Call Me Killer (12 page)

“Right. That was kinda unexpected. Cranmore's father was a flake who ran through most of the family fortune. When Alec was young, the old man got himself killed climbing Mt. Everest. I guess he thought he could buy his way to the summit. Instead, he ran out of oxygen and froze to death. There's a book about it—the jerk got two other people killed when they tried to rescue him.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. So Alec grew up without all his ancestors’ wealth. He worked hard to turn things around. He gets a certain respect in town for rebuilding the family fortunes. Plus, he's one of the area's largest employers.”

“You're saying nice things, but your tone is kinda nasty.”

I shrugged. “He’s okay. I’m probably just jealous.”

“You shouldn't be,” she said fiercely. “You’re just as good as any billionaire, Griff.”

Whoa. Was this hacker chick actually starting to care about me?

There was a moment of embarrassed silence before she plunged on, “You know, there's something weird about this area. I know there are the two colleges and all that, but there are also several unusually big businesses hereabouts. Besides Marks and Cranmore, there's the Swan family across the river in Rolling Meadows. Randolph Swan et al.”

She was right. The Swan Corporation was huge. They’d been around even longer than the technology companies. I wasn’t even certain what they did.

Rory had been doing her research, obviously. She was scouring this area for anything suspicious she could find. Although I wasn't sure what was suspicious about a couple rich guys these days. Seemed like they were springing up everywhere.

“That's at least three billionaires in a four-mile radius.”

“I'm not sure they're all billionaires.”

“Okay, multi-millionaires, whatever. It's like a mini Silicon Valley around here.”

“So? We're not far from Boston. People go to hotshot schools like Harvard or MIT…” I gave her a smirk at the mention of her college “...and start successful companies. Not everybody leaves for Silicon Valley.”

“And Hadley knew these people, right?”

I shrugged. “She came from a wealthy family. I'm not sure how well she knew the rich folks around here, but she'd probably met them. She was outgoing and social. Marks, Cranmore, and Swan do a lot of charitable stuff. Foundations. Human rights work. Hadley admired what they were accomplishing. I think she was hoping she might get a job with one of them.”

“Are any of them kinky?”

“No clue. I don’t get invited to party with billionaires. Why? Are you thinking that one of these dudes had something to do with her disappearance?”

“I don't know. But she vanished so smoothly that you have to wonder if there was money behind it. Big money.”

“Let's not forget the random, traveling serial killer.”

She didn't even respond to that idea. Instead, she pushed her chair back from the table. “Let's go talk to him. This Marks guy. Find out if he knew her.”

“What? Are you crazy? You can't just go interrogate some billionaire in a restaurant.”

“Sure I can.” She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the idea. Before I could stop her, off she went.

Rory

Of course Griff didn't know that I wasn't intimidated by rich guys. I’d met my share. And I knew a little about the software companies in this area because of the whole job search thing. I’d done some research on possible opportunities in Massachusetts long before I’d come to this town.

I marched over to Silas Marks’ table in the corner of the room and planted myself beside his chair. Marks looked a tad overdressed for a steakhouse—he was wearing what was probably a $3000 charcoal grey suit—and every strand of his expensively-cut hair was in place.

Griff followed me, but I hoped he wouldn't interfere.

I had no idea who the other people at the table were, but they had the snooty air of rich techie types. Mostly men, but a few women, too. Not wearing suits, but high tech casual, which consisted of T-shirts with tech company emblems and a few button-downs. Slacks or jeans. Cell phones either in hand or sitting on the table next to their wine glasses.

A couple of guys had earpieces or smart glasses or other wearable tech. New stuff, priced higher than most MIT students could afford, what with loans and crappy part-time jobs. These dudes probably owned a shitload of stock, or maybe just options, and they all worked for Silas Marks.

They acted as if I was invisible. Probably assumed I was a server.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said politely.

Marks glanced at me without much interest. “Someone already took our order.”

