L.A. Bytes (12 page)

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“This is all I could get without raising eyebrows. There’s probably more, but this might prove useful in answering some preliminary questions.” He shrugged, buttering his muffi n. “It’s a place to start.”

“Before this goes any further I want you to know you don’t need to do this, Bryan,” David said. “I—we—really appreciate all your help.”

Bryan’s face grew almost as red as his hair. “Yeah, well, there’s not enough of us as it is. I’m not going to let one of the good ones get railroaded by the department’s bull-headed beliefs.”

“Thanks all the same,” David said. “We owe you.”

“I’ll collect, too.” Bryan grinned. “That’s one more reason to keep you around. Can’t collect if you’re off the force.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” David said.

Bryan opened the folder and slid sheets of paper across the table to both Chris and David. “There’s a good chance your doer did this sort of thing before. In fact Fraud has a strong suspicion he stole as much as a hundred grand, but all they could nail him on was the thirty. Not a bad haul for a twenty-year-old, either way.”

“Any idea who he hung with?” Chris tried reading the police and court reports, but couldn’t get past the fi rst few dense lines.

“That’s here somewhere... Ah, here we are. The second ticket to Ciudad Juarez, Mexico was in the name of Traci Lords.” Bryan grinned. “Think he meant the actress?”

“In his dreams,” Chris said. “Mexico? Any idea what he did while he was there?”

“Funny you should ask.” Bryan dug out more paper. “Fraud got him good on that. He used a string of stolen cards—maybe he fi gured the Mexican cops were hicks.” He nodded when Chris offered him more coffee. “Now let’s see... they booked a room at the Radisson Casa Grande. It’s no Beverly Hills Hotel, but it ain’t cheap.” Bryan glanced down at his paper. “They ordered a lot of room service, but Bolton did take the time out to do
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some sightseeing. And a little hacking, just to keep his hand in, I guess. Apparently he tried to hack the Casa’s database—after a few more credit cards, I guess. He got caught, barely made it out.

Feds were waiting for him when he hit LAX.”

“And the girl wasn’t with him?” Chris asked.

“Her return ticket was never used. The Feds suspect they split up and she found her own way back. He wouldn’t give her up, no matter how much they pushed.”

“Let’s push again. Find out if Laura lives with him now. Talk to some neighbors, see if she was there three years ago.”

“Laura?” Bryan asked.

“I think the offi cers in charge of the investigation would have already done that,” David said.

“Maybe, but no one knew about Laura then, did they?” Chris said. “I think I need to go back to Ste. Anne’s and talk to these people. If Terry doesn’t like it, that’s too bad.”

“You’re going to go snooping around the hospital?”

“Who the hell is Laura?” Bryan demanded. “How does she fi t into this case?”

“She might be Bolton’s partner. We think they live together.”

“And you want to start spying on these people based on the fact they might be lovers?”

“You’d think it was plenty if we could prove she went to Mexico with Bolton,” Chris said.

“You can’t follow people around until you fi nd what you want.

Do the words stalking and harassment mean anything to you?”

“I’m not stalking anyone.”

“What do you hope to accomplish that the cops didn’t? David has no authority right now!”

“It still makes sense,” Chris insisted.

“What do you expect to fi nd?” Bryan snapped.

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“See who remembers them around the neighborhood. People might fi nd me easier to talk to than cops—no offense.”

So they told Bryan everything they knew up to that point, which wasn’t very much. Armed with the new information, Bryan left, promising to keep in touch.

Monday, 5:50 pm, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
Monday, after a weekend spent avoiding reporters, getting caught in traffi c on the way home from a checkup at his doctor’s didn’t improve David’s temper, even if he had been given a clean bill of health. When he fi nally thumped through the front door and stripped off his jacket, it was nearly four o’clock. Chris was still bent over his laptop.

David grabbed a Bud, which he sucked back while he studied the screen Chris stared at intently. He caught the name Hellraiser.

“Something new?”

Chris frowned. “You mean besides being harassed by reporters?”

David laughed. “Comes with your new notoriety. Anything else?”

“Well, I have been digging around on Bolton. I was right, this guy’s done this scam a lot—he’s got quite a reputation in the cracker community. His tag is Hellraiser.”

“And...?”

“He steals credit card numbers. Sometimes he posts them online so everyone can have a go at them, other times he uses them himself.”

