Exacerbyte (Ellie Conway Book 3)

by Cat Connor

  “Just after midnight,” Lee replied. “We meeting him? Or we sending a car?”

  “Us, I think it should be us.”

  “Friendly faces and all that jazz,” Lee replied with a nod of agreement.

  Lee picked up a CD from my desk. I could see him turning it over in his hands and feel the questions brewing.

  “Yes, it’s Grange’s new album and yes, it’s from the Drifter tour that they’re on now.”

  A pang of guilt drove through me as I remembered the concert. Not because we’d successfully ruined the evening for forty-eight thousand people, but because a life ended. And I couldn’t stop it from happening.

  Lee grinned. “Let’s put it on then SSA, let’s get this joint moving.”

  He slid the shiny disk into the stereo on the other side of the room. I carried on checking email, accompanied by Rowan Grange singing and feeling as if I could fall into his song.

  I gathered emails and printed out a bunch. I liked keeping hard copies – our filing system also liked hard copies.

  “Lee, grab a file will you, and drop these in it. Mark it ‘New Zealand’ and use the Butterfly case number with an amendment.” The paperwork generated by the case was unbelievable. By the end of it, we’d have boxes of paperwork and evidence; everything imaginable had to be documented and filed, because that’s how we do it.

  There were a few minutes for me to dash into my Foundation account and check my blog comments. Judging by the amount of comments left welcoming me back, I’d been missed.

  An uneasy thought crept in. Someone else used my laptop. I thought only my team had access – and it should’ve been only my team – but Rowan used it in Christchurch.

  “Lee?”

  “Yes,” he replied without looking up.

  “Rowan used my laptop in Christchurch. He probably had twenty minutes unsupervised time on it.”

  “You worried he could’ve planted that key logger?”

  “Maybe.”

  “My gut tells me Rowan has nothing to do with this situation.”

  Mine too. Between bouts of doubt.

  “I hope not.”

  Forensics would find out where the keylogger and whatever else was on my machine came from, or at least who wrote the program. There was a partial report on the Malcolm Crowe person who’d broken into my home. According to the preliminary interview with police, he was paid to break into my home by an unknown subject. The Unsub told him I was not home.

  He was supposed to turn on a computer, upload a small file and remove all trace of his activity. According to police, he had no knowledge of what the program did. I found that a little hard to swallow, considering he knew how to erase his tracks. There was no mention of what he was doing in my kitchen nor was there mention of his real name. There was also no mention of how he knew there were two computers or which one to turn on.

  Why didn’t he tell the police he’d left photographs?

  “Lee, what happened to the photographs?”

  “I left copies at your place and have the originals here,” he replied and pulled them from his bag.

  “Great, thanks.”

  Lee wrote up the chain of evidence for the photographs.

  Something I’d read was niggling me. “Hey Lee, Crowe was adamant that the Unsub told him I was not home. How the hell would anyone know I wasn’t home?”

  “You said yourself you feel like you are being watched.”

  “Yes, that’s true. You think someone followed me home at some stage? You know my street; it’s a cul-de-sac full of well-meaning nosy neighbors.”

  Lee grinned. “Cul-de-sac does sound better than dead end. And I know your neighbors. Any strange car would definitely have drawn the attention of that elderly neighbor of yours; she would’ve scurried over to report the intrusion.”

  “Scurry is an apt word; she’s very mouse-like.” It still bugged me that the Unsub told Crowe I was not home. How did he know?

  The mountain of paperwork in front of me finally diminished. I even put in requests for reimbursement on the credit cards before we headed out across the bridge and back to Fairfax County, Virginia.

  I turned my head too quickly to look at something and dizziness hit me with such force, I was glad Lee was driving. I’d engineered him to drive ever since the blast. It was bad enough I still carried a weapon and was still at work. Driving would be monumentally stupid: even I was not that crass. Before I could stop myself, I had my cell phone in my hand and was talking to Doc.

  “It’s Conway,” I said when he answered.

  “What do you need?”