“Oh, I don’t work here.” I flashed him a charming smile that I hoped wouldn’t make Griff jealous. I wanted to save my smiles for him. It struck me that Marks would probably be accounted hot by most of the females of the world, and he was also a gazillionaire, so he was used to women buttering him up. That thought killed my smile pretty quick.

He returned one of those arrogant, female-assessing looks. I was wearing a dress for a change and he gave my boobs his full attention. I hope Griff wouldn’t slug him before I even got my questions out.

“I just wanted to ask you a couple things. Sorry for interrupting your dinner. Although, I guess your food hasn’t come yet, has it?”

“Do I know you?” His voice was cold. I’d never met the guy before, so I didn’t know how he usually was with people. Griff had said that his friend and co-billionaire, Alec Cranmore, was famous around town for being friendly, but Marks didn’t seem like the congenial type.

I felt Griff reaching for my arm. I hoped he wouldn't try to pull me away. Better be quick about this.

“No, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before.” I tried to sound as cool and poised as possible. “My name’s Abby and I’m conducting a research study at MIT. Which is, I believe, your alma mater?”

Yeah, dude had gone to my school. Guess he hadn’t had any trouble paying off his student loans.

I fully expected him to tell me to fuck off. Or maybe one of his flunkies was gonna do it, because I could see a woman rising from the other end of the table and heading down in my direction. Probably to protect her boss.

Marks obviously saw her too. He made a hand gesture. The woman stopped short, turned around and sat back down. “You’re at MIT?”

“Yup. I’m a senior.” Smile. “I know this isn’t the place for it, sir, but I tried to go through your main headquarters and I kept getting transferred to the wrong department.”

I heard Griff growl softly beside me. He was probably pissed at me for telling this stranger I was an MIT student when it had taken me a while to mention that little detail to him.

“What’s so important about this research?” Marks’ eyes drifted downward, and I could tell he was checking me out some more.

I could also tell Griff did not like this. It was as if I could read his mind or something. I guess I was reading his body language.

Silas Marks wasn’t much older than he was, and, living in the same town, he and Griff might have been competing for some of the same women. If I was anywhere near right in my guess, Marks might have even been one of the dudes Hadley screwed around with. A rich guy like him probably didn’t need to do more than crook his little finger and the girls would be on their knees.

I could tell Griff wanted to hit him. A tiny antisocial part of me wished he would.

“It’s actually the continuation of a project that my colleague Hadley Allison was doing. I believe she talked to you about it last year. Do you remember Hadley?”

His eyes narrowed. “I do remember Hadley.” The chill was back in his voice. “I remember that she wasn’t at MIT. Nor was she engaged in any research,” he put a nasty emphasis on the word that increased my desire to pound him into the restaurant floor. “At least, not with me.” The relatively warm look he’d given me when I’d mentioned MIT turned icy. “You a cop? Fed, maybe?”

“No. I really am an MIT student. Hadley was a friend of mine. I’m trying to find out what happened to her. Since the actual authorities appear to have lost interest.”

“Whoever you are, we’re done talking.” He glanced past me to Griff. Did he recognize him? Probably, given how often Griff’s picture had been in the papers. “Remove your friend,” he said to him, “or I’ll have my security do it.”

What a misogynistic jerk.

The others at the table were restless now, and the woman who’d gotten up before bounced to her feet again. A couple of the wait staff had alerted to the disturbance, too. If I didn't back down, we would probably get tossed out of the place.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Griff said, still growling.

I nodded and smirked at Silas Marks. “Thanks. You’ve actually been very helpful.”

He glared at Griff and me as we retreated to our own table. Our meal was done, thank goodness, because I wanted to get out of there. Even talking to that man briefly had left an unpleasant taste in my throat. Way to spoil a lovely dinner.

“What the fuck was that all about?”

We were back in Griff’s car.

“Information. He knew your ex.”

He shot me an incredulous look. “How the fuck did you know that?”

“The police must have interviewed him, but there’s no record of it in the case files. Just goes to show what money can buy.”

“If there’s no record how do you know she knew him?”

“It’s in her college files that she did part time work for his company. She was an intern. She worked directly for him. He hired her personally.”

