Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1)

by Cat Connor

  “Was he physically in there or did he hack into the drive-thru speakers, like those kids did a while back?”

  Mac shook his head. “Search me. He must’ve been close, or he wouldn’t have known it was us.”

  “How’d those kids do it? Could our Unsub hijack the speakers that easily?” I wanted to believe he wasn’t there, and body parts weren’t going into the onion rings.

  “They modified an old CB radio to broadcast on the fast food frequencies. It’s not difficult, and he’s already proven he’s smart.”

  Freaked out by the whole experience, I had a feeling it would be a long while before I went to another drive-thru. My stomach rumbled. It had been looking forward to a cheese dog. Mac heard it too.

  “Think we should risk another drive-thru?”

  “Nah. I’d sooner starve.”

  “Understood.”

  Forty-five minutes down the road, we found a store. Mac parked in the open, and I stayed with the car. He ran in and grabbed a couple of coffees and some sandwiches.

  On the front window of the store was a concert poster, advertising a Grange concert. There was a pang of dissonance within me as I considered that rock concerts were for normal people who lived normal lives.

  Farther down the road I called Aidan from my cell phone. I didn’t know if he knew about Dad. “Hey.”

  “Ellie?” He sounded concerned, as he always did. I listened to what appeared to be background traffic noise.

  “Yeah. I want you to meet me at Richmond hospital. Dad’s sick, he had a heart attack.” I could hear him breathing for what felt like forever. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  There was traffic noise.

  “Do you want us to pick you up?”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll meet you there.” He paused. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Don’t know; with him?”

  “Okay. I’ll see you there.” Aidan hung up.

  A frown line formed as I gazed at the phone in my hand. “That was odd.” I switched the phone to vibrate; that way I could easily ignore a call from Caine.

  “What?”

  “I called his home number but I thought I heard traffic noise, like he was in a car.”

  “Maybe he was in the front yard.”

  “Maybe. I just never thought of his street as being that busy.” I shrugged. “Fuck, it doesn’t matter. I probably imagined it.”

  “He’s a suspect. Caine said he all but discounted any involvement.” Mac sounded so calm. He was my rock, my salvation, and my sanity all rolled into one.

  “Uh huh.”

  I lit a cigarette and watched the scenery flash past the window. I wished we could disappear into the mountains and never have to worry about people again. My idea of heaven was a little cabin in the mountains, all alone with Mac. No electronics, no gadgets and no computers. Screw the mountain idea; I want to go back to New Zealand. Pictures floated into view in my mind, as I remembered the house and the walk down the long steep driveway to the sea. All the rhododendrons in the garden reminded me of home, even though I dislike them. The memory of two cell phone and computer-free weeks, spent in Mahau Sound in Marlborough, made me long for a vacation. I wondered if Mac would enjoy a New Zealand trip. I glanced at Mac. I saw him, supportive, wonderful, funny, caring and gorgeous. He should be running as far from me as possible. If there ever were two gene pools that should never mix, they were ours. Why on earth did I ever think we could turn our friendship into something bigger? A more controlled voice edged through the negative murk in my head: shut up Ellie, he knows what he’s doing. Have a little faith.

  The conversation in my head slowed to a background grumble as I tried to make conversation with Mac. “You only took a week off work, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Won’t your clients be pissed about now?”

  Mac was a stock trader. I didn’t think the market would wait for him to return to work. No doubt his clients’ stocks wouldn’t wait either.

  “Yep.” He was still calm as he smiled at me. “Guess I’ll find out when we get back just how good the FBI technical analyst is.”

  “Caine arranged an analyst to look after your clients’ portfolios? Do they know?” I asked.

  “No. I didn’t have much time to organize my leave.”

  I smiled a little. “Shit happens, huh?”

  “It sure does. This is the longest break I’ve had from trading, and I can honestly say I am not missing it yet.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I wanted in on the cemetery rape case.”

  “I know. I could tell when Caine told you about it.”