  A little voice in my head said ‘tell him.’ “Can you meet us at my place?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right over.”

  I hung up as my mind whirled through my setting up of Eddie. The blast of wind that hit my face as I left my father-in-law’s house. I smelt the wind.

  Words tumbled in the air then bounced off the windscreen.

  “Lee, I smelt the wind.”

  “It’s not windy now, Ellie.”

  “No, in Christchurch at the stadium, I smelt the wind.”

  He glanced sideways at me. “That was a windy night.”

  He wasn’t getting it. He wasn’t getting it because wasn’t making sense. “When I was waiting for backup in that tunnel … I smelt cologne.”

  “We’re talking about a stadium that contained forty thousand plus heaving bodies; cologne is the best thing you would’ve smelt.”

  He had a point. Most people smelt of booze, some of vomit and a few smelt truly repulsive.

  “A cologne I’ve smelt before, Lee.”

  “All right I’ll bite … when?” He’d turned on his patient voice.

  “When I was jacked heading for Tulley Gate, when we were after the Butterfly Murderer.”

  Lee pulled off the road minutes from my home.

  “So you think whoever jacked you was in Christchurch?”

  “Probably. Cologne smells different on different people; what I smelled there was exactly the same as in my car that day.”

  Lee looked at me.

  “Exactly the same, Lee.”

  He didn’t make a move to disregard my statement. Probably because my very acute sense of smell lead to the arrest of another Unsub. It was our secret weapon. I told no one outside the team how I knew the nurse attempting to administer a fatal drug to my dad, was the same person who’d killed most of the regulars from my chat room and cut my throat. Not much more than a scratch really. Hardly worth worrying about.

  Lee knew. Lee was there when it all went down. Lee believed me now.

  “The problem here is we caught both people involved in your hijacking/kidnapping,” Lee said slowly.

  “So we thought. Neither of them wore this cologne. Someone else must’ve been in the car.”

  “A third person.” He looked at me for a beat. “You think the cologne is Hawk?”

  Did I think that?

  “I think we need to find out what cologne it is, it’s the only lead we have.”

  “Sounds good. Guess we can hope it’s a rare scent.”

  “I think it is. I’ve smelt it twice and I’ve come across a lot of people in between times.”

  He nodded.

  Lee checked the mirrors and pulled out into the traffic for the short trip home.

  Twenty-Nine

  Beast Of Burden

  I set my coffee cup on the kitchen counter, not bothering to rinse the last of the black dregs down the drain. Doc rinsed his cup and mine.

  Lee sat at the kitchen table still nursing his mug and staring at the latest warning from the Defense Department and another sheet of paper containing more information on the man we’d identified watching Rowan. Every now and then, he doodled on a piece of the paper with my pen.

  “A Military spook,” he said under his breath. “Why would the Department of Defense and the CIA be interested in a rock star?”

  I rubbed my temples with my fingers.

  Doc sat down
at the table. “You need something for a headache?”

  “No, it’ll be okay. I have no clue why the D.O.D. would be interested in a rock star,” I replied before really thinking about the question. “Who was the guy?”

  “CIA. Think they could be working joint ops with NCIS?”

  “That wouldn’t surprise me.”

  The CIA thing intrigued me. I knew we’d get zero information from them. With the CIA involved in military intelligence and criminal investigations, we’d get precious little information from anyone. Unless I talked to Sean O’Hare to see what he could uncover.

  “There are too many military connections in our case to make this a coincidence,” Lee said.

  He was right. From day one of our first tap dance with Hawk, there was a military connection but it started out Army and now it’s Navy and spooks too. But why Rowan?

  “Could the interest in Rowan be because of Rowan’s connection to us and Hawk’s connection to terrorism?” I was thinking aloud rather than expecting an answer.

  Lee appeared deep in thought before he said, “Hawk’s into making money by selling kids. That doesn’t appear to have a connection warranting Naval Criminal Investigation, except we found a person of interest to them in New Zealand.”

