by Diane Kelly
Her eyes scanned the page before she looked up again. “I—I…” she stammered. “I can’t imagine who it would have been. I mean … I—I…”
“Miss Valdez,” Detective Bustamente said gently. “Be honest with us. Did you enter the profile?”
Her mouth flapped a few times before she ejected from her seat, the rolling chair slamming into the shelves behind her. “No!” she yelled, so loudly the word echoed in the space. If she hadn’t wanted to feed the office gossip mill, that scream was not the way to go. “Why in the world would I do something like that?”
Clearly, she was becoming flustered. The detective motioned with his hands for her to sit back down. “Look,” he said. “Nothing would surprise us or make us think less of you.”
“But I didn’t do it!” She looked wildly from his ear to mine to Brigit’s, as if hoping one of us would say something, tell her this was all just a bad dream, a mistake, a joke. “I didn’t do it!”
“Then how would you explain the fact that the center’s Wi-Fi system was used?” he asked.
She shook her head frantically, then stopped and stared at her desk for a few seconds as if racking her brain for a logical answer. A moment later, her head popped up and she threw a hand in the air as if she were in grade school and had the answer to a question. “I know! Or maybe I know. The rehab center uses Interstellar Communications for our Internet and cable. That’s the company that Ryan works for. Our system crashed a few weeks ago during a thunderstorm. Our in-house guy couldn’t get it back up and it was going to be hours before the service could send a tech out. I thought my boss would be happy if I could help out. I told her that my boyfriend was one of Interstellar’s authorized technicians. I called Ryan and he came out right away and got things running.”
Bustamente and I looked at each other again. His tight expression told me he was as frustrated as I was. This information could change everything. Just when we thought we’d finally got a break, too.
When Ryan worked on the system, he’d surely had access to whatever codes or passwords were needed to get into the system. And while I knew little about technology, I did know it was possible through various apps and software programs to log into a network remotely. People who worked from home did it all the time, using their company’s system even though their physical locations might be miles apart. Heck, the laptops we Fort Worth PD officers had in our cruisers could connect to the department’s main system.
“If you don’t believe me,” Adriana said, “I can get someone to find the work order and show it to you.”
“Do that,” Bustamente said.
If there was one thing a rookie cop learned quickly on the job, it was never to take someone automatically at their word, especially if they had skin in the game. Still, I doubted Adriana would have made up this stuff about the service call. It would be too easy to check.
Adriana grabbed her phone and called down to accounting. After telling them what she needed, she was put on hold for a moment. Damned if her face wasn’t just a little bit smug.
“Okay,” she said into the phone when the person on the other end returned. “Can you e-mail it to me?” She paused a moment. “Okay. Thank you.”
She turned to her computer, clicked a few buttons, and maneuvered her mouse. With a flourish, she turned the screen to face us. “There you go.”
Sure enough, there on the screen was an Interstellar Communications service report indicating Ryan Downey had performed work to get the system back online after a crash. But did that necessarily mean Ryan had been the one to input the Kinky Cowtown profile? It might not. If nothing else, though, it meant that Adriana could not be definitively identified as the culprit. It also meant we had more work ahead of us.
The detective pointed to the screen. “Can you print that for me?”
“I’d be happy to.” She jabbed the buttons on her keypad. A few seconds later, the printer on her desk whirred to life, spitting out the service order. She snatched it from the tray and held it out to the detective as if awarding him a prize.
Bustamente took the report from her, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks for the information, Miss Valdez. We’ll let you know if we make any further progress.”
She and I exchanged nods before the detective, Brigit, and I left her office.
As we rode back down in the elevator, Bustamente said, “I’m going to speak with their in-house computer guy. See if he can tell me anything more specific.”
We checked back in with the receptionist, who made another call and sent us to an office on the first floor. We made our way through a set of swinging doors to a short wing that was at least ten degrees cooler than the other part of the hallway. No doubt this was where the server and other important equipment resided, the lower temperature keeping them cool for best performance. You wouldn’t hear me complain. This wing was a welcome respite from the August heat outside.
