shrugging. “Who knows who planted those bugs, but breaking and entering even to plant eavesdropping devices and drug liquor supplies are also not federal crimes. And drugs would be easy for you to get your hands on. I saw the toy casket you let your child have. So, I suggest you do call the sheriff, or maybe you could hire a really good private investigator.”
“We'd never seen that casket before and it was not anything our son would have had. We would have seen it in the room. Whoever was in this hole must have planted it to freak us out and your people found it before we did,” Ward said angrily.
Todd glared at Firman. “My excuse, if I needed one, is that I've only been working on this for a day. You've got the FBI lab and a lot of support personnel behind you. Maybe we should ask the attorney general to send some actual FBI agents to investigate.”
Firman laughed, but Mayes didn't. In fact he appeared thoughtful.
“Agent Firman, there's a medical term that fits you,” Natasha said.
Ward knew what was coming because he'd heard this come out of her mouth once before, and he would have said something if he'd thought her contribution might be counterproductive, but he didn't think it could be.
“And what would that medical term be, Doctor?” Firman asked.
“Hemorrhoid.” Her delivery was perfect.
Mayes laughed.
Firman didn't.
FORTY-TWO
Mayes took samples of liquids away with him in a plastic shopping bag, promising Ward and Todd he'd have them analyzed by the FBI lab. Based solely on Firman's attitude, a speedy response by the lab seemed unlikely to Ward.
Thanks to the tinted windows in Todd's Denali, Natasha and Ward were able to sit up in the backseat without being visible to the few remaining members of the media milling about outside their vans on the road. Nolan and his partner, arms crossed and wearing sidearms and frowns, were keeping them at bay.
“Gizmo,” Natasha said. “I keep thinking I've heard that nickname somewhere before.”
“So have I,” Ward said. “There was a kid in high school who was always building electronic equipment. His nickname was Gizmo. He died our senior year, from leukemia. He won our science fair with a listening device he made from metallic tubes of varying lengths bundled together. The Army actually bought the device from him.”
“Him dying pretty much rules him out,” Todd said. “Ghosts don't dig holes in the ground and carve their own nicknames into the walls.”
In downtown Charlotte, Todd parked in the lot underneath the building where Wiggins amp; Associates took up half of the fifth floor. Gene was waiting for them in the reception area when they arrived, and he led them back to Tom Wiggins's office. Lawyer Wiggins greeted them warmly and shook everybody's hands. He and Natasha made small talk about the fund- raising for the children's cancer center. Wiggins was involved because he'd lost a granddaughter to bone cancer four years earlier.
“First off,” he told them, “they haven't got anything to hang their hats on but theories. What they have might get them an indictment, but I doubt they'll go for one on hunches alone. That doesn't mean they won't arrest Ward if they get him indicted, but for the moment I seriously doubt it. In order for them to convict, they have to prove that you knowingly had the illegal material in your possession, and that you disseminated it.”
“Gene's filled me in on the stalker and the possible drugging. Obviously, someone released this virus on purpose, and it appears they set you up to take the blame. Mr. Hartman can verify the facts, and based on his expertise and reputation, his word should carry weight.”
Todd, seated to one side, nodded.
“Computer experts are going over the virus and we should have everything figured out except for whoever planted it. Someone has been accessing porn sites using your office computer for over a year. From what I have been able to put together using what the prosecutor shared with me, someone used your computer many times over the past ten months to visit unsavory sites. Usually when you were there, according to the receptionist's time sheets.”
“How is that possible?” Ward asked.
Todd said, “It can be done remotely using spy-ware programs.”
“Todd probably knows more about this than I do, but I am told the program can be tracked back to the originator,” Wiggins said.
“Good,” Natasha said.
Todd nodded his agreement.
“Your son Barney died, what, about a year ago?” Wiggins asked.
Natasha said, “Today is the one- year anniversary.”
The meeting lasted less than thirty minutes, but Gene assured Ward and Natasha on the way out that they'd be billed for an hour.
FORTY-THREE
Filled with outrage that clinched his stomach like a vise, Ward pressed down hard on the pedal and tossed The Charlotte Observer into the trash can's open mouth, letting the lid slam shut.
Natasha rubbed his forearm. “They only say you are the CEO of RGI, and that the virus originated from a computer in your office. Nothing we can do about it. It's all just innuendo and speculation.”
“Innuendo sucks. Unk gets the mud splashed on him, too,” Ward said. “I sure as hell can do something about it. I'll cancel our subscription.”
Natasha laughed. “That'll teach them.”
“Perception doesn't go away.”
“They'll find out who doc'd the box,” Natasha said.
“ ‘Doc'd the box’?” Todd asked.
“I think it sounds really techy,” Natasha said. “A play on… you know.”
Todd laughed easily.
“I've really missed your sense of humor.” Ward smiled, leaned over, and kissed his wife. “I've decided that I'm going to sell the company.” He looked up into Natasha's eyes, waiting for her response.
“To Dibble?” Natasha asked, taking a sip of water.
“It's the only offer on the table. With the money we can move and start over somewhere. Maybe Seattle.” When he said it, he had a thought that rocked him to his core. And leave Barney here? He wondered if the same thought hit his wife, because he saw her eyes lose their focus for a second. Or was she thinking about the partnership offer from her old professor?
“I just can't picture Trey Dibble running your father's company. I'm afraid I'm going to have to vote against it.”
“I think Dibble is behind the virus,” Todd said. “I don't think it's Lander Electric. Except for your son's accident, they're squeakyclean. This is just business with them, and with Dibble it's probably more personal than business. Everything I've found out about Trey Dibble tells me he's one seriously ruined bowl of fruit. He hangs with some pretty rough customers-some of which are known drug dealers and one connected to organized crime.”
“I have no choice, Natasha. You've seen how people look at me, how your own patients turned against you. How many of our many friends have showed up at the driveway or tried to see us to show their support?”
“The problem is my patients’ parents,” Natasha said, smiling sadly “My patients like me.”
