Chapter 9 #5
The room was neat, mostly. The bed was sort of made, as in, Coy had dragged the covers over the pillows after he’d got up. It wasn’t pretty, but it was made.
He sat down at his computer, unplugging something from a cord. “Okay, give me the phone. I have a program I can run.”
She started to hand him the phone, then pulled it back. “I’m going to want the entire contents of the phone saved…somewhere not on the phone. You understand? Can you do that?”
“I can do that, sure. I have a high-capacity flash drive that should hold it.”
“I’ll pay you, of course. And not in cookies. I should’ve said that right at the start.”
“You don’t have to pay me.”
“Well at least for the cost of the flash-drive-thing,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “And for your time, too.”
“It’s a favor between friends,” he said, and held out his hand again.
Again, she hesitated. “How does the program work?”
“It tries every possible passcode until it gets the right one. Anyone could do the same, but it would take forever. With the app, it only takes a few minutes.”
“What happens when it finds the right passcode? Does the phone open on your computer screen?”
“No,” he said, with a little frown. “It just displays the correct passcode on the screen.”
Nodding, she pressed the phone into his hand.
“You really don’t want anyone looking at your husband’s phone, do you?” he asked as he plugged it in and hit a button.
She shot him an alarmed look, but he just smiled. “That’s okay. I get that. I think I’ll go get some milk to go with these cookies while the program runs. You want me to bring you back anything?”
“No, thanks. I really appreciate your help, Coy.”
“You’re a nice lady, Miz Tucker, and you overtip. Do you know that about yourself?” He winked, then left her alone in the room.
She watched the computer screen as a six-digit readout changed so rapidly she couldn’t follow its progress. And then just like that, it stopped.
817295
She found a pen on Coy’s desk and scribbled the code on a piece of scrap paper just as he returned. “Ahh, good, it worked. You got it now?”
“Got it.” She finally looked away from the computer screen. Coy was carrying a fresh cookie and a small glass of milk, which he set on the desk. “I snatched you one before the locusts got to it. Here, if you want to vacate the chair, I can copy the phone onto the flash drive for you.”
“Oh, sure, of course.” She got up, picked up the cookie and milk and backed away. She was so excited, she dunked and ate mindlessly as he tapped keys and plugged a little thumb drive into the back of his computer.
Then he left the room again as files were moved.
The screen showed folders, icons, and file names that didn’t readily make sense, flying across the screen onto a disk symbol.
And when the last one had flown, an arrow popped up with “eject disk” beside it.
She clicked it, then unplugged the flash drive from the computer.
The phone, too. She took $100 in twenties from her wallet and tucked it underneath the keyboard, with just its edge sticking out.
She left the empty milk glass on the desk and exited the room.
“Ahh, ready to go home?” Coy asked when he saw her coming down the stairs.
“Yep, and I ejected the disk properly. Even I know how to do that much. Thanks, Coy. This means a lot to me.”
“Anytime, Miz Tucker.”
When he dropped her off at home, Bonnie waved goodbye and turned to walk up to her door, but her phone buzzed in her pocket, so she stopped walking, and took it out.
The girls were coming after dinner tonight, around seven—same time Sam and the gang would be off seeing another house—and she was wishing she’d baked another batch of cookies for them.
She unlocked her own phone at the front door of her house and found an audio message from a blocked number. A little chill went down Bonnie’s spine. She didn’t go inside, in case the kids were close at hand.
She tapped the play button.
A distorted, monstrous voice said, “You lied, Mrs. Tucker. The information I know T had was not among his possessions. You have it. You’ve had it all along.”
The shock, the fear, being assaulted audibly this time, sent her memory back.
A link came through. Bonnie tapped it and watched the death of Mr. Terrence unfold all over again.
And as she watched, it was as if she could feel her hand around the frying pan, her arm swinging it, her fear powering the swing. The same fear she felt right then.
She shifted her focus back to the present, looked at the screen again in time to see Mr. Terrence flying into the frame. Then a shot of her, Bonnie, kneeling beside him, picking up the phone, rising and walking away with it.
The video had played out, so she quickly typed out a reply.
Bonnie: The phone was identical to mine. I showed you yesterday. Same case. I didn’t know till right now that I had two of them. Just found it in my bag. I can leave it wherever you say.
Unidentified Number: TOO LATE.
Bonnie: What do you mean by that? Too late for what?
But there was no reply.