Not So Innocent (Shattered Glass #2)

Chapter Eight

Riley drove a department-issued SUV to the building where he’d followed Rachel the night before. Kelly sat in the passenger seat, bagel in one hand, pen and phone in the other. She moved up the FSI command tree until they connected her with the most senior person on staff.

Because they didn’t have full access to the FBI servers in the car, files and papers lay spread out on her thighs. “Got it,” Kelly said into her headset while writing another name on the cover of a manila folder. When Riley turned, the entire stack slid off her lap. She quickly caught them but dropped her bagel. It rolled onto the well of the stick shift where she grabbed it, then tossed it into the bag of trash hanging off the dash. “When do you expect him back?” She licked some cheese off her finger before opening a folder. “Do you have a number where I can reach him? ... Special Agent Kelly Marks.” She rattled off her number. “Thank you ... I’ll expect to speak to him asap ... No, not if possible. Today ... Make it happen, Lisa.”

When her call ended, Riley passed her a tissue and pointed at the cream cheese on her phone before she could put it down. “I do it just to drive you crazy, Riles.” She wiped the screen clean.

“That’s a noble mission.”

After wetting the tissue, she rubbed at a white smear on her sleeve. “Maxwell Porter is unavailable. His assistant could not put me in touch with him, nor has she spoken with him since he returned to the US a week ago.”

“A week ago? That explains the sudden urgency for our help. Cai and Julian must have found out Porter is back in town and figured, sooner or later, he’ll find them.”

“Yep,” she agreed. She pulled a file from the bottom of the mess in her lap. Several cheese-smudged folders slipped across the middle section and hovered near his slacks.

Riley side-eyed them. “Kelly, I have three good suits. I’d like one of them to survive a day with you without it ending in a visit to the dry cleaners.”

“You probably dry clean your socks every day.” She restacked the offending folders, then flipped open the one on top. “Okay, so, our little blue-haired sprite visited one Patrick Lemelin, aka Zip Drive. Oh ho. Mr. Lemelin is the head of IT for…are you ready for this, OCD?”

“Foreign Security Incorporated?”

“Yup.” She typed into the onboard computer and then rotated the screen so he could see the driver’s license picture.

Patrick Lemelin looked like a guy who led symposiums for IT conferences. “Other than wanting to get into FSI servers, I can’t see that Rachel would be within four feet of this guy.” Riley checked the photo again. “He is the antithesis of her type. Rachel’s last boyfriends looked like they fought bears for fun.”

“Big?”

“Bodybuilders,” Riley said. “All of them had a thick beard, too.”

Kelly turned the screen toward herself and read through the info. “Five foot seven…Sheez. He’s my height and weighs thirty pounds less than me.”

“The important part is you can squat two of Mr. Lemelin.”

“Before retirement, my goal is to crack a particularly repellent suspect’s head between my legs. I’m aiming for child murderers and people who tell women not to lift because they’ll get bulky.”

“Forget what I said earlier. That is the noble mission.”

“Okay,” she said. “So, our boys send in Rachel as a honeypot—”

“No.”

“No what?”

“Cai would never use Rachel like that, nor would he allow Thompson to do it. To meet him, sure. Lure him in? Definitely. But if she’s sleeping with Lemelin, she’s doing it on her own.”

“Hm. You did mention they dropped her off a half mile from his place. Maybe they don’t know who he is?” After reading through several pages, she said, “Lemelin has a degree from MIT. He’s thirty years old, makes over a hundred grand a year, and looks like he last experienced sunlight sometime before the dawn of the internet.” She flipped through a different folder, then put both pages side by side. “Rachel Lange is… a nineteen-year-old former heroin addict who dropped out of high school before the tenth grade, makes minimum wage, and runs around looking like a Saturday morning cartoon. How did these two find each other? Is Lemelin in on whatever is going on?”

“A couple of years ago, Cai told me she’d finished her GED and had enrolled in computer courses at the local community college. Lemelin’s a computer tech.”

