Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  After securing a flight for late that morning, she went for a walk. The bright California sun coming up over the horizon was a welcome treat compared to East Coast snow, and she enjoyed the warm, quiet morning. Until her phone rang. Brad, her best friend’s husband. Oh no. She’d better deal with it now rather than later, when she would be focused on work. “Hey, Brad.”

  “Cass died this morning, and I thought you should know.” His tone was businesslike.

  The news hit her hard and she stopped walking. Her funny and sarcastic friend, whom she’d known since college, had ceased to exist. The ache in her chest was overwhelming, and it was hard to breathe. “Thanks for letting me know,” she managed to say. “When is the funeral?”

  “Monday.” Brad was still giving her the cold shoulder.

  He’d been mad at her since she’d stopped visiting Cassidy two months ago. But watching her die had been painful and stressful, and Bailey just couldn’t subject herself to it. Without guilt to motivate her, walking away had been the only choice. It didn’t make her a bad person. No one would spend time with a dying cancer patient if they didn’t have guilt pushing them. “I’ll try to be there for the service, but I’m working an important case, and I can’t promise.”

  “Whatever.” Brad hung up.

  His rudeness bothered her. She couldn’t help who she was. She’d been born this way, but at least she’d finally learned the rules and did her best to obey them and fit in. Other sociopaths churned through their lives without regard for anyone but themselves. She’d also found a job that gave her structure and benefitted society. What else did he expect from her? He expected her to be normal. Everyone did. Because they didn’t know her mind was different from theirs, and she would never tell them. Hiding the truth was imperative. People assumed that all sociopaths were monsters who needed to be locked up. She let out a distressed laugh. If society locked up everyone who didn’t feel remorse, some of the most successful people in the world would disappear. Few people made it to the top without guiltlessly crushing the competition.

  The chatter in her brain ran itself out, and Cassidy’s death hit her again. Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled over. Bailey let out a sob, then started walking again, the sun no longer a thing of joy. She rounded the corner, hurrying now, eager to get to work and push the pain of Cassidy’s death out of her mind. Cass was the only person who’d come close to knowing the truth about her, though they’d never discussed the sociopath label. It was too harsh, and Cass was too kind. She’d also been Bailey’s conscience in college, chiding her when her behavior was out of line or hurtful.

  In her sophomore year, Bailey had been questioned by an FBI agent about a man she’d dated who’d been involved in a minor fraud scheme. The agent’s work had fascinated her, and she’d ended up interviewing him about the various types of assignments available. During their conversation, she’d decided to focus on criminal justice, then apply at the FBI. It seemed like an ideal way to be herself and stay out of trouble. A career that would give her structure and power at the same time. Once she’d made it into the bureau, she’d been ruthless on occasion in pursuing better assignments, but she’d never hurt another agent to further her own career. Except that one time. And the misogynistic jackass had deserved it.

  Another early morning walker passed her going the other way, a woman in yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt. Bailey nodded but didn’t smile. Grief seemed to have frozen her face. Back in her hotel room, she showered and packed her suitcase. Her flight was in three hours. She had just enough time to grab some breakfast, then catch a cab to the airport. It felt wrong to leave San Jose without concluding her investigation, but if the kidnappers were in Seattle, that’s where she needed to be.

  On her way, she’d call the local FAA office to see what noncommercial flights had left the area yesterday. She suspected the kidnappers hadn’t filed their trip, though, and she admired their audacity. It took balls to make unregistered interstate flights, at least on the East Coast, where the military might shoot you down. That wasn’t a risk out here, but still, whoever was masterminding the criminal enterprise was taking huge risks. That meant he or she believed there would be a huge payoff.

  CHAPTER 13

  Thursday, March 19, 12:02 p.m., Washington, DC

  Jocelyn heard footsteps approaching her table and looked up from the menu. Ross was coming her way. Overweight and balding, her estranged husband wasn’t aging well, yet she’d recently discovered she still loved him anyway.

  “Hi, Ross. How’s your day going?”

  “Boring so far.” He kissed her forehead and sat down. “But after last month at the bureau, boring is fine. What are you working on?”

  She loved that they were back to discussing cases. They’d been separated for months and she’d almost filed for divorce, then a homicide case involving political activists had brought them together. They’d been dating since then, but he hadn’t moved back in. She was afraid of the old patterns.

  “I’ve got another homicide victim with no ID.” She made her frustrated face. “But we ran his photo in the paper this morning. Maybe I’ll get a call soon.”

  “A homeless guy?” Ross glanced at the menu, but he would order what he always did.

  “No, a younger man, decently dressed. Shot to death at close range.” Jocelyn leaned forward and whispered, “Get this. At the autopsy, the ME found a computer chip in his mouth.” She had his full FBI attention now.

  “What kind of chip?”

  “I don’t know one microchip from another, but I took it to our cyber team at the new consolidated lab. I’m waiting to hear from them.”

  “You should take it to the bureau’s cyber forensics lab. We have better techs and better equipment.”

