The Canton Connection (12 page)

The cell phone woke Jake up. There was only the faintest touch of light outside his hotel room and Thursday had already begun.

It was Bob Snow. “Just heard from the lab. They ran the prints from the steak knife in Charlottesville, and they match up with Simon Wu.”

That was two for two. Did they have a serial killer on their hands?

First Han Chu, head of a computer firm was stabbed cleanly to death. Yesterday it was Jason Yang, an engineering grad student. What was the connection between the two victims? It would be up to Michael Epstein to figure that out.

Once they established that, it would be clear what Wu was up to.

Jake’s first thought was that Wu was a patriot after all. He might be stemming the tide of hackers. But killing them one by one made no sense.

Jake was thinking clearly now. “I guess Epstein will be down here today to review the case. He’s sure to connect this up with Simon Wu.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he has Wu behind bars by the end of the day,” Bob said.

“Why do you sound so disappointed?” Jake said.

“We had an eyewitness on the bike trail,” Bob reminded him. “She knows Simon Wu, and she said it definitely wasn’t him. It still doesn’t add up.”

“Are you saying…”

“She’s yours if you want her,” Bob said.

Bob was giving him permission to talk with Stacy in order to investigate Wu. Jake wouldn’t be just bending the rules. He would be breaking them. Number one, he was breaking Epstein’s orders by getting in touch with Stacy. Number two, he was about to investigate a fellow federal law enforcement officer without Inspector General approval. And number three, just like in the pre
-9/11 days, he was compartmentalizing the investigation, not sharing information across department lines.

“I’ll have to find Stacy,” Jake reminded him. “I need to hear from her why she’s in Charlottesville and what Simon is up to.”

“You’ll find her at the DoubleTree off US 29. And I didn’t tell you that.”

“Thanks, boss.”

On Jake’s first drive by the DoubleTree Hilton, he saw Stacy’s Jeep parked two lots down from the hotel’s pillared front doors.

He had to establish that Wu was in Charlottesville that morning, and decided to get some concrete proof.

On a hunch, he parked nearby and whipped the fingerprint detection kit out of his glove compartment.

Nobody was walking through the light fog and the parking lot was still full.

He sprayed fine, black powder on the handles of both doors, brushed it off lightly and applied clear lifting tape to the surface. Then he peeled off the tape and affixed it to white backing cards. That displayed and preserved the latent fingerprints.

He packed the samples into an evidence bag and labeled it clearly
: “Jeep Cherokee owned by Stacy Stefansson. Virginia license plate number YBZ 7786.” He noted the date, time and location as well.

When he got back to Arlington, he would drop them off for analysis and to add to the growing record against Simon Wu.

Mildly surprised that Stacy and Wu had remained in Charlottesville after the murder, he was even more astonished to see them seated prominently in front of the buffet table in the breakfast room.

Jake took a close look through a wooden lattice at Simon Wu. Short, dapper and moving like a cat from one food station to another, he was the same person Jake had seen at the funeral escorting Stacy away, and at her house carrying the groceries. And, finally, he matched the photo the Justice Department had in his personnel file. That was Simon Wu.

If Stacy had been a participant in or observer of the murder the previous afternoon, she certainly didn’t show it.

Her mood was light and her voice carried over the general clatter of dishes and conversations at other tables. She acted like someone with nothing to hide.

And she saw Jake standing there behind the wooden screen.

“Jake!” she called out, trying to get his attention.

He stepped out from behind his hiding place. He needed to work on his counter surveillance tradecraft.

Wu was just returning to Stacy’s elegantly set table when he saw Jake approaching. Wu’s spine stiffened, as did his general demeanor.

Like ants with highly sensitive antennae, two federal agents could easily pick each other out on visual clues alone. There was something about the clean-cut, by-the-book attitude that Jake saw in Wu, and, he was sure, Wu saw in him.

Jake watched Wu’s hands carefully to make sure they didn’t reach inside his jacket.

“Hi, Jake,” Stacy called out as Jake approached.

As if he weren’t obvious enough.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Jake avoided the question. “Great to see you.”

She didn’t seem to buy the notion that it was a chance encounter. “How did you find me here?”

“I saw your Jeep outside.” It wasn’t a lie, and it was good enough for the moment.

She wiped her fingertips on her pink napkin and dropped it on the table.

Jake saw two room keys there, presumably to show the hostess and bill their meals to separate rooms.

“This is Simon Wu I was telling you about the other day.”

“Jake Maguire.” Jake was first to extend a hand.

Wu seemed wary and showed no sign of recognition, but took the handshake. Then he turned to Stacy. “Why were you talking about me?”

She was about to respond, but Jake cut her off. “Just chatting among friends.”

She appeared to go along with that vague explanation. “Join us,” she told Jake, an engaging look in her eyes. Her expression was less than imploring, but something more than simply being friendly.

He had hoped to snag a few minutes alone with her to question her about where she was at the time of the murder, but it was clear he wouldn’t get that opportunity that morning. He was left with having to explore her story in front of both of them.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve already eaten, and I’m interrupting your breakfast.”

“Nonsense,” she said, and pulled out a chair for him.

Both men nudged their shoulder harnesses behind them as they took opposing seats.

Jake decided to plunge right in. “What are you two doing in Charlottesville?” he asked brightly.

If Wu felt uneasy with the question, he didn’t show it. “We’re heading south to see her folks.”

