“He has a bunch of passwords for various things,” she said. “I know what some of them are. Then I found a list of passwords in his computer for various things, including something called Wall Unit. I figured out that the computer passwords have two random numbers, then the real password in reverse numerical order, followed by three random numbers. So I was able to work backwards from that to figure out the right number for the safe. When I tried it, it actually opened.”
Teffinger cocked his head.
“You have to come and work for me,” he said. “That’s all there is to it.”
Twenty minutes later, he arrived at Brad Ripley’s office. No one besides Tammy had reported to work. She opened the safe and pulled the door open.
A pile of hundred-dollar bills lay in plain view.
“I haven’t touched anything,” she told him. “Just in case it turns out to be evidence or something.”
Teffinger put on latex gloves and looked at her.
“You could have taken the money,” he said. “No one would have known.”
She diverted her eyes.
“I would have.”
He nodded and made a mental note that she needed the money now more than ever, being suddenly unemployed.
“There aren’t many like you left.”
The money turned out to be just short of twenty-five thousand dollars. Also, inside, he found a number of keys, insurance policies, a bag of cocaine, and a variety of other equally uninteresting things.
He also found an envelope.
Inside were eight or ten photographs. They had been taken at night without a flash. They were dark and vague but still clear enough to show a vehicle parked in front of a rickety wooden building. They were taken from slightly different angles, but mostly from the side view. All were shot from a distance.
Teffinger laid them out on Ripley’s desk and looked at them as a group.
Then he pointed to one of them and said, “It’s a BMW. You can see just a bit of the front end in this picture. See the double ovals?” She looked. “Does Ripley have a BMW?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I think he has a black Mercedes.”
Teffinger focused on the photographs.
“This car’s either white or silver,” he said.
She agreed.
“Do you know anyone who has a white or silver BMW?”
“No. Not really.”
“How about this building? Do you recognize it?”
“No.”
“It looks abandoned,” Teffinger said.
“It looks creepy,” she said. “You’d never catch me there in a thousand years.”
Teffinger understood.
“It looks like something out of a slasher movie,” she added.
53
DAY NINE-SEPTEMBER 13
TUESDAY EVENING
Aspen left work shortly after five, saying goodbye to lots of people so it was clearly on the record. Then she came back about seven-thirty. Christina Tam, who never left, met her at the door and let her in. That way neither of their keycards would show up as being used for an after-hours entry. They weren’t positive but were pretty sure that keycards were tracked in a computer or security system.
“Everyone’s gone on this floor,” Christina told her.
“Good.”
“You nervous?”
“Scared shitless.”
“Me too.”
Aspen held up a flashlight. “Brought this,” she said.
“You’re such an organized little criminal.”
They had already planned it. Christina would hang out in the dead-files room with the door open. She’d have a box down and one of her old cases on the floor. If anyone asked, she’d say she was pulling some research out of it to use in a current case. No one would suspect a thing. She’d have her cell phone already set to Aspen’s number. If she heard anything, she’d call. Aspen would have the phone in her pants pocket, set to vibrate, and immediately turn the flashlight off and hide.
They walked up to the 45th floor.
Derek Bennett’s office sat near the end of the hall with the rest of the rainmakers.
“So have you figured out what you’re looking for?” Christina asked.
“No.”
“That’ll make it harder to find.”
“Considerably.”
They found the hallway deserted. None of the attorneys locked their office doors at night. In fact, most didn’t even shut them. Derek Bennett was no exception.
Aspen walked in and turned the flashlight on.
Her heart pounded and her mind raced.
Okay.
You’re in.
Now get your ass moving.
She checked the filing cabinets first, looking for a folder on Rachel, or the killings at the railroad spur, or Tops amp; Bottoms, or anything else out of the ordinary.
Nothing of interest surfaced.
Everything appeared to be related to clients.
She checked his voice messages, being careful to not delete any.
Nothing unusual.
Did she dare fire up his computer?
Not yet.
Exhaust everything else first.
His credenza drawers held a lot of personal crap, phone books, office supplies, and other junk. Quite normal. Except the last drawer she checked.
There she found a gun.
She carefully picked it up with two fingers. She didn’t know anything about guns but the insignia indicated it was a Springfield 9mm. She memorized the shape and put it back.
Then her phone vibrated.
Shit!
She turned off the flashlight, jumped with giant but very quiet hops to the coat closet, got in and shut the door, setting metal hangers in motion. She reached up and steadied them. Not more than a heartbeat later, the lights went on.
Someone walked over to the desk and sat down.
She opened her mouth and breathed as slow and shallow as she could.
Frozen in place.
Someone grunted.
A man’s voice.