“She just happens to catch the attention of the IT head at FSI? How does she know to target him without Strakosha’s help? He’s the genius. I say he sent her there.”

“He could have asked her to engineer her way in,” Riley agreed. “Or she could have done it on her own. What she lacks in book smarts she more than makes up for in street smarts. And Rachel would do anything for Cai. If he needed something, she’d find a way to do it, with or without his knowledge.”

“Why is she sticking her tiny neck out for Thompson? Or this kid? For that matter, why are you?”

Before he could answer, they turned onto Lemelin’s street and into a mass of first responders parked in front of his building. Riley angled the SUV around a coroner van, an ambulance, and several police cars before parking behind an unmarked unit.

* * *

Cai folded into the passenger seat and tossed his pack into the back next to Rachel. A small bag of burglary tools hung from a studded belt around her waist. Then he took in Julian’s attempt at a blank stare, his black turtleneck, and black gloves.

Oh, this wasn’t happening. No way. He went for the door.

“Hang on.” Julian grabbed the neck of his coat and pulled, trapping Cai between rock hard abs and an equally hard steering wheel.

He sighed and glared up into Julian’s eyes. “I have plans.”

“Doing what?”

“Not going to prison. That’s a very important plan.” Cai made another attempt to escape, only to have his scarf choke him back into place.

“I need you,” Julian said.

“To break into someone’s house? Why do you think I know how to do things like that?”

“We’re not breaking in. We’re staking it out.”

“Why do you need me for that?”

“Because, little bugger, when the neighbors see my face, they only see one thing.”

“Oh! Oh! I know. I know.” Rachel’s hand thumped against the roof. “Manwhore!”

Julian spared her a brief glare. “But when they see your sweet smile, they’ll think—”

“—Mormon missionary,” she finished.

“Why do we have to go in the dark?” Cai poked his thumb toward Rachel’s bag. “And why does she need those?”

“Julian meant stakeout from inside the house.” Rachel unzipped Cai’s backpack and began loading it with her tablet and tools.

“No.” He swatted Julian away from caressing his cheek. “No. It’ll end up like the last time.”

“It won’t. I promise.”

“We’re not breaking into his house?” Cai asked.

“Cross my heart,” Julian said.

“We’re ringing the doorbell like normal people?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re lying,” Cai said.

“Absolutely. Tell me London wasn’t fun.”

“London wasn’t fun.”

“I thought London was fun,” Rachel chimed in.

Julian dragged his thumb across Cai’s bottom lip. “We’ll be careful.”

Lately, every touch from Julian produced an image of Riley. Cai plucked at the metallic necklace tucked under his sweater. The battery for its tracking chip was long dead by now. Stupid to keep wearing it. But that was him, stupidly in love.

Stop daydreaming. Focus!

Cai resumed glaring. “You said those exact words before, and I ended up locked in Porter’s hotel closet.”

“And I saved you—”

Rachel cleared her throat.

“And she saved you,” Julian corrected.

“With a bomb threat that brought in the terrorist response team to the hotel!” But, he had to admit, this was important, and they needed the info. “Are we even pursuing the right guy?” Cai asked, turning to Rachel. “Who is he?”

“Chief Financial Operator for FSI,” Julian answered.

“Sexy geek-boy gave us a fancy shmancy Cherry Hills address, owned by one James Thorpe,” Rachel said. She held up a flash drive and another computer component. “Gave me these too. My vagina has finally been useful in our relationship.”

Appalled, Cai nearly bashed Julian’s face as he shot up to look at her. “Rach—”

“Oi, stupid bugger, you nearly—”

He held a hand over Julian’s mouth. “—you didn’t...”

“—minced my nose!” came the muffled cry.

“Relax, Sir Prude of Prudeville,” she said. “I didn’t whore myself out for you. I screwed him because he said I was cute. And he had a big schlong. And the entire Dr. Who DVD set. I mean, I hit the penis jackpot, right?” Holding up two fingers, she mouthed, “Twice”.

