Chapter 16
Zen
S itting at my workbench, I brood over pissing Lexi off. Rob stops by to bring me a cup of coffee and pulls up a chair on the other side of my bench to talk.
“I made it with three creamers and two sugars, just like you like, boss.”
When he slides the big mug my way, I drop my tools and take the warm brew in both hands. “I’ve told you a million times that you don’t have to call me boss. You can use my club name like everyone else.”
He takes a sip of his coffee before answering, “Sure thing, boss.”
That makes me smile. Rob is very set in his ways for one so young. I like him and Walter, so I don’t argue with him about it.
That’s when he asks, “You want to talk about it, boss?”
Putting my coffee down to cool, I pick up my screwdriver and get back to work. “Talk about what, Rob?”
“You know—about your girl, Lexi, running out of here this morning like a bat outta hell. Did it have something to do with us being at DEFCON three? We’re still at three, right?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “We’re still at three.” I catch Rob up on the whole Lexi story, including how she spent the night in my bed and how I fucked it all up by accusing her dad of being the real serial killer because we found a kill bag buried at her place.
“If I had only found a less offensive way to have that conversation, she wouldn’t have freaked out on me and run away. Now, I know my club brothers are outside her place, keeping her safe. But the problem is, I wanted to be the one to keep her safe. I can’t do that and disassemble her computer, too. I need to be here where all my tools are and where I have space to work. Because of my own stupidity and inability to talk right to women, she refuses to stay here with me.”
“That sounds like a really fucked-up situation. I can’t blame her for being a little skittish. She’s probably fucking terrified and doesn’t know which way to turn. She thought you were her rock, right up until you started telling her that her dad might be a serial killer. There ain’t no woman in the world who’s gonna be able to take that lying down. You’re damn lucky she didn’t punch you in the face.”
“Yeah,” I tell my longtime friend. “I really screwed that one up.”
“Do you really think her old man is a serial killer?”
I grab my coffee cup and take another sip. “I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that it was definitely a kill bag we retrieved from her property. It even contained some jewelry we think might be trophies he took from his victims.”
“Damn, he must’ve been one smart fucker. Imagine killing a woman where you work and then running off on a killing spree with your wife and kid, all the while convincing your wife that you were tracking the killer when you were the killer. That takes intelligence, cunning, and balls of solid brass.”
“I don’t know. He was a college professor, so he was definitely smart. Lexi said he spent a lot of time wrapped up in his own little world. By looking at the information on his flash drives, he was either tracking the killer or being tracked. I’m not sure which.”
“I hope you find this fucker, ‘cause then you can wring the information out of him.”
“My first step is to find out how someone managed to turn Lexi’s computer into a two-way audio and visual system.”
“I’m surprised you’re checking her hardware. Most spyware is a software issue.”
“We already ran a malware scan on it.”
“Maybe whoever did this is a professional hacker?” Rob suggests.
I think that over. Professional hackers always hide a backdoor that allows them to get back in if you fix the bugs and remove their malware. The backdoor they hide might just be some simple code or a vulnerability they opened in the operating system.
Rob continues, “Maybe they created a backdoor by adding a line of code in the PHP that allows them to add any file they want remotely, and then automatically erase the evidence after each eavesdropping session. That way, they’d be able to pop in and out whenever they wanted without leaving a trace.”
“That’s pretty brilliant, Rob. What made you think of that?”
A slow smile spreads over his face. “I heard you and Lexi talking about the problem yesterday, and I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about how someone could ghost into and out of a computer at will. That’s one of the ways I came up with.”
“Well, I have to admit that the hardware all looks fine. Let’s put her back together again and see if your hunch is true.”
We spend the next hour putting her computer back together, and then I use her password to get inside. Rob and I drink coffee and inspect every line of code in the PHP. It’s exhausting, and to our disappointment, we find nothing.
Just then my phone rings. It’s Siege.
“What’s up, Prez?” I ask. “Did the crime lab finish processing that kill bag we found on Lexi’s property?”
Siege laughs, “Of course not. The Las Salinas crime lab works at the speed of molasses. It’ll take them a week, at least.”
“Should have known that,” I mutter under my breath.
“How did Lexi take the news that we found a kill bag buried on her property?”
