Лиза Гарднер - Never Tell - A Novel (A D.D. Warren and Flora Dane Novel)

D.D. shook her head. “It had to be something more direct than that. He found something. Serious enough someone didn’t just kill him, but burned down your home. Except they’re still worried. Why would they still be worried? So they went after your place next.” She looked at Delaney. “Because you’re Evie’s lawyer, or because this person knows you learned the truth about Conrad?”

“I have no idea,” Delaney answered coolly.

“Who did you speak with this morning?”

“Just a former friend of my father’s,” Evie volunteered. “Dr. Katarina Ivanova. She and my father were involved once. I thought maybe … maybe she’d grown jealous. She’d shot him.”

D.D. couldn’t help herself. “And?”

“I don’t think Dr. Ivanova gets jealous. She just moves on to bigger prey.”

D.D. frowned again. The more information she got, the less anything made sense. Evie’s father’s death. Evie’s husband’s death. Evie investigating her father. Evie’s husband, investigating two different major cases.

A lot of stirring the pot of past secrets and current crimes. Any number of things could’ve risen to the surface. But what tied it all together? Two shootings. Two house fires. There had to be one connection.

Phil appeared beside her. “We have a sighting.”

She didn’t need to ask of whom. “Where?”

“Boarded the T three blocks from here. Green Line.”

“Get MBTA on it,” she ordered, referring to the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority police.

“Already done.”

“You two”—she skewered Delaney and Evie—“sit tight. No more running around asking dangerous questions. We’ve got enough going on.”

Then D.D. was on the move, phone in hand. She had one last tool to deploy. Someone who already knew Rocket Langley, who was intimately familiar with the city’s subway system, and who could move faster and hit harder than any police officer could.

She called Flora.

Chapter 33 FLORA

KEITH IS TYPING FURIOUSLY. FROM my angle behind Quincy’s shoulder—the FBI agent is still videoing the computer screen—it’s harder for me to make out all the words. Not to mention Keith seems to be using some kind of shorthand known by computer geeks and cybercriminals.

I catch snippets of the exchange. The usual long time, no see. Keith answering he’s been on an extended getaway, which seems to serve as a euphemism for prison. Which is then followed by a stream of questions I don’t get at all.

When Quincy murmurs some of the answers, I start to understand. The online target is trying to establish that Keith really has been incarcerated. Which prison, block, hey what’d you think of the corned beef? A level of specificity that never would’ve occurred to me, and without Quincy standing there, I’m not sure Keith could’ve handled. He’s sweating profusely. But he resolutely clacks away, building I. N. Verness’s story of being gone from the game for a bit, but now out and ready for some action.

“Don’t go to him,” Quincy murmurs, placing a steadying hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith had just typed, I’m interested in …

“Make him come to you,” Quincy continues.

My phone rings. I check the screen, see it’s D.D., and take a step away from the table.

“Flora,” I answer.

“Rocket Langley is back in action. Just torched Dick Delaney’s house. No one was hurt, but uniforms caught sight of Rocket leaving the area. Hopped on the Green Line, headed in the direction of Lechmere.”

I frown. “Do you have eyes on him now? Green Line is a major subway vein. Plenty of places for him to get off or switch lines.”

“We have transit authority searching. But you’ve met him. You know how he thinks. I thought you might want to help.”

I nod. So far, fighting cybercrime consists mostly of sitting around watching Keith type. I should be more patient. But I’m not. I prefer my action face-to-face.

“Why do you think he burned Delaney’s place?” I ask now. “Isn’t that Evie’s defense attorney?”

“According to Delaney and Evie, they have no idea.” D.D.’s tone is droll.

“First Evie’s house, then her attorney’s.” I try to follow the thought. “Someone’s trying to destroy something, but what?”

“Oh, it gets weirder. We’re now relatively sure Conrad Carter was investigating two different Florida cases, one of which probably got his parents killed.”

“Conrad is Batman? Turned into a lone crime fighter to avenge his parents’ death?”

“I’m surrounded by nut jobs with no respect for law enforcement,” D.D. agrees. “One of the cases involved two missing women, which may be what put Jacob Ness on Conrad’s radar screen. Oh, and Dick Delaney, Evie’s attorney, knew Conrad’s true identity. Delaney ran a background check on Conrad when he and Evie started dating.”

“Did Evie know about Batman, or did she just think she was married to Bruce Wayne?”

“I hate you,” D.D. informs me.

But I have a thought now. I have no idea if it’s any good or not, but I lower my cell briefly and check back in with Keith and Quincy.

“Hey, I have Sergeant Warren on the phone. We have a question. Has I. N. Verness gotten this dude to talk … product”—I hate the word even as I use it—“yet?”

“Getting there,” Keith mutters.

“Can you ask about a mutual friend?”

Both Keith and Quincy stare at me. “Who?” Quincy asks.

“Conrad Carter. He’s been using the dark web to conduct his own investigation into missing women. If this is all about human trafficking, and Jacob was using his name—I. N. Verness—to make connections on the web, then chances are he crossed paths with Conrad, right? That’s why Conrad was in the bar meeting Jacob. Because his username—um, Jacob called him Conner at the bar—and Jacob’s username had made arrangements.”

Keith nods.

“I. N. Verness hasn’t been logged on in six years. But Conrad was probably active right up till his death Tuesday night. So if we can establish what he was doing, who he last was in contact with, that may give us a bead on his killer, and maybe another connection with Jacob.”

Keith looks up at Quincy. She nods. He starts typing again.

“I think it’s the dark web,” I tell D.D. by phone.

“ What’s the dark web?”

“Your connection. Jacob used it to perfect his crimes. Conrad used it to investigate crimes. Even Rocket Langley—I bet he’s on it, as well. Services for hire, right? He’s exactly the kind of vendor people on the dark web are looking for.”

“Rocket has some loose-brick drop-box system for making contact.”

“No,” I correct the detective. “That’s for getting payment. He’s not sophisticated enough for Bitcoin. But he has a smartphone, and he’s gotta get clients somehow, right? Why not have a local flyer, so to speak, on the world’s most invisible want ads?”

“It’s possible,” D.D. muttered. “Used to be the local hoodlum was just the local hoodlum. But for a kid Rocket’s age, the internet is simply one more tool in his pocket. Why not use it to find new and improved ways to make fire?”

I turn my attention to Keith again. “How hard would it be for an arsonist for hire to set up an account on the dark web?” I ask him. “I mean is it just like preparing a business ad, but … well, secret?”

“Getting established as a vendor would take some doing,” Keith reports from his seat at the dining room table. “For starters, there’s a wait list.”

This shocks me. “There’s a wait list on the dark web?”

“Absolutely. And quite a few hoops a buyer or seller must jump through. Remember, the goal is to be anonymous, but at the same time, vendors have to establish credit and credibility. You don’t want any idiot making promises they can’t deliver. Or conversely, buying services they can’t pay for.”