Hunt for a Phantom

by Stephen L Brooks

  “I don’t know; my parents made it past their Fiftieth Anniversary.”

  “Wow! How did your mother do it?”

  Taylor chuckled. “The same way my wife does with me. And the same way I do with her.”

  “You think you’ll make fifty years?”

  “I’m hoping so.”

  Peggy didn’t respond but he suspected she didn’t share the same hope.

  “I was just thinking about the Fleming family,” Taylor said. “Not just to lose the father and daughter at the same time, but not to know for sure why or how.”

  “It’s a mystery,” she said.

  “That’s what they call it,” Taylor quipped.

  Peggy responded with a sidelong glance. “Both died from the same gun, which belonged to the father. Yet his wound looks like suicide.”

  “There were some defensive wounds on him: some bruising.”

  “I remember. A couple of them were on his body and there was a mark like a hand grip on his wrist. Maybe there was a struggle for the gun.”

  “But who did he struggle with? Our unsub or his daughter?”

  Peggy frowned. “You think he was trying to shoot the boyfriend and she tried to stop him?”

  “It’s as good a theory as any.” He swore. “He knew we were there and about to close in. Why did he have to mix up in it and why with a gun?”

  “He was protecting his daughter.”

  “Yeah, and he did a heluva job, didn’t he?”

  They had circled the block and were headed back to headquarters entrance.

  “Do you think he was wrong to have a gun?” Peggy asked.

  “No; nothing wrong with protecting your own home. But he walked into a situation with professionals at the ready, and turned it into a tragedy.” He finished his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby can. “How he got there so quick, I don’t know. Mark says he somehow still had Fleming connected when he called me, but he still got there awful quick if you ask me.”

  Peggy was still working on hers. “Must have been nearby.” They entered the building and walked to the elevator.

  “Guess so.” They reached the office and resumed their seats. Both rebooted their computers and Taylor checked his e-mail. The name Grayson stood near the top. The paperclip icon indicating an attachment was beside it. “Bingo.” He opened the message, clicked on the attachment, and waited impatiently while the anti-virus software did its work. The attachment was a pdf, and Peggy looked over his shoulder as it opened.

  First there were a couple of forms, a few pages of narrative report which was mostly techno-yadda to them, and finally the chart. This, again, was cryptic and for all the world resembled the sales graph of some insurance company. But it was in reality a genetic signature of someone who had most certainly committed statutory rape, and was somehow involved in a triple homicide. Whether it was the third party lying on the floor with Grace and her dad, or the phantom who drove the car away was yet to be learned.

  He saved the file, forwarded the e-mail with its attachment to the forensics lab with a quick note, and got out his cell.

  “Who are you calling?” Peggy asked.

  “Banning. It’s only fair.”

  * * *

  Banning arrived with Betsy. The two women stepped back a little to compare notes as the detectives sat at Taylor’s desk. The latter opened the DNA chart and showed it to Banning.

  “Fine,” Banning said. “All we need now is a suspect to compare it to. I suppose it’s already been searched in the database?”

  “City already did it and we’re running it too as a precaution. Should have results in about an hour.”

  “OK,” Banning said. “So far we have three names for the guy: one from the hotel register...”

  “Phony.”

  “One from the credit card...”

  “Phony.”

  “And one from the screen name.”

  “Is that phony too?”

  “Betsy was looking into that one for me.” He called to her. “What did you find out about the screen name?”

  Betsy came over, Peggy following. “His e-mail service is the same as his web provider.”

  “You mean he used an e-mail address that could be traced back to his home address?”

  Betsy nodded. “Right, through the billing records for his web account.”

  Taylor and Banning exchanged surprised looks. “He finally made a mistake,” Taylor said.

  “Seems that way,” Banning agreed, “but nothing’s been that easy so far.”

  “Any other clues?”

  “Betsy hacked into the account,” Banning said.

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  “And I won’t repeat it. Betsy, did you find anything that might lead us to him?”

  “No. But it might be worth another try.”

  “This time let’s have one of ours handle it,” Taylor said.

  “Fine with me.”

  “Peggy, take Betsy down to see Daisy Rae.”

  “Who’s she?” asked Banning.

  “She’s one of our crack cybertechs. Betsy, if you can give her the e-mail address and whatever you used to get in there before, she’ll take you in.”

  “Do you remember the password?” Peggy asked.

  Betsy removed a thumb drive from her purse. “It’s all in here. I figured we needed it.”

  Peggy led the way as the two women went to the cyber lab. Daisy Rae was a formidable African American, oversize in all ways, but proportioned magnificently. She was strikingly beautiful.

  “Hi, Daisy Rae,” Peggy said. “This is Betsy, the assistant to a private detective we’re working with on the Fleming case.”

  “The Fleming case! Oh that was so sad. Any idea how it happened?”

  “Not yet. So far, none of the clues seem to go with any of the others. But we have another lead. Betsy, you want to tell her?”

