Access Denied, page 21
part #3 of Turing Hopper Series
I want to ask where they are, but I don't want to pressure them. They're probably already driving faster than they should, and escalating their chances of being in an accident. Considering humans' limited ability to multitask, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that so many of them are killed in traffic accidents, but I continue to be astonished at how little they worry about this.
So I wait, and worry about them, and watch for some sign that whoever was reading Kyle Evans's e-mail is still online.
Maude drove slowly through the Sterling branch library parking lot. Luckily it was crowded, so a casual observer would merely assume she was searching for a parking space.
At the far end of the lot, she spotted it. Evans's vehicle—
the truck, rather than the Corvette. An aging blue pickup, though the factory color had faded, the right rear quarter had been repainted with a blue that wasn't even a close approximation of the original, and much of the rest was patched with gray primer.
She grabbed her cell phone and speed dialed Turing.
"I've got him," she said. "At least, I've got his truck. Presumably he's still in the library. Unless he's abandoned the truck here."
"See if you can park nearby," Turing said. "I'll divert Tim and Claudia."
Fortunately, spaces weren't impossible to find this far from the door. Maude backed into a space, to be ready for a fast exit when Evans drove off, put on her sunglasses, and took out her map book. Studying maps was a plausible reason to be sitting in her car in a parking lot, and knowing more about the nearby roads would help if Evans took off before Tim and Claudia arrived. If a good Samaritan offered to help her find her destination, she could always claim she was just killing time, waiting for a friend who had gone inside the library.
Not to mention the fact that the map book hid the cell phone and the GPS unit she'd taken out of its box.
Her hands shook.
Calm down, she told herself. Just put the batteries in the unit, make sure Turing's getting the signal. And then a quick trip over to the truck to attach the unit and she could come back and read the map book for real.
"Turing, are they on their way?" she said, into the phone.
"Yes," Turing said. "Tim was at the Ashburn library— that's only fifteen minutes away from you. Claudia hadn't reached Leesburg yet, fortunately, but I estimate she will arrive in twenty-five minutes."
"Maybe two of us could follow Evans while the third goes in to see if there's anything we can learn in the library," Maude
said. "See if the librarians recognize him as a regular—maybe check the computer he was using."
"Good idea," Turing said. "We can decide who does what when we see who's in place when he starts to move."
Maude nodded. And then remembered that Turing didn't have a camera here in her car.
"Roger," she said. "Okay, I'm taking the GPS and—wait, someone's walking toward the truck."
It wasn't Evans. An older man. She let out her breath. She fervently hoped that Tim and Claudia would arrive before Evans started moving. Even one of them. At least they'd had some experience following people. Talking to the librarians and searching the computer would be much more her speed. She understood librarians and computers. But car chases . . .
"Turing, he's been in there at least forty-five minutes," she said. "And that's not including any time he spent before reading your e-mail. What could he be doing? Surely he can't have that much e-mail. At least, not that much that's important enough to read when he's on the run."
"Maybe he's doing some more online shopping," Turing said.
"After what's happened, I'd expect him to be more interested in escaping than continuing the scam," Maude said.
The man passed Evans's truck and approached a dark blue Buick.
"You can buy a plane ticket online," Turing said. "Or a train ticket, for that matter. And if he's short of cash ..."
"Maybe he's buying his getaway with yet another stolen card," Maude said. "Yes, that makes sense. Are you watching the credit cards from his spreadsheet?"
"All the ones I can watch," Turing said. "At least half of them are from banks whose security I haven't cracked."
"Can't KingFischer do anything?"
"Next time I get his attention, I'll find out," Turing said.
Oh, dear, Maude thought. Not another spat. Should she ask what was wrong this time between Turing and KingFis-cher? Probably not. The man in the Buick finally began to pull out of his space. As soon as he'd gone, she could place the GPS tracker.
Or maybe not. She spotted someone else approaching.
"Damn," she said. "I was waiting for someone to leave before I planted the GPS, and here comes someone else."
"Evans?" Turing demanded.
Maude pretended to be absorbed in her map book and followed the figure with her peripheral vision.
"I think so," she said. "Yes, it's him."
She thought she saw Evans looking at her. She lowered the map book slightly, raised her arm, looked down at her watch, and then up and away from him, in the direction of the library door, frowning.
From the corner of her eye, she could see that he had moved on.
Did that work, she wondered, or was I too obvious?
She raised the map book again, and the cell phone with it.
"Sorry," she said. "I blew it. I never managed to plant the GPS."
"You didn't get a chance," Turing said. "At least you got there in time to follow him."
"He's starting the truck," Maude said. "Wish me luck."
"Tim's only five minutes away," Turing said. "And Claudia's not far behind. Give me a running account of where you are, and I'll see if I can help them intercept you."
"Roger," Maude said. She put on the headset and reached down to connect it to her cell phone.
"Can you hear me?" she asked.
"Loud and clear," Turing said. "Where are you now?"
