Ruthless (11 page)

CHAPTER 36

Two days later, Mallory called Alton at work. “Is anyone with you?”

“Nope.”

“You’d better close your door.”

Alton shut the door to his office. “What is it?”             

“I finished the background check on Victor, Chelsea’s neighbor. His last name is Durov, by the way. He’s lived in the Atlanta area for most of his life and in Eagle Crest Apartments for the last three years. It turns out Victor has a little secret.”

“Which is…?”

“He has a criminal record, but not for homicide. He was convicted for stalking.”

“Interesting,” said Alton. “This puts a new spin on things. Maybe he had a whole different motive for being in Chelsea’s apartment. Do you remember the night Chelsea went on her date with poor Worley? As they were leaving, Victor raised his blinds and stared at them until they were out of sight. He couldn’t see me watching him from the Explorer, but old Victor was transfixed.”

“Yes, I saw him, too,” said Mallory. “So you’re thinking maybe he was jealous of Worley and bumped him off? Does Chelsea even know Victor?”

“Not really. I originally asked her about Victor the first time we got the accidental pizza delivery…when he popped out of his place for a few seconds. She said she didn’t even know his name. She did say that he stares at her when they pass in the parking lot or walkway. She seemed a little creeped out when describing it.”

“I’ll work with the local FBI office to put a tail on Victor. We’ll need to keep an eye on him until this case is resolved.”

“Did you have any luck tracking down Eddie the pizza guy?” asked Alton.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. His name is Eddie Delvecchio. He’s had his run-ins with the law, too: petty larceny and theft by taking. Nothing major, but maybe he’s trying to move up to the big leagues. Maybe the Mancini family has been in touch with him.”

“So will your FBI colleagues be keeping an eye on him, too?”

“Yes, we’ll tail him until the case breaks. Just remember, since the Mancini family is likely behind at least some of the deaths, we’ll need to continue to be vigilant.”

CHAPTER 37

Hoodie was in a good mood. Most of those who needed to be removed were gone. The risk those people had posed was now eliminated.

The new risk, of course, was getting caught. One had to balance the need to take action with the need to avoid detection. The idea of pressing boldly ahead could be carried too far.

Hoodie decided to lay low and let the attention of the previous assassinations die down.
The investigators will give up eventually—they’ll have to. The cases will grow cold, and then things will be right where they need to be
.

CHAPTER 38

Watkins and Chen, the two FBI agents responsible for tailing Eddie Delvecchio, were not excited about their assignment.

“I joined the FBI to fight criminals and terrorists, not guarantee Atlanta’s citizens get their pizza in thirty minutes or less,” groused Watkins.

“It could be worse,” observed Chen. “Simpson and LaRange are assigned to that other guy, Durov. All he does is drive straight home from work. We could be sitting in a parking lot all night watching Durov’s holly bushes grow. At least with Delvecchio, we’re driving around half the night. You gotta admit it’s easier to stay awake.”

“I’d rather not be trailing either douche-bag. I bet we wouldn’t have this assignment if we’d been the ones to catch that crackhead Johnny Zomer last month.”

Chen grunted in assent. The two agents continued to trail Delvecchio for another half hour as he made several more deliveries.

“Look,” said Chen. “He’s walking down the sidewalk to that house but doesn’t have his insulated pizza carrier. This could mean something. Run the address to see who lives there.”

“Working,” said Watkins. “Look at this.” Chen read the information displayed on the in-car monitor. As he did so, several of the home’s occupants greeted Delvecchio and ushered him inside. Watkins raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Eventually, Delvecchio returned to his Sentra and drove away. After a brief visit to his employer, he traveled directly home. The agents pulled into the parking lot a minute after Delvecchio and watched him enter his apartment.

Watkins and Chen waited thirty minutes after Delvecchio had turned off his lights to ensure he was asleep. The two FBI agents walked silently to the Sentra. They didn’t have authorization to break into the vehicle, but they weren’t restrained from observing it from the outside and testing the doors in case the car was unlocked. The two agents removed miniature mag lights from their jacket pockets and peered inside.