  Betsy, a small woman as it was, felt like a Munchkin standing next to Daisy Rae; and the latter was sitting. She took out her thumb drive. “We have what may be the perp’s e-mail info here. At least, it’s the info for the guy who lured Grace Fleming into that hotel. They met online.”

  “A lot of that going around,” Daisy Rae said. She plugged the thumb drive in and, following Betsy’s instructions, pulled up the document with the e-mail information. “OK; what do we want from this?”

  “His e-mail provider was apparently the same as his web provider,” Betsy said. Daisy Rae nodded. “If we can get into his web account, maybe we can find a home address.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Let me work on it a bit. Make yourselves comfortable over there.” She gestured vaguely to some chairs and started clicking keys and working her touch pad.

  Peggy and Betsy sat on the antique steel frame chairs indicated. The cushions probably hadn’t been replaced since the time of their grandmothers.

  Betsy watched Daisy work. Something of a hacker herself, she was interested in watching someone who was not only an expert but was doing it legally and getting paid for it.

  “She has an interesting story,” Peggy said confidentially to Betsy. “A few years ago she was on welfare, as the last three generations of her family had been. She bought a second-hand computer and a cheap Internet account, and found her way into the main computer for a major savings and loan.”

  “You mean she stole money from their accounts?”

  Peggy made sure Daisy was in full concentration mode before answering. “We all kinda suspect that was her original plan,” she said in an even lower voice than before. “The crazy thing is, something else happened instead.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She discovered that somebody else was ripping them off, little by little, but that it amounted to a couple of million.”

  “How can a company miss that much?”

  “Are you kidding? You remember the quote that’s supposed to be from Everett Dirkson: a billion here, a billion there?”

  Betsy nodded in recollection. “Pretty
soon you’re talking real money.”

  “That’s the one. That two or three million was a lot to the hacker who was embezzling it, but only lunch money to the accountants at the S & L. They might not have caught it for months, maybe over a year.”

  “And meanwhile Joe Hacker is soaking up rays somewhere that U.S. extradition won’t reach, living off a Swiss or Cayman Island bank account.”

  “Exactly. Well, Daisy reported it to a cop her cousin was dating, who passed it on to the white collar crime unit, and our cyber staff started looking into it. Before they got that far, in comes Daisy with the email address, FaceSpace page, and a couple of other things about the guy. She grabbed a detective at random --- the poor guy still hasn’t gotten over it --- and said ‘I’m not sure, but I thought this might help.’”

  “Guess they got the guy?”

  “Just before he got on a plane to the tropical island of his choice. He had his passport, his ticket, his hotel reservation, and his newly issued off shore bank card. That was all they needed.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Some guy in his twenties who was fired from his job. This was his idea for starting over.”

  “Well, he got himself a new lifestyle; that’s for sure. But how did Daisy catch on that fast?”

  “She had gotten into their online bookkeeping records. Besides the knack for hacking, she’s got a genius for figures. She could see the discrepancies almost immediately.” Peggy nodded at Daisy. “There was a slot in the cyber unit and they offered it to Daisy. That’s how she got here.”

  “If you’re all finished talking about me,” Daisy said without looking up from her screen, “I’ve got the info you wanted.”

  Peggy and Betsy exchanged glances.

  “Hey, don’t worry.” Daisy gave them a smile and a wink. “You said good things about me; mostly.” She gave them a sheet from a Post-It pad. “Here’s what you need.”

  Peggy took it and Betsy read it from the side. Betsy shook her head.

  “What’s the matter, hon?” Daisy Rae said, standing up to stretch.

  “That’s not the name we have,” Betsy said. She looked up to meet Daisy Rae’s eyes. Her neck gave a crackle with the effort. “Of course, we already have several names for this bozo.”

  “Well, that’s the name attached to the Internet service, and the credit card account it’s billed to gave me the address.”

  Betsy looked doubtful again.

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Daisy Rae said. “It’s a different address too, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. But there’s nothing new about that either.”

  “This guy’s a regular phantom,” Peggy said.

  “Well, maybe this time you’ll have a winner,” Daisy Rae said. “Oh, there’s my man coming to take me to lunch. It’s okay; come here, sugar.”

  Peggy and Betsy turned, their heads already craned back with the expectation of a Shaq. The man who was coming to meet Daisy had neither the height nor muscle of one who they thought would be an appropriate match to Daisy Rae’s Amazonian proportions. He was only a few inches taller than Peggy or Betsy, stocky and balding. He was dark as ebony, and his features showed affability and strength, plus the confidence of a man equal to any challenge. When they kissed it was obvious that her stature held no fears for him.

  “This is Leo, my fiancé.” She introduced the two women. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re going to lunch.”

  There was a volume of conversation that passed between Peggy and Betsy once the couple was out of hearing, but as it was conveyed telepathically through a variety of facial expression gymnastics on both of their parts, no one heard a word yet both women got their messages across.

  “Let’s get the guys, grab some lunch, and check out this address,” Peggy suggested.

  “I think that’s a great plan,” Betsy agreed.