"Still in the library parking lot," Maude said. "I didn't want to follow him out too closely."
EDfi Donna Andrews
"That's good," Turing said. "Tim says it's a good idea to keep at least one vehicle between you and your subject. As long as you can still see it."
"I think that eyesore of a truck will be pretty easy to spot from a reasonable distance," Maude said.
And fortunately, her own silver Honda Accord looked like every third or fourth car on the road—annoying in a parking lot, but an advantage when tailing someone, she hoped.
"Okay, I'm on Enterprise Street, about to turn right on Commerce," she said.
A blue Tahoe pulled out in front of her. Keeping at least one vehicle between herself and the subject might sound good in theory, she noted, but didn't work quite as well out here in the suburbs, where every other vehicle was an enormous truck or SUV that completely blocked her view of the battered pickup.
Just let me pull this off, she thought, and I swear, I will never give Tim a hard time about anything that happens to him when he's on a case.
flaude is following Evans- I've called
Tim and Claudia and patched them all into a conference call, so we can share information readily. And I've had each of them activate one of their GPS devices, so I can plot their positions on a map and follow the action. It was exciting, at first, watching the dots converge, but now, from my vantage point, it's merely a clump of dots meandering across the landscape at a slow pace along an erratic course.
Of course. I know from their running chatter that they are stopping at stop signs, running yellow lights, skirting rivers and other geographical obstacles, and probably proceeding in a reasonably efficient manner to whatever destination Kyle Evans has in mind. But it was maddening, waiting here and hearing it all second hand. I wish I could be there.
At least I've learned to stop annoying them by asking "What are
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you doing?" when one of the dots veers away from the pack, apparently going astray. It's invariably Maude, taking a shortcut that she thinks will put her in a better position. She's almost always right, and when she isn't, she still catches up quickly. Apparently she knows the local roads better than Tim. Or else she's better at using maps than either Tim or Claudia.
I tried to sit back and figure out what was going on from their three-way conversation.
"I'm losing him," Tim said.
"Chill, Tim," Claudia said.
"He just moved into the left lane," Tim said. "Damn, no one's letting me in. I'm not sure I can get over in time if he's turning left at the light. Claudia, can you pick him up if that happens?"
"I'll try," Claudia said. "Working my way left. Sing out if he turns."
"I'll turn left now and then right a couple of streets down," Maude said. "If he turns left, let me know the cross street and I can probably pick him up as he passes."
I have no idea what they're doing. Chase scenes in books and movies are never this confusing.
In the midst of the pursuit, I suddenly got an eager message from KingFischer.
"Turing? I think I've got it!" he announced.
"You've hacked Hotmail?" I said. "Great."
"No, I still haven't figured out how to do that without the whole world finding out, but I managed to determine Kyle Evans's password, " he said. "Using a combination of logical deduction and psychological principles. "
"That's fabulous," I said.
"Unfortunately, the results are meager," KingFischer said. "He's cleaned out his mailbox. Even emptied the trash can. And he doesn't have an address list on file. Sorry."
"Never mind," I said. "We're still trying to follow him to his hideout, and we still have a lot of unanswered questions. This could prove useful if I keep an eye on it. What's the password?"
E1D Donna Andrews
KingFischer replied with an apparently random sequence of letters and numbers. And yet, random as they were, they sounded familiar. I did a search of the other information in Evans's file.
"KF, that's his license plate number," I said. "The one for his new Corvette."
"Yes — clever of me to deduce it, don't you think?" KingFischer said. "My research showed that the psychological significance of automobiles is often far greater, particularly to male humans, than their practical value as modes of transportation. So when I noticed that the subject had recently purchased an automobile whose cost far exceeded what he could reasonably afford on his legitimate salary, and even disproportionately high compared to his illicit gains. I considered the possibility that his password was related to this new and highly significant object in his life."
"So you checked the license plate, and bingo! Good going."
I was so pleased that I deliberately avoided mentioning how much his explanation sounded like something Sigmund would say. Or suggesting that if he'd had this breakthrough a few hours earlier, before Evans got to his e-mail, we might have found some clues. Not his fault really, though it's frustrating.
I logged into the Hotmail account and checked around. Not that I expected to find anything KingFischer hadn't, but there's something satisfying about seeing for yourself.
I had only just finished checking all his baskets and preferences and agreeing that there was nothing to find when an e-mail arrived. From the re: in the subject line, a reply to one he'd sent, though unfortunately nothing from his e-mail was quoted.
"I'll see what I can do," it read. "Just don't tell them about me —/ could lose my job! !! xoxox Sandi."
It was from an e-mail address at washingtonpost.com.
"Good news," I said over the phone to Maude. Tim. and Claudia. "KingFischer has gotten into Kyle Evans's Hotmail account."
"A little late, isn't it?" Claudia said.
"You never know," I said. "It may still prove useful. Apparently
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he e-mailed someone — probably his girlfriend — while he was at the library. We can track her down."