  “I think we can assume they’ve been interested since we first discovered that woman using a Department of Defense computer to hack the Foundation, back during the killing spree phase of this investigation,” I replied. “This feels like it’s become some sort of joint forces super-spook investigation. We need to be read in – but I’m feeling that ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Gerrard?”

  “I’ll try,” I replied. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was avoiding me. My last call went to voicemail and wasn’t returned.

  Lee nodded. “Surveillance on Rowan makes no sense to me.”

  We knew he wasn’t a person of interest. The circumstantial evidence however wasn’t so kind. The chat rooms were dedicated to his band, he used my laptop, and the kids were all at his concert. I left another message for Agent Gerrard. There are a whole lot of people who will lead you nowhere if you let them.

  “I’m hitting the hay,” I said.

  “Sleep well, Ellie. Doc and I will crash in the guest room if we get tired.” Lee smiled. “It won’t be the guest room for long. It’ll be Carla’s room soon.”

  “Here’s hoping. You know where everything is, right?”

  “Sure I do. Go on to bed,” Lee replied with one of his bigger grins. “I’ll wake you in time to get Misha.”

  “’Night,” I said over my shoulder.

  Before going upstairs, I checked the front door, backdoor and the exterior door from my office. As I walked up the stairs, the disjointed floaty feeling of earlier returned with vengeance. I clutched the handrail and waited for a moment. My head spun in sickening circles. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself.

  After several breaths and with my hand firmly on the handrail I walked slowly up the stairs. The last thing I wanted was to fall and have Doc and Lee racing to my rescue. How embarrassing would that be?

  A photo of Mac and me sat on the nightstand next to our bed. I fell into bed not bothering to remove anything except my jeans and boots. I hit the lamp base with my hand. As the light faded to black, my eyes rested on the picture.

  “Save me a seat next to you,” I whispered, then rolled over, letting cool darkness soothe my tired eyes and wash over my dizzy head.

  Alone, I listened to the noises of the house settling, recognizing the creaks and groans of the old wooden house and hearing the tree branches softly scratching in the breeze. Comforting noises that meant I was home.

  For an hour I lay there and then gave up and flicked the lamp back on. As a warm yellow glow filled the room, I saw my brand-new personal laptop snoozing on the chair in the corner. I tossed the covers back scrambled from my warm bed grabbed the laptop and scurried back under the covers. Holding the laptop, I recalled a pensive feeling regarding my work laptop from earlier that day.

  Why did Rowan use my laptop? I answered that myself. To read my blog. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

  I fired up my laptop and sat staring at the web browser screen. I had no idea what I wanted to do, I just I knew I didn’t want to think.

  No one was online in the Butterfly Foundation chat room except two moderators. I snuck out again before anyone noticed me. Why I went into the room at all isn’t quite the mystery it would seem. It was the same reason I logged into the MSN and Yahoo Messengers and checked the list of online contacts. I hoped for a miracle, prayed that Galileo would magically appear.

  Dead men don’t talk, nor do they sign into messenger services, or collect mail. When things got bad and life without him was just plain hard, I wrote emails to Mac at his Galileo account and sent them off. It made me feel better. I knew one day his email account would be full and the emails would start returning. That was something I’d deal with when it happened.

  With blurred vision, an aching head and what felt like the burden of my past pressing on my shoulders, I surfed for another hour. It was a struggle to remain semi-alert and even to read words on the screen. All day it felt like I’d missed half of everything that went on. The cologne issue vexed me.

  I ran a Google search for high-end colognes from Germany or France hoping to find something helpful. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s not as if you can smell them over the internet. I felt a smile wander across my face.

  Imagine if you could smell everything you clicked on?

  That’s some weird shit.

  A small blue window popped up from the bottom of my screen. It said, Galileo signed in.

  Without a pause, I clicked on the little pop-up and opened a chat window.

  Otherwisecat: Mac?

  Galileo: Babe, you okay?

  I clicked the request camera button. He accepted. He was right there in front of me.

  Otherwisecat: I’m always okay.

