Chapter 31
“He’s holding you back, you know.”
Delaney indicated a maroon Chevy parked in the back of the lot beside two other vehicles.
“What do you mean?”
“Darnell—everyone knows he’s a fucking drunk. Captain likes to keep you partnered up because you keep him in check. Captain also knows he can’t cut him after what happened. You’d be sergeant by now if you requested a new partner. Nobody would blame you, either. You’ve done your time.”
“Let me worry about Darnell. Just stay out of his way.”
“I’m trying. I try my best to just keep clear of that trainwreck.”
He wasn’t. Delaney had a way of just showing up at crime scenes that Vaughn and Darnell were working.
PPD had fifty officers, but only six detectives.
Delaney appeared at nearly every single case that Vaughn took on.
He’d once asked a couple of the other detectives if Delaney showed up at their scenes, too—there was no question the man was dedicated and had detective aspirations—but they’d told him no.
Darnell had laughed when Vaughn had mentioned this, called Delaney a dick rider.
Well, dick rider or not, he was a hard worker. And that’s what they needed right now. Someone to actually do something.
“You sure this is his car?”
“Yeah. Pulled Aaron’s tag number from the DMV. It’s his car.”
Delaney had parked his PPD squad car right beside the Chevy and the two other civilian vehicles.
“You have a shim in your trunk?”
“Yep.”
Vaughn peered through the Chevy’s windows while Delaney went to go get it. Like the man’s apartment, Aaron kept his car clean and neat.
He stepped aside to allow Delaney access to the window. The man slid the flat metal shim between the window and the frame, jiggled it a little, and then pushed. The door lock disengaged.
Vaughn was impressed. He hated the damn thing—always took him six or seven tries to get it to work. This was also the reason why he kept a crowbar in the trunk. The brute force method had always been Vaughn’s favorite.
He let Delaney search the vehicle. The cop opened the center console first and hit gold: Aaron’s cell phone.
This, Vaughn took. It was an older model iPhone. There was still some battery juice, and when he pressed the side button, the screen lit up.
New Jersey Devils logo as the background.
Unfortunately, unlike the laptop, the man’s phone was password protected. It was only four digits, and Vaughn tried a few basic combinations. When none of these worked, he gave up and slipped the phone into an evidence bag, and then put it in the pocket of his sport coat.
“Found the registration,” Delaney said, removing a leather folder from the glove box. “Just like I said—”
“Way to crack the code, genius.”
Darnell had returned. The time away from Delaney had done nothing to quell his anger, but the officer managed to bite his tongue.
“What about these other two cars?” A black Hyundai sedan and an old Ford Taurus. “You run their plates?”
“Didn’t get a chance,” Delaney said as he exited Aaron’s car.
“What do you mean you didn’t get a chance? You were standing with your dick in your hand when we got here!”
“Darnell!” Not a warning now, but a sharp retort from Vaughn.
Darnell scowled and shook his head dramatically. Rolled his eyes.
“Owner said he recognized Aaron. Said he came in with two other guys, grabbed a couple of slices, then walked off. Left their cars.” Darnell pointed at the Hyundai and the Ford. “Those cars. Showed them photos of the other victims, but he couldn’t be sure if it was any of them.”
“I’ll pop these cars open, as well. See if we can ID more victims.”
“While you’re at it, search other places around here. Talk to the owners. If any cars have been there since last night, pop ‘em.”
Delaney looked at Vaughn.
C’mon, the look said. Give me a break. I’m running on fumes here.
Vaughn might admonish his partner, try his best to keep him under wraps, but he wouldn’t directly go against his superior’s orders.
“Let us know if you find anything.” Then, to Darnell, “Found Aaron’s cell phone. Let’s get it back to the precinct.”
The PPD didn’t have an official tech department—it wasn’t big enough, neither in size nor in budget.
What detectives and cops alike who worked in Princeton called the tech department was actually just two young cops, Bowes and Caine, who, despite constantly denying it, had to have been hackers in past lives.
If Bowes and Caine couldn’t get into something, then it was rare that anyone could.
In the past, when Bowes and Caine were unable to gain access to an electronic device, Vaughn had sent evidence to the New Jersey State Police Digital Technology Investigations Unit.
They too had been unsuccessful.
It was Bowes who Vaughn found in the hacker duo’s shared office today. He was a lot like Dr. McGill at the Princeton CBE, only twenty years younger and forty pounds heavier.
Same hair and glasses, same energy drink addiction.
Thoughts of Dr. McGill reminded Vaughn to follow up with the other employees who had access to the tanks.
He was convinced that the person who had taken the hydrogen sulfide had used Aaron Treadman’s card.
It could have been Aaron himself—unlikely, considering the possibility of being recognized—or he had either sold his card, or it had been stolen.
And whoever possessed the card had to be their unsub.
“Have something for you,” Vaughn said, producing Aaron’s cell phone still in the evidence bag.
Bowes took it, turned it over, inspected the back.
“iPhone 13 Pro. Midnight. 512Gb.”
“Need to see if you can get in. Has a four digit password.”
Bowes set the phone down.
“I can get in, but it has that annoying cool down thing. It’ll take some time.”
“How much time?”
“I mean . . .” Bowes pressed the side button and the phone illuminated. “Could be a couple of days. I’ll start with some Devils players’ numbers. Looks like he’s a fan.”
“What if we need it sooner?”
Bowes eyed Vaughn.
“What exactly do you need off of it?”
Vaughn considered the question. They didn’t need location data—Aaron had left it behind before heading to the barn. Unlikely that he met up with their unsub beforehand.
“Texts and call logs,” he decided.
Bowes did a little finger gun salute.
“That’s easier. I can use Cellebrite and pull texts and calls in less than a day.”
“Awesome. Thanks—appreciate it. Did you manage to work on that computer we dropped off earlier?”
Even from behind the thick lenses of his glasses, Vaughn could see that Bowes’s eyes were bloodshot. His blood was ninety percent caffeine. No thin coffee for him.
“Yeah.” Bowes grabbed a Ghost energy drink and sipped. Sucked his cheeks in. Vaughn had tried one of the man’s drinks once. It had been so sour that all the muscles in his neck had contracted. “Good news and bad news.”
“Bad first.”
“Right—just like the router and remote gas release valve, I couldn’t trace the email. No way. Just a dead end. The cell number, too.”
“Well, shit . . . what’s the good news?” Vaughn said.
Bowes finished his drink. “Looks like the computer itself was wiped about six months ago. Found an old user in the system metadata. Before Aaron Treadman, this computer was owned by an Ivy Reeves.”