Byrne didn’t want to do it, but there really was no choice.
He ran back to the duty room, found Dana Westbrook, proposed his plan. After a few long moments, she agreed to run it by the brass.
On the way down to the parking lot behind the Roundhouse, Byrne sent the text message.
61
Rachel awoke in darkness. Her head pounded.
She had not had the dream in years, the dream of walking through tunnels, hand in hand with the man in raggedy clothes. There was a time in her life, a time when she dreamed about nothing else. In each of those dreams she had tried to see the man’s face, but every time she looked at him, his face was blank – no eyes, no mouth. Just his soft voice, speaking a language she did not understand.
Her head milled, her eyes throbbed.
She was sitting on the floor. She felt around. The floor was concrete, cold, pitted.
Beyond this, she dared not move, not yet. She could tell by her breathing that she was in a small room, a very small room.
‘Marielle,’ she said, softly, just to get a gauge on the echo. There was none. She slowly lifted her right hand, touched something soft. She closed her hand around it. It was a forgiving material, maybe wool. A coat.
She was in a closet.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that there was a line of dim light coming from under the door. To her right were a few pairs of shoes, small shoes, lined up against the wall. She could not see colors, but she could see that two pairs of the shoes were sneakers; two were hard soled.
On one of the hooks above she could barely make out a few shapes. One of the things hanging from a hook looked like a terry-cloth bathrobe. Another hook had something shiny hanging from it. Rachel reached out, touched it. It was a rain slicker.
No, Rachel thought. It can’t be.
She then heard sounds coming from the room beyond the door, the faint sounds of a television, an old show that she used to watch when she was small.
Rachel slowly reached up, found the door knob, turned it to the right. It was not locked. She stood, opened the door slowly, and stepped into the room.
The room was white, brightly lighted, and it took a few moments for her dark-adapted eyes to adjust. To the right she saw a white dresser and a hope chest. She saw two single beds, both aligned along the far wall, the low headboards meeting at a single night stand. On the nightstand was a lamp, a few small knickknacks in the shape of turtles. There was also a book.
The tears began to well in Rachel’s eyes before she crossed the room to the nightstand. She picked up the book. It was Goodnight, Moon by Margaret Wise Brown.
It wasn’t possible, but it was all here. All of it.
She was in her bedroom, the one in which she and Marielle had grown up. It was their room, right down to the last detail.
The faint noise of the television continued. After a few moments Rachel heard something else, the sound of a voice coming from behind her.
‘Once upon a time there were two little girls named Tuff and Bean,’ came the voice, a voice Rachel knew well, a voice she had not heard in many years.
It was her mother.
62
Byrne stood on the upper level of the platform at the Priory Park Station. The rain fell in torrents, rolling off the roof of the shelter in waves. Because of the storm, SEPTA had suspended service. What street traffic there was crawled along.
The train platform, on both levels, was deserted.
From his vantage point on the upper level, Byrne had a visual on the drop-off point, that being the bottom of the steps on the street level. Every few seconds he checked to make sure all his devices were on, and online. Luckily, they all showed almost fully charged batteries.
On the way to the train station Byrne was told that a patrol car from the 3rd District had taken Colleen up to Sunnyvale to meet with Miriam Gale. Because of the urgency of the moment, and the possibility of blowback if something went terribly wrong with the operation – and there was a good chance that might happen – Dana Westbrook had to run the idea of bringing a civilian into the operation a few rungs up the chain of command. A call had first gone out to the department’s handful of connections who spoke ASL. None were immediately available.
The one thing in favor of the plan to enlist Colleen Byrne was that she had a connection – albeit brief – with the old woman.
As Byrne huddled against the wall in the train station, he checked his watch.
It was 9:50.
63
The Regional Computer Forensic Lab was a state-of-the-art facility in Radnor, Pennsylvania. Funded by the FBI, its purview was to support state and local enforcement with the examination of digital evidence – computers, GPS devices, cell phones, PDAs, video.
A good deal of the work done at the lab was extracting deleted data from computer hard drives, as well as data on cell phones.
Instead of driving herself in a department car, and taking the chance of getting caught in traffic, Jessica rode in a sector car, lights and siren all the way. They took the Schuylkill Expressway north, having to slow down a few times due to flooding.
Jessica was met at the door by the deputy directory of the lab, Lt. Christopher Gavin. Gavin whisked her through the night security station.
‘Have you been briefed?’ Jessica asked on the way.
‘I have,’ Gavin said. ‘I just got off the phone with Sergeant Westbrook. This guy sounds like a piece of work.’
Jessica had worked with Chris Gavin in her rookie year in the 6th District, and then again when she was working with the Auto Theft Unit.
Gavin began his career as a radar man in the Navy, then became a patrol officer, making his bones in the tough Richard Allen projects in the 1980s when Philly was burning due to the crack wars. He rapidly advanced to Sergeant and, in the late 1990s, when the need arose, started the computer unit, then housed in the basement of the 1st District headquarters. In 2006, when federal funding came through, he established the RCFL. Since that time his lab had been instrumental in the investigation and prosecution of every aspect of computer crime.