“She immediately freaked out and ran to ground in her safe room.”
“Good thing we’ve still got security in place there.”
“Is that why you called—to check on Lexi?”
Siege snorts a laugh. “Hell no. Worrying about your girl is on you, not me. I called to let you know that someone tried to hack our system here at the clubhouse. We need you to come and have a look.”
“Fuck. How did you even know?”
“That fucking antivirus software you insisted on installing on every computer in the building all started notifying us at the same time.”
Relief floods my mind. “I’ll head to the clubhouse right away.”
“See you in a few,” he says before disconnecting the call.
Rob offers, “Want me to continue picking through the root directories?”
“Normally, I’d say yes if it was a regular customer’s computer, but Lexi is really particular about her equipment, and I think she’d consider that a violation of her trust.”
Rob shoves up from his seat with a smile. “Well, God knows you can’t afford another misstep with that pretty lady.”
A smile ghosts across my face. “You ain’t wrong about that, my friend. I am not trying to alienate Miss Lexi. Quite the opposite, if I’m being honest.”
“Good luck with that, boss,” Rob says before heading to the front of the store to help Walter out.
***
I get on my motorcycle and head for the clubhouse with my cut blowing in the breeze. My mind begins making connections. This is the first time someone has attempted to hack our club computers. I keep a robust firewall in place there, so I’m not particularly surprised that my antivirus software stopped them in their tracks.
I can’t help but wonder if our club being targeted had anything to do with us investigating Lexi’s multitude of problems. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but it feels connected. Within forty-five minutes, I’m walking into the clubhouse and back to my office.
I drop down into my seat and pull out my laptop. In addition to the server, I have an external hard drive that backs all the club’s information up. There’s also a copy backed up on a secure cloud. If the server or external hard drive fails, I can pull from the cloud, and if the cloud fails, I can pull information off the external hard drive. I can’t be too careful or too secure in handling our club’s confidential information.
I log onto the system and use the antivirus software to zero in on the problem. It looks like someone sent out a mass email allegedly from me, with instructions to click on a link to sign up for a rally in Arizona. The whole email looks very authentic, except the return email has an extra character that was cleverly turned from black to white so it wasn’t noticeable. Everyone in the building began clicking on the link bright and early, which triggered the antivirus software.
It takes me a minute to isolate the virus and quarantine it. Then I move it to my external hard drive to study later and restart the antivirus program. All in all, dealing with the issue is more tedious and time-consuming than difficult. While the antivirus software runs again, I analyze the clickjacking setup. Eventually, I get the hacker’s IP address, and when I run it, surprisingly it comes back local. Some asshole would have to be brave to try to hack the Savage Legion.
In fact, this has the feeling of an immature hacker trying to make a name for himself or someone intentionally being ham-handed because they wanted us to know we were being targeted. Either way, I have an IP address and am narrowing down the geographical location of the computer that generated the hack.
Siege and Rigs come in just as I’m finishing up. Siege asks, “What did you find?”
“That email about the rally wasn’t from me—it was some hacker trying to get the brothers to click on the link. It would have given them access to individual computers and phones, depending on which device they used to open the email. Fortunately, we have a robust antivirus program in place that stopped them in their tracks.”
“Any idea who did this?” he asks.
“No, but whoever it is wasn’t even trying to fly under the radar. They used their work email.”
Siege frowns. “Are you sure? That doesn’t even begin to make sense.”
I say, “Hackers are meticulous about remaining anonymous. The fact that this person used their work email can only mean one of two things. Either the place of employment and the email address are bullshit, or this is a trap they don’t plan to let us walk away from alive.”
“Even if it’s a trap, we’ve got to take a chance,” Siege says. “This is the only actionable lead we have on this case. I’ll get some backup in place in case things go sideways.”
Rigs adds, “I agree. We need to get this show on the road on the off chance that he’s still in the area. I want to get my hands on this asshole so bad I can taste it.”
“I’m fairly certain we can take him by surprise if we leave right away.”
