preferences had nothing to do with it.”
“I thought maybe it was your first husband-that he married you because he was a fan.”
“What else did you find out?” Ali asked.
“That you carry a gun,” B. said. “One of the articles I read, or maybe even a couple of them, mentioned something about that. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is,” Ali said. “I carry a Glock. I have a license to carry it, and I know how to use it, and maybe that’s not such a bad thing. What if the guy who killed Morgan Forester is also our identity thief?”
That question was followed by a quiet intake of breath on B.’s part. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
Over the next few minutes, she brought him up to date with everything that had gone on over the course of the morning. In telling B. about the possible connection between Morgan’s killer and the Foresters’ destroyed computer files, Ali succeeded in convincing herself as well.
“If you’re right about this, the killer already knows way too much about you,” B. said when she’d finished. “And it probably is a good thing you’re armed and dangerous, but we have to bring Detective Holman in on all this.”
“We don’t have any real proof that the two bad guys are one and the same.”
“We don’t have any proof that they’re not,” B. insisted. “And if we even suspect that there’s a connection, we need to let him know.”
“All right,” Ali agreed. “I’ll call him as soon as I get off the phone with you. But what about those two thumb drives? I offered them to Dave, and he dissed them, assuming that Bryan had already gone through them and deleted whatever he didn’t want seen. But what are the chances that they’re also infected and something will overwrite all the files on the next computer someone uses to try accessing them? I was looking at Bryan’s files earlier, and there didn’t seem to be any problem, but…”
“Were you off-line at the time?”
“Yes.”
“I should probably take a look at both of those drives,” B. said. “If there’s a Trojan lurking in them, maybe I can disable it before it does any damage. Right now, though, I’m still working on that encryption problem. I think we’re getting close, and I don’t want to walk away from it. Could you maybe drop the thumb drives off here at the house?”
“Where is that?” Ali asked.
“The Village of Oak Creek,” he said. “Overlooking a golf course.”
“Which one?”
“The one by the Hilton.”
“Okay,” Ali said. “I’m on my way.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“So where are you?”
“Just coming into Sedona from Cottonwood. Why?”
“Do me a favor,” he said. “I’m famished. I haven’t taken the time to go have breakfast, and there’s no food here-plenty of coffee but no food.”
“What do you want?” Ali asked.
“One of your dad’s meatloaf sandwiches.”
“Done,” Ali said. “Meatloaf it is.”
CHAPTER 13
On his way down from Sedona, Dave Holman had notified the Scottsdale police of his impending arrival and of the possible connection between their case and his. Driving to the address he’d been given in the far northern reaches of Scottsdale, Dave was surprised to find himself in a neighborhood of relatively modest tract homes that had been built years before far more affluent housing had grown up around them. The garage door of the house stood open, but the opening was strung with yellow crime-scene tape, and a pair of uniformed officers were stationed outside.
Led inside by one of the uniforms, Dave introduced himself to Scottsdale homicide detective Sean O’Brien and to Matthew Morrison’s widow.
“I still don’t understand why you won’t let me use my car,” a surprisingly poised and dry-eyed Jenny Morrison was saying. “After all, since Matthew died in his Toyota, I don’t see what any of it has to do with my Acura. How can I go about planning a funeral if I can’t even drive my car?”
An aggrieved widow rather than a grieving one, Dave thought. Someone who’s far more concerned about being able to drive her car than she is about finding out what happened to her husband.
“As I explained earlier,” Detective O’Brien said, “for right now, the entire garage is considered part of the crime scene until we have a chance to have our CSI team process it-”
“But there wasn’t any crime,” Jenny insisted. “I’m telling you, what happened to Matt has to be an accident. He would never commit suicide or do anything at all that would attract this kind of attention. Not on purpose. It’s totally out of character.”
“So what do you think happened?” Dave asked.
“Who the hell are you?” Jenny asked.
“Detective Holman,” Dave said, handing over his ID. “Yavapai County Sheriff’s Department. We’re working on a related case. Now, getting back to your husband-”
Jenny shrugged impatiently. “He called me yesterday afternoon at work and left me a message. He said there’d been some kind of problem at work and that he would be late getting home. Once he got it straightened out, he must have had a drink or two with a colleague on his way home. He passed out in the car without ever turning off the engine.”
“Was that something he did often?” Detective O’Brien asked. “Have ‘one too many’ on his way home from work?”
“No,” Jenny said. “But there’s always a first time, isn’t there?”
Jenny turned back to Detective O’Brien. “I already went over all this with you. Do I have to repeat it to him?”
“Please answer the question, Mrs. Morrison,” O’Brien said. “Believe me, the more information we all have, the easier it’ll be to get to the bottom of this.”
Jenny Morrison gave an exaggerated sigh. “All right, then,” she said. “In answer to your question, no, Matthew didn’t seem particularly upset. If anything, he seemed pretty cheerful.”
“Not what you’d call depressed,” Detective O’Brien offered.
“No more than usual,” Jenny replied.
“What do you mean?”
“My husband was never what you’d call a wild and carefree guy. He was an auditor. The only thing he would have liked more than working for the state would have been working for the IRS. In other words, he wasn’t ever a bundle of laughs. In fact, he may have known a joke or two, but I never heard him tell one. He was just a regular guy who wore a suit and tie when he went to work every day. After work, he came home, ate dinner, watched TV or messed around on his computer, and then went to bed. Mr. Regular-as-Clockwork.”
“Did he have dealings with anyone in or around Sedona?” Dave asked.
“Probably. Matthew had dealings with people from all over the state,” Jenny said. “Like I said, he worked for the auditor general. I’m sure she can tell you which accounts he was working on.”
“Did he mention anything to you about maybe going to Sedona this past Monday morning?”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken about that,” Jenny said. “He told me he had a Monday-morning meeting in Tucson. He brought home a motor-pool vehicle on Friday so he’d be able to leave for Tucson bright and early on Monday.”