  She shrugged. She knew he was right, but she had to give the DC police department the first crack at it. If they failed, she’d let Ross call in a favor with the FBI lab. It helped to be connected to the bureau and its deep pockets. Her husband’s job had better hours than hers, but he spent a lot of time at his desk and it had taken its toll. She liked the mobility of murder investigations, which took her to every corner of the capital to track down witnesses and leads. This one was a dead end, so far. She decided to run it by Ross—an old habit. “No one saw the murder, and even though I found the nearby bar where the victim drank two beers before his death, no one at the bar had ever seen him before.”

  “What neighborhood?”

  “Bellevue. The Dog’s Head. It seems too working-class for the way he was dressed. Plus the chip.”

  “What was he doing there?”

  Jocelyn laughed. “If I knew, I would have solved it already.”

  A food server took their order, and Jocelyn asked for a Mountain Dew.

  “We don’t have that.” A flat tone from a waitress older than her.

  “Just water then.” Jocelyn would buy a soda at the little store nearby. She’d finally cut back to two a day and hadn’t had a Mountain Dew since breakfast. No other caffeine tasted good to her, and she couldn’t do this job without it.

  “I’ll bet he was there to sell the chip and got mugged,” Ross blurted out.

  “That’s my thinking. But until I know who he is and what’s on the chip, I can’t even make a list of suspects.”

  “If you bring it to us, I’ll call the director at the forensics lab and ask her to bump it to the top of the list.” Ross winked. “Maybe it’s a matter of national security.”

  “That’s my real concern.” In Washington, DC, where so many federal agencies were located, it was certainly possible. “The victim could be a spy or a traitor. The person who shot him may have stolen other secrets he was carrying, even though the vic was able to hide the chip before being shot.”

  “Was he assaulted? Tortured?”

  Jocelyn recalled the scene, just a nameless body in the alley with a fatal gunshot wound. “Hit with a han
dgun from a few feet away. That’s it. If not for the microchip, I would write this one off as a mugging.”

  “Did you run facial recognition software?”

  “Only against our databases, with no hits. I’ll send you the image to check against the international lists, if you’re willing.”

  “I’m glad to. As I mentioned, it’s been a dull week so far.”

  Ross brought up their son, who was away at college, and they talked about him until the food came.

  “When are you going to let me move back in?” Ross asked abruptly halfway through his patty melt.

  “I don’t know. I like things the way they are.” They had several meals together each week, and he slept over on Saturday nights, then spent Sundays with her, which usually meant brunch and a movie.

  “Paying double housing expenses is just stupid,” Ross argued. “And it’s making Kyle worried. I think it’s affecting his grades.”

  “He’s twenty; he can deal with it.” She worried about their son too, but she wasn’t going back to living with someone who didn’t talk to her. “When you’re around me all the time, you forget I exist. I can’t stand the silence.”

  He leaned back, frustrated. “I won’t let that happen again. I promise.”

  “I’m not ready.” She pushed her plate away. Time to get back to work. Jocelyn’s phone rang, and she grabbed it in relief. Her partner, Detective Snyder. “Larson here.” She stood and dug a twenty out of her purse.

  “Our victim’s coworker just called. He says the dead man is Zach Dimizaro, and they worked together at DigSec.”

  Jocelyn put the money on the table, kissed Ross good-bye, and hurried toward the exit. “What do we know about the company?” she asked Snyder, who was still on the phone.

  “Only that it’s a tech firm that develops encryption software and security apps for mobile devices. They’re located off M Street, not far from the department.”

  “I’m in the area. I’ll head over and see what I can find out.”

  “I’ll see if I can find next of kin.”

  “See you back at the office.” She hung up as she stepped outside. Shit! The rain was really coming down and she didn’t have an umbrella. Jocelyn jogged toward her car, two blocks away, hating every moment of the rain and the run. Parking in DC was a pain, even for law enforcement.

  The tech firm’s lobby was small, beige, and shabby, making her feel sorry for the receptionist. After briefly questioning the young woman—who seemed indifferent to her coworker’s disappearance—Jocelyn asked to see the boss. They walked through an open room with a dozen desks. Every employee was male, and most looked under thirty-five. The silence and the intense focus on computer screens were a little freaky. Only two guys even glanced up at her, then quickly went back to their work. A room full of jeans and either black or white T-shirts. Where was the life and color? She subconsciously touched her burgundy blazer.

  At the back wall, the receptionist knocked on a wooden door and waited. Someone yelled, “Give me a minute” from inside. The receptionist nodded at Jocelyn and walked away. What a cold work environment. Was it cutthroat too? Was this a room full of suspects? She knocked again and walked in. “Detective Larson. Sorry to interrupt, but I have a homicide to solve.”

  The clutter in the tiny office was worse than the bland beige in the lobby. The whole building was an aesthetic nightmare.

  “What homicide?” The manager popped up from behind his desk, eyes wide. Forty, with curly black hair and a narrow face.

  Little white boxes covered the extra chair, and Jocelyn gestured at it. She needed to sit. Running through the rain had hurt her feet. “Tell me your name.”

  “Larry Osterhaudt.” He spelled the name for her. “Who was killed?” He charged around the desk and scooped up the boxes from her chair.