‘How’s your father?’ Gavin asked.
‘He’s good,’ Jessica said. ‘Thanks for asking.’
They walked into the computer lab at ten minutes to ten. The room was large and dimly lighted, with a dozen work stations. At this hour there were only three analysts at work.
‘What do you know about the process?’ Gavin asked.
‘Not much. We’ve used it a few times, but that was back in the stone age.’
‘You mean like three years ago?’
Jessica smiled. ‘Something like that,’ she said. ‘Back when cell phones were tracked by triangulation.’
The process of triangulating the location of a cell phone was based on signal strength and, as the name implied, three cell towers. While accuracy with triangulation was accurate – sometimes within a few hundred feet – GPS tracking could often pinpoint a signal with extreme precision.
‘We still do some triangulation,’ Gavin said. ‘But you’re right. Almost everything is GPS now. Most smartphones have it built in.’
‘What do we need for this to work?’
‘There is only one must, and that is that the cell phone must be turned on. If the cell phone is turned off, or the battery is removed, we’re sunk.’
Jessica related the details of tracking Joan Delacroix’s cell phone to Priory Park.
‘This is good,’ Gavin said. ‘Are you sure your subject is using that phone now?’
‘Yes. My partner entered the woman’s contact information on his phone, and when our guy called earlier it came up. It’s the same phone.’
‘Also good. Keep in mind, if he swaps out the SIM card, he’s gone.’
‘We wouldn’t be able to track it if he does that?’
‘No,’ Gavin said. He sat down at a computer terminal, one with a thirty-inch HD monitor. Jessica pulled up a chair next to him.
‘What is the Apple ID?�
� Gavin asked.
‘For my phone?’
‘The other user,’ Gavin said. ‘The subject.’
‘I don’t know it,’ Jessica said. ‘When we initially tracked her phone to Priory Park, it was entered by the victim’s brother. I put in two calls to him, but he hasn’t called back.’
‘Well, we’re going to need it to track the phone.’
Jessica took out her notepad, frantically flipped the pages. She found what she was looking for. James Delacroix’s phone number. She called it, but within four rings she got his voicemail.
‘Mr Delacroix, this is Jessica Balzano again. I need you to call me immediately.’
Jessica left all pertinent phone numbers, starting with the phone number to the direct line on the desk at which she was sitting.
‘What can we do while we’re waiting?’ Jessica asked.
‘We can set up tracking on both your iPhone and Detective Byrne’s iPhone.’
Jessica wrote down the information in her notebook, handed it to Gavin. He keyed in the information. Jessica was amazed at the speed of his typing. Within a minute there was a split screen on the LCD monitor in front of them. Gavin typed a few more entries. Now there were identical street maps on both sides of the screen. A few more keystrokes brought the images closer, showing maybe a five-block area on each side. A small blue icon was positioned in the same place on both maps.
Gavin tapped the screen on the left. ‘This is Detective Byrne’s position, tracking your iPhone.’ He tapped the screen on the right. ‘This is his iPhone. As long as he keeps them both on, we’ll be able to track his movements. If, for some reason, the two devices begin to move in different directions, we’ll be able to see where they’re going.’
Jessica called James Delacroix’s phone again. Once more she got his voicemail. They couldn’t wait any longer. She called the Comm Unit, gave them Delacroix’s address, and instructions to send a sector car there.
Gavin stood up. ‘Want some coffee? It’s fresh.’
Jessica thought about it. Her nerves were completely jangled already. But now was no time to go on the wagon. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘That would be good.’
As Chris Gavin walked across the computer lab Jessica turned her attention back to the screen.
64
The downpour was relentless.
From his vantage point above street level, Byrne could see a SEPTA van a few blocks away. He knew that the workers were attaching plywood covers to the sidewalk ventilation grates to prevent flooding below ground.
At 9:55 Byrne’s phone buzzed. He looked at it. It was a FaceTime call from Colleen. He did not know if he was standing in enough light for his daughter to see him. One more step out of the shelter and he would be soaked.
He answered the call, held the phone up at arm’s length. He then realized that he could not sign with one hand. He looked around the shelter. There was a newspaper case for an independent paper, a sleazy tabloid called The Report.
Finally good for something, Byrne thought. He walked over to the newspaper case, put the phone down on top of it, leaned it against the handle.
He looked at the screen. Colleen was warm and dry. At that moment she again looked like his little girl. It was a mistake to have brought her in to this, he thought. Too late for that.
‘Hi, Dad,’ Colleen signed.
‘Are you at Sunnyvale?’
Colleen nodded. ‘I am. Somebody called the administrator while I was on my way up here. It’s all set. They’re waking up Miriam now.’
‘Do you know what you need to ask her?’
‘I think so,’ Colleen signed. ‘We want to know if she remembers the names of any of the people who worked in administration at Cold River in the last few years it was open.’
We, Kevin thought. It suddenly occurred to him that he might just have put his daughter in harm’s way. ‘Are there officers there with you?’