Siege calls in ten of our club brothers to surround the business and wait for further orders. He, Rigs, and I gear up and head out almost immediately. The work email address suggests the sender works at an apartment complex in the heart of Las Salinas. There’s no website to check out the employees and we don’t have time, so the best bet is for us to be eyes on and get our asses down there now. I don’t particularly like breaking into buildings in densely populated parts of the city. There are too many eyes and ears around, making it damned inconvenient when it comes to beating information out of people—which is something I have every intention of doing today. How dare some asshole think he could get away with trying to hack into our club’s network? I take that shit very seriously.
As the three of us ride out, I have a strange gut feeling about this situation. Finding this person was too easy, And I still think it could be a trap. I try my best to shake the feeling, telling myself that it probably isn’t even related to the case we’re working on for Lexi. Maybe it’s just some pimple-faced kid looking to make a name for himself. That sounds about right.
When we pull up to the Windlands Luxury Apartment complex, it’s anything but luxurious. Maybe it was luxurious when it was first built back in the eighties, but now it’s a rundown slum—a shadow of its former self.
When we get off our bikes, I’m aware of multiple club brothers hiding in the shadows, just like our club president ordered. I’m glad to know backup is close at hand if we need it.
I warn Siege and Rigs, “Be careful. Watch your backs. I feel like there’s something we’re missing about this situation.”
The other two immediately reach into their cuts and rest their hands on the grips of their guns. We proceed cautiously. The last thing we need is for this to go bad on us.
“Where is this computer we’re looking for?”
“It could be anywhere, but if the email address is real then it belongs to the security guard. It’ll be in one of two locations. Either the security room in the basement or the apartment right above it where he lives.”
“Let’s check the security office first,” Rigs suggests.
“I pulled up a schematic of the building. The security office is located right across from the laundry room,” I tell them.
We enter through the back and go through the laundry room to get to the security office. Rigs manages to jimmy the lock, which gets us in without breaking it. Siege flips on the light, and we all go silent. Looking around the room, I almost don’t believe what I’m seeing.
Siege gasps, “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s all related,” Rigs whispers.
I step out into the center of the room and turn around in a complete circle, taking it all in. There are wall-to-wall pictures of Lexi, my Lexi. “It’s like someone set up a huge collage and then lured us here to see it,” I say, feeling my emotions rise hard and fast when I see that in some of the pictures her eyes have been scratched out.
“I don’t understand why some of the pictures have the eyes cut out,” I tell them.
Rigs takes out his cell phone and starts taking pictures. “It’s symbolic. He doesn’t want her to see him coming.”
My blood runs cold at the implication of whatever this crazy fucker was thinking when he made this message for us to see. “It could be him saying she won’t see him coming.”
Siege points out, “It could be nothing to do with seeing him coming. Maybe it’s his way of saying he doesn’t want her to see what he’s going to do to her—like he feels compelled to hurt her but at the same time he likes her and doesn’t want her to know it’s him.”
I swallow thickly when I realize some pictures have her eyes crossed out, like when a cartoon character dies. “He’s also crossed her eyes out in some pictures. It could be his way of saying he’s gonna kill her.”
“There’s no way any of us can know what a serial killer is thinking,” Rigs points out sagely. “What we do know, is that he wants us to know he’s aware that we’re investigating her case and protecting her. He wants us to see this.”
I realize that Siege is on the phone with his police contact. “Yeah, it looks like a setup, and it’s creepy as fuck.”
When his call ends, Siege turns to me. “What do you think this means, besides the possible motivations we discussed?”
I gesture around the room. “Look at all these pictures. They’re all of Lexi growing up. I’m beginning to think this man might have been watching her for years. Instead of him coming for her father, noticing her family picture, and trying to get to her, what if he came for Lexi because she was all grown up? Maybe he’d been keeping his eye on her all this time and decided to finally make his move. Her father made the fatal mistake of glancing at his security camera—which was his only link to Lexi. The killer realized she was in the house and when the father wouldn’t give her location away, the killer tried to get her to trade herself for her father, knowing she was watching. When that didn’t work, he killed her father in a blind rage, but before he could tear the place apart looking for her, the cops arrived and he fled.”
Siege glances around suspiciously. “That all sounds plausible. What we need is proof.”
Rigs has been standing still this whole time in front of a table with some framed photographs on it. I walk over and ask, “What did you find?”
