“What about another member of the law firm?”
June clicked over to the dashboard and worked her way through to a server-wide email overview and did the same search. It took a few minutes. The same email string. No other mention of June’s mom.
June said, “I’m going over to his personal computer to look at his email there.” She clicked and typed while Peter navigated the off-ramp and worked his way west through surface streets. Newer mid-rise condos competed with heavily renovated homes, old apartment buildings, and beat-up shacks that looked like one minor quake away from collapse.
“Three email addresses. His work email, another address with messages about, let’s see, dinner plans, eighth-grade basketball games, a guys’ night out. And a third address that it looks like he uses when he’s shopping online. His new North Face raincoat has shipped.”
She ran the search again on all three and came up with nothing.
“We’re here.” Peter pulled up in front of the next address on their list. Jason Ross had lived in a row of two-story town houses with underground parking and high steel gates protecting the courtyard.
“Hang on,” said June. “I’m going to do another search. This time for the word ‘algorithm.’” She typed and clicked. “Shit. The list is like, three thousand emails.”
“I’m just going to look,” Peter said, and got out of the car. Both the courtyard gates and the garage door had no card or button access, and probably required some kind of electronic key fob to open. A round black camera lens eyeballed him from each location. To top things off, someone had posted a sign on the gate that read, “To help maintain building security, please do not allow anyone you do not know personally into the building.” And a little smiley face.
If the goal was to limit casual burglars, it sure worked on Peter.
He walked along the fence, looking for Ross’s address, more to have done something than in any expectation he’d actually learn anything. It was the middle unit, with a little overhang and a big picture window. The blinds were open, and Peter could see a giant television, a framed Army recruiting poster, and a plush teddy bear perched on an end table, facing the gate, almost like a pet waiting for its owner to come home. A little sad. And now Ross was dead.
Peter got back in the car. “Too tight to just walk in,” he said. “A good choice, actually. Come and go in your car, use the garage, never meet your neighbors. You’re two miles from the freeway, the surface streets are a tangle, and there are three or four marinas within five miles. Unless they catch you walking out your door, you’re a ghost.”
June said, “You really should be on one of those real estate shows on cable TV.” She deepened her voice. “‘This condo is ideal for the intelligent criminal. Note the multiple exits for a quick escape, and easy access to mass transit in case of government surveillance.’”
“You could learn a thing or two,” he said. “You’re living some kind of invisible life yourself.”
“I’m just trying not to have my dad show up on my doorstep.”
37
Back on Highway 99, Peter drove north toward the next address. Four lanes of low-rent commercial strip, auto parts, gun shops, and sporting goods. June was on her laptop again, still inside the law firm’s server.
“I’m sorting Nicolet’s files by date,” she said. “Correlating with his emails to my mom. Maybe he wrote a report to his client.”
“Or the client signed a contract,” said Peter. “That would be in there, too, right?”
“Gotta be somewhere,” she said. “There’s an awful lot of work product here. This guy’s a beast. I’m going to be reading all night.”
Peter glanced over at her. “All night?”
“Well,” she said, eyes still on the laptop. “Maybe not all night.”
“You could ask Tyg3r,” he said. “Is it smart enough to make those correlations?”
“I doubt it,” she said. “What would I ask it to find?”
Peter turned left. “Fucked if I know,” he said. “That’s your area, not mine.”
“What is your area, exactly?”
He grinned. “Get the bad guys,” he said. “Save the girl.”
“So I’m the brains of the outfit?”
“I thought you knew that already. If you didn’t, maybe I’m wrong.”
She smiled at her laptop. “I was just being polite.”
Peter saw a gas station ahead. “I’m going to fuel up.”
She looked at the gauge. “We still have half a tank.”
“Rule number one when you’re on the run,” he said. “Never get below half a tank. And if you’re a girl, never pass up the chance to pee.”
“That’s sexist.”
He shrugged, pulling into the gas station. “I can pee anywhere. In an old soda bottle, while you drive, if I have to. Can you do that?”
“Why would I want to?” she asked. “But maybe I’ll use the bathroom for a minute, while I have the chance.”
She went inside and Peter called Lewis.
“What’s up?”
“I got a first name on the ex-husband.”