Неизвестный - 5. Justice Served

“I’ll take another run at Clark myself,” Rebecca said stonily. “If he’s holding something back now, then he’d better have a very good reason for it.”

Watts muttered a disparaging observation about Clark’s lineage, then continued, “The only other thing I got was the possible lead at Port Authority.”

“Go ahead and Þ ll in the others,” Rebecca advised.

Watts recounted his trip to the property room, his discovery of a few of Hogan’s unÞ led papers, and the undercover detective’s interest

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in activity at the Port of Philadelphia. “We’re gonna take a run down there today to check things out.”

Rebecca studied Sloan, who had a faint frown line between her brows. “What do you think?”

“I suppose it’s possible that Hogan tripped onto something illegal on the docks that got him killed. Stolen cars coming in by boat, a drug shipment, wholesale-container thefts—there’s a lot of merchandise moving on those docks every day. It’s not that difÞ cult to divert a tractor-trailer full of electronics or other pricey commodities to a warehouse somewhere. One ‘misplaced’ shipment among hundreds every day is going to take a while to catch anyone’s attention.”

“That’s what we think too,” Rebecca said. “At least it’s a plausible explanation for why someone would be willing to risk killing two cops.

Protecting an operation as lucrative as that could be worth it.”

“It won’t be all that easy to prove,” Jason remarked. “Tracking those shipments is going to be time-consuming.”

Rebecca gave a feral grin. “I Þ gure there has to be a way to do it by computer.”

Both Sloan’s and Jason’s eyes sparkled. In unison they said,

“Maybe.”

“Let’s get a feel for the situation down there, and then we’ll put some pressure on Port Authority to let us have a look into their system.”

Watts snorted. “That could take some doing. Port Authority cops aren’t always the most cooperative.”

That was, Rebecca knew, an unfortunate fact. More often than not, law enforcement agencies were not terribly forthcoming when it came to sharing intelligence. Sometimes not even about sharing basic operational information. What it came down to was that everyone protected their own turf in an attempt to ensure the longevity of their own positions. “We’ll be…insistent.”

That idea seemed to please Watts, because he grinned and crossed his hands over his belly, a contented man. Rebecca nodded in Sloan’s direction. “Go ahead.”

Sloan gave no sign of tension, other than her Þ sts clenched around the coffee mug, as she spoke in a level, quiet tone. “The network connecting the various departments at Police Plaza and City Hall is lousy with worms and viruses. Someone has been monitoring almost

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everything that goes on down there…I can’t say exactly for how long…

but more than a year.”

“That takes sophisticated computer know-how,” Mitchell said.

“You’re right. And I doubt that anyone inside the system could do it. I haven’t seen any sign of that level of internal expertise. I’d say the job was probably shipped out to a hacker who programmed the malicious code on a laptop and then handed that off to someone who worked inside. They carried the laptop into the building, connected it to the network, and let the beasts loose.”

“The Mob has the resources to pull off something like that,” Jason observed.

“They do. On the other hand,” Sloan said as she kept her eyes on Rebecca, “so do the feds. It’s hard to know who your enemies are anymore.”

“Can you Þ nd out who’s behind it?”

“Not directly,” Sloan admitted. “If the programs were encrypted off-site and delivered from a remote location via laptop, the hacker is essentially untraceable.”

Watts groaned.

“But I can trackback to the internal source of the contamination.”

“To whoever logged in to the network and injected the virus into the system,” Mitchell said.

“Right.” Sloan sipped her coffee, careful to keep the tremor from her hand. “George Beecher. The ADA.”

“Son of a bitch,” Watts whispered. He suddenly sat up straighter, his palms ß at on the tabletop, his attention riveted to Rebecca. “Can we pick up the slimy little bastard? I’d like to get him alone in a room.”

“Sloan?” Rebecca countered. “Is there enough for a warrant?”

Sloan shook her head. “Right now, all I can do is show that his computer was the source point for the intrusion. His attorneys would simply argue that that kind of evidence is circumstantial. Anyone could’ve logged on to his computer when he wasn’t around and uploaded the malicious code.”

“Are we even sure it’s him?” Rebecca asked, all too aware that Sloan was barely able to be objective, given the situation. She wasn’t surprised when Sloan stiffened, her eyes growing cool.

“I’ve now tracked two intrusions from two different network

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points—Captain Henry’s ofÞ ce and the forensics lab—back to him.

Give me enough time, I’ll Þ nd you a dozen.”

“It still doesn’t prove that he personally is responsible.”

“Then maybe we should pay him a visit,” Sloan said ß atly.

“And…ask.”

Mitchell shifted subtly in her seat, then said, “What we need is corroborative evidence. Maybe Jason and I can Þ nd some connection in Beecher’s personal data that will strengthen our case.” She gave Jason a questioning look. “What if we really hit him hard—dig down another layer. If it’s him, we’ll Þ nd hidden bank accounts somewhere. Real estate transactions. Stocks. Unaccounted-for expenditures. Something.”

“We can phish him too,” Jason thought aloud. “See if we can get him to bite on a fake request for credit card information from one of the Internet video porn sites. If nothing else, we can squeeze him with that.”

“Do it,” Rebecca said. “Today.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mitchell said, her voice tight with anticipation.

“I’ve got street sources looking for other girls who’ve been hired for the porn shoots,” Rebecca went on. “We’ll show his picture around.

Maybe he likes to sample the merchandise.”

Mitchell stared straight ahead, her posture rigid. Rebecca saw the reaction but noted with satisfaction that this time Mitchell kept her temper in check. It took effort, and Rebecca gave her points for it.

“Watts and I,” Rebecca Þ nished, “will ride down to the docks today and see if we can get a line on what Hogan was chasing down there. Tonight, we’ll take shifts watching Beecher. Sooner or later he’ll misstep.” Rebecca rose, indicating the meeting was over. Turning to Sloan, she said quietly, “Let’s take a walk.”

Wordlessly, Sloan followed her to the elevator. Once inside, Rebecca leaned a shoulder against the wall and slid her hands into her trouser pockets. “Are you going to be able to handle this Beecher situation?”

The elevator doors glided open, and they walked across the garage to the street door. Sloan hit the exit bar with her hip, and the two of them stepped out into bright, cold October sunshine.

“It depends on what happens, I guess,” Sloan Þ nally replied.

“That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

Sloan angled her head and smiled at Rebecca humorlessly. “What

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did you expect me to say? That it would be all right with me if he goes free or cuts a deal? Even if we can Þ nd enough evidence to nail him?”

She wore only an oxford shirt and jeans with no jacket, but the wind did not seem to bother her. “If he walks, you’d best look the other way.”