Chaos Theory

by M Evonne Dobson

  Sam the Entrenched says, “I’m not hungry. We can maybe look at this from another angle…”

  Sandy says, “Now, Sam. We’ll talk about that later.” Sam gets the message. They put on their coats and head through the bookcases. The metal door creaks the way it had the first time I ran into Daniel in my hideaway. The first time that he threatened me. The time he later said I’d smelled nice and he’d…Why do I feel guilty for kissing Gavin?

  Clink. Clink. Clink. It had frightened me in the past, but he won’t hurt me. He says, “You don’t meet this Gavin guy by yourself.”

  “Gavin isn’t Vampy V. You heard Sandy. I’ve known him forever. He won’t hurt a fly.”

  “How do you know? You didn’t know he was a hacker. And you’ve deep-throated him twice now?”

  That pushes my ticked-off switch. “There wasn’t any French kissing involved.” But there could have been, if there had been more time. Both times, my bod thought that was a really good idea.

  Twenty-one

  That was then. This is somehow guilty now. I’m exhausted—bone-deep exhausted. “Daniel, I chased him all fall, and got nowhere. We’ve been in class together for years. Classmates. We did a history project together in seventh grade. Heck. We’ve been in band together since fourth grade.” But I don’t mention how hot he’d become in the last year. I sag onto the sofa. “What’s wrong with me? How can I not know about his computer hacking?” And why am I some freaky sex addict when Gavin’s around? “Daniel, there is something screwed up inside me. I know more about you and Julia than Gavin. It’s crazy.”

  The clink, clink, clink stops. He grins slow and sweet. “Nah. You’re just not interested enough to find out, that’s all.”

  Daniel nods his head toward the bookcases where Sam and Sandy will return. “Come on, Sherlock. Give this Gavin a call, but I’m not letting you meet him alone.”

  And shouldn’t that embarrass me? But it doesn’t. Checking the phone number brand Gavin’s left on me; I enter it into my cell and hit the green button. A half an hour later, passing Sam and Sandy returning with junk food, Daniel and I head to the library entrance to meet him.

  ***

  My history-project buddy walks into the library, and my breath catches. He really is a gorgeous guy. I step forward with Daniel glued to my side. Gavin smiles, sees imposing Daniel with his MA face on, and stops.

  I whisper to Daniel, “Remember we need him.”

  “Hi, Kami.” Gavin’s voice is warm and, ignoring Daniel, he pulls me into a big physical hug.

  I say, “Thanks for coming.” And doesn’t that electric zing shoot through me again. Know him or not, something deep inside zaps to primal life when I’m near him. I focus on our plan and order Hormonal Kami to knock it off.

  I sit with Gavin at a table not far from the entrance. Daniel crowds in. I give him a get-out-of-here look. He backs off and stands near the door to the stacks and the Bat Cave. He looks mean as hell. Can you say gatekeeper troll?

  “Gavin, here’s the deal.” I give him a brief overview.

  Half an hour later Gavin and I, with Daniel trailing, climb the endless stairs. At one point, Gavin, who is not in MA physical shape, sort of weaves toward me. Daniel growls. Yes, he growls. Gavin straightens, but not without his own quieter growl back at him. I wonder how this is going to work. Mixing two Neanderthals together isn’t a good idea.

  I slip through the tight space between the bookcases and Gavin follows. Both Sandy and Sam barely look up from their laptops at the carrels. Sam mutters something about another idea to pursue. They both ignore us.

  I look around the Bat Cave with fresh eyes. Our coats are piled up on the end of the sofa; bookbags are scattered beside the sofa and on the coffee table. There are open pizza boxes and some Subway sandwich wrappers with chip bags—most squashed and empty.

  On the wall is our crowning glory—the crime board. It isn’t neat anymore, but it is impressive. The timeline is so detailed that you have to get close to read it. Along the bottom, we’ve added photographs connected by green twine that leads to their timeline spot. A copy of Gravel Voice’s photo from the police website is there. School photos of Mandy, Tammy, and Vampy make a little pine-tree shape. The most recent addition is the phone photo of Ink posted below a heading Suspect.