"After we track him down," Claudia said. "He's getting in the right lane now — could be planning to make a turn at the next light."
"Just enjoys lane-hopping, if you ask me," Tim grumbled. "Need me to take over?"
"What's the cross street?" Maude asked. "I still can't find the last position you gave on my map."
"You three concentrate on Evans," I said. "I'm going to see what I can do to track down the girlfriend myself."
"Using her e-mail address?" Maude asked.
"Yes," I said. "Luckily, she works at the Post. / can get into the Post'j- system any time I want. At least for the time being."
"Is their security that bad?"
"No, their security's pretty good," I said. "But I do a lot of free research for a reporter and he repays me by giving me access."
"So if he ever moves to another paper, you're out of luck," Maude said.
"Exactly. But for now, my access is golden."
Actually, I wasn't nearly as concerned with my mole at the Post moving to another paper as I was with the possibility that his bosses might catch him doing something unprofessional or illegal and fire him. He'd begun using larger and larger chunks of my research reports verbatim in his articles, without attribution — which was fine with me, because I didn't want my name in the paper. But if he did it to me, odds were he was doing it to other sources, or possibly other reporters, and sooner or later one of them would find out and call him on it. Especially since his promotion, and the rumor that his weeklong series of articles on identity theft was in the running for a Pulitzer. An article taken almost entirely from my e-mails to him. Apparently I'm a much better writer than he is, and probably better than whomever he plagiarized before he found me.
A problem I'll worry about later. For now, I used the access he'd arranged for me to search for Evans's friendSandi.
E1E Donna Andrews
"I'm not sure the information I can find on her is going to be useful, " I said. "I was hoping perhaps he was heading for the girlfriend's house, but she lives in Arlington. He's headed in the wrong direction."
"Turing, what department does she work in," Maude asked.
"Circulation," I said.
"Then your information is very useful," Maude said. "It probably solves the mystery of how Blake and Evans found the vacant houses they used as their drop-off points."
"How?" I asked.
"I get it," Claudia said. "What's the first thing you do when you're going on vacation for a week or two?"
"I don't travel much," I said.
"You stop the newspapers, so they don't pile up in the yard and let burglars know you're away. Can you check to see if all the dropoff addresses on the spreadsheet were Post subscribers who had their subscriptions suspended during the time Blake and Evans were using them?"
"They're all subscribers," I said a few minutes later. "If the database retains the dates during which their service was suspended, I can't figure out how to find it. But all of them had lower total charges for the billing periods during which Blake and Evans were using their houses."
"That's it, then," Claudia said. "Another part of the mystery solved. Damn! That light was already red, you scumbag! Maude, he shook me at the light — see if you can pick him up."
I began pulling together a list of houses in Virginia whose Post delivery was currently suspended. If they lost Evans, perhaps they could begin checking the houses closest to where he was last seen, move outward in concentric circles, and eventually locate him. But that would be a long, tedious operation. I hoped we didn't have to try it.
"Okayn he's turning down a driveway-." Tim said. "Number 12907. Claudia? How far away are you?"
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"I'm in the 12800s," she said.
"Find a place to pull over and watch from that end," Tim said. "There's nothing but a couple of roads with no-outlet signs between you and 12907. I'll keep on for a bit and see what it looks like on this end."
He drove on for half a mile, seeing nothing but woods with the occasional glimpse of a house set back from the road. The road finally dead-ended.
"We've got you," he said aloud.
He drove slowly back, studying the neighborhood. He found himself nodding as he went along. Yeah, this was the kind of place they'd pick. Big houses set far apart on wooded lots. He wondered briefly if Evans's girlfriend had handed over long lists of empty houses for Blake and Evans to scout, or if they'd given her a list of likely looking roads and asked her to tell them when subscribers along those roads would be away.
"I've found 12907 in the Post's database," Turing said. "Delivery suspended until a week from tomorrow."
"So it was probably the next place they planned to use as a drop-off site," Tim said. "Makes an equally good hideout."
"Depends on your definition of a hideout," Claudia said. "Personally, I'd want a place where I could go inside. Less conspicuous than crouching on the doorstep, pretending to be a FedEx package."
"Maybe he'll try to break in."
"I hope for his sake that they don't have a security system, then," Claudia said.
"Actually, I hope for our sake that they do," Maude said. "I'm getting close—should I hold back or come ahead?"
"Keep your eyes open for a place with a picnic table," Tim said. "I remember seeing it, a couple of miles before the house. I think it's the start of a hiking trail or something like that. Stop there for now."
"I don't hear anything," Claudia said. "Any alarm, I mean."
"Would you hear it from that far away?" Maude asked.
"I'm less than a mile, and those things are loud," Claudia said. "Maybe they don't have an alarm."
"Maybe they have a silent one," Tim said. "Or maybe he's still making up his mind to break in. I know it would take me a while."
"Tim's right," Maude said. "Let's not get impatient."
"I'm always impatient," Claudia said, laughing. "But don't worry. I'll sit tight."
