He passed her a sheet of paper. “That’s a photo of one of the monitors at the place during the attack.”
A yellow background with slowly rotating and flashing red lights in each corner covered the screen, giving it a very amateurish look. A large countdown clock, 46:53:12 at the time of the photo, filled the center of the display. Text below the ticking numbers gave the details.
Your files are locked.
If you want them back, you need to pay €10.000 in ZCash within 48 hours. After the payment is received, we will give you the key to unlock your files. Click on the next button to pay.
We guarantee that you can recover your files quickly and safely.
We are TOXICftw.
“Toxic f-t-w?” she asked. “Fort Worth?”
“Maybe, but I’d guess ‘for the win.’ Seems more their culture. If they’ve done any other hacks, we don’t have a record of it.”
“And they specified euros, not dollars. Any relevance, you think?”
He shrugged. “As far as where they are? Who knows? Works out to, what, around eleven thousand dollars?”
If you say so. She held up the photo. “Okay if I keep this?”
“Of course. You’ll let me know if you learn anything that might help close this on our end?”
Ah. I do the work, you get the credit with your bosses. She stood and moved to the door. “Thank you for your time, Agent Canales.”
33
Amara sat in her car and went through the laborious process of locating Eduardo Sanchez’s number on the teeny screen of her flip phone. How had she ever survived her teen years with such primitive technology? He answered on the first ring and she broached the subject of a possible ransomware attack with him.
Both agreed it made as much sense as anything else they could think of, and he said he’d make some inquiries as to what the financial impact would be if the park were shut down. Assuming the hackers could pick and choose when they attacked, they’d likely select a cycle of sunny days, hot weather, and high attendance. Closing for even a day during that period could be financially catastrophic. The company would probably pay and do so quickly.
The problem, as both saw it, was they had to know killing Zachary Coleman would increase the likelihood of discovering the network intrusion. So, again, why do it there? If it was to send a message, was that worth the risk of losing a substantial amount of ransom? Sanchez agreed to call back when he had some numbers on the water park’s potential liability.
Starsky was next on the agenda. This close to noon, if he wasn’t at a crime scene, he’d be having lunch. Maybe for the second time. She could meet him somewhere, but eating on the go was more in line with her plans, especially since an Italian dinner was on tap for tonight. A quick text would be the simplest solution. She glared at the phone. Simplest if she had her normal cell. Texting on this beast might take the rest of the day. Pushing a button three times to get the letter you wanted was a skill she’d lost long ago.
Her heart jerked as the phone sounded a series of digital notes. An old-school ringtone. The screen displayed Starsky’s name and she smiled as her breathing slowed. If she didn’t believe in coincidences, what was this?
“Hey,” she said.
“I’m about to order some lunch. You headed back to the station anytime soon? Want me to get something for you?”
“Thanks, but I’m good. Listen, while I’ve got you, what—”
“You sure? I’m thinking Chinese. Either that or Thai. I could be talked into a burger though. Ooh, what about Jamaican? Jerk chicken sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“None for me. Get what you want.”
“Will do. No Italian though. We’re having that tonight.”
Her brain locked. “Uh, yeah, but how did, um, huh?”
He laughed. “I called Wylie to check on your mom. Glad to hear she’s doing well. He told me we were meeting at a restaurant tonight. Seven, right? I’ll pick you up at your apartment if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” She didn’t tell Wylie who she’d bring, did she? He assumed it would be Starsky. What if she’d invited someone else already? How awkward would that be? She sighed. Wylie knew. Who else was she going to bring?
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m sorry about tonight. I should have called you earlier to see if you were free. If you can’t go, I understand.”
“Eh, no big deal. Sure, I had to move a few things around, but I’ll make it work.”
She chuckled. “What did you have to move around? Your Friday nights are as busy as mine.”
“Toe shaving night. Pushed it over to Saturday.”
