Drained, page 17
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” I asked.
“Anything that keeps me away from speaking under pressure, I’m fine with.”
“All right.”
“So she’s giving us a computer?” Beth asked.
“She said she would, yes. The mother’s name is Hilary. Same last name, Wormack. I’ll send you with my notes from the phone call I had with her as well, so you can see what we talked about and see if there’s anything you want to follow up on.” I walked back to the desk, grabbed my notepad, and flipped through the pages until I found the notes from the phone call. I ripped the two pages out and walked them back to Beth.
She slipped the papers into a folder and closed the top as I went back to my desk.
“What the tech guys found is bugging me,” Beth said.
“How’s that?”
“Well, from what you described when we were driving over to the Classified OD office, the virus could kill cell phones and tablets and erase histories.”
“That’s what the tech guys said, yeah,” I said.
“And there was also login information from Jasmine for Classified OD on her computer, but the credentials no longer worked.”
“Right,” I said.
“Well, who is to say that the virus—or person behind the virus—couldn’t have deleted their accounts at Classified OD?”
“Fair question.”
“You said the tech guys at the Chicago office had the virus?”
“Um.” I scratched my cheek. “I mean, I guess that’s what I was looking at. The tech guy—ah, what the hell was his name—O’Neil, showed me something on a screen that was just numbers and symbols and commands, computer gibberish. He said it was the virus.”
“Okay. I’m wondering if there is a way he can send that to the twins back in Virginia and see if they can come up with anything on it,” Beth said.
“Probably worth a shot if it’s possible. The guy running the tech unit there was named Skip.”
“Okay, I’m going to head back to my room and call there and then call back to Virginia. Speaking of which, Ball wanted you to call him.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll be back over here in an hour or so. We’re going to go get a drink. No excuses, no bullshit, and no talk about the investigation.”
I flashed her a smile. “We’ll see,” I said.
Beth nodded. “That’s pretty close to a yes.” She grabbed her paperwork and left my room.
I picked up my phone and dialed Ball. He answered in two rings.
“Ball,” he said.
“Hey, it’s Hank. Beth said you wanted me to call.”
“Yeah. How’s it going out there?”
“Oh, I thought Beth gave you an update a little bit ago.”
“She did. I want to hear it from you,” Ball said.
“Well, we’ve been running pretty much nonstop. We thought we had a suspect, but it’s looking like that fizzled out. We have some leads, but actual evidence seems a little hard to come by.”
“When you look at the investigation as a whole, what is sticking out at you?” Ball asked.
“Classified OD and whoever is doing this has some form of a personal relationship with the victims. We got the transcripts from the place for the two latest victims, but it didn’t show them corresponding with anyone in common other than the guy we questioned—that was the suspect that fizzled out.”
“We should look into every correspondence and the people behind them, not just what matches on the surface. This guy could be using different handles, different IP addresses, things like that. You can send the transcripts back here, and I’ll have Marcus and Lewis get on it.”
“Sure. I’ll have Andrews get them back to you guys,” I said.
“Okay. What else?” he asked. “The tech stuff.”
“A computer with a virus that looked like it was capable of frying cell phones and tablets. Beth was actually going to see if the virus itself could be sent to the Phillips guys in our tech department so they could have a look at it.”
“Okay. What do you have tomorrow?”
“Beth is meeting with the mother of our first victim tomorrow morning at ten while I run a press conference with the local bureau. The mother Beth is meeting with is going to give us another computer to check out. After that, I don’t know.”
Ball cleared his throat. “See what you get tomorrow and Saturday. If nothing looks promising, we’ll bring you guys back Sunday. You guys can work on it here and coordinate with the Chicago office if needed.”
“That’s fine.”
“How’s working with Beth?”
The question caught me a little off guard. “Fine. No problems that I can think of,” I said. I didn’t really know what kind of response he was looking for.
“Good. She says you’re giving it a hundred percent plus. Keep up the good work. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay, we’ll see you,” I said and hung up.
His “keep up the good work” comment frustrated me. I didn’t feel as though I was getting anywhere, two bodies had been found since we’d been on the investigation, and we still didn’t have a sniff of a suspect—that didn’t qualify as “good work” in my book.
I let out a breath and dialed Karen.
“Hey,” Karen said. “Remember me?”
“Sorry, I’ve been busier than hell. Dead bodies, driving, interviewing, questioning, checking. Yet here I am at the end of the day with squat to show for it.”
“If this guy was easy to catch, he would have already been caught,” Karen said.
I didn’t respond.
“You know I’m right. Say it.”
“You’re right, dear,” I said. “How’s home?”
“Okay. I miss you, though. Any idea how long you’re still going to be there?”
“Actually, yeah, I just got off the phone with Ball. He said he was bringing us back on Sunday.”
“So what if you’re still in the same situation as you are now?” she asked.
“Work the case from back in Virginia. Coordinate with Andrews here would be my guess.”
“Andrews? I assume an agent there.”
“Yeah, he’s the agent that is running the investigation locally.”
“Ah, got it,” she said. “So what’s the plan for the rest of your night?”
I rocked back in my chair. “I don’t know. I need to call Andrews quick. After that, I’m not so sure. Beth wanted to go grab a drink. I might do that or just sit here in front of the television and talk to you.”
“You might want to go have that drink,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“Well, I think I’m actually going to be busy this evening.” She worded the end of her sentence as though it was a question.
“Busy doing?”
“Poker. Sounds like we’ll have enough for a full table.”
“At our place?”
“Yeah, I got all the boxes put away and the place cleaned up,” she said. “One of the guys is bringing over a table. We’ll probably only play to midnight or so. That’s okay, right? I know you don’t like it when I have people over to play.”
“No. That’s not it. It’s fine that you have people over to play cards. I just don’t like cigar smoking in the house.”
“I know, I know. One hundred percent—no one smokes inside.”
“Then it’s perfectly fine. I have to say though, I feel like our roles should be opposite in this conversation. Like I should be having the guys over to play poker and should be the one checking with you. You know what I mean? I think I’m going to start inviting a bunch of women over for scrapbooking parties.”
“I want to see that.” Karen laughed. “And let’s think about this: aren’t you in a hotel, states away, with a single, attractive woman?”
“Point taken,” I said.
“Exactly. Anyway, do you want me to call you when everyone leaves?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, I love you,” Karen said.
“Love you, too. And make me some money.”
“I will.”
“Later, babe.” I hung up and dialed Andrews.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The start of my morning had been a complete blur. I spoke with Beth briefly before I headed out, fought through traffic, talked to Ball, spilled some coffee on myself, and got to the Chicago FBI building. Beth was going to give me a call when she finished interviewing Hilary Wormack.
I’d met with Agent Andrews and Ted Springfield, the Chicago FBI office’s PR manager, a bit before nine o’clock. We went over what would be included in the press release before delivering it to a packed and unruly media room. The reporters’ questions were flying. All we could tell them was we were actively working the case and following up on every lead—it hadn’t been enough for their liking.
I followed Andrews back up to and through the serial crimes unit and to his office. I took a seat in one of his guest chairs.
Andrews rounded his desk and sat down. He rocked back in his chair, unbuttoned the top button on his light-blue dress shirt and loosened his red patterned necktie. He clasped his hands behind his head and let out a deep breath. “Well, that went about how I thought it would.”
I shrugged. “I mean, what can we really say other than we’re following leads, doing everything we can. The press—and pretty much everyone else—don’t want to hear anything other than we have someone in custody. Until those words get spoken, from the outside, it won’t look like we’re doing enough.”
“I know,” Andrews said. “I just wish we had more to give them. The public being scared is a bad thing.”
I nodded. “Those profiles from the people that were in contact with Rebecca and Monica which you sent off got back to my home office. I spoke with my supervisor. My team back there is looking into them.”
Andrews nodded and leaned forward in his chair. He hit a flashing red button on his desk telephone. Then he picked up the receiver, held it to his ear, and pressed a button on the phone’s base.
I could hear the faint sound of a message playing in his ear.
Andrews clicked the button to hang up and then dialed a three-digit number—an internal call, probably. He looked at me. “We may have something here.”
“Okay, what?”
He held his finger up at me to hold the question. “Yeah, Skip. What did you guys get?” Andrews asked.
I watched as Andrews nodded along as Skip, the lead in their tech unit, informed him of something.
“And you’re certain?” Andrews asked. “A hundred percent? Okay. We’ll talk in a bit.” Andrews hung up. “The virus originated through the Classified OD messaging app.”
“How do they know that’s where it came from?”
“I didn’t get into it with him.”
“Okay. I’m sure it could be attached to a message or something. It’s a bit more information, but we kind of already figured whoever was doing this was using the site.”
“No. He said the message originated through the app itself,” Andrews said. “It wasn’t an attachment.”
“Okay.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “This place just keeps turning up. There’s got to be a reason.”
“Exactly. Speaking of which, I never got a call from Mr. Bailor this morning. He was supposed to send me over the transcripts from Mercer. He said he’d do it as soon as he got in. He also said he’d call me, which he hasn’t.”
A thought was bubbling in my head. “Well, wait. If it came through the messaging application for the website, why were there no transcripts on the other women? I find it a bit coincidental that three of five deceased women all canceled their accounts right before going missing.”
“I have to agree with you there. Let me try calling Bailor and see what he says. Who knows, maybe he doesn’t start until ten or something.” Andrews picked up his desk phone and dialed. A moment later, he clicked off. “Voice mail. I’ll try the Classified OD offices downtown.” He dialed again. “Um, yes, this is Agent Andrews, looking for Brett Bailor.”
He received some kind of response.
“Do you know when he’ll be in today? I was waiting on him to send me some information over.”
Andrews paused for a moment.
“He’s not? Ah, okay. Thank you. No. No message.” Andrews hung up.
“Not in?” I asked.
“No, and won’t be back until Monday. I just talked to him last night. He specifically said he would send over the information first thing today. I even made a point to ask if it was the earliest I’d be able to get the transcripts.” Andrews shook his head. “People piss me off.”
“Big-shot owner of a company like that probably cares about two things—himself and his business. Sure, he’ll put on the helpful face when there are FBI agents in front of him, but I doubt he actually gives two shits about our investigation,” I said.
Andrews wore a look of annoyance and lifted his palms into the air. “The hell with it. I’m going to head over there and try to talk with someone else in the web-development department. Maybe they can answer some questions. Want to take a ride?”
“Sure. Let me call Beth quick and let her know we’re heading over there.” I glanced down at my watch—a couple minutes before ten o’clock. I pulled out my phone and dialed Beth’s number.
She answered right away. “What’s up? How did the press conference go?”
“The press conference was fine. Just wanted to let you know that Andrews and I are heading back over to the Classified OD offices downtown. Not sure when we’ll be back at the field office.”
“Oh, okay. Why the trip?”
“Skip, the lead in their tech department said that the virus came through the Classified OD messaging app, which raises a ton of questions. Andrews tried calling Bailor, the whatever you want to call him—owner, developer guy. Either way, he didn’t answer, and he won’t be back until Monday even though he was supposed to be in contact with Andrews this morning. Andrews and I are going to take a ride over there and see if we can get some answers from anyone else.”
“Um, okay, you’ll have to give me some more details on that later.”
“I will.”
“All right. I’m just getting to Bolingbrook now. Figure this may take me an hour or so, and then I’ll head back. I’ll give you a call when I leave, to see where you’re at.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
“Talk to you in a bit.” Beth hung up.
I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and looked at Andrews. “I’m ready. She’s going to call when she’s finished out there.”
Andrews stood and pulled his blue FBI jacket from the back of his office chair. He draped it over one shoulder and headed for the door. “Did you want to just ride with me over there?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m pretty much fed up with driving around here.”
“It’s not for the faint of heart.”
I followed Andrews from the building and out to his car in the lot. We hopped in and headed for the Classified OD downtown office—a ten-minute ride. We parked in the same structure Beth and I had the day prior and then walked the block and a half to the fifty-story Madison Street high-rise containing the Classified OD offices. Andrews and I walked through the rotating door into the large lobby. The gray speckled marble floors reflected the light coming from overhead. We walked to the far right of the lobby, past a thirty-foot modern-art-looking sculpture, to a set of escalators. We rode up and found the listing of businesses and floors laid out on a big sign near the elevators. Classified OD took up floors forty-three to forty-eight of the building. “Web Div” was listed on floor forty-four.
“Guessing that’s it,” I said, pointing.
We checked the rest of the departments and didn’t find anything that made us think otherwise.
Andrews and I walked to the nearest elevator, where a group of people waited to head up. The doors opened and took us all inside. Andrews thumbed the button for floor forty-four. The doors closed, and we began our trip up, stopping close to ten times to let people off and pick up new ones who also got off before our stop. By the time we reached floor forty-four, just Andrews, myself, and an older woman that looked somewhat familiar, remained. When I saw she was headed to floor forty-six, I knew why—she had been one of the women answering phones at the front desk of Classified OD’s legal department.
We left the elevator and headed around the corner. A long hallway lined with office doors spread to our left and right. I caught a couple people walking the hall holding paperwork and files in their hands. We started down the hallway toward them, reading the individual doors as we went—the doors all said Web Div with an associated number behind it. We weren’t going to get anywhere unless we had help.
I walked toward two women standing in the hall, chatting. Both looked to be in their later forties, and both wore business-casual clothing. I put them as some kind of administrative workers as I didn’t see them doing any kind of IT work. They stopped their conversation abruptly and looked at me as I approached.
“Sorry, I’m looking for the web-development division,” I said.
“You found it,” said the woman on the left, leaning against the wall. “Who are you looking for, exactly?”
“Well, we’re not sure. We have some questions for whoever can help us—basically, how the nuts and bolts of the website itself works.”
The woman on the right told the other they would catch up later and asked me to follow her. I got Andrews’s attention and waved him over.
“I’ll let you talk to Ben Miglin. He handles support here. If anyone knows how something works around here, it’s him or Mr. Bailor,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said.
She turned the corner and entered an office marked Web Div 4408. Andrews and I followed her inside. The office wasn’t what I’d expected. Gray cubicles filled the center of the room, and a few offices with closed doors lined the sides. The carpet looked a bit dingy, and the room was windowless. She walked us past the cubicles to an office on the far right side near the back. Through the window in the door, I saw a man sitting inside at a computer.