  * * *

  It was, indeed, a new name: George Townsend. And in person, his face did not match either the description or the driver’s license photo. His home was also an address they had not yet visited, in still another part of the county. A quick round of questioning and a look at Mr. Townsend’s wallet verified the credit card number.

  “We’re taking you in custody as a ‘person of interest,’” Taylor said.

  “Person of interest in what?”

  “An ongoing case,” Taylor said. “We’ll explain at headquarters.”

  The first thing they did was to swab his mouth for DNA. Then they sat him in an interview room, brought him coffee and snacks as he asked for them, and waited for the test results. A tech had been grabbed from his break to rush it. They also gave him a new coffee cup when he wanted a refill, carefully handling the first one in order to preserve the prints. These, too, were expedited. In the end, they had to let him go. You see, not only was he a new name, a new face, and a new address from those that they had obtained before.

  The DNA didn’t match up either.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mitch drove Rick to school the first day they went back. Mitch’s parents were concerned he might not be ready to drive, but he said: “It’s only to school and back. I’ve done it a hundred times.” This, of course, was an exaggeration; but the determination was there. They agreed, and since Rick wanted Mitch’s company it was settled.

  Both of them got looks from their friends that reminded them of their grief. Some of them had attended the wake; some had not. And there were of course those who had never lost any family members and made light of it. Mitch almost slugged one of them, but Rick tugged at his arm and said, “He ain’t worth it.”

  Sophomores and upper classmen didn’t usually eat lunch together. It was a caste thing that made little sense, but was time honored by many because it was a tradition. It was also an excuse for some upper classmen to lord it over the younger students.

  But no one at Mitch’s table objected when Rick joined them. The friends Mitch ate with were chosen; they were his best friends, the ones he could depend on. So there was a camaraderie, almost a brotherhood, that welcomed Rick among them.

  Rick noticed several of the girls sitting together at the next table. Once in a while one or another glanced at him or Mitch. He recognized several of them. One of them was Gail, Grace’s best friend. All of her glances seemed to be directed at him. He wondered what they were talking about.

  Gail realized she was nearly staring at Rick. Even though she was at a different table, she sat facing him, so it was natural her gaze turned his way. She lowered her eyes and concentrated on the mystery meat loaf, all rotten potatoes, and stringy beans that were today’s healthy lunch. When she was in middle school you could get hot dogs, hamburgers, tacos, or pizza. And Coke was served soda fountain style. Now the trend was going towards what they called “healthier life style choices,” though she wondered just what they put in that meatloaf. It sure didn’t taste like her mother’s.

  “I’ve met people on the ‘Net; plenty of them.” Linda, one of the girls at her table, was saying. “You meet some nice guys there.”

  “And some creeps,” Sharon said. “Believe me, they’re out there too. I even tried to hook up with one of them.”

  “You didn’t! Not in your house?”

  “I’m not that stupid. No, we met in the park.”

  “Double Rock?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened? What was it like?”

  “I had seen his face; he had a couple of photos posted on his page. He looked all right there. But as soon as I saw him I freaked out. I got up and ran; got the hell outta Dodge.”

  “Did he see you run?”

  “No; and I changed my email address right after that.”

  “Hey, I remember. So that’s why you did it?”

  “Damn right. I didn’t want the SOB finding me.”

  “I’ve met some guys too,” Charlotte said. “But just to chat. I’ve turned down a couple of in person gigs.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Dana said. “Who knows, maybe you’ll me
et Mr. Right.”

  “Or Mr. Death, like Grace did,” another said.

  Gail glared at her a moment before shaking it off.

  “Hey, I’m sorry Gail. Guess that was harsh.” She turned back to the others. “But we all gotta be careful; that’s all I was trying to say.”

  “That’s okay,” Gail said. She’d had enough of the lunch, pushed the tray away, and folded her arms on the table. “I tried to warn her. She wouldn’t listen.” She looked at each of them and her brow darkened. “And it doesn’t sound like any of you will listen either.”

  “Listen?” asked Dana. “Listen to what?”

  “Grace was our friend. At least I thought you were her friends.”

  “Sure we were,” said Sharon.

  “Were you? Really?” Gail was searching their faces now; as though she were trying to read their souls.

  “Of course,” Linda said.

  “You, Dana; what about you? Grace told me you gave her the link to the site where she met that creature.”

  Dana shrugged.

  Gail took her roughly by the shoulder. “Well? Did you?”

  Dana pulled free. “So what if I did?” Both girls were now on their feet.

  “And you’re still searching on it, aren’t you? You’re still finding guys on it, aren’t you?” Her hands were on her hips, and she had placed herself between Dana and the girl beside her. The ones on either side slid away to give them room.

  “So? That’s my business, not yours.” Dana moved closer and faced her. “So don’t butt your nose in where it isn’t wanted, or I might change its shape.”

  Linda took Gail by the arm, and Sharon came between her and Dana. A teacher started toward them and all took their seats. Gail and Dana tried to cool their tempers.

  Once the teacher was out of earshot, Linda whispered to Gail.