“Look at this,” said Watkins, pointing to a small object on the dashboard.

“I see it. Let’s take a photo.”

Chen tugged on the driver’s door handle. To his surprise, the door opened. After peering inside the car’s interior, he popped open the trunk.

This time, it was Chen’s turn to scratch his head in surprise. “Bring me an evidence bag.”

CHAPTER 39

The next evening, Alton, Mallory, and Chelsea met at a TGI Fridays for dinner. Mallory shared Victor Durov’s background with Chelsea.

“I have my own curious news to share,” announced Chelsea. “I got an e-mail today from ‘a friend.’ It warned me that I could be danger.”

Alton could feel his heart rate accelerate, but he remained outwardly calm. “Do you have a copy of the e-mail?”

“Yes, here it is,” she replied, removing a folded sheet of paper from her Coach purse.

Alton and Mallory carefully read the brief memo.

After recent events, you’re probably wondering if you’re next or if you’re out of danger. Let me be clear: you are not safe. Don’t take chances. Don’t leave home if you don’t have to. I wish I could tell you more.

A Friend

Alton and Mallory simultaneously glanced around the restaurant. Alton wished he had picked a smaller, more easily-defensible location for their meal.

“When did you get this?” he asked.

“This afternoon,” said Chelsea. “I replied immediately but got a bounce-back message saying my reply had arrived at an unmonitored mailbox.”

“Interesting,” said Alton. It sounds like your ‘friend’ used some type of multi-server looping program to hide his identify. I wonder if he realizes you work for a company that specializes in tracing these types of messages.”

“I guess not, or he wouldn’t have sent it in the first place,” said Chelsea.

“Let me work on tracking down the sender first thing in the morning. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

The next day, Alton was working on his laptop at Chelsea’s dining room table when Mallory entered to prepare lunch. Alton rested his head on his left hand, splayed fingers sending his closely-cropped hair straight up. He emitted a sigh of exasperation through tight lips.

“How’s the e-mail trace going?” asked Mallory.

“It’s not,” replied Alton. “This wasn’t sent by just anyone. With the software we develop at Kruptos, it would normally take me twenty, maybe thirty minutes to trace this message back to its sender. I’ve been working on this for almost five hours, and I’m still not close. I even tried some of the new code from the Jana project. It’s not even released as a product yet, and it still couldn’t trace this message.”

Mallory appeared surprised. “Perhaps the Jana code still has some bugs to be worked out.”

“It’s certainly possible, but this type of hidden-sender messaging is exactly what we’ve been testing for the last few weeks. The software has worked flawlessly up until now.”

“Who would have such effective anti-tracing techniques?”

An epiphany passed through Alton’s mind. “There are only a handful of companies and government agencies in the world that could create messaging protection this sophisticated. Chelsea’s e-mail said it was from ‘a friend,’ so presumably this person knows Chelsea. What if the sender is a Kruptos employee? Some of our people have world-class skills in this type of thing. It’s what they’re hired to do.”

“It makes sense. They could send the message knowing it would be difficult, if not impossible, for it to be traced back to them.”

“But why the secrecy?” asked Alton. “If he—or she—is truly a friend and believes Chelsea to be in danger, why not just come out and tell her directly?”

“Perhaps he’s afraid of being in danger himself if he sticks his neck out. But that’s just one possibility. I don’t think we’re going to know the real reason until we track this friend down and ask him ourselves.”

CHAPTER 40

A few minutes later, Alton explained to Chelsea the difficulty he had experienced trying to trace back the message from her anonymous friend.

“Of the people you’re close to at work, who knows about your connection to the first two murders?” asked Alton.

Chelsea considered for a few minutes and began describing those few work friends who knew of the troubling events of the last several weeks. She and Alton weeded out those employees whose job responsibilities were not in actual software development, since those potential suspects would lack the technical skills to have sent an untraceable message.