  “Was I that obvious?”

  “Yeah, you were.”

  I shrugged. “I am sure they’ll cope without me, and I’m sure Caine’s keeping an eye on the investigation.” I couldn’t help but wonder how it was going.

  Two team members down and I’m stuck playing fiddle for a serial killer, and a colleague is on maternity leave. Caine’s attention is on trying to keep me alive and not on Delta’s case.

  I reminded myself the team would function perfectly well regardless.

  Mac asked, “Would Delta have been assigned to this case if you weren’t involved?”

  “Yes. It definitely falls within our brief, almost any serial crime, murder, rape and armed robberies. Rape gets more press coverage, so most people know of Delta from the rape cases we’ve been involved in.” I exhaled watching the smoke billow towards the gap in the window. “Anyway, it seems I’m front and center in this investigation.”

  Front and center I may be, but useless I truly felt. Zero objectivity and a dumbass head injury do not make for a helpful agent.

  “Don’t it though.” Mac stopped at an intersection. “We take a right, yes?”

  “Just trust the TomTom. It knows the way,” I replied tapping the small screen on the dashboard.

  “I know, it’s just we’re in a city now and you might know a quicker way?”

  “I can’t believe we made it. TomTom or not!”

  “I still don’t get how cops always know where they are,” Mac said, following the TomTom directions.

  I squinted through the rain.

  “It’s a life and death thing. If your life depended on your knowing where you were at all times ...” I laughed, “… you’d be dead wouldn’t you?”

  Mac grinned. “I’m afraid I would be.”

  It’d been a peaceful trip phone call-wise. I loved how blocking numbers made annoyances vanish.

  I never did fix that printer. Oh yeah, the transcript.

  I wrestled the papers from my pocket to study. By the time I turned the first page I was sure they weren’t actual taped conversations. It was bogus! Why? It didn’t even say anything incriminating; it was bullshit, but not Aidan’s particular brand of bullshit.

  “Someone is playing a very dangerous game! These conversations never happened.”

  “What?”

  Mac glanced over at me then back to the wet road ahead.

  “My brother doesn’t talk like this,” I said. “There are conversations here that Aidan and I supposedly had over the last few days.”

  Mac expelled air through clenched teeth and said “That’s impossible.”

  “Yep.”

  “Why the fuck would someone invent a transcript?”

  “Because the surveillance is crap. I don’t believe he ever was a suspect, someone ... let’s say Caine, wants it to appear as though he is.”

  “To what end?”

  “No idea.” My head reeled at the possible implications: missing evidence and fabricated evidence. It was possible that Caine was trying to keep the real evidence out of sight to limit knowledge or, was he setting up Aidan? Stop!

  The actual tapes have to be produced for the District Attorney if they are going to arrest Aidan, and that would be impossible because there is no way those tapes exist. Foreboding clawed its way from my stomach envel
oping the whole situation: was Caine trying to throw someone off the real investigation? Does he really think it’s someone in the Bureau?

  We parked in the hospital parking lot. I glanced at my cell phone. The display said I had missed four calls, all from Caine. I had a solution for my moment of guilt. I snatched up both cell phones and threw them into the glove compartment for safekeeping. I knew I needed to talk to him, but this was something I wanted to do face-to-face where his eyes couldn’t lie. There would be time to discuss this with Mac. He’d have already boarded my thought train anyway.

  “Let’s go,” Mac said jumping out of the vehicle. He opened my door for me.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are very welcome.” Mac locked the car, pocketed the keys and took my hand. Together we walked through the main entrance of the large old building to the patient enquiry desk.

  At the nurse’s station in the Coronary Care Unit, I asked for Dad, “Simon Conway?”

  A nurse opened a chart and then looked up at me. “Gabrielle?”

  “Yes.” I flashed my credentials.

  The young nurse nodded. “Your father is in room two-ten.”

  “How is he?”

  “As well as can be expected, don’t overtax him,” she replied.

