"Because I know voices." Chris's tone was matter-of-fact. "My whole job revolves around that."
Allison remembered his saying that he could recognize previously banned callers even if they called in on another person's phone.
"There's no doubt that was Glover who killed himself," she pointed out. "A hundred people were at that press conference, mostly reporters who'd been covering Glover for years. So that means whoever called you must have just pretended to be him."
"It was more than someone just pretending," Chris said. "The caller ID said it was Quentin Glover. It had his phone number, his name, everything. But I swear to you, it wasn't him."
Back in the restaurant, Allison found Cassidy calm, her tears wiped away. Nicole gave Allison a small nod that let her know that things were going in the right direction. And in front of them was a single plate filled with the restaurant's chocolate tartufo, a whipped cream--topped chocolate cake with a chocolate truffle center.
Nicole ceremoniously handed out the three forks. After first warning Cassidy that she couldn't run with this--at least not yet--Allison told them what Chris had said.
"The weird thing is that I believe him. But if it wasn't Glover who called the show, how could it say his name on the caller ID?"
"I think I know what happened," Nicole said slowly. "They used a spoof card."
"I can't remember what those are," Cassidy said.
"You can buy them on the Internet. They sell them for 'entertainment purposes only."' Sarcasm colored Nicole's voice. "Right. Then you dial a toll-free number and key in the number you want to call and the caller ID number to display on the phone. On the other end, they see not only the fake phone number on the caller ID but even the name associated with that number."
"Isn't that illegal?" Cassidy asked.
"It's a gray area. Sometimes they're used for bad reasons. On the other hand, a social worker can use a spoof card to call an abused woman and spoof a safe number. That way the husband doesn't see a suspicious number on the caller ID."
Cassidy said, "But why would someone use a spoof card to make people think Glover was threatening Jim Fate?"
"To make us think Glover was the killer. I would bet the same person knew Glover helped get funding to make smoke grenades, and that gave them the idea to kill Fate with one." Nicole was speaking faster and faster as she began to connect the dots. "Karl tells me we haven't been able to match the grenade that killed Fate to any of the ones made here in Oregon. And so far, none of the carpet fibers from Glover's house, offices, or cars have matched the one in the package. We've got nothing that ties Glover to Fate except the fact that Fate kept riding him, and that Glover returned the favor by hating Jim's guts. And that he killed himself before we could ask too many questions."
"What if someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure all the clues pointed in Congressman Glover's direction?" Allison's words tumbled over each other. "What if they set him up--and then he snapped?"
Chapter 37
Mark 0. Hatfield United States Courthouse
As soon as she got back to the office, Allison went to Dan and laid it all out for him. But as she spoke, she realized how insubstantial it was. All she had was one person's word that it wasn't Glover who had called the radio station to threaten Jim Fate. And even if that were true, there was still Glover's ready access to fentanyl pain patches, his connection to smoke grenades, his note that both denied and hinted at wrongdoing, and his last, desperate act of suicide as the net closed around him. Dan finally agreed to give the investigation more time, but he was clearly skeptical.
It was two in the afternoon before Allison finally went to the bathroom. And she saw blood. She stared at it stupidly, almost too tired to switch gears. How could there be blood?
On the phone, the nurse told Allison that she didn't need to worry unless the bleeding continued or she started to cramp. For the next hour Allison went through the motions of work, but her mind was on her belly. Was something wrong? Maybe. Did she feel crampy? Maybe. She went to the bathroom every few minutes. The bleeding wasn't slowing down. But it wasn't that much either. She tried to pray, but all she could manage was to touch the cross she wore around her neck, the one her father had given her, and think the word Please.
Finally she gave up and called the doctor's office again. They arranged for her to come in after work.
Then she called Marshall "Can you meet me at Dr. Dubruski's at five?"
"Why?" His voice sharpened. "What's wrong? Is there something wrong with the baby?"
"It's probably nothing. I'm probably just imagining things." Dear God, let it be true. "I'm having a little bit of spotting, that's all. I just want to go in to be safe."
"I'll be there in five minutes. I'm taking you home so you can lie down."