

  “I’m allergic to something that’s blooming out there,” I decided, as I headed to bathroom. “I don’t remember having this many allergy problems when I lived here.”

  “Perhaps you’ve become too accustomed to Oregon’s fresh air?” Jillian teased.

  I returned to the living room and shrugged, “Perhaps. Man, I don’t about you guys, but I’m having a hard time trying to I shake what Harrison told us.”

  “About all cars manufactured after 2005 being hackable?” Vance casually asked, as he looked up from his notebook. “Me, either, pal. Wait until Tori hears this. I’ve caught her eyeing a ‘79 Corvette Stingray that’s for sale down the road from us. The last thing I want to do is give her any excuse to buy the damn thing. Do you know what kind of gas mileage those Vettes get? It’s crappy, trust me.”

  “What are you worried about?” I asked my detective friend. “Corvettes don’t have any backseats. It’s not a ‘family-friendly’ vehicle.”

  Vance was suddenly grinning like an idiot. He looked at me and gave me a high five.

  “I didn’t even think about that. Awesome!”

  I lost the coin toss, so tonight’s dinner selection was on me. The bright side to that was I got to choose where we were going to eat. In this case, being back in the big city suddenly paid off. Phoenix had some fantastic pizza joints, and I think it’s time I had a good piece of pie.

  Pie. Pizza. I have never figured out why some people refer to
pizza as ‘pie’. To me, pie was a type of dessert, like pumpkin pie, or key lime pie. At no point should it be called a pizza. Then again, I just called the flippin’ thing ‘pie’, so I really had no ground to stand on. But, I digress. Back to pizza.

  After I made my selection, and ordered a pepperoni pizza for Vance, and a Hawaiian pizza for Jillian (I liked both), all from the convenience of my phone, I might add, I settled back against the couch and stroked Sherlock’s fur. Jillian joined me on the couch and rested companionably against my right shoulder. She took my free hand in hers and squeezed it tight.

  “I have no idea how you’re managing to stay so calm,” Jillian confided. “Had I discovered Michael had been killed, and then learned how it could have happened, then I’m pretty sure I’d be freaking out.”

  For those of you who don’t know, or don’t remember, Michael was the name of Jillian’s husband, who lost his battle with cancer several years ago.

  “How do you know I’m not freaking out?” I asked her, as I wrapped my right arm around her and held her tight. Sherlock paused with his chewing long enough to cast a neutral look at Jillian before resuming. “You saw me back there at the Audi dealership. As soon as that Harrison guy confirmed that someone could have theoretically shut off Sam’s brakes, I almost lost it. But, as I was staring at the guy, imagining what it must have been like for Samantha, I realized something.”

  “What?” Jillian asked.

  Vance paused with his note-taking to glance up at me.

  “I want whomever is responsible for this caught. I want him persecuted to the fullest extent of the law. No, scratch that. I think I want to see this guy suffer, like I suffered. If it turns out Semzar is responsible, and wanted to shut Samantha up permanently, then I want to know why and I want to know who is responsible. By that, I mean, I want to know who gave the order.”

  “We’re gonna get him, buddy,” Vance promised. “There’s no way some corporate jackass is gonna get away with this.”

  With the temperature currently a very pleasant 84°F, and since the sun had set nearly an hour ago, the outside air had become absolutely gorgeous. Crickets chirped loudly. We heard the howl of a coyote in the distance, which surprised Jillian and Vance, but not me. They must’ve figured there was no way a coyote would be stupid enough to wander within city limits. However, all I had to do was point out that the Phoenician backed up against Camelback Mountain, and there were quite a few places for a coyote to roam.