The simplicity of the answer might be cunning, but it was the implication that threw Jake off guard. The two were friendly enough to visit her parents.

Jake had to fight the feeling that he was intruding on their privacy. “That’s great,” he said. “What did you guys do yesterday?”

Stacy and Wu exchanged glances to decide who got to answer the question.

“You go ahead,” Wu told her, and let her respond.

“We spent all day at the Downtown Mall,” she said. “Saw a movie. Shops were open late, buskers played into the night.”

“Sounds romantic,” Jake said. He had invited dates off campus to the old Main Street, where historical buildings were turned into a pedestrian shopping mall with eateries, yet retained their pre-Civil War charm.

He had a hard time processing all the information he was gathering so quickly. But the best approach was to learn their story now and verify it later.

He checked his mental calendar. It wasn’t a weekend, but there was a holiday coming up. “So you’re down for a long Labor Day weekend?” he asked.

“I haven’t seen my folks in months,” she said.

That was believable enough.

“And how about you?” she asked. “What brings you to Charlottesville?”

Jake didn’t even have a story. “Just visiting my
alma mater
.”

It sounded lame, and it was. But he was sticking to it.

Wu in particular wasn’t buying the story. But he wasn’t saying much either.

Jake watched Wu’s adept knife
-work as he cut into his roll and lathered on butter. Only then did he realize that the butter knife had the same monogram that was on the steak knife at the murder scene the day before.

Wu seemed to use his full plate as an excuse for not talking. But he was also eating fast.

Suddenly, Wu’s cell phone rang. He excused himself and took the call out of earshot.

“Nice fella,” Jake lied.

Stacy looked at Jake reprovingly. She could see through him.

She was right. It wasn’t worth lying to her.

Wu came back to the table with a frown. “It was the office. They need me in Louisville.”

“Louisville?” Stacy said, confused and clearly disappointed. “As in Kentucky?”

Wu nodded and took a last, hurried swig of coffee.

“But how will you get there?” she asked. “We only have the Jeep.”

“I’ll rent a car,” Wu told her, and wiped his lips. “You can drive down to your folks alone.”

“Fine. I’ll see you back in Arlington.”

Wu stood and dropped his napkin on the table. He stared at Jake. There wasn’t much trust there. “I’m not so sure I should leave you,” Wu told her.

“Oh, c’mon,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Have a nice trip.”

Wu flashed a warning look at Jake along the lines of “Don’t mess with her.”

But she was shooing him away.

Wu grabbed his room key, and Jake rose to shake his hand. He stood a good six inches taller than his counterpart, and he had a few more pointed questions to ask. But Wu was in a hurry to get on the road.

Wu threw Stacy one last concerned look. “You okay with this?”

“You just go ahead,” she said. “Have a good trip. I’ll give your regards to my folks.”

With that, Wu gave Jake a firm handshake, and whirled about to leave the room. Much to Jake’s approval, there was no affectionate kiss from either party. But their comfortable familiarity was disconcerting. They were like an old married couple that was way beyond kissing good-bye.

He sat staring at Stacy.

Alone, she was radiant, with the morning sunlight catching her halo of nearly bleached hair.

“Two federal agents,” she said. “And you circle each other like prize fighters.” She sounded disappointed, as if expecting them to like each other.

“FBI agents and deputy marshals are always like that,” he tried to convince her. “We can sense each other from a mile away and there’s a kind of professional rivalry.”

“Sounds like a terrific place to work,” she cracked.

“It’s not all that bad, once you get to know the other agents, do some work together.” He was getting off track. “Where
do your parents live?”

“Same place they’ve always been: Bluefield.”

Jake had heard of the place, a small town in the mountains above Virginia Tech. As he recalled, the town’s main street straddled the Virginia and West Virginia state line. “They are in West Virginia?”

She nodded.

“That makes you a Mountaineer,” he said.

She grinned. “I suppose so,” she said, laying on a thick accent.

For a moment, he could see her growing up speaking like that. But she had lost the drawl in her everyday speech.

He was worried that they were long on coincidence, having encountered each other at the Charlottesville hotel, and short on topics of conversation. So he went right to the heart of his investigation. “Witness any murders lately?”

That froze her expression for a moment. Then she seemed to sense that he was employing a macabre sense of humor. “No, Jake. Haven’t been a witness to any major acts of cruel, inhuman barbarity lately. Thank you.”

She wasn’t going to cooperate. But how could she not know?

“Were you with Simon Wu all afternoon?”

She knitted her eyebrows. “Why the third degree?”

“I’m a cop. I want to know.”

“Is this an interview? I thought this was a breakfast.”

Her mood had changed. He could kick himself. He had managed to destroy any chance of catching her off guard.

Okay, she wasn’t going to talk. So he would.

“Listen, there was another murder in Charlottesville yesterday afternoon.”

She looked stoic, but defensive. “What does this have to do with me? Do you expect me to show up on time to witness every murder in the state?”

“I do think it’s curious that you were in Charlottesville just as the murder occurred.”

“Well, I’m not Typhoid Mary. At least I hope not.”

As long as she would respond, Jake would persist with that line of questioning.

“Why did you come down on Thursday, and not like most working people do, on Friday?”

“Do you know what the traffic is like on the Friday before Labor Day?” She shot him a disgusted look.

It made sense when she put it that way.

“But why did you overnight in Charlottesville? Why not drive straight to Bluefield?”