“That leaves only two other people,” said Chelsea. “Winston Lewis, my boss, and Brent Tanaka, the guy I dated when I first joined the company.”

“How could either of them have information about impending danger?” mused Alton. “What could they know that we don’t?”

“Beats me,” said Chelsea. “We’ll just have to ask them.”

“Even if they do know something,” said Alton, “they won’t tell us if we just saunter up to their desk and ask, ‘Sent any secret messages lately?’ We’ll have to use a more thoughtful approach, and I believe I know what it should be.”

Mallory wore a crisp navy business suit with her FBI badge clipped to the jacket’s breast pocket. Although her attractiveness often inspired irrational behavior in men, her flawless attire and the grim line of determination formed by her mouth left little room for masculine nonsense on this occasion. 

She wore a concealed microphone/camera combination on one of the buttons of her jacket.

“We should record your conversations,” Alton had said. “We might need to refer back to specific statements. Plus, there’s always the possibility that this ‘friend’ is really a murderer who’s trying to dictate Chelsea’s movements, perhaps to trap her in the apartment. I can monitor your conversation on my tablet and move in if anything gets dangerous. I won’t raise any suspicions working on a computer in the hall in my own company during work hours.”

Mallory knocked on the door of Winston Lewis’ office and approached his desk.

“Well,
hello
—,” began Lewis.

“Mr. Winston Lewis? I’m Agent Mallory Wilson with the FBI. I’m down from DC conducting an investigation. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

“I’ll just close the door.” He did so and settled back into his chair, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. On the wall behind him was a picture of him shaking hands with Jake Hines, the company’s CEO. “Now, how can I help you, little lady?”

“It’s ‘Agent Wilson.’ I’m investigating the recent homicides of Jay Mancini and Louise Sinclair. You’re aware of those deaths and their connection with your employee, Chelsea Mancini, correct?”

“That’s right.” Lewis volunteered no other information.

“Did Miss Mancini mention that she knew two other people who recently died?”

“I know about Miles Worley, of course. We all knew him here. I don’t recall hearing about another death.”

“Does the name Monica Schaffer ring a bell?” asked Mallory.

“Ah, yes. Chelsea did mention that name, but it sounded like an accident, not a murder.”

“I didn’t say both of the other deaths were murders, Mr. Lewis. I’m just wondering what you know about them.”

“Probably less than you do,” said Lewis, shifting in his chair. “I really don’t know anything about Monica what’s-her-name. But everyone here at Kruptos heard about Worley. There’s a rumor going around that his head was caved in by a jealous husband. Is that true?”

“I can’t discuss that, Mr. Lewis. It’s an ongoing investigation.”

As he listened in, Alton shook his head.
He’s either clueless or a consummate liar
.

“Were you aware Miss Mancini recently received an anonymous e-mail warning her of future danger?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Out of all the employees at Kruptos, who—besides you—knew that she was potentially in danger recently?”

“I really couldn’t say, Agent Wilson. You’d have to ask Chelsea.”

“I did. She named you and one other person.”

Anger momentarily flickered across Lewis’s face. “What do you want? I’ve already told you I didn’t know about the e-mail.”

“I’m trying to find out what information the sender of that message possesses. It could be key to clearing up at least one of these murders and in protecting Chelsea Mancini.”

“Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“Mr. Lewis, you understand that withholding information from a federal homicide investigation is a felony, correct?”

“I understand.”

“If you happen to remember anything else, here’s my card. I’d appreciate a call.”

“Of course, Agent Wilson. By the way, are you doing anything on Friday night?”

From his remote location, Alton rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” replied Mallory, “I make it a policy to avoid going out with persons of interest. Thanks anyway.”

“Good job,” said Alton a few minutes later. “I bet you’ve never interrogated a five-year-old tax record like that,” he said, referring to Mallory’s normal FBI role as a forensic accountant. 

“That’s for sure,” replied Mallory, “but unfortunately, we didn’t learn anything new. The tax record would have told me more.”

“Let’s see what we discover from Brent Tanaka.”