She snorted. “You say that so often I’m starting to wonder. I don’t want to believe you, but there’s a part of me that says you might be telling the truth.”
“Remember what I told you. Everybody lies. The only variance is the quantity and quality. I’ll admit that I’m a very good liar. Think about that.”
She squeezed her forehead. “If you’re a very good liar, you could be lying about being a very good liar and I wouldn’t know, in which case you’d be a bad liar. But if you were a bad liar, ugh.” She pressed against the headrest. “I just realized I don’t care. Shave your toes or don’t. Whatever makes you happy.”
“It would make me happy to come by your place a little early and visit Larry. He’s been calling. Says you’re neglecting him.”
She swallowed hard. “That really does make me feel guilty.”
“Not my intention, but you know what they say. The guilty flee when no one pursues. Truth. It’s in the Bible.”
“Fine. Come early and see the lizard. And dinner’s on me.”
“You’ll get no argument here. I’m all about equal rights. Wouldn’t want to impose my ancient belief system on you. No, ma’am. Women have just as much right to pay as men do. I’m awake.”
“Woke.”
“What?”
“The word is ‘woke.’ Means you’re keeping an eye out for social injustices.”
“Describes me to a T.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. “You really are a good liar. See you tonight.”
She hesitated at the exit of the FBI’s parking lot. A light lunch, salad or soup, sounded good. She flipped on her turn signal. It was a ten-minute drive down I-10 to the River Walk, where Matias’s mother was in the middle of the lunch rush. Wonder if her husband told her about the SAPD’s suspicions? That her son was involved in illegal activity, including murder?
Problem was that this time of year, peak tourist season, it would cost her a thirty-dollar lunch to find out.
Amara studied the menu for a moment, wishing there were an option to sort price lowest to highest. The hotel, like all the others along the River Walk, catered to tourists, convention guests, and business travelers, all people who were freer with their money. Locals only visited the area for special occasions or to crowd-watch. Not counting the ones who preyed on the visitors.
She stared out the windows at the swarms of people sweltering in the midday heat as they moved along both sides of the river. The Alamo, its underwhelming size a surprise to most visitors, sat tucked away a couple of hundred yards off. Every hotel and restaurant had outside eating areas, and all she could see appeared to be crammed full. Why anyone would choose to sit in the heat when air-conditioned comfort was a few feet away was beyond her. Scenery, maybe. Regardless, the money flowed a lot faster than the river did.
A waiter, dark pants, white shirt, narrow black tie, sauntered her way. “Do you have any questions about the menu?” he asked.
Other than are the prices in dollars or pesos? “No,” she said. “I’ll have the small salad with grilled chicken, please.” Nineteen bucks.
“Would you like a bowl of soup with that? Today’s special is a spicy chicken enchilada topped with a dollop of fresh sour cream.”
For eight dollars? No, thank you. “I don’t think so. Can you tell me if Silvia Lucero is working today? She’s a chef.”
He nodded. “She is.”
“Would you ask her to stop by my table if she has time? It’ll only take a minute.”
“Of course.” He took her menu and wandered out of sight.
What to say to the woman? She was doubtless busy, which worked in Amara’s favor. Hit her hard and fast. Force a reaction. Tell her the truth. Matias was involved in something that had already gotten one kid killed.
The waiter returned with a small basket of crackers. “Ms. Lucero will be out in a moment.”
“Thanks.” Crackers? Seriously? Not bread? Nineteen dollars for a small salad and she got saltines?
He refilled her water, then drifted to other tables. She reached for her cell, paused, and sighed. No way to check email, news, or even play on an app. What was she supposed to do? Just sit and wait? How was that productive? All around the restaurant, other diners taunted her by using their smartphones. She bounced her legs and shifted in her seat as heat seeped into her face.
Good grief. Was she actually having phone withdrawal? She closed her eyes to focus on her breathing. Ridiculous. She could go without checking her email or texts for more than half a day. If anything urgent happened, someone would call.