  Galileo: Babe … dead people don’t use MSN. You’re talking to me on MSN. Wanna do over?

  Otherwisecat: Fuc’n smartass!

  Galileo: You’re not dizzy? Don’t have a headache? You didn’t get caught in a fuc’n explosion and get a concussion? You don’t have BPPV?

  Otherwisecat: I am, I do and yes, I did. I do and again I do but I’m okay! Can we talk about you, and where you are?

  Galileo: I’m right here watching you. I know this is a little whacky.

  Otherwisecat: They’re gonna fuc’n lock me up if anyone gets wind of this.

  Galileo: Maybe…

  Otherwisecat: Maybe’s ass.

  Galileo: LOL. No one’s going to lock you up, Babe. I won’t let them.

  Otherwisecat: I’d like to see your incorporeal self try to stop them.

  He was right there. His eyes stared at me. His smile reminded me. My fingers traced over the picture on my screen. He smiled.

  Galileo: Ellie?

  Galileo: He’s a good man, Ellie. He is a good man.

  Otherwisecat: Who is?

  The screen wobbled, wavy lines crossed my vision. I blinked slowly.

  He was right there. His eyes smiled at me and his concerned brow reminded me of life and how it was to live.

  Galileo: Ellie??

  The screen vibrated. A buzzing noise emanated from the laptop. I felt it hit my head then pass right through.

  A new message followed.

  Galileo: Don’t give Kurt such a hard time. Ellie. This isn’t about Rowan. Ask Lee, he’ll tell you.

  Otherwisecat: Ask Lee? Mac, is adopting Carla a good idea?

  I typed in slow motion or maybe it wasn’t, maybe my connection was slow. I felt a smile drift across my face as I recalled a smartassed comment to Mac from a few years ago. ‘Satellite, dude, it ain’t slow, it’s atmospheric.’

  The computer buzzed on my knee again. When I looked at the screen, Mac was using all caps at me. Was it really necessary to raise his voice via capital letters?
>
  My lamp flickered. I closed my eyes. Exhaustion? My eyes were too heavy to remain open. I needed sleep.

  There was a buzz, then my light went out.

  A voice came out of the soft light. A deeper voice than Mac’s. It said several things before I heard anything I understood.

  “Ellie?” Lee asked. He seemed awful close. “We have to go get Misha. Wake up.”

  “Ellie, come on.”

  Something vibrated through the quilt. I sat up and saw the laptop. The screen was closed but the buzzing continued.

  Lee leaned over me and picked it up. “Do you mind?” he asked. I shrugged. He lifted the screen then sat heavily on the bed.

  “Tell me you are awake,” Lee said.

  “I’m awake,” I replied.

  He turned the laptop to face me. “Explain?”

  On the screen was an open Messenger window. A conversation between Otherwisecat and Galileo. The last thing typed was a message to Lee from Mac aka Galileo it read: Lee, Don’t let her work too hard. Something fucky is going on here. Tell her about the background check on Grange and that adopting Carla is the best idea she’s ever had. She needs to talk to Kurt.

  “When was it sent?” I asked. My eyes wouldn’t focus properly on the times on the screen.

  “An hour and a half ago,” he replied. “Who could have access to Mac’s account?”

  No one. Why would anyone do that? “It was Mac. Read the conversation,” I replied, knowing my answer wouldn’t fill Lee with confidence.

  He scrolled up and read a little, then gave me a long questioning look.

  “I’m not convinced,” he said and brought up a track and trace program. “I’m going to trace this and I’m presuming it won’t lead back to heaven.”

  “What if …”

  Lee held his finger to his lips. “We’ll cross that bridge later. Meanwhile, whoever it is knows a lot about you. You feeling all right?”

  “Yeah, Lee.” I smiled and trotted out my usual answer, “I’m okay.”

  He grinned. “So Mac saying you have to talk to Kurt is fantasy?”

  I shrugged.

  “Nothing new there then. I’ll be watching you.”

  “Nothing new there either,” I retorted.

  Seems everyone is watching me.