Rene Gutteridge - Listen

But no. Not with all this hanging over Frank. He knew his best friend, and he knew he wasn’t behind this. Frank would never knowingly cause chaos in this town. And what would be the point of listening in on people’s conversations?

He rolled his fingers around on his temple, then dialed Lou Grayson’s cell phone.

“Grayson.”

“It’s Damien.”

“I need to call you back. We’ve got-”

“No. Listen to me. Your rookie is talking to the press. The Gavin kid.” Damien could hear Lou breathing. “Giving theories about Frank’s involvement with the Web site.”

The captain cursed. “They probably ambushed him at home. Doesn’t he know there’s protocol for this sort of thing?”

“I guess Frank hadn’t gotten to that yet,” Damien said flatly. “I want to know something. What is your investigation finding in regard to how these conversations are being recorded?”

A pause. “Off the record?”

“Yeah. Okay. Off the record.”

“We’re looking into the possibility that someone is using a laser listening device. They sell for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars but ironically can be built fairly cheaply.”

“Built? What do you mean?”

“I gotta go. Google it, and you’ll see what I mean.”

The line went dead. Damien googled “build a laser listening device.” Within seconds, he was reading step-by-step instructions on how to do it.

He scrolled down, trying to figure out how it worked. He learned they didn’t use a microphone. Instead, a change in light was measured by the way it reflected off a surface, usually a window. Wading through the scientific jargon, Damien read that basically the laser light reflected off the glass toward the operator would be shifted, continuously changing. By detecting this shift, the vibrations returned to the operator as sound.

Or something like that.

But what Damien found particularly interesting was that these types of devices could record conversations from a long distance without access to the space. All that was needed was a window. Because infrared laser light was invisible, detecting the device would be almost impossible.

Damien tried to think back to the conversations he read on the Web site. It seemed most of them would be conversations one would have indoors. It was impossible to prove, but the scenario was playing out better than anything else.

He continued to search, finding instructions on how to make a homemade device. It was mostly over his head, but anyone with even the slightest bit of interest in electronics or technology could probably pull it off.

Damien sat back in his chair, pondering it all. He’d considered bugs in phones and in homes but never a device like this.

But for Damien, the more important question was why. What was the purpose of this madness?

He slid the mysterious crossword from his briefcase. He reread the messages hidden there. Whoever was doing this knew Damien or at least knew of him. Knew that he constructed crossword puzzles.

And was still out there, no matter what anybody said.

The question was, why did he or she stop?

Damien withdrew from his file drawer the heavyweight paper he used to construct crosswords. The paper already had the lightly penciled boxes ready. He just had to color in the black spaces and make his puzzle.

Except this puzzle would hopefully solve another puzzle.

It was time to send a message in return.

Damien arrived home a little before 9 p.m. Kay, Hunter, and Jenna sat crowded on the couch in front of the big screen. Movie credits rolled.

Damien kissed the top of Kay’s head and clapped his kids on their shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Just a little movie and hang time.” Kay stood and turned to him. “We saved you some pizza.”

“Nice of you.” He grinned. He looked at Jenna, who was still seated, staring at the TV. “You okay?”

She rose, taking her plate off the coffee table. “Just tired. I’m going to shower and go to bed, okay, Mom?”

Kay took her plate and embraced her. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

“I gotta do my homework,” Hunter said, leaving his plate and bounding upstairs.

Damien retrieved the plate off the coffee table and followed Kay to the kitchen. “When is that kid going to learn to put his dishes up?”

Kay smiled as she rinsed Jenna’s in the sink. She glanced up the stairs, then turned off the water and faced Damien. “Reverend Caldwell wanted to see how we were doing.”

“Did he show up?”

“Show up? No, he called. Why?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the latest on Mike Toledo?”

“Wanted a lawyer, wouldn’t talk. They’re getting a warrant to search his house. That’s the last I heard. Lou called me and said they’re confident this is their guy. Now they just have to prove it.”

Kay sighed, fiddling with the edge of the dishcloth. “Does Jenna seem all right to you?”

“Why?”

“She seems sad to me.”

“She’s been through a lot.”

“Yeah, but she bounced back, was doing great. Lately she seems very mellow.”

“Have you talked to her about it?”

“I’ve dropped a few hints, but she always says she’s fine.” Kay threw the dishcloth on the counter. “Will you try?”

“You know me. I never know what to say-”

“Just try. Please. I want her to know she can talk to us.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

Kay hugged him, pressing her cheek against his. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. If it turns out to be Mike Toledo, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Kay stepped back. “It will mean justice, and that’s what Frank would’ve wanted. He would also want you to continue living your life.”

Damien couldn’t stop the tears.

Kay wiped them with her hands. “I know how much you miss him,” she whispered.

Damien pressed his wrists to each eye. “Yeah. I do.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll go upstairs, talk to her.”

“Thank you.”

Damien headed up the stairs and turned toward the kids’ rooms. He was just about to knock on Jenna’s door when he heard the shower running in the bathroom. He forgot. With every year that went by, ten minutes was added to the shower time. She was up to an hour now. It could be a while.

He decided to chat with Hunter while waiting. He tapped on the door and turned the knob.

As it cracked open, he saw a familiar sight… Hunter scrambling toward his desk, nearly knocking over his chair, practically diving for the mouse. Within seconds, he stood upright, working hard at mustering up a casual expression. “Hey, um, Dad.”

Damien felt flustered, yet deep inside there was some resolve building, something that told him it was time to confront the situation. Frank was no more, and even with Frank’s assurances that he’d talked to Hunter, Damien realized in that instant that there was nobody who could talk to Hunter except him. He was the father, and no matter how uncomfortable it got, he had to do it. He should do it.

Damien held his son’s gaze, which soon dropped to the carpet and one untied sneaker. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Damien’s courage quavered. He took a moment to compose himself. “There’s something on that computer you don’t want me to see, isn’t there?”

“No…” Hunter’s attention shifted to his computer. He stepped forward as if he were guarding a small animal.

“Look, I’m not mad. Disappointed, yes. But not mad. The truth is that I should’ve talked to you about this myself. Much earlier. I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to say. How to handle it well. And though Frank was always like an uncle to you, I should’ve talked to you myself.”