We found the system administrator in his office. He was a chubby, bearded guy with rectangular glasses. Bustamente handed the guy the printout from our tech department and the man looked it over before consulting his computer. “Nope,” he said. “The IP address for the device that was used isn’t one of ours. It looks like someone hacked into our system from the outside using their own equipment.”
Bustamente cut me a knowing look. Yep, we both knew who’d have the ability to get into the center’s system. Ryan Downey. Still, even if we knew it, we’d need to be able to prove it.
“Can you tell who the equipment belongs to?” I asked.
“No,” the man said. “There’s not a way for me to discern that.” He let out a long, loud breath. “Frankly, this scares the shit out of me. We’ve got all kinds of confidential data on our system. Medical records. Social Security numbers. If the hacker harvested any of that information we could have a major security breach on our hands.”
“For what it’s worth,” Bustamente said, “we don’t think that’s what happened. We think the system was only used to upload some content to an adult dating site.”
“I hope you’re right,” the guy said, already fiddling around on his computer. “In the meantime, I’m going to have all of the employees change their passwords and take some other precautionary measures.”
“Good idea,” the detective said. He pulled a business card out of his pocket and laid it on the man’s desk, tapping a finger on it. “In case you need to reach me.”
“Thanks,” the man said without looking away from his computer.
Bustamente and I returned to the cruiser. Once we were seated inside, I turned on the engine, cranked up the AC, and sat back a moment to think. “We know that the computer and phone Ryan turned over to the Fort Worth PD weren’t used to access the Kinky Cowtown app, but we don’t know what other devices, if any, he had access to.” My mind went back to the electronics littering Ryan’s floor. He’d had dozens of devices. In fact, hadn’t the apartment manager mentioned that Ryan repaired devices on the side? He could have used one of his clients’ computers to log into the rehab center’s network. I suggested as much to Bustamente.
“I could probably get a search warrant,” the detective said, “but it’s likely a moot point. If Ryan’s the guilty one, he’s probably erased any evidence from the device he used or returned it to the client or ditched it in a Dumpster somewhere. Besides, it’s still possible, however unlikely, that Adriana was the one who entered the profile. She could’ve used a device she owned rather than her work computer.”
“So where does this leave us?”
“Where?” He said the last thing I wanted to hear. “Right back at square one.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
SO MANY HANDS, SO LITTLE TIME
Brigit
Visiting that building had been great! So many people had petted her and stroked her and scratched her. One woman had snuck Brigit a bite of a cookie she’d had in her pocket. Megan hadn’t noticed.
If they’d been able to stay longer, the dog might’ve s
cored a belly rub. But all’s well that ends well. And their visit ended with Megan giving her a liver treat. Yippee!
TWENTY-EIGHT
PLAYTIME IS OVER
The Devoted One
The situation had the Devoted One’s nerves rankled and offered little satisfaction. These petty acts were child’s play. Worse, they hadn’t accomplished much, if anything.
Of course the Devoted One realized the cops were keeping a close eye on the two of them. Best to let things settle down a bit, get them to lower their guard. After all, the last thing the Devoted One wanted was to be caught before the goal was achieved.
The goal seemed to be evolving from day to day. Initially, the Devoted One wanted things to be the way they were when the two of them were happy, wanted them to fall back in love, get married, and spend the rest of their lives together. But now? It was hard to say. Sometimes the Devoted One still wanted the love back. But other times the Devoted One only wanted to return the shame and hurt and pain.
How a person could toss love away as if it was garbage made no sense. Love was a gift. It was meant to be appreciated.
If someone is too stupid to realize that, maybe they’re too stupid to live.
