partner and the two of them discussed everything they knew about Black Light, which took about five minutes. They didn’t really know if he existed or was a fantasy made up by a few hackers. Frank decided they should contact all the hackers who had men tioned Black Light in their correspondence. That would be the best bet. He was thinking the cyberghost would be one of them.
‘‘I’ll contact the university too,’’ said Frank. ‘‘ACM may know something. They deal with a lot of gifted computer programmers.’’
Diane nodded. Then her eyes got wide and she sat up and looked at Frank.
‘‘What?’’ he said.
‘‘HAL. Did you know, if you advance one letter in the alphabet, HAL turns into IBM? Arthur C. Clarke said it was unintentional, but it’s kind of cool.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ said Frank. ‘‘It’s cool. So . . . why did that make you suddenly sit up and take notice?’’
‘‘If you do the same to Black Light,
Chapter 49
‘‘Who is CM?’’ asked Frank. ‘‘I don’t remember a mention of a CM.’’
‘‘Because, like your Black Light, he is completely under the radar. He’s a student in Advanced Compu tational Methods, he quit his job at a bank right after the murders of Jefferies and Peeks, and he took a photograph of me just a few days ago with his digital camera. His name is Caleb Miller and he is a great kid who loves his brother, does well in school, and— I hope I’m wrong.’’
‘‘I haven’t heard the name,’’ said Frank, as if that was in Caleb’s favor. ‘‘Malcolm Chen’s initials are CM backwards, as in Chen, Malcolm. I don’t know if that mean’s anything, but there it is.’’
Diane nodded. ‘‘And he was a hacker. But was he a programmer? Aren’t there different levels of skill among hackers?’’ she asked. ‘‘And he has been dead for a couple of months.’’
‘‘There are levels, and programmers are the top of the hacker pyramid in many cases, but the levels are very blurred. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if Chen was a programmer. And yes, he’s been dead for months, but his program—if it is his program—could remain active years after his death.’’
‘‘We still have the same problem: Why contact me? At the time of his death, Chen wouldn’t have any idea that I would be back in charge of the crime lab. Caleb would
She looked at her watch. It was a little after ten p.m. ‘‘We have to go see him,’’ she said.
‘‘Do you know where he lives?’’ said Frank. ‘‘We’ll have to ask Janice to go with us.’’
‘‘He’s not in her jurisdiction,’’ she said.
Diane called Sheriff Bruce Canfield and gave him a brief summary of why she needed to talk with Caleb.
‘‘I know Caleb is involved in computers, but I find it hard to believe he would be mixed up in this,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘He’s a nice young man. He’s never given his grandparents a minute’s trouble. Neither of the boys have.’’
‘‘From the brief times I met with him, I found him to be a great kid too,’’ said Diane, ‘‘but I would like to speak with him just the same.’’
‘‘Can’t this wait until tomorrow? It’s mighty late. The Wilsons are farmers,’’ he said. ‘‘They go to bed early and get up early.’’
‘‘It would be good if we could get this done soon,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Wait a minute,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘I just remem bered. My cousin does some of Arlen’s chores when he has to be out of town, and he mentioned something about Arlen going into Atlanta with the family to visit the boys’ Miller kin. He said they would be back late. We may catch them up. Meet me at my office and I’ll drive you out there. But I have to tell you, I think this is thin.’’
‘‘I agree that it is not conclusive,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But Caleb may know some of the people we’re interested in because of the classes he takes at the university. He may be able to help us with the program that was on Jefferies’ computer if we describe it to him.’’
‘‘All this computer stuff is just so much Greek to me. I’ll see you at my office. I’m driving my pickup. It’s a big silver Super Duty. I’ll be out front. Are you bringing Rosewood detectives?’’
‘‘No. Frank will be with me,’’ said Diane.
‘‘That’s okay then. I don’t want Rosewood thinking they can cross the city limits anytime they want.’’
Frank drove out to the Rose County Sheriff’s Of fice. Bruce Canfield was waiting for them when they drove up, standing by his silver truck dressed not in his uniform, but in jeans, a flannel shirt, and an open fleece-lined denim jacket.
He and Frank shook hands and they climbed into the cab of the truck. Diane sat between them.
‘‘Buckle up. I didn’t call to tell them we’re coming, just in case you’re right and he is involved in this somehow. But I’ll be real surprised if he is.’’
‘‘Me too,’’ said Diane, fastening her seat belt. ‘‘By the way, we found out Bryce had a man named Curtis Crabtree throw your bones in the river.’’
‘‘That son of a bitch threw them in the river? I ought to make him wade out until he finds them.’’
As the sheriff drove out to
Diane and Frank gave him a
events. The sheriff whistled.
Arlen Wilson’s farm, rundown on current
‘‘If that’s not just the worst bunch of . . .’’ Words seemed to fail him. ‘‘You’re telling me they were plan ning on killing you and Mrs. Van Ross? What is Rose wood coming to? When that Jefferies was running for mayor, I didn’t like him one bit. Too slick. But of course it didn’t matter, since I wasn’t voting in that election. The wife said he couldn’t be trusted. She saw his picture in the paper with the governor a lot. Said she didn’t like his face. ’Course, the wife doesn’t like any politicians. I wasn’t fond of Mayor Sutton, but he’s a damn sight better than Jefferies was. You peo ple sure know how to pick ’em. Now, I’ve heard peo ple say some real nice things about Edward Van Ross. That family’s been around here a long time. I know a lot of people would like to see him run in