“Whoa. I never knew that. Her own family’s rich, though. She could have known him socially.”

“Socially is exactly how I suspect she knew him.”

He gave me a look that proved he’d guessed what I was thinking. “You can’t seriously believe that some billionaire killed Hadley.”

“Why not? The more I think about it, the more it seems to me to have been done very thoroughly. If she’d been offed by a small-time killer, there’d have been evidence. It takes money to make someone totally disappear. A lot of money.”

He glowered. He looked hot when he did that. “Can we not talk about Hadley for five fucking minutes? How about five fucking hours? She’s a gone girl, for crissake. Been gone a whole year. Everybody else has forgotten about her and maybe it’s time I did too. I’m sick to death of this investigation crap. You’re not a fucking cop.”

“I was just trying to help. I know you’re still upset about her.”

“You don’t know shit. Just shut up about it for a change. If you want to use your mouth, I can think of better things to do with it.”

I rolled my eyes, but I could think of better things to do with my mouth, too. And his.

By the time we got back to Griff’s place, we were both horny again, and things had started getting hot and heavy by the time we lurched, locked in a passionate embrace, through the front door. It didn’t take long before clothes were flying everywhere.

I didn't do any more murder investigating that night.

Griff

The next morning, Sunday, Rory was up ahead of me again. I think she rises with the sun, no matter how late she goes to sleep. I was waking up around 9 am when I heard her mutter something from the living room. It sounded like, “Uh oh.”

I didn't like the sound of that. Now what? I was sure she'd tell me when she got around to it, and tell me at length.

Sure enough, a few minutes later she entered the bedroom with a mug of coffee in each hand. I was lying on the floor doing some sit-ups. Passing one mug to me, she said, “Bad news. I think the feds are here.”

Mumbling a few fucks, I got up, jerked on pants and an old sweatshirt and went to look out the front window. Dark colored sedan in the driveway, empty. One dude at the door. I couldn't see him, though. No peephole. The other must be circling round the house. Cops always came in pairs. “Where's the other one?”

“I just saw one. He looks shaggy for a cop. Longish hair, scruffy beard.”

“I thought you said you weren't doing anything illegal on my computer.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “Not
very
illegal. No malicious shit. I didn't, like, take Bank of America's website offline or anything.”

The rapping came again, accompanied by a voice this time: “Open up, O'Malley.”

“Not without a search warrant.”

“I'm not a cop.”

“Who are you then?” I called through the door.

“I knew your brother Sean.”

“I've heard that one before,” I was beginning to get angry. “Must be a reporter,” I told Rory. “Assholes.”

“I don't think so,” She sounded apprehensive, which worried me. “He sent me a stop code.”

“What's a stop code?”

“It's like, nyah nyah, we caught you snooping, asshole. It's often followed by visits like this one. They usually send it from right outside so you can't run.”

That must have been what the “uh oh” had signified. “So you're not as good as you thought you were.” Why was I surprised?

“I am that good. It's just—” she paused as if this were hard to admit “—he must be better.” As she spoke, she was tucking her laptop back into her backpack. She then pushed the backpack under the sofa where it couldn't be seen. It didn't look like much of a hiding place to me, but I made no comment.

“O'Malley,” the guy said in a cold, hard voice, “It's Connor Finlay. I knew Sean and I also know a few things about you. No way you could have hacked into my databases yourself.”

Fuck. Connor Finlay had served in Afghanistan around the same time as my brother. He'd made it home, but not without scars. Nobody came back from that hell with no scars.

He was older than me, and I didn't know him well, but I knew he was some kind of computer freak. He ran his own security firm or something. He wasn't a cop, but he had a brother who was. Brandon Finlay, Connor's older brother, was one of Cranton's finest. Brandon was one of the few members of the local force who had treated me decently when I'd been under investigation.

“You've got a hacker in there. I want to meet him, so open up.”

“Are you some kind of fed, Finlay?” I called through the door.

“I'm an independent contractor, dude. The feds aren’t too fond of me.”