  Music from Sandy’s iPhone plays. For this case, she put together a playlist from famous mystery/thriller movies. I made her delete the Hitchcock Psycho bathroom scene music.

  Gavin simply says, “Wow.”

  I lead him over to the board and walk him through the details, including Daniel’s role and his CI agreement.

  “That sucks.” For the first time, Gavin looks toward Daniel with sympathy. Daniel projects an even uglier expression. Gavin asks, “So what do you need from me?”

  Whatever Sam and Sandy are working on with iron determination is put aside. They leave their laptops and join us at the crime board. Sam starts. “Kami filled you in, but here’s where we’re stuck.” He taps Ink’s photo. “We know he is or was a college student. Is he still there? Is he going to class? Where is he living? Stuff like that. I’ve done everything I can, but can’t get into his personal information on the college intranet. That’s where you come in.”

  Gavin’s shoulders droop. “I want to help, but can’t.”

  Sandy jumps first. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t. I was caught hacking it last summer. They have one brilliant tech wiz, and he’s fast. He tracked me down in seconds. Half an hour later, police are at my front door. I’m on a special probation and can’t violate it. Now, they have me hacking the college system for holes in their systems, five hours a week for six months.” Gavin doesn’t give up, though. “How do you know this guy is a student here?”

  Sam says, “Daniel had Julia’s laptop and smartphone. We accessed her Facebook account and her contacts.”

  Gavin raises his left eyebrow an impossible three inches.

  Sam the Detailer plugs on. “Yeah, stupid. No passwords and fully public, we had direct entry on startup. That gave us access to the boyfriend’s Facebook page where he posts that he’s a sixteen-year-old college genius. His e-mail is g.thompson-smith@iacollege.edu. The real science savant Greg Thompson-Smith uses Thompson-Smith.16@iacollege.edu. The real Greg’s Facebook page is titled IQ149—not exactly searchable as a useable ID, but shows the guy’s ego factor. He is a sixteen-year-old Chemistry PhD student. So Julia’s guy is posing as him.

  Daniel says, “I don’t understand how an imposter can use an e-mail address that so obviously should be someone else’s?”

  “Students can use anything they want for their e-mail. No one checks it. Can’t tell you how many Darth Vader variations there are out there.”

  Gavin cracks his fingers with some loud pops. “Let me see her laptop. Let’s start with the college’s public directory. I can get you to hidden public stuff—not illegal—but most students don’t know about it.” A name springs up on the laptop—the Greg we want: Greg Matthew Jacobs, Sports Medicine Major.

  Gavin says, “The thing is, the registered college name is probably his real one, given his college application. You’d have to be really connected to get fake creds to apply—fake stuff like social security numbers, driver’s license numbers, date of birth. Probably just weird luck that the first name is the same for both. I can get more.” He punches more buttons. “See here’s the address where he lives.”

  Thrilled, Sandy and Sam huddle over Gavin’s shoulder as he works. I ease in the opposite direction until I’m beside Daniel. “He’s helping us. Stop treating him like he’s a rapist.”

  “Whatever. Don’t be alone with him.”

  I check him over. “You’re serious.” Then I say, “That time you followed me home from MA in the snow? I thought it was to intimidate me, but it was more than that, wasn’t it? You were making sure that I made it home safe.”
>
  “You’re a pain, Kami.”

  It’s nice to know though. “Daniel, I can handle him.”

  “Do you want to?”

  And isn’t that close to what I’ve been wondering myself?

  ***

  Later, Gavin says, “This is scary.” He pulls back from Greg’s Facebook page, and eyes the computer monitor like it turned into a shark.

  “Why?” All of us lean into the space he’s left open.

  “This Facebook page is plain predatory.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you go below the normal Facebook features, it shows a whole bunch of scary. Every new Facebook page gets invites based on what the maker enters. In this case, he says he’s an Iowa College student. Should rec students and profs, college clubs, stuff like that. Then there’s the ad factor that recs pizza-joint coupons, the movie discounts, the Best Buy sales notifications—even nearby mechanic shops offering discount oil changes. Whoever set this page up didn’t bite on a single one.”

  That doesn’t seem unusual to me. “Maybe he set it up, but never bothered to come back to it.” I would. I hated Facebook.