TWENTY-NINE
DINNER DATE
Megan
Brigit gave me ample notice of Seth’s arrival at my house on Sunday, barking up a storm at the living room window and dashing to the door. I opened it before he even had a chance to knock, finding him ascending to the porch, still wearing his fatigues from reserve duty. Damn if this guy doesn’t make camouflage look sexy.
I leaned against the jamb. “Hey, soldier.”
He reached out a hand to play with a lock of my hair, which was hanging loose, the way he liked it. “I’m shipping out tomorrow,” he teased, a sly smile slinking across his face. “Want to show a poor guy one last good time?”
“Nice try,” I told him. “But we’ve got a cookout first.”
I leashed up Brigit and led her to Seth’s Nova, where we loaded her into the backseat. We drove to the grocery store and took her inside. Though I was wearing a summery dress rather than my police uniform, I’d made sure Brigit had her police vest on and that my badge was in my purse in case anyone gave us any guff about bringing her into the place.
We loaded the cart with all the fixings for a cookout, as well as a six-pack of beer and a bottle of moscato. When Brigit tugged me down the pet food aisle, we added a box of crunchy, bone-shaped dog biscuits to the basket as well. As we passed the small in-house floral shop, I grabbed a potted pink orchid. Maybe a brightly colored plant would help keep the mood bright.
Fully stocked now, we headed to the house where Seth and his mother lived with his grandfather. Their place sat in the Morningside neighborhood, a few blocks east of I-35. Like the home I’d grown up in, theirs was hardly the kind of house one would see featured in Better Homes & Gardens, unless it was the before picture in an article about a major remodel. It was a small house that comprised a patchwork of building materials, including gray siding, chipped orange brick, and mismatched shingles. The garage had been enclosed to make more living space. A large live oak shaded the front yard, rendering the space too dark for grass to grow.
We let Brigit out of the back and she hopped down onto the dirt. Seth grabbed the bags, while I rounded up the orchid. I followed Seth to the porch. The hinges gave off a creak as he pulled open the ancient screen door. He put his hand on the knob of the front door but hesitated a moment, as if mustering his strength before opening it.
We walked into a dark living room. The curtains on the front window were closed, only a sliver of sunlight sneaking into the space, illuminating a line of mottled shag carpet that should have been replaced decades ago. The walls were covered in dark wood paneling. A man who looked like a much older version of Seth sat in a threadbare corduroy recliner, clear tubes running from the oxygen tank beside him up to his nose. He glanced up from the television as we stepped inside, but issued no greeting.
With Blast leading the way, Seth’s mother, Lisa, swept into the room, coming over to welcome us. While the dogs tussled playfully at our feet, Lisa took my free hand in both of hers. “So good to see you again, Megan!”
She might have been a lousy mother, but the fact that she’d given birth to Seth at the tender age of fifteen made me cut her quite a bit of slack. She’d still been a child herself at that point. And no matter what had happened in the past, it was clear she was trying to make up for it now, if only Seth would let her. But time is said to heal all wounds, right? I hoped the old adage would prove true.
I gave her a smile. “Good to see you, too, Lisa.” I held out the orchid. “This is for you.”
Her face broke into a broad smile as she took the plant from me. “It’s beautiful! How thoughtful of you. This is the perfect thing to brighten up the room.” She placed it on a low bookshelf near the front windows and pulled the curtains open, letting more light into the space. “There. That’s better.” She turned to her father, Seth’s grandfather. “Dad, why don’t you introduce yourself?”
She was obviously trying to get the coot to show some manners, but he just as obviously didn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not he was being cordial. “Why should I introduce myself?” he snapped. “You just called me Dad. She knows who I am.”
Even though he’d been less than friendly, I stepped over to his chair and extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He eyed my hand and scowled, but took it anyway and gave it one quick shake.
“What would you like me to call you?” I asked.
“My name’s Oliver,” he grumbled.
Lisa stepped closer. “His friends call him Ollie.”
Seth snorted. “What friends?”
The man’s head snapped in Seth’s direction and he skewered his grandson with a look. “I’ve got friends. Harry and Leonard from my old regiment.”