“Hello?”
Amara jerked back to reality. A woman wearing a white chef’s coat and holding a salad stood beside the table. “Hi. Ms. Lucero?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward, moved some silverware slightly, and set the salad in front of Amara. “How can I help you?”
“Looks delicious. Do you have time to sit for just a moment?”
The woman glanced behind her. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to the kitchen.”
“It’s about Matias.”
Her eyes widened. “Matias? What about him? Who are you?”
Amara showed her ID. “I spoke with your husband yesterday. Did he mention that?”
Ms. Lucero took a step closer. “Spoke with him about what?”
“I believe your son has information regarding a homicide. I’m not saying he’s involved in the death, but I do think Matias is participating in, let’s say, questionable activities. Things that could send him to prison.”
The woman clutched her chest and sat in the chair opposite Amara. “What things?”
“Things that are best discussed someplace quieter. Call him or your husband. They’ll know what’s going on.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost one o’clock. If I don’t hear from you or him by three, I’ll assume you’re not cooperating. That’s your choice. I hope you decide to do what’s best for your son.”
Ms. Lucero wiped her shaking hand across her mouth. “Ms., um, I’m sorry?”
“Detective Alvarez.”
“Yes. What do you think Matias has done?”
Amara picked up a fork and poked at her salad. “I’m afraid I misled you, ma’am. I don’t think he’s done anything. I know he has. To be honest, I can’t prove it yet, but I’m close. Three o’clock, Ms. Lucero. That’s when anything I might do to help your son expires. If you’ll excuse me, I need to eat before the lettuce wilts. Have a good afternoon, and whether you call or not, I will see you again.”
The woman stood, her mouth hanging open and a blank stare on her face. She turned, pulled a phone from her pocket, and trudged toward the kitchen.
Amara tasted the salad. Delicious. The grilled chicken had a smoky flavor and fell apart in her mouth. Not worth nineteen bucks, but at least the meal was better than average. She glanced at the crackers and frowned. Not even name brand or the buttery kind or wheat or sesame. Generic saltines.
Should’ve brought Starsky. He could eat twenty dollars’ worth of free crackers.
34
Amara reviewed the room a last time. Silvia Lucero had phoned forty-five minutes earlier to say that she and Matias, and possibly her husband, would be at the station no later than three o’clock. She’d updated Starsky on her investigation and he would sit in on the interview as well, not as an interrogator but as support in case he was needed. Department policy stated a preference for more than one detective to be present whenever possible.
She’d chosen the smallest available interview room and had the table removed. She wanted nothing between her and the family. A table acted as a buffer. A place to put your hands or shield your body. She wanted to be able to get close to Matias. Her proximity would ramp up his anxiety while building some rapport. It’d be better if he was alone, but that wasn’t her choice. He wasn’t under arrest, so she had little control.
Five chairs, three facing two, consumed most of the space. She positioned them so the camera in the corner had the best angle on the middle of the three seats. That’s where the teenager would sit, flanked by his parents for support. She’d use her cell as a backup microphone for the . . . no, she wouldn’t. “App” and “flip phone” were words that didn’t mesh. Starsky would have to record their conversation.
He cracked the door open and poked his head in. “They’re here. Ready?”
“Yeah. The father come too?”
“There’s a guy with them, so I’m gonna say he did.”
She nodded. “Good. I got the impression mom wasn’t real happy that dad didn’t clue her in about all this. I can use that.”
He pulled the door open farther and stepped back. “Y’all can come on in.”
Silvia Lucero entered the room, followed by Matias and a well-dressed man with a briefcase who definitely was not Daniel Lucero. Wonderful. They brought a lawyer.
“Thank you all for coming,” Amara said.
The attorney shook her hand. “Wilson Manchester. I represent the Luceros.”