  I held Mac’s hand tightly and remembered to breathe as we walked down the corridor looking at room numbers. I peered through the window of room two-ten at Dad, who lay semi-reclined in a bed with wires and tubing all over him, including oxygen prongs in his nose. My mind quickly threw up some protective walls to shield me from the possibility that he may not survive.

  Mac’s arm slid around my shoulders. “Do you want to go in alone?”

  “No!” I couldn’t hide how horrified I was at the suggestion. I hate hospitals. They are where people come to die.

  Mac swung the door open for me. Why are hospitals so overheated? The minute I stepped into the room I felt hot and clammy.

  “Dad?” I touched his tube-free hand. His eyes flickered open.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” His voice sounded softer than normal, somewhat weaker in tone. His eyes settled on the hard-to-miss, bright-yellow cast on my arm. “Is that what happened in Lexington?”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing, an incomplete fracture. I’ll only have to wear this for about two weeks.”

  His skin looked grayish, and he looked very ill. I was used to Dad being tanned and bright, full of life.

  “That doesn’t sound bad.”

  “It’s not, it’s just annoying. You don’t look so good, Dad.”

  He chuckled, “Don’t feel so good, either.” He turned his head a little to see Mac. “How are ya, Mac?”

  “I’m good.”

  “How’s your dad, Mac?” He sounded quite breathless as he spoke, as though it was hard work.

  “Sends his regards, we just spent a few days with him.”

  “I know,” Dad replied.

  Mac raised an eyebrow. “You know?”

  Dad coughed a little. “We’ve known each other a lot of years.”

  Mac and I were very surprised at his revelation. Mac pulled two chairs closer to the bed.

  “You’ve never mentioned Bob Connelly before.” My eyebrows rose too.

  Dad smiled. “Sure I have, kid. Tank and I go way back.”

  I looked at Mac and thought back to all the times Dad had been hunting or fishing with his old buddy, Tank. Mac’s eyes narrowed, leading me to believe he had similar memories. I watched as his face lit up with recognition.

  Mac grinned and said, “You’re the Colonel?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Damn, it’s a small world,” Mac muttered. “Who’d have thought …?”

  “Tank called me when you left, said you were on your way.” He sounded very short of breath and his color worsened, more bluish than he had been.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He struggled for enough air to speak, “I’m sure they turn the damned oxygen off ... every now and then ... to see how many of us survive.”

  “Shush, rest.”

  “Not yet, Ellie. Time enough for rest when I’m taking a dirt nap.”

  I glared at him. He’d be doing that a lot sooner than he expected if he didn’t behave.

  “Have you seen your Mom?”

  “No, I thought she would be here.”

  “I haven’t ... seen her in two day ... she doesn’t know, Ellie.”

  “Two days,” Mac repeated.

  “It’s not unusual,” I told him. “In fact, for her, two days is nothing. She disappears periodically.” I leaned into Mac and whispered, “But it’s never long enough. The bitch always comes back.”

  “I’ll find her, Dad.” I watched his eyes close. “I called Aid. Thought he’d beat us here.”

  Simon opened one eye. “No, Ellie. We argued last time I saw him. He’s angry with me.”

  That wasn’t good. “Over Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I replied. I am my brother’s keeper. “We should have picked him up on the way.”

  “Let him be,” Dad said.

  “All right, but we’ll go get him, and I’ll find Mom.”

  “Try Aunt Caroline’s,” he said. “She still goes there when she’s manic.” Dad looked beaten down and flat-out exhausted.

  “She off her meds again?” I tried to keep the disappointment from my voice. I wished my mother would act like a normal person, just once.

  “I thought she was ditching them a few weeks ago ... and now I am sure.”

  “You got sedatives at home for her?” I asked. I knew what to expect if Mom was off her meds and in the midst of a manic episode.

  “My bathroom ... bottom vanity drawer ... small black case.” Distressed, Dad’s eyes filled with tears.

  “It’s okay, Dad, I know what to do.”

