James Grippando - Afraid of the Dark

“Jamal didn’t kill your daughter.”

Mays narrowed his eyes, and Jack braced himself for that punch.

“I guess we’ll never know,” said Mays.

“I think his killer is the same person who killed your wife. And I think whoever killed your wife also killed your daughter.”

The fire hissed, and the last remnants of Jack’s marshmallow burst into flames on a charred log.

Jack continued. “Technically, the attorney-client privilege survives the death of a client, but there are things about his detention in Prague that would have come out at trial, and that Jamal wanted you to know. For one, Jamal’s interrogators threatened to kill McKenna if he didn’t talk.”

That drew a slight reaction-enough for Jack to discern that it was the first time Mays had heard it.

“What did they want to know?” asked Mays.

“The questions were all about the work he was doing for you. Project Round Up, to be specific.”

“I don’t talk about that.”

“Neither did Jamal-which got him killed. So tell me: Why would someone in Prague interrogate him about Project Round Up?”

No response. A burning log shifted, sending sparks fluttering upward like a swarm of fireflies.

“Does it have to do with national security?” Jack asked. “Rounding up terrorists?”

Mays stared into the fire, apparently unwilling even to consider the question.

“I know much more than you think I do,” said Jack, though he was careful not to use Andie’s name. “I know that the FBI seized Jamal’s computers after McKenna was murdered, and that they found encrypted messages that related to terrorist organizations.”

Mays leaned forward, poking at the ashes with his stick. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“Did you know his father was a recruiter for al-Shabaab?”

“I wouldn’t know al-Shabaab from shish kebab.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Nobody told me anything about his old man until after Jamal was indicted for murder.”

Jack hesitated, but this was getting frustrating. “We’re tap dancing here,” said Jack, “so let me just say it straight: I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will. Because I’ve got a theory, and I think it’s a good one. Like everyone else in your business, you want to be the go-to guy for technology and homeland security.”

“Is that a crime?”

“No. But it’s not merely patriotic. It’s profitable. I think you and Jamal were working on a supercomputer that could find and tap into encrypted messages between suspected terrorists. I think Jamal was using his father to get access to those messages so that you could test your decoding algorithms. Maybe Jamal even pretended to be sympathetic to his father’s cause. That’s what got him on somebody’s terrorist watch list. That’s what got him abducted and taken to a black site in Prague for interrogation. And that’s why his father was willing to help him when he ran to Somalia.”

Mays mocked him with a round of slow, hollow applause. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

“Am I right?”

“Not even close. But let me know when you sell the movie rights. I’ll pop the popcorn for you.”

“I can handle that on my own,” said Jack. “But there’s something else you can help me with.”

“Yeah, there’s something you can help me with, too,” Mays said, his hand moving up and down in a vulgar gesture.

Jack ignored it. “After your wife disappeared, a Miami-Dade homicide detective questioned Jamal’s mother. He told her that Shada was following her own leads, trying to find McKenna’s killer. She had some online communications-possibly with the killer himself. Do you know anything about that?”

“Nope.”

“The cops thought it was Jamal she was in contact with, but I don’t believe it was. Like I said, I think there are three victims here-McKenna, Shada, and Jamal-but only one killer. I’d love to get my hands on those online communications.”

“I can’t help you there.”

Jack could have recited the man’s resume to dispute it. “Here’s the thing,” said Jack. “If your supercomputers can search eight billion files in an instant-which is what you told me yours can do-then you most certainly can help me. What you’re telling me is that you won’t.”

“Same bottom line,” said Mays.

Jack rose. He knew that Mays was the key to any computer-related evidence involving his wife, but it was clear that tonight was not going to be the breakthrough. He just needed to plant the right seed.

“You’re right: McKenna’s killer remains unpunished, free to kill again. Same bottom line.”

Jack grabbed his jacket and headed back toward the house, feeling a surprising chill in the night air as he distanced himself from the fire.

“Swyteck,” said Mays.

Jack stopped and turned. He was halfway through the garden.

“You got a few more minutes?” asked Mays.

Jack shrugged. He had all night, if that was what it was going to take. “Sure. What’s up?”

Mays pushed himself up from his seat on the log and started toward him on the footpath. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Jack was awake half the night thinking about Shada Mays’ text message.

Last week’s tip from Jamal’s mother had been slightly off the mark. The police didn’t have any e-mails. It was a text-message exchange-just one-between Shada and someone using a pirated cell phone (owner unknown). Shada’s cell phone had disappeared along with her, so it had taken a subpoena from law enforcement to turn up the day-old text message on the carrier’s server. There were also records of phone calls to and from the same pirated cell, but there was no way of knowing what was said in those conversations. The single text was chilling enough, starting with a question from the man suspected of being McKenna’s killer:

“Are you afraid?”

“Not at all.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“No way. Never. I will see you tomorrow.”

Jack probably would have guessed it, but the date on the message confirmed as much: “Tomorrow” was the day Shada had gone missing.

Still, Jack wasn’t sure how to read it. Was she being defiant? No way, you killed my daughter, but you will never intimidate me, you son of a bitch. Was she playing the role of the “good cop”? Don’t worry, accidents happen, I’ll see you tomorrow and you can tell me your side of the story. They were merely printed words-no voice inflection, no context, no way to know for sure. The first line-Are you afraid?-was intriguing, and the addition of just three more words-of The Dark-would have all but confirmed in Jack’s mind that McKenna, Shada, Jamal, and Ethan Chang were all killed by the same man. As it was, that was still a distinct possibility.

Or someone was trying very hard to make it look that way.

The telephone rang on his nightstand, and Jack shot bolt upright in bed. His room was dark, but he hadn’t really been sleeping. A call at 3:40 A.M. was never a good thing, and his first thought was of his grandfather in the nursing home.

“Hello?” he said.

There was no answer, but Jack sensed that someone was on the line.

“Who is this?” said Jack.

“Is this Mr. Swyteck?” The voice was beyond tentative. It sounded like a teenage girl-a frightened teenage girl.

“Yes,” said Jack. “Who’s calling?”

“You don’t know me, but… you were the lawyer for Jamal, right?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I-I can’t tell you that.”

Her English was good, but she spoke with an accent. German, maybe. “Where are you calling from?”

“I can’t really tell you that, either.”