“What about the woman?”

“I can’t fi nd anything to suggest she’s involved in any online scams.” Chris got up from his desk, put his hands on the small of his back and stretched. Something creaked. “Jesus, I hate it when that happens.”

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“You’re too much of a bench monkey,” David said. “Come on, you need some fresh air. I’ll buy you coffee at Mattie’s. You can tell me all about this guy on the way.”

Until David moved in, Chris had never been much of a walker. He was more of a gym rat. But David liked his strolls and his runs and he had managed to convince Chris to join him on a regular basis—at least walking. Chris refused to take up jogging.

With the dog, they got out more often. As long as there was coffee at the end of it, Chris was amenable.

The downhill trip never took more than twenty minutes.

They rarely saw any of their neighbors in the gated community.

Angelinos weren’t known for walking. But their homes were always a visual treat: Craftsman cottages, Spanish
casas
with red-tile roofs, space age boathouses crouched behind stone and wrought iron gates affording glimpses of myrtle trees, eucalyptus, native sycamores, sages and gardens of lush poppies, columbine, and heliotrope. Everywhere ubiquitous palm trees fl uttered and rattled in the stiff morning breeze.

Before they knew it they were seated at their usual table on the patio facing Glendale Boulevard, Chris with his cappuccino and David with an extra-large regular. The waiter, a big fan of Sergeant’s, slid the dog his usual chew treat. Sergeant spent their half hour there chewing contentedly.

“So what did you fi nd?” David asked. “From what you told me he sounds more than ever like our guy.”

Chris dipped into his cappuccino, giving himself a foamy mustache. He licked his lips and frowned. “You’d think so, but I have to wonder...”

“You don’t think he’s involved?”

“Hellraiser steals credit cards. From everything I’ve been able to fi nd out about the guy, that’s all he’s ever done.”

“And Laura’s just along for the ride.”

“She’s got no handle that I can see.”

“What if the guy decided to branch out, seeing what else he can get away with?”

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“Yeah, it sounds plausible, but you don’t understand crackers.

This guy steals stuff and posts it online. It’s his trophy—he likes to use the cards, sure, but his big kick is having all his cracker buddies see what a big success he is.”

“I know the mentality. Trophy seekers.” David swirled his spoon around in his coffee. “Doesn’t he get more accolades if he does something more daring? Doesn’t hacking a hospital beat credit card theft?”

“It might,” Chris said. “Depending on what he did, but I don’t buy it.”

“Why?”

“He’s not bragging, for one. For another, what did he actually do? Screwed up some patient records? Maybe killed one sick guy.

What’s to be proud of?”

“Are they really going to care someone died?” David didn’t believe for a minute that this guy gave a damn about what he did.

Chris was shaking his head.

“No, but it’s not spectacular enough, either. If Bolton was responsible he’d have been all over the boards, blowing his horn, making sure everyone knew how ripped he was.”

“Maybe he’s keeping a low profi le because of the trouble he got into last time. He’s an adult now, he’d be facing hard time over this charge.”

“Point taken.” Chris frowned.

“Would he have the skill?”

“Probably. As long as he kept his hand in.”

“And he has access, right? Probably goes there all the time to pick up Laura so he’s in and out of the hospital. His presence isn’t suspicious to anyone.”

Chris stared out the window, sliding one manicured fi nger around the rim of his empty mug. He turned around when their server returned.

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“Get you boys anything else?” she asked. “We got a special on coconut cream.”

They shook their heads. She nodded and dropped the bill on the scarred linoleum table.

David pulled a fi ve and a two out of his wallet. “Ready?”

he asked, picking up Sergeant’s leash. He brushed his hand over Chris’s spine as they moved toward the sidewalk, briefl y pressing against the small of his back. It was as close as he would let himself get to a public display of affection.

After turning off Glendale onto Cove they climbed the hill, passing Mattachine House, the historic site of one of L.A.’s fi rst gay societies. The house Chris inherited from his grandmother was just beyond the crest, overlooking the reservoir. A jogger swung toward them, bronze legs pumping rhythmically down the stairs that separated the Silver Lake side from the Glendale Boulevard side, his white T-shirt molded over perfect abs. Beside him a long-legged Doberman kept pace, toenails clicking on the steps. The jogger glanced at Chris, David, and Sergeant, offering them a knowing smile.

Chris and David both turