Angel Killer (19 page)

“You knock first. It’s that simple. How does your imaginary hypothetical sound now?” He looks proud of his comeback.

“You get those hypotheticals all the time when you’re a cop, Liam,” I use his first name in a friendly manner, like we’re old pals having a philosophical discussion. “Only they have real consequences. In a few days you might know what I mean. I hope not.”

“What if you kick in the door and it’s just me and my girlfriend? How does that make you feel? How often do you get to use the murder excuse?”

“Every time we kick in a door we have to answer to twelve people who decide if it was the right call or not. That’s how it works. Checks and balances.”

He shakes his head petulantly. “Sorry. Can’t help you.” He checks his watch. “I got to go take a call. Maybe if you’re in town awhile we can talk about something else later?”

This guy is unbelievable. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere.”

“Hey, you guys should be thanking me,” he replies.

“Pardon me?”

“I wrote a blog post about all this but haven’t published it yet. I could blow your bungling wide open. I even wrote about you after you called me. Photo and everything. I’ve documented everything.”

I have to breathe slowly. Posting this online would ruin the one lead we have. “Why would you do this?”

“I haven’t published it yet. Relax. What do you have to fear about transparency?”

“Transparency? You’re the one who won’t let us look at the server logs.”

“That’s different. It’s totally different.”

“Please don’t publish that. It could make things much worse.”

“I’m still thinking it over. Call me later and I’ll give you my answer.” He squeezes out of the booth and waddles away.

I stare at his sweat-stained back and don’t know what to do. I’ve been in Texas less than an hour and managed to ruin the best lead we have.

I could chase him down and bully him over the recording, but I don’t know what good that would do. It would just make things worse. And right now they already feel as bad as they can get. I regret second-guessing Jennifer.

So much for me and my delicate touch.

I
GET DROPPED OFF
at the hotel and call Ailes. I explain Reynolds’s threat to go public with what we’ve asked him, despite our warnings.

Ailes can tell I’m frustrated; he’s calm and soothing. “We’ll figure out how to handle this. We might have to elevate things a bit. Get one of our attorneys to talk to him again. We’ll manage.”

“I don’t know if it will work. He wants to be a martyr. I think he’s hoping we’ll arrest him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already got the post set to go up on a website. He’s the kind of guy who reads about hackers getting busted and wants to be a celebrity.”

“I know the kind,” says Ailes. “That could be dangerous for us.”

I’ve let everyone down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I’m sitting on the edge of my bed with my head in my hands.

“Easy, Jessica. He made up his mind before you got there. At the very least you may have bought us some time. He probably wrote the post after Jennifer left, just to prove how smart he is.”

I know Ailes is trying to make me feel better. But I screwed up. I thought I’d get here and pout my lips and Reynolds would fold over. I’m stupid. So stupid. I fell for his little argument. Any minute now he could send out his post explaining how we’re interested in his website and how he imagines we’re trying to roll over on him.

The Warlock would most likely see this and know we’ve figured out one of his secrets. He’ll change his tactics and make it harder for us to catch him.

I’d like to think the heat might stop him from his next victim, but chances are he already has them. Swanson went missing days before he showed up in the airplane. We have no idea how long he held Chloe’s twin sister captive. The scars on her body suggest he had access to her for a long time.

Every time you deal with a difficult witness, a light bulb goes on in your mind. What are they hiding?

Part of me wants to think Liam Reynolds is the bad guy. It’s a normal reaction. The last asshole you meet is the biggest asshole in your universe.

Ailes’s and Chisholm’s people profiled Reynolds as soon as we found the website. He’s not a killer. They never would have let me near him if they had any doubt.

Reynolds is just an asocial jerk on a power kick. So deluded that he asks me out after he turns down our request. He’s the kind of guy who sits around in his apartment reading books on how to pick up girls by putting them down and then stutters once he gets a conversation going.

Before I hang up with Ailes, he tells me again not to worry. “If he does anything stupid we can get into his system and get some of what he may have. It may not be admissible in court. But that’s something we can sort out later.”

Ailes is hinting to me one of his geek friends can hack Reynolds’s whole server, which without a court order would be illegal. Hopefully they can get one before then, although I’m afraid that Reynolds is smart enough to see that coming and too dumb to get out of the way.

He’s an okay programmer who makes a living as a freelancer, with his one claim to fame being some code he probably lifted from one of his clients. This is his ticket to nerd stardom. He doesn’t see himself as standing in our way. He’s the wise hacker trying to show the jackbooted FBI thugs the noble path. He thinks cooperating with us is worse than what the Warlock is doing.

More disturbing is the idea that he’s trying to protect the Warlock. Asshole or not, he genuinely surprised me when he said he thought it might not all be a trick. The news is filled with idiots entertaining the idea the Warlock is legitimate. Seeing someone with an IQ in the triple digits think that is scary.

Having failed this task, I have a few hours in the hotel before the plane heads back to Quantico. I place my clothes on hangers while I take a bath. I keep my gun on the toilet seat and close my eyes as the hot water pours past my toes and around my body. Normally it’s relaxing. I have to take myself to that calm place I’d go when my family would argue or I’d be stressed out on the road.

I messed up. I know I did. My stomach clenches and my skin burns from the shame of it all. I try to just give myself a moment of peace in the bathtub and listen to the water. It’s hard. I see Chloe’s face. I hear Swanson’s wife.

We only have two or three days left until the next crime.

The primal part of me wants to take my gun and go shove it in Liam Reynolds’s fat gut and make him cry. That’s one of the hard parts about being a cop. You’re taught how to use force to solve problems and then admonished to never actually do it. I’d put a gun to his mouth if I knew, absolutely knew, it would save a life. I wouldn’t pull the trigger. Not for being an asshole. But I’d let him know I’d consider it.

The hotel phone rings.

I ignore it. If anybody with the FBI was trying to reach me, they’d call me on my mobile. I pull my hair up higher and dip down into the tub so the water can soak my neck. I get cramps there when I’m stressed. Right now there are a ton of them squeezing like vise grips.

The phone rings again. Whoever it is, they’re not giving up. If I want any peace I’m going to have to answer it. I lean out of the tub and grab the handset from the wall.

“Yes?”

“Hello, darling. Having a bad day?”

Damian.

I don’t even ask how he got the number.

“Sounds like you’re taking a bath,” he says.

“What do you want?” I steal a glance through the open bathroom door, afraid he might be sitting on the bed.

“It’s not what I want. Other than to make you happy.”

I crane my neck to look in the hallway closet mirror. The room is empty. “Then stay away.”

“I am. But that’s not why I’m calling. I understand you had a difficult time today with a rather difficult individual with bad hygiene.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s not in my hotel room, but has he been following me? I took an FBI jet. There’s no way he could have known or even made it here in time. I didn’t even know I’d be here four hours ago.

“Of course you don’t. We all have our secrets. You might want to call on him again, though. He might be a little more cooperative.”

I’ve seen what Damian has done to men who get in my way. I stand up in the bathtub and almost slip. “What did you do?!”

If he threatened Reynolds, that could be very, very bad. I feel like I’m about to throw up. Images of the jack of spades in the dead pimp’s pocket fill my mind. It’s hard to breathe.

“What did you do?” I ask again forcefully.

“I appealed to his sensibilities and higher logic. I think he’s going to be very helpful.”

“Damian! What did you do?” I shout it out loud. I’m frantically trying to towel off and nearly fall over. I don’t know how I’m going to explain things if he threatened Reynolds, or worse.

“Relax, sweetheart. He’s fine. Trust me. He wants to help you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I bought his company.”

D
AMIAN WAS THE CALL
Liam Reynolds had to take when he left the restaurant, and he couldn’t refuse. Damian made him an attractive offer, then wired the money into his bank account.

Mark Ross, the Texas field agent, picks me up from the hotel and takes me over to Reynolds’s condominium. On the way I call up Ailes and try to explain to him what Damian did.

“Where did he get the money?” asks Ailes, surprised.

“I’m afraid to ask. He wanted to put the company in my name, but thankfully he didn’t. It’s probably registered to some offshore shell company.”

“I kind of wish he had. I’d love to see the accountant’s reaction when you put it on the expense report. What did he pay?”

“He didn’t say. I’m sure Reynolds will tell us if we ask.”

Reynolds was now expecting me and would turn over all the passwords and provide us with any help we need. The next step is getting Ailes’s team access so they can download all the data and put whatever they need on the server to trap the Warlock.

Even if the Warlock is covering his tracks, there are ways to work around that if you know someone is going to be visiting a specific site. Instead of tracking the source of a connection, you can make his computer send out a burst of requests, kind of like a fingerprint. With the cooperation of local ISPs, you can look at their traffic and trace the pulses.

We get to Reynolds’s condo after dark. It’s in a nice suburb of Austin. He gives me a big grin at the door as he lets me and Ross inside. He reeks of cologne. He’s just as creepy as before, only this time he’s trying to be charming.

The interior is sparsely furnished. There’s a black leather couch in front of a giant flat-screen with a couple of game consoles and a workstation off to the side. Books and magazines are piled up in the corner. The place smells like pizza and sweat.

Reynolds is all smiles. “You didn’t tell me you had rich friends.”

Yeah, asshole. You didn’t mention your integrity came with a price tag. The professional side of me keeps my sarcasm in check. “Lots of people are very concerned by this case and want to do what they can to help.”

He leads us over to his computer. “The website and back end is run off of a remote server I rent. I’ll provide your people with access to that. As part of the arrangement, I’m supposed to provide you with any help you need for the next forty-five days.”

An hour ago he was staring down the federal government in a defiant political act. Now he’s giving us tech support. Agent Ross sits down to look at the website.

I’m polite and cordial. “Thank you, Liam. Dr. Ailes will have some more intelligent questions for you. One of his people will be calling in a minute or so.” The real reason I came over, other than to make sure Reynolds hadn’t been strangled to death, was to ask about his blog post. “Um, about that blog post you mentioned?”

“Deleted,” he replies as if he was doing a charitable act. “Part of the agreement is that we make this change in ownership a stealth transaction for now. I’m dying to tell my friends I’ve been bought out. But I agreed to wait until the end of the forty-five days.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. I assume that if you had made any recordings, those would be deleted too?”

Reynolds hesitates. “Yes. Of course. So what do you guys plan to do next?”

He seems eager to help now. “The computer forensics will be handled by Quantico. They’re going to want to look for suspicious IP addresses. Anything that stands out. Like how you discovered I accessed the site from the FBI jet. If you can think of anything else offhand, it would be a big help.” I only tell him what we’ve already asked him for. There’s no reason to risk our plans for setting up a honeypot by sharing them with someone whose loyalties can change so quickly. Especially given the Warlock’s loyalties.

“I’ll take a look.” He still has that grin on his face. How much did Damian pay him?

Once again I decide to play to his ego. “If you have any ideas, we’d love to hear them.”

“I’ll think about that. Um, by the way. I’m sorry if I was a little abrasive earlier. That was just business.”

Business? I thought I was investigating a murder. Silly me. “I understand. We all have to live by our convictions.” And know their price. I’m sickened by the idea that all it took was a dollar sign marked across the face of Chloe’s photograph.

Reynolds realizes how his sudden cooperation looks and tries to backtrack. “I stand by what I said before. But if someone else owns the site, then they can do with it what they please. It’s a property rights thing, really.” He’s trying to rationalize his flip.

“Understood. Again, we appreciate your help.” I don’t want to debate him. We got what we need. We get the data and the asshole gets his blood money. Part of me wants the check to bounce. But that’s not Damian’s style.

That’s the other thing I have to worry about. Damian knows he just did me a huge favor. He’s bought himself some slack.

It compromises me.

First the lead on the site, now this. He’s making me more indebted to him. Given his history, that puts me in a difficult situation. He wants my attention more than anything. Now he knows he has it. There are also things I withheld from Ailes about my relationship with him that could make me look very bad.