Chapter 48
Four pairs of eyes looked up in dismay, and maybe even shock, when Del Rio and I entered the war room.
“No one died,” I said.
“Because there were too many witnesses,” Del Rio added as a charming note.
Colleen came in to take orders for lunch as I was winding up my theory of the Shelby Cushman-Noccia family connection. She looked at me, wide-eyed and stunned. My jaw was bruised pretty badly. I had a nice laceration on my cheekbone. And those were just the injuries she could see.
“We were outnumbered,” I said.
“The usual?” she asked me.
“Extra fries,” I said. “Extra ice.”
When Colleen left, I turned the floor over to Dr. Sci.
“Jack, I’ve been over this with Mo. We agree. If the Schoolgirl killer is baiting his victims with fake messages, he has to have wireless access to their mobile phones in real time.”
Mo-bot piped up. She was sleeveless, showing off a colorful mess of tattoos. It was hard to imagine her at Harvard, where she’d gone through her PhD. She took off her bifocals and said, “What Sci is implying is that we think the scum is waiting at a location, probably in a vehicle that won’t call attention. We’d say a van.
“Scum grabs the signal out of the air and accesses the target’s mobile unit and basically clones it. That’s how he’s able to send his own messages using a screen name from one of the victim’s friends.”
“If he can do that,” Sci said, “he can block all other messages, incoming and outbound. As far as I know, there’s no program that can hijack cell phone content wirelessly,” Sci said.
“But it’s imaginable. If you can imagine it, it can be done,” added Mo-bot.
Chapter 49
“ Hold on to that thought. Justine?”
Justine had dark circles under her eyes, but she still looked good. On the other hand, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her smile. This case had a hook in her and wouldn’t let go.
“Something’s been nagging at me for a couple of days,” she said, “and it finally crystallized this morning. Five years ago, another girl was left dead in the same alley where Connie Yu was found. I went through the LA Times archives and found the story.
“Her name was Wendy Borman. She was seventeen,” Justine continued. “Like Connie Yu, she left her house to make a quick trip to Hyperion Avenue and didn’t come back. Her body was found the next morning.”
“Wendy Borman is an unsolved case?”
Justine nodded and said, “She was killed by manual strangulation. She had a bruise behind her ear that came from a concussive blow with a heavy object. There were no witnesses, no sexual assault, and no forensic evidence. Sound familiar to you?
“And how’s this? Her handbag and cell phone were taken. Also, she’d been wearing a necklace, a hand- wrought gold star on a chain. It wasn’t on her when they found the body. Her mother said she always wore the necklace.”
“So obviously, it was made to look like a robbery-homicide.”
“Makes me wonder how long these Schoolgirl killings have been going on. How many girls has this sick bastard killed? How many different ways? Was there somebody even before the Borman girl?”
We reviewed assignments and workloads over lunch. Everyone in the room was expensive, but I didn’t much care. Obviously neither did Justine.
I said, “Everything basically goes on hold but Cushman, NFL, and Justine’s case. That’s all we do until all three cases are closed. And we will close them.”
I limped up the stairs to my office, and Colleen followed me to my desk.
“You got a call this morning,” she said. “Maybe it’s a prank, but it’s evil, Jack. You should listen to it. Seriously.”
She picked up the receiver, got into voice mail, and switched over to speaker.
I was sorry Colleen had to hear the eerie electronic voice that came over the phone.
“You’re dead,” the caller said. Colleen looked shocked, and for good reason. Nothing about the voice sounded like a hoax.
I took Colleen into my arms and held her against my chest. She made a purring sound like a cat, then laughed at herself.
What was I going to do with this lovely, lovely woman?
I said to her, “Not yet, Colleen. I’m not dead yet.”
Part Three
Chapter 50
I was standing next to Colleen at a horseshoe bar that smelled faintly of an honest day’s labor. “I come here most nights after work,” she said of Mike Donahue’s Tavern. She was wearing a pink fitted jacket over a flowered dress, her long hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Colleen was working hard to become an American citizen, but I saw why this dark Irish pub with its stout on tap and olde Irish barflies made her feel at home.
I felt troubled about what was happening between us. Colleen and I had been seeing each other for about a year, and we took that fact two different ways. To Colleen, it meant “time to get off the stick.”
While we waited for our table we drank black and tans and shot darts, a beginner’s game called Round the Clock. My throwing hand was still messed up from the fight with Mosconi, and Colleen was beating the socks off me.
“You shouldn’t let me win, Jack,” she said. “I’m going to take a lot of guff for this.”
“You don’t think I’m losing on purpose, Molloy?”
“Try to hit the number eight,” she said, patting my hip.
My next flight of darts missed the mark, but I was laughing at myself, enjoying Colleen as she stood poised to throw, showing a lovely angle from her fingertips to her heel. Her first dart landed on the twenty, ending the game.
“I guess this means dinner’s on me,” I said.
She laughed and kissed me as her friend Donahue came out of the kitchen. Donahue was thirty-six and bearded. Colleen had said he was already suffering from gout.
“So this is the man who robbed us of your heart,” he said.
“Mike’s a sweet talker,” Colleen said, hanging an arm around my waist. We followed Donahue to a table in a snug corner of the back room. After we’d eaten, the waiter came out carrying a cake blazing with candles.
When all the clapping and whistling was over, I leaned across the table for a kiss. “Happy belated birthday, Molloy.” I pushed a little gold-wrapped box toward her. Colleen’s face brightened as she peeled back the tape and paper. She slowly lifted the lid on the box.