“What’s on the drive?” Cai asked.

“Dunno. It’s encrypted. There’s an encryption key on the flash drive, but it’s password protected.”

Cai stared at her. Computers had never interested him.

She held up the silver thing. “This is a hard drive from a laptop. It’s encrypted with big numbery number lock that is impossible to open without a key.” She waved the flash drive. “This flash drive has the big numbery key.” Putting the two together, she said, “Key fits lock. Lucky for us, the flash drive is easier to get into. I just need a password. Might be able to crack the password with a program, but, honestly, it’s a longshot. Buuuut people are lazy with passwords. Cole prolly wrote it down or saved a text file of it somewhere. Even if he saved the password in a cloud, he’d write the cloud master password down. That’s why we need to talk to James, asap. He’d know important information, like where Walter Cole might keep a trove of passwords.”

“Why would he help us?”

“Because, according to Zip, Thorpe’s the one who gave us the hard drive from Walter Cole’s personal laptop and stole this flash drive off his keyring.”

* * *

Riley checked his watch and then stretched the tension out of his neck and back. “Do you need to head out to get Lena?”

Several flies darted out into the hall and buzzed around their heads. Kelly casually swatted them out of her way. “I called Dev,” she said. “He’s got her until tomorrow. Where the fuck are all these flies coming from? It’s winter.”

“Dormant in the walls until food is available,” Lester Davids answered. His giant hands moved lightly over the body to test rigor.

Riley and Kelly, along with two detectives assigned to the scene, waited in the hall for Lester to finish. The uniformed building manager stood close by, his pasty fingers wringing furiously around a giant key ring, as if Kelly had accused him of being responsible for the flies.

Forensic investigators fanned out across the apartment. Their plastic booties whispered like worker bees against the hardwood floors. With a pair of large tweezers, one of them pulled a black thread from a crack in the windowsill. Next to her, white curtains bowed and contracted, making her appear like an avant-garde bride.

Patrol officers with notepads and pencils climbed the stairs behind them to question witnesses. Doors opened and closed throughout the apartment building. The stairwell echoed fragments of conversations.

“Didn’t hear a thing.”

“A girl.”

“Blue hair.”

Lester finally waved them inside. “There’s a box of shoe covers near the door,” he said. “Wear them or stay in the hallway.”

Kelly kicked off her flats and used Riley’s shoulder to balance while slipping the booties on. Once she’d tucked the hem of her pants inside the top of her socks, she walked directly to the overturned office chair and crouched over the corpse. From this distance, the smell of blood and bodily waste was strong, even with the windows blowing in freezing air. Riley could imagine the stench over by Kelly, but that wasn’t what held him back.

Yet another dead body in Cai’s wake.

Was he with Rachel? Was she safe? Was he?

Riley’s phone weighed heavy in his pocket. He took it out, started to dial, and then put it back in his jacket.

Do your job.

Patrick Lemelin lay sprawled across the floor, one arm above his head, as if he were backstroking in his own blood. The other arm rested on his stomach, partially covering the red stain on his white t-shirt. Tufts of blond spiky hair fluttered against his ear. In the clumps of his lashes, dried tears had left a delicate pattern from the salt, giving his blank stare a touch of beauty. It all seemed cosmically wrong that this young man suffered such a violent death.

The sun receded, leaving only the overheads and portable crime scene lamps to light the room. Riley was finally about to join Kelly but something about the new shadows above the L-shaped desk made him hesitate.

“Knife wound?” Kelly looked to Lester.

Les gently lifted Patrick’s t-shirt with a metal rod and they both tilted to see underneath. “Consistent with a knife. Died in less than a minute. No ability to speak or scream for help. See here? This one likely punctured the lung.”

Kelly’s toes curled inside the blue booties and away from a small dark stain on the Persian rug. “Lots of blood.”

“Body’s been flipped onto his back,” Lester said. “Fluids leaked out while he was on his stomach.”