Wilson Manchester? Sounded like a butler from Downton Abbey. His drawl dispelled any illusion of recent British ancestry. She waited until everyone sat before speaking. “Detective Peckham will be sitting in with us. Matias, I want to make sure you understand that you’re not under arrest and are free to leave at any time.”
The teenager nodded and looked around the room. “Where’s the big mirror?”
Amara pointed to the camera. “Nobody has mirrors. TV and movies made that up. Guess it’s supposed to add drama. Sorry to disappoint you.”
The lawyer balanced the briefcase on his lap and pulled a pen and legal pad from it. “I’d like to go over the ground rules before we begin.”
Starsky leaned forward and Amara shot him a warning glance as the attorney scribbled a note at the top of the page. “Mr. Manchester,” she said, “this is not a formal interrogation. There are no ground rules. I’ll ask questions and your client will choose whether or not to answer them. I assume you’re paid whether you do anything or not, so you want to make certain the Luceros feel like they’re getting something in return. No problem, but remember, Matias, this is your one and only chance. If you walk out of here without telling me what I want to know, I won’t help you when the time comes. Clear?”
The boy shifted in his seat and swallowed hard.
“For my benefit,” the lawyer said, “assuming my client has information that would be of use to you, would you detail exactly how you plan to help him? In my experience, detectives are rarely able to fulfill their promises. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to state that they choose not to do so.”
“Fair enough,” Amara said. “Your attorney is correct, Matias. I can’t promise you anything because I don’t have the final say. The DA’s office will make the decision when charges are filed.”
Mr. Manchester tapped the teenager’s arm. “If charges are filed.”
“As I was saying,” Amara said, “when charges are filed, I will explain to the DA that you were helpful in resolving the investigation. That could affect his decision on whether to charge you as an adult. I can tell you it is not uncommon, especially in cases with multiple offenders, for that to have a substantial impact on sentencing. Would you agree, Mr. Manchester?”
“I might dispute your use of the words ‘not uncommon,’ but yes, I have seen that occur.”
She pl
aced her hands on her knees and leaned closer to the teenager. “So the only thing you have to decide is who to trust. Me or whoever killed Zachary Coleman. Maybe I’m biased, but is that really a tough call?”
He licked his lips and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I know some, uh, things.”
“Yeah?” Amara said. “What kind of things?”
The attorney raised his hand. “We’d like to see something from the DA in writing.”
Starsky sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.
Amara frowned, both at him and the lawyer’s request. “That’s not how this works. Your client tells me what he knows. If he’s completely honest and leaves nothing out of the story, then we’ll talk about getting the DA involved.”
Mr. Manchester scribbled another note. “We are willing to share a few details but nothing that might be used against my client. I believe that’s a fair compromise, yes?”
Fair? She glared at the attorney. “This is not a negotiation, Counselor. Your client is involved in criminal activity. Any truthful information he gives will speed up my investigation. If he chooses not to say anything, that’s fine. It simply means it’ll take me longer to put the pieces together. Maybe another day. Maybe another week. But I will close the case. And when I do, I suspect Mr. Lucero here will want to know why you didn’t offer him better advice.”
Mr. Manchester slid the notepad back into his briefcase and clicked the latches closed. “I know a bluff when I hear it.”
Amara smiled at him. “So do I.”
He stood and turned to Matias. “We should go.”
The teenager alternated his view between his mother and Amara. “Mom?”
Ms. Lucero twisted her wedding ring as her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Detective, I’m asking you to understand our situation. We don’t know who to trust.”
“But you do know who not to trust,” Amara said. “If your son didn’t kill his friend, he knows who did, or at least has useful information. Aside from all the other charges likely to be filed, nothing tops first-degree murder.” She concentrated on Matias. “You and your buddies want to live and die together on this, go for it. But I saw the video at the water park. When you were standing a few feet away from Zachary Coleman’s dead body? I saw your fear. Remember that feeling? How you realized you could be next?”
Network of Deceit Page 18