  “I know ...” He closed his eyes again. His breathing sounded labored.

  I leaned over and kissed his unshaven cheek. “I’ll be back soon, Daddy. Everything will be just fine.” I waited by the door for Mac.

  Dad reached a hand up and laid it over Mac’s. “You sure are Tank’s boy. He’s mighty proud of you.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Colonel.”

  I blocked the host of voices in my head as they attempted to scream in unison, “This really sucks.” They weren’t helpful. My less-than-perfect family demanded my attention, and I didn’t want to give it. I wanted to stay here with Dad. I did not want go out looking for my wayward, promiscuous mother and my brother who was too stubborn to visit Dad. I mentally slapped myself good and hard.

  Get over it! It’s my duty.

  We drove in silence across town to Aidan’s house. Two drive-bys later, we determined his car was indeed in the driveway and made the surveillance van down the street.

  “I bet that van is empty.”

  “You think we should risk it by knocking on the door?” Mac asked.

  “Ummm no, there’s an alleyway that leads to the back of these houses from the next street.”

  Mac parked around the corner.

  “We’ll climb his back fence,” I said.

  Mac nodded.

  As soon as I saw the fence, I realized that scaling a six-feet-high fence, one-armed, was a little ambitious. I had Mac. Together we managed to clamber over the wooden fence and drop unseen into the yard.

  There was no answer to my knock on the backdoor. I couldn’t hear any movement inside. Keys, I needed the keys. There were four large flowerpots on the steps by the back door. I tried to remember which pot held the spare key. Eeny meeny miny mo. The third pot from the top was my choice. I scrabbled through the dirt hoping the key was still there.

  It was, but buried deeper than I recalled. I wiped dirt from my hand down my jeans then unlocked the door. We wandered through the house, keeping away from the front windows. There was no sign of life.

  “Odd,” I mumbled to myself, flicking through a pile of bills lying on the dining room tabl
e. I stopped at a bill from Orbit Satellite Internet. “Funny, must be for work.” I refused to consider anything more sinister. He must’ve succumbed to the pressure of work to carry a laptop.

  I went into the kitchen leaving Mac scanning the bills. There was something wrong with the house, most notably with the kitchen.

  “He hasn’t been here in a few days,” I said.

  Mac appeared in the doorway. “Say that again, I missed it.”

  “He hasn’t been here for a few days.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s too damn clean. The cleaning lady comes twice a week and leaves the house looking like this, within hours he has messed up and used the kitchen. What day is it?”

  “Tuesday. It’s Tuesday afternoon.”

  “She comes Saturday mornings and Wednesdays.”

  “Maybe he’s been over at your parents’ place or out looking for her?”

  “He didn’t know Dad was in hospital or that she was missing.”

  “Good point. Maybe he cleaned up and went for a walk?”

  Like hell! He didn’t clean anything or walk anywhere. “Highly unlikely. Come on let’s go home and get the stuff.”

  I buried the key and pressed the dirt back down in the pot. We left the same way we arrived.

  I let myself into my parents’ home. I called out but there was no answer. I found the black case in Dad’s bathroom and handed it to Mac.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Open it and have a look,” I replied as I checked to see if anyone had been in the house recently. I cleared the answering machine too, nothing of interest there, either.

  “How does this work?” Mac held a small glass vial between his fingers.

  “See the long narrow top?”

  He nodded.

  “You snap it off then fill the syringe. It’s designed to break cleanly.” I showed him my right thumb covered in a myriad of small scars. “It’s a fallacy.” I grinned at him. “I’ve learned to snap the top off, by holding it in fabric of some sort, usually the bottom of my shirt.”

  “How many per syringe?”

  “One. One is enough to settle Mom.”

  “Okay, we ready?”

  “Ready as we’ll ever be.” I so wasn’t looking forward to it. Looking for my crazy mother was never fun.

  We began our search at Aunt Caroline’s, which Mac discovered was a place, not a person.