“And when’s the last time you saw them?” Seth asked. “In 2001?”
Something flashed in Oliver’s eyes, an emotion that looked like equal parts anger and pain. Painger.
Lisa waved her hands as if to dispel the tension. “What did you two pick up for dinner?”
“Burger stuff,” Seth said. “We figured we could cook out on the grill.”
Oliver’s mouth fell open. “We haven’t used the grill since—”
“2001,” Seth said again. “Last time we cooked out was two months before Grandma died. She roasted corn in the husk. Put a lot of butter and lemon pepper on it. Best corn I’ve ever tasted.”
“You don’t have to tell me how good it was!” Oliver barked, though despite his tone his expression now bore far more pain than anger. A decade and a half had passed since her death and he still grieved his wife. It was both heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time.
“Let’s go set up,” Seth said, continuing with the bags toward the kitchen. His mother and the dogs followed him.
When Oliver turned his attention back to the TV, I said, “Come on outside with us.”
“Why should I? I always eat right here in my chair.”
“Because your son bought your favorite beer,” I said. “Just for you.”
When he made no move to get up, I grabbed the handle of his oxygen tank and began to wheel it toward the kitchen.
“Hey!” he hollered after me, grabbing at the air tubes that connected him to the oxygen. “You take that tank and I can’t breathe!”
I stopped and shot him a pointed look over my shoulder. “Then you better g-get out of that chair and come with me.”
His mouth fell open and he sputtered. “You can’t talk to me that way in my own home!”
“Quit being stubborn and I won’t have to.” I motioned for him to follow me. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
He frowned and muttered a few choice words under his breath, but he seemed to realize I wouldn’t take no for an answer. He pushed himself up out of the chair and trailed along behind me.
We
made our way through a bright orange kitchen that would’ve felt right at home on the set of The Brady Bunch, and exited a sliding glass door onto the back patio. Seth and Lisa looked over, seemingly surprised to see Oliver coming along with me.
Seth’s grandfather plopped himself down in a rusty aluminum lawn chair. “Can I have my air back now? Or is that too much to ask?”
I rolled the tank over and positioned it next to him. “There you go.”
He cast me a scathing look and turned to Seth. “Your girl is bossy.”
“I know,” Seth agreed, sending a discreet grin my way. “But at least she’s a looker.”
Oliver didn’t say much more while Seth fired up the grill and cooked the burgers and Lisa and I prepared plates with heaping helpings of sides. The dogs chased each other around and wrangled in the dry grass of the backyard, occasionally circling by to check on the progress of the burgers and drool in anticipation. When everything was ready, Lisa handed a plate to Oliver and she, Seth, and I took our seats.
We dug into the food. While the three of them seemed content to eat in silence, a quiet family meal was absolutely foreign to me. The table at the Luz home might be noisy, but it was a healthy noise. This silence was straight-up dysfunctional.
Looks like it’s up to me to keep the conversation going.
I stuck with light topics. The weather. Texas Rangers baseball. The Lollipop Bandit. Oliver said little, but at least he was no longer being nasty. The dogs made the rounds among us, begging for scraps with a woof or a paw on the knee. I noticed Oliver was generous with Blast and Brigit, sharing at least half of his burger with them. He couldn’t be all bad then, could he?
After we ate, Lisa and I carried the dishes inside to the sink and stored the leftovers in the fridge, while Seth scraped the grill and his grandfather sat outside, finishing his bottle of beer.
Lisa put the plug in the sink and began to fill it with hot water, adding a squeeze of dish soap. As the sink filled and the bubbles rose, she glanced out the window that overlooked the backyard, her gaze taking in her father and her son. “I can’t believe you got my father to come outside. He lives in that recliner, even sleeps in it some nights.” She turned and looked at me now, her eyes misty. “You’ve been really good for Seth, Megan. You might be good for all of us.”
