Allison Brennan - Cutting Edge

“Russ didn’t work for me, I hired him for Butcher-Payne. He was employed by Jim and Jonah. I did the background check on him, I don’t know what I missed-”

“Maybe nothing.”

“When I get into his laptop, maybe I can figure it out. But this just doesn’t make sense. He drove all the way to Reno … why?”

“Jonah Payne’s vacation house is only thirty or so miles from here, in Dollar Point. Were Dr. Payne and Larkin friends outside of work?”

“Not that I know of. Jonah’s weekends away were always private after his wife died. He didn’t date much, if at all. He was all about his work. Russ was young, smart but only about computers. He didn’t care about the science end of Butcher-Payne, only the computer end. I’ve been going over his files, and nothing jumps out at me.”

“Where did Larkin go to college?”

“Fresno State. Graduated in 2003, worked for the state for two years, then I hired him for an insurance company we consulted for in 2005. It was in Fresno, and he wanted to move up here, so I was looking for something for him, and Butcher-Payne needed an I.T. guy when they expanded in 2006. He’s been there since.”

“Why did Larkin want to move to Sacramento?”

“I don’t know. Probably job opportunity. He was from a small town in the central valley, and Sacramento is a lot more appealing than Fresno.”

“Could he have been seduced?”

“Into what-giving away security codes? I don’t think so. He didn’t seem the type to be so naive.”

“But if he was involved with a woman, maybe she had access and he didn’t know.”

“Possible, but that doesn’t explain how the killer knew about the test code. When I trained Russ, we did it on-site. There’s nothing written down.”

“He didn’t write anything down?”

Duke considered that. It was possible, sure, but after all this time … “I don’t know.”

Dressler came back with a box. “Sign this.” He used his chin to gesture to the slip of paper on top.

One (1) HP Laptop Model 8730 recovered from passenger seat, in leather case .

Two (2) Flash drives, 2 MB. Blue: in center console. Green: in pocket of leather case of laptop .

One (1) Wallet, black, leather, initials RAL embossed on front. Contents: California Driver’s License D-0009874 Russell Anton Larkin, Roseville. $67 cash. VISA check card from Golden 1 Credit Union. VISA Credit Card from Chase. Shell Gas Card. Three wallet photos. Membership card, fitness center. Starbucks card. Medical card. Electronic security card, unmarked, blue. One blank check number 988 in victim’s name and address. Three receipts: Shell Gas, Roseville CA dated 9/26/09 for 14.5 gallons; Starbucks #NV731 time-stamped 10:05 a.m. 9/27/09 for $9.55; Shell Gas, Reno NV dated 9/27/09 for 7.6 gallons, time-stamped 11:58 a.m .

One (1) backpack, dark green. Contents: T-shirt, jeans, socks, underwear, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, prescription Motrin filled 7/17/09 at Raley’s Pharmacy, Roseville, Dr. Booth; disposable razor .

One (1) Key ring with five (5) keys. One key for Honda Civic, registered to vic; four keys unknown .

One (1) day planner, rubber-banded .

“Thank you for your diligence,” Nora said as she signed the receipt. They each kept a copy.

Duke barely heard her. He was reading the list carefully and was itching to open the planner, head over to the Starbucks to see if anyone remembered Russ, and crack open his laptop. Something was here, he had to find it.

“Don’t break the chain of evidence,” Dressler admonished.

“I’ll be careful,” Nora said, taking the box.

They walked back to Sara Ralston. Nora said, “Can you ride him and see what you get from the car? Prints, fibers, anything. If you think we need to take anything to Sacramento, let me know and I’ll get my ASAC on it. We have an escalating serial killer on our hands, and time is critical.”

“I love getting to play the big, bad fed,” Sara said. “And getting out of the damn smoky casinos for the next few days? I owe you one.”

“You can pay it back now-” Nora opened the box, pulled out the individually bagged receipts. “Where’s this Starbucks and this Shell station?”

“Easy. The Shell station is five or six blocks down East Forty-third, right at the exit.” She pointed to the intersection. “The Starbucks-that’s the one closest to the state university. Hop on the freeway, head east, take the next exit, and I think this street runs right into the main drag. Before you hit the entrance, it’s a one-way street on your right.”

Nora and Duke swung by the gas station first; the owner, likely from India, based on his thick accent and appearance, had been working on Sunday, but either didn’t understand Nora’s questions or didn’t remember the man in the blue Ford Explorer who came in Sunday morning. He did, however, understand her badge. When she pointed to the security cameras, he brought them around to his side of the counter to show them four black-and-white televisions, which showed static angles of the two gas pumps, the bathroom entrance, and a wide shot of the inside of the small convenience store.

Duke inspected the equipment and shook his head. “It’s live feed. Not recorded.”

“Meaning there are no tapes?” Nora asked.

“Exactly.”

“What’s the point of having security if you don’t have recordings?”

“It’s supposed to be a deterrent, and to give the clerk an advance sign if there’s going to be trouble.”

“Seems shortsighted to me,” Nora mumbled.

They left the gas station and drove to the Starbucks where Russ had been only hours before his death. This neighborhood fit the image of a college town with several cheap restaurants, a few clothing stores, bookstores, and a large corner Starbucks with tables inside and out. It was noon and the sun beat down on the desert city. They stepped into the cool, air-conditioned Starbucks. It was busy, half full with mostly college students, some chatting, some working on laptops, some doing homework alone or in groups. The scent of coffee had Nora’s stomach growling.

“What do you want?” Duke asked.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Your stomach says you’re lying. My treat.”

“She should shut up.” She was mildly embarrassed that her hunger was audible. “Iced mocha, with whipped cream.”

“Nora has a sweet tooth.”

“Nora needs the sugar,” she replied with a half smile. When they reached the cashier, Duke ordered and Nora asked to speak to the manager.

Shortly after their drinks were served, a cute blonde, not more than twenty-five years old, approached. “Can I help you?” Her long hair was pulled back and she wore no makeup. The green apron was tied three times around her impossibly skinny waist. Her nameplate read Sandy, Assistant Manager .

Nora introduced herself and Duke and asked if they could speak with her in private.

“We don’t really have the space in back,” Sandy said. She motioned to a vacant table in the corner.

It would have to do. They sat and Nora asked quietly, “We’re interested in this man.” She pushed over a photograph of Russell Larkin that Duke had brought. It was his DMV photo, enlarged, and printed on quality photo stock.

She looked. “I don’t know. Should I know him? I see a lot of people, and he might look familiar, but he has a familiar face, you know?”

Larkin was average, clean-cut and pleasant-looking without being a standout. “He’s just over six feet tall and thin. He was here Sunday morning.”

“I don’t work weekends-let me grab the schedule and see who was on then.”

The girl jumped up and Nora sipped her iced mocha. Duke had gotten her the largest size. It hit her empty stomach and felt like heaven. She really needed to eat regularly. She told herself that all the time, but still rarely managed to eat two meals a day.