  “College professors have public Facebook pages. They post class and homework college links. That’s how I broke through the firewalls and got caught. You’re crazy not friending those. Profs check who likes and friends them and who doesn’t.”

  And use it against you? “Thanks for the tip.” I press again. “But let’s say he’s a klutz or wasn’t paying attention on the first day of class. It happens right?”

  “Sure, but this guy?” Gavin holds his hand over the keyboard as if he’s getting a vibe from it, and he doesn’t like it. “He sent out one invitation and only one.”

  “To Julia.” Daniel grates his teeth. “This guy set this up to target my half-sister.”

  “Yeah. That kind of predatory behavior is linked to child pornography, prostitution, or other illegal stuff.”

  I say, “And innocent ninth-grader Julia was his target.”

  “Yes.”

  Daniel does his storm to the crime board like a tornado, zeroing in on the boyfriend’s photo. “Get information on this creep.”

  Gavin says, “I can’t hack the college with my parole agreement, but I know a guy who can—the guy clocking my community time. He’s with campus security.”

  I ask, “How fast can we get to him?”

  Gavin checks the computer’s late-night timestamp. “This time of night? Campus town Donut Shop. I’ll call and set it up.”

  ***

  Sam and Sandy stay at the Bat Cave to pursue another investigation angle Sam thought up. He calls it grunt work. Sandy is more graphic. “You know how you and Daniel were scooping horse manure? Well, this is the computer equivalent. Once we get one hit—and we should, the rest will fall fast. We’ll let you know how it pans out.”

  Daniel and I ride in his Mustang. His heater works. We follow Gavin, who’s in his mom’s Prius. After the hacking incident, his mom and dad yanked his car. He jokes, half-serious, that he won’t have wheels for at least a year, maybe two.

  At the college donut shop, a lone Hispanic man sits in the corner booth with high defined cheekbones, like mine. He’s tall with a long gray hair in a ponytail. Beside his humming laptop are two cake donuts with pink frosting and sugar sprinkles and a huge steaming coffee mug. He waves to Gavin. A blue tattoo circles his right wrist. Gavin nods, but veers first to the counter where the attendant finishes sticking day-old markers on the donuts. Ponytail comes for the cheap donuts.

  Gavin offers to buy mine; Daniel’s on his own. “A raised one with chocolate frosting,” I say. Gavin orders donuts and two cups of coffee.

  I say, “I’d rather have hot chocolate.” Late night chocolate fix.

  He pays. “Believe me, take the stronger caffeine. Before Luis Sanchez decides to help, he’ll grill you.”

  I clutch the hot coffee cup; breathing in reminds me of Dad.

  We sit at the corner table with big windows that let the cold seep in. I can’t get a read on him. He’s a blank page. My first science competition had been body language. Not getting a read tells me tons, all scary.

  Twenty-two

  He finally asks, “What’s up?”

  “Trouble.”

  Ponytail picks up a pink-frosted donut. The tattoo is two strands of intertwining barbed wire. He also has a diamond earring in his left earlobe. His Grateful Dead t-shirt is similar to mine. Would the gig listing on the back match? He is one strange campus cop. He takes a big bite, chews it thoughtfully, and swallows while eyeing us.

  “Tell me about it.” His voice is deep and vibrates, sort of musical. It’s comfortable and competent like Sensei’s. It’s a subtle move, but Gavin and Daniel look to me. Ponytail stops looking at the guys and focuses on me.

  Gavin introduces us, distills the story and spews. When he gets to the part about Daniel hiding Julia’s illegal activities from his family, his false confession to the police, and his now being a CI, the guy grunts, “That sucks.” And Gavin had said the same thing—a little hero worship?

  Gavin moves on to the fake Facebook Page and the misleading college e-mail account. This disturbs Ponytail; there is the smallest tell of muscles tightening. It’s like he leaves the ground and soars in circles overhead, looking down at some scurrying varmint. We are the varmints.

  Gavin said we’d be grilled, not have our souls judged and judgments cast.

  Ponytail asks me, not Gavin or Daniel, “What will you do with the information?”