Colleen smiled. She picked up her phone, and angled the camera down the hallway. There stood two rather large young patrol officers. Colleen brought the camera back around to herself.
‘I’m fine, Dad. Eddie and Rich know who you are. They’re going to take care of me.’
Eddie and Rich. His daughter had a way of getting to know everyone in about two minutes. ‘Okay.’
‘Is there anything else you want me to ask Miriam?’
Byrne thought for a few moments. ‘Ask her first about the names of any administration staff who were specifically involved in G10. We need those names first, if she has them. First and last names, middle names or initials will help.’
Colleen nodded in understanding. ‘If she remembers the names, how do I get them to you?’
‘Just text them to me, and I’ll get them over to dispatch. Make sure that we start with G10 personnel, and work from there. If she happens to know whether any of these people still live in Philadelphia, it would be really helpful.’
Colleen looked off screen for a moment. Byrne heard someone speaking to her from down the hallway. Colleen must have picked up the meaning of what was being said to her. She nodded, held up a finger, meaning she would be right along.
‘They just told me that Miriam is awake and alert. She’s sitting up in bed, waiting for me.’
‘Okay, honey,’ Byrne said. He almost said be careful, but she was probably in one of the safest place in the tri-county area this evening. Especially with Eddie and Rich on the case.
‘Text me if and when you get something.’
‘I will,’ Colleen signed. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too,’ Byrne replied.
But his screen had already gone black.
If Luther could be trusted to follow through with both his threats and his promises, he had to be within ten minutes or so of the drop-off point – if, indeed, he did not have accomplices, and that was a big if. There were more than a dozen detectives deployed in a broad circle of the area surrounding the train platform. In addition, sector cars patrolling the area were on a high alert to take a call at a split-second’s notice.
Add to this the imminence of the full force of the storm bearing down on the city, and there was a good chance that all of this would go wrong, and more people would die.
As the wind buffeted the shelter with cold rain, Byrne stared at his phone, willing it to make the sound that signaled a new text message had arrived.
The phone remained silent.
The anticipation was maddening.
Byrne wondered if Jessica had made it to the computer lab yet, and if they had tracking set up on his devices.
He stepped back into the shadows, took out his cell phone, one that belonged to the homicide unit, an untraceable TracFone. He speed-dialed Jessica.
‘I’m here,’ she said.
‘Do you have me on screen?’
‘We do. Everyone is in position,’ Jessica said. ‘All on standby.’
‘Do we have a fix on our subject?’
‘No,’ Jessica said. ‘We don’t have the phone’s Apple ID. Without that, we can’t track him.’
‘So we have no idea where he is right now?’
‘No,’ Jessica said. ‘We’ve got a sector car en route to James Delacroix’s house. Should be there any second.’
‘And if we don’t find him we’re flying blind?’
Jessica didn’t like to tell anyone in the field that they were a target, especially her partner. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’
Byrne heard a landline ring in the background where Jessica was. Jessica answered. ‘Yeah, Sarge.’
It was their boss, Dana Westbrook. Byrne heard Jessica say okay a few times. He knew his partner well. She was not happy.
Jessica got back on the line with Byrne. ‘We’ve got a problem, Kevin.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Sector car went to James Delacroix’s house. They knocked, rang the bell. Nothing. They went around back, looked in the window. They saw blood on the floor. The patrol officers then took down Delacroix’s door and found
him in the basement.’
‘What happened?’
‘Hard to tell. But they said he was in a pool of blood.’
Byrne gripped the phone tight enough to break it. ‘What’s his status?’
‘They found a pulse. EMS is on the way, but they’re stretched pretty thin tonight, and half the main arteries are flooded.’
Byrne hated to ask the question that needed to be asked. ‘What about the information we need?’
‘They did a quick walk through. They did not find his laptop. They said the charging cable was on the floor in the dining room.’
‘That’s where he used it when we were there.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s our next step?’
‘There’s only one. We’re going to need to get a warrant to track Joan Delacroix’s phone.’
‘Is it in the works?’
‘Maria Caruso is typing it up now. We’ve Paul DiCarlo at the DA’s office standing by, and a judge on his way to the office. As soon as his pen hits the paper Chris will be on the line with Delacroix’s carrier.’
Jessica glanced at the clock every ten seconds. It had never once worked to make the process speed up, but she couldn’t help herself. When she took her eyes off the clock she looked at the large LCD monitor, at the two identical maps, at the icons at the center of each.
She knew that Byrne was not out there alone – there were a dozen armed personnel within a block or so – but you could not tell that by looking at the maps.
On the maps he looked completely isolated.
When the desk phone rang at 9:59 Jessica nearly jumped.
‘Balzano.’
‘We’ve got it,’ Westbrook said.
Within a minute they had the GPS coordinates for Joan Delacroix’s phone. A few seconds later they saw a second icon show up on both sides of the map. A red icon.
It was Luther. Jessica got Byrne on his TracFone.
‘Kevin. We’ve got the warrant.’
The Stolen Ones Page 32