  “Zach Dimizaro. I understand he worked here.”

  “Zach’s dead? Oh my god.” His surprise seemed genuine.

  “When did you see him last?”

  “Friday. He quit at the end of the day.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Anger flashed on the manager’s face. “No, but now I think he took a prototype with him.”

  “What prototype?”

  “A cell phone embedded with our newest encryption software. We’re beta testing it.”

  “He stole it?”

  “I can’t prove it, but he and the device both went away at the same time.” The manager rubbed his face. “But murdered?” He sat back down. “Shit. Zach was probably trying to sell it.”

  “To who?”

  “I don’t know. But after Snowden, everyone wants unbreakable encryption software right now.”

  She needed names, details, people to question. “Who’s everyone?”

  He let out a derisive laugh. “Every cell phone and tablet manufacturer that wants to protect its customers.”

  There were no such companies in DC. But someone could have traveled here to buy the prototype. “Was Zach an encryption expert?”

  “One of the best. I was lucky to hire him.” His mouth tightened into a grim line. “Or so I thought.”

  “So, how effective is the software?”

  A look of pride on Osterhaudt’s face now. “It’s unhackable as far as we know.”

  Even by law enforcement agencies? She would ask Ross, not trusting the tech guy to be honest about his product.

  The manager abruptly slammed his fist into his messy desk. “I can’t believe Zach stole the damn prototype. I mean, he wrote most of the code, and I’m sure he felt proprietary about it, but the software belonged to the company.”

  A struggle that many creative people had to deal with. “Do you have any idea who might have contacted him about the software?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’d like to take the computer Zach was using.” She would search his emails, then turn it over to the cyber lab.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Don’t make me get a subpoena. It just wastes my time.”

  A shrug. “We’ve already searched the hard drive, purged personal files, and put it back into commission. We didn’t know he’d been killed.”

  Jocelyn held back a sigh. “I still need to see Zach’s emails.”

  “We deleted those too.”

  She bit back a curse. What were they hiding? “Where were you Sunday night between six and eight p.m.?”

  “Whoa!” The manager held up his hands. “Don’t even go there. I did not kill Zach. We didn’t even realize the prototype was gone until late Monday afternoon.”

  “So tell me where you were.”

  “Right here working, until about six thirty. Then I had dinner with my wife at BJ’s Steakhouse.”

  “Give me your wife’s name and phone number.” Jocelyn slipped her notepad out of her pocket. Nothing she’d heard until now had required it. When he’d provided his wife’s contact information, she asked, “When did Zach leave on Friday?”

  “Around four, right after he told me he quit.”

  She remembered the discoloration on the victim’s fingertips, but didn’t have the tox report, which could take weeks. “What happened to Zach’s hands? How did he get burned?”

  Osterhaudt’s tension eased. “Those were old scars. Zach had some accident years ago in high school chemistry. We’re all nerds from way back.”

  “I still want his emails. You can recover them, correct? I mean, you’re tech guys.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll be back with a warrant.” Jocelyn walked out, having wasted enough time. Now that she knew the victim’s name, she could get his phone and financial records. If someone had killed him for the encryption software, they had to have contacted him first. The technology aspects intimidated her, and her partner was even more of a Luddite. They would need to involve the FBI. On the w
ay out, she called the department’s tech team to see if they’d had any luck, but no one picked up. Damn. She needed to know what was on the computer chip found in Zach Dimizaro’s mouth. Was it the unbreakable encryption software or something even more valuable?

  CHAPTER 14

  Thursday, March 19, 6:15 p.m., Seattle, Washington

  Driving in Seattle confused and frustrated Bailey even with the GPS. Her flight had been delayed, and now it was dark, making her topographical dysfunction even more challenging. At the moment, Bailey was ready to pull over and scream. City driving had almost ruined cars for her. And she loved cars! The speed and power thrilled her. As a teenager, she’d done a lot of crazy stunts in cars and was lucky to be alive. As an adult, she had few opportunities to experience the real joy vehicles once offered.

  She spotted a Chinese restaurant and stopped for a quick stir-fry, then studied the map again while she ate. Dana Thorpe’s home was less than a mile away, which meant the hotel she’d reserved a room at was even closer. But it would have to wait. The investigation came first.

  It took nearly half an hour, but she finally found the two-story home in the Queen Anne neighborhood. The three dark sedans on the street were conspicuous as hell. She supposed it didn’t matter—this wasn’t a stakeout—but still, it rankled. The agents in the house were expecting her, so she walked right up to the entrance and knocked. The door opened a crack, and a sliver of a face appeared.

  “Agent Bailey. The AD sent me.”

  “Right.” The agent stepped back and opened the door just enough to let her in. “Nelson is in the living room.”

  Two more feds sat on the couch, each with a laptop. The woman stood and offered a hand. “Special Agent Nelson. I’m handling this kidnapping. This is Special Agent Thorpe. He’s in charge of the Seattle field office.”

  Thorpe? He stood, and she shook his hand too. “Any relation to Dana Thorpe, the victim?”