  I like that he said what will. “If he’s still a student, if he supplied Julia with drugs, led her on, and if he…” I trail off, not wanting to discuss murder; an adult, eagle or not, is not going to cooperate with underage adults if murder is involved.

  Again reading my mind, he asks, “Her death? You have questions about her suicide?”

  I say nothing about murder possibilities. “Her life changed and, odds are, it was Ink who did it.”

  “And if he’s no longer a student? The e-mail accounts stay up for three months after a student leaves.”

  I say, “We canvas likely places on campus. His apartment, for sure. If he’s around, we’ll find him. If he’s not, then someone might know where he went.”

  I take his pen and write Ink’s e-mail on a napkin and shove it at him. “This is his e-mail address.” I let rip my own predatory eyes, drilling his, daring him to help. “Give me his class schedule, his emergency contacts, his GPA, his major, his advisor’s name, his real phone number—not the burned one he gave to Julia. Give me his application references. I even want his application essay. Everything. With that data, we’ll locate this creep.”

  Ponytail taps a finger against his extra-large coffee mug, studying me.

  I don’t blink, and stare him down. “When we know where he is, we’ll tell the police. We won’t go after him ourselves.”

  Decision made, Ponytail reaches for his laptop, taps away at the keys for a couple of minutes, and then stands. “Time for a walk. I’ll be exactly fifteen minutes.” He leaves.

  For one heartbeat, the three of us stare at the laptop. I get to it first. Greg Matthew Jacobs’s college profile is displayed on it, with his official school photo—no password, the file open. I click on the first tab. Daniel and Gavin grab paper and pen from their backpacks and, looking over my shoulder, they start writing while I read.

  ***

  Ink is Greg Matthew Jacobs and his official bio confirms our age suspicions. He’s twenty, from Minneapolis. His major is sports therapy, but he failed his first trimester tests—either he wasn’t smart enough or he didn’t bother to study. After that, he dropped off the school’s radar. His application is full of typos while his essay is flawless. He probably found the essay online. School admissions should have caught that. He has an adult police record that includes ga
ng activity and stolen cars, resulting in jail time. His references come from half-way house volunteers, a counselor, and an alum named Jeanine Foster.

  Ponytail will be back soon. Still writing on notepaper ripped from Daniel’s backpack, Gavin swears as I punch up Ink’s financial records. He qualified based on economic need for FAFSA loans and a grant from the half-way house charity, but for paying—he used cash. He never finished the grant or loan paperwork.

  Ponytail re-enters the donut shot and strips to his t-shirt the second he hits the warm air. He’s a precise man. I glance at the computer’s timestamp; he’s been gone exactly fifteen minutes. I close the laptop. Again, Daniel and Gavin groan. But there’ll be no pleading for more. It’s a miracle he’s given us this. And why? Why did he do this for us? I imagine a butterfly’s wings fanning the hair by my right ear.

  Before we leave, he scribbles on his campus business card and hands it to me. “Take this. Call me, anytime, whether it’s this or something else in the future.” Then he says, “And about your chaos locker...”

  That grates. He’s Googled me at a minimum, probably from his smartphone on his ‘walk.’

  “Sometimes, even with all the facts, you can’t make sense of it—like your chaos experiment. When you hit the brick wall, don’t accept it. Never give up. It might be years. It might be a lifetime, but someday it will fall in place.” And he leaves.

  Somehow, I think I’m something that’s falling in place. He forgot his coffee mug or maybe they keep it for him since he’s such a regular. I put it into my parka’s deep pocket. Ponytail deserves a place in my chaos locker.

  After an uptight and worried call from Mom about why I’m late, which irritates me because I don’t have a curfew, my planned return to the Bat Cave is nixed. Daniel offers to drive me home, leaving EB back in the library parking lot. He says he’ll pick me up in the morning to retrieve her. She’ll pout for a week.

  Via a conference call, Sandy and Sam tell us they plan to keep working, but suggest an early breakfast at the Waffle Stop. It sounds like they’ll be at it all night. Gavin heads back to the library to help. Our crime unit is working like well-engineered cogs in some complicated piece of machinery. Something swells in my chest—pride in what we’re accomplishing together.