“Who flipped him?” She looked up at the detectives.

The younger detective, Hutcherson, shrugged, and asked the manager, “You move anything, Mr. Wells?”

“I just opened the door! The hallway was like ice, man, and he wasn’t answering. I see Patrick dead on the floor, and I got the hell outta there.”

“Was he on his back like that?”

Wells shrugged. “Them dead eyes is all I remember.” Riley couldn’t help but think of Ichabod Crane as he watched Wells white-knuckle the giant keyring. “Saw Nana Mamie after she keeled over from a heart attack,” Wells said. “She was taken by surprise, you know? Can’t get her eyes outta my head. Patrick’s got that same—”

“Fornier?” Detective Liang shouted up the stairwell.

A reply came from at least two floors up. “Yeah?”

“D.B. on his back when you got here?”

“Yeah.”

Liang looked at Kelly with a straight face and said, “He was like that.”

“So, our perps turned him over. Probably to search him.” Kelly ‘hmm’ed’ and then checked under the desk. “They cut all the cords?”

“Only some of them.” Hutcherson stepped forward and pointed to the sockets on the left where one end of a cord rested unharmed. “It appears they cut the ones where they’d have to bend or move furniture. Shaved a minute or two off the time they spent here, ma’am.”

“Agent Marks, Detective, not ma’am.” Kelly corrected gently as she stood and questioned Riley with a look. “You coming in?”

“Not yet. Something’s off. I’m trying to figure it out.”

They killed Lemelin first. No signs of torture. No struggle. They either got what they wanted or were sure it wasn’t here. But then why search him?

“Kelly, I don’t see a phone.”

“Les, can we check his back pockets for a phone?” Kelly asked.

They lifted the body and Kelly felt around his pockets. “Nothing.” She pointed at Wells. “You—”

“Not me!” Wells recoiled, looking like he’d leave a dust cloud in his hurry to escape. Normally, that’d ring bells for Riley, but this job was too professional to have been carried out by a guy who sewed his name tag upside down on his uniform shirt.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, no one is accusing you. I want to ask you if you know what was plugged in here.” She turned her head sideways to read the badge. “Vernon.”

“Had ‘bout seven metal boxes stacked on the desk last time I came to fix the sink. Patrick got his phone sat up straight on that charger over there. And he always had a laptop open either on the kitchen counter or sommer else.”

“When were you in to fix the sink?” Riley asked.

“Two days ago. Oh, hey, his girl had a bag with her when she left around four this morning. Had to ask them to quit suckin’ face in the hallway. A tiny one, yay high, with blue hair. She left out the back way over yonder. Patrick went out the front.”

Kelly stretched her fingers into a pair of latex gloves and felt under the desk. “That what you saw this morning, Riles?”

“Yeah. He crossed to the Starbucks on Sixth. They had to hit just after Rachel left and then waited for him when he got back. Broad daylight.”

“Without a fight,” Kelly murmured as she stood up and fished her cell out of her jacket. “Poor sap.”

Wells let out a deep sigh. His whole body seemed to sag with his shoulders. “Patrick’s at Starbucks e’ery morning. Sometimes he brings me one of them cookies. Guess he won’t be…”

Voices faded as the shadows in the ceiling caught Riley’s attention. He angled his head, squinted, and walked closer, until they were a blur above him. Next to the overturned office chair, a dirty lampshade projected sections of light between the wires. In the segment closest to Lemelin’s desk, a slight bump protruded from the bottom edge. Riley slipped on a pair of gloves and felt the lump in the crease of the fabric. “Marks , something sewn in here.”

Kelly examined the same spot while waving over the techs. “Can we get video of this, please?”

The tech near the window turned her camera on Riley as he lifted the lampshade off and then turned it upside down. Once cut open, the linen revealed a USB drive.

“Finally, this case is producing something tangible,” Kelly said. “I want that taken to the lab, asap.” She looked at Riley. “We better find her before they do.”

“I’ll make the call,” Riley said.