He picks up one of the pictures and holds it out in his gloved hands. “It’s a picture of Lexi on the beach with her father when she was a teen. It doesn’t look like a family photograph taken by her mom. This was taken with a zoom lens. You’re right. This fucker has been stalking her for a long time—maybe waiting for her to come of age.”
I stand there staring at the image for a long, hard moment. “I’m betting he’s been in her orbit for a while, trying to worm his way into her life. Only, she’s too reclusive. She said there’s been a lot of weird one-off situations that didn’t make any sense. She even said a food delivery guy tried to get into her house during a delivery.”
Rigs frowns. “I’ve never heard of them doing that before.”
“I think it was him. The other day when we went to her house, there was another package on the doorstep with chocolates in it and a creepy note. Lexi thought it was a mis-delivery meant for a neighbor.”
Rigs muses out loud, “It’s possible. It certainly fits with what we know about his mentality. We need to find this guy and put him down once and for all.”
“What about the stuff we found on the flash drive and the kill bag?”
Siege comes to stand beside us. “It could be two separate situations. Someone is clearly stalking Lexi. But as far as the serial killer goes, either Lexi’s father is the serial killer and the bag is his, or he was hunting the serial killer and the killer planted the bag on their property, or…” Siege pauses like he’s trying to run scenarios through his head. “I don’t know, maybe somehow Lexi’s father found it and wanted to keep it safe as evidence, so he buried it in his backyard? Those are the only options I see for the killings and the bag being found. This person stalking Lexi may be an entirely different and unrelated situation.”
Gazing from one to the other of them, I say, “Are you suggesting that two bizarre situations are happening to the same woman but it’s all just a coincidence? Sorry, I’m not buying that bullshit. Sure, it explains all the details and ties everything up with a nice bow. The problem for me is that the chances of this being unrelated are astronomical.”
Before either of them can answer, the security room door flies open, and our contact from Las Salinas PD enters with two plainclothes officers.
Rigs glances at me and jerks his chin towards the door before saying in a hushed voice so the cops can’t hear, “Wanna pay a visit to the apartment right above this office? That was your secondary target location, right?”
“Yeah, let’s do it. Why leave any stone unturned,” I tell him.
Slipping out while Siege is briefing our contact on what we found, we take the stairs up to the second floor, and I knock while Rigs covers me. When we don’t get an answer after five knocks, Rigs begins picking the lock. It doesn’t go well. It’s taking him longer than before. Standing there watching is making me ever more anxious by the second. I’m pretty certain the perp isn’t home, but I’d like to check out his apartment before the cops turn up.
“What’s wrong? Can’t you get it open?” I say as I keep turning to look down the hallway.
Glancing up at me with one of his lock-picking instruments in his mouth, he mumbles around the slim steel pick, “It’s a weird lock. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Suddenly, the door across the hall swings open. Rigs barely has time to hide his instruments as he gets to his feet. An elderly lady sticks her head out the door. “I’m Violet. If you’re looking for Reggie Murphy, he doesn’t live here anymore.”
Thinking on my feet, I tell her, “We were supposed to remove the rest of his furniture so he didn’t end up with a removal fee taken out of his security deposit.”
She tells me innocently, “You don’t look like movers. You look like bikers in all that leather.”
I give her my best smile. “Well, you’re absolutely right about that. We are members of a motorcycle club—one of the nice ones. We throw fundraisers for the children’s hospital every year. But, you know, everyone needs to earn a living, so moving furniture is what me and my friend do.” I feel bad about lying to a sweet old lady, but you gotta do what you gotta do.
“Well, that’s all well and good then,” she says primly.
“I guess we won’t be able to do the job he hired us for today,” I tell her in a disappointed tone.
The old lady looks up the hall in one direction and then the other before saying, “Reggie left me his spare key. If the property managers haven’t changed the locks, I might let you in just long enough to move out the remaining furniture because they’re strict about residents clearing their apartments before they leave.”
I glance at Rigs before responding, “That would be mighty nice of you, ma’am.”
It takes her a minute to get the key, and she slips it in the door and gives it a turn. Before she leaves, I ask, “Would you happen to know anything about security at this complex?”
She rolls her eyes. “Reggie was it. Now that he’s gone, I don’t think they’ll hire a replacement because all they’ve done is complain about the cost of security and how unnecessary it is.”
“What do you think? Do you feel safe here without security?” I ask out of curiosity.
She sighs and turns away. “Reggie didn’t do much patrolling the building or the grounds. He stayed in his apartment and responded to calls when something popped off. The local police can do that, since they’re only three blocks away. I hate to say it, but Reggie was a lazy layabout.”
With that, she walks into her apartment and shuts the door behind her.
Rigs mumbles, “A straight shooter. I like her.”
We slip into the apartment and almost slide on the mail that had been shoved through the slot. Most apartments have boxes, but not this place. Every door has an old-fashioned mail slot.
We turn on the light and see that the apartment is indeed mostly empty. There’s a sofa and a bed left behind, along with some trash lying about. I bend down to dig through a broken laundry basket filled with junk. Looking up at Rigs, I say, “Violet was right. Reggie is a lazy fuck. This mess he left is gonna cost him his security deposit if it hasn’t already.”
Rigs responds curtly, “This is no time for jokes. That mess downstairs was Reggie’s. With any luck, we just might find a clue as to where he’s gone if we look hard enough.”
Coming to my feet, I nod at him. “You’re right. We’d best get on it before the police put two and two together and realize Reggie lived on-site.”
Rigs and I begin meticulously combing through the apartment, looking for any tiny clue that might help us unravel this case. I immediately go back to rummaging in the basket because it’s filled with junk. Looking through the papers, I come across business cards. However, nothing seems relevant to our investigation.
Rigs walks back into the main room, looking disgusted. He has a handful of comic books in his hand.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Our Reggie was a comic book fan, was he?”
Rigs throws the comic books down on the floor beside me. “Lexi’s stalker is definitely the killer. And your girl? She’s next on his list.”
“What the everlovin’ fuck are you talking about, brother?”
“Have a look at the one on top.”
I open it up, expecting to see traditional superhero stuff, maybe with shit written in the margins. Instead, this sick, twisted fucker has replaced all the female characters with Lexi’s face and the bodies of nude women cut crudely out of magazines. The more pages I turn, the more alarmed I am. I stop halfway through the book because I can’t take it anymore. “This is some fucked-up, creepy, juvenile shit.”
Rigs says quietly, “That’s not all. Look through the others.”
The last thing in the entire world I want is to open the other comics—not if they all contain crudely cut-out images of the woman I’m falling pretty hard for. Cursing under my breath, I grab the next one. My stomach turns when I realize it’s full of naked cutouts of other women, being bound and killed in various ways.
I open a couple and look before I remember where I’ve seen the faces before. “These are all the faces of the women that were on the flash drive. I believe Reggie is the killer, but the verdict is still out on Lexi’s dad.”
Rigs nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, I agree. Reggie’s definitely our serial killer, but whether Lexi’s father was his partner, or was trying to catch him, remains to be seen.”
When I don’t say anything in response, Rigs speaks up. “I know we wanted to keep Lexi at your house in an effort to draw the killer out, but I think that’s too risky now. She needs to come to the clubhouse. I’ll have the prospects make up a room for her.”
“Yeah, you’re right, but I don’t think she’s gonna be happy about it.”
“Drag her kicking and screaming if you must. Better that she’s furious with you than dead.”
“I get that. I really do,” I tell him. My mind is whirling with ideas for getting her to agree to come to the clubhouse. I can tell her that her friends miss her, which I’m certain is true. I can offer for her to stay in my room at the clubhouse or in a private room. Studies show if you give someone a choice between two things, they’re likely to pick one of them instead of insisting on a third option.
Rigs’ harsh voice cuts through my thoughts. “Earth to Zen, I’m talking to you. It’ll be getting dark soon. You need to go to Lexi and get her to the clubhouse before sunset.”
“Yes,” I mumble as I gather up the comic books and stuff them in my cut. “You sure you’re gonna be okay here by yourself?”
One of Rigs’ eyebrows shoots up, and he says, “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”
I head for the door and stop to tease him, “Be careful of Violet. I think you’re just her type.”
Rigs frowns at me. “Out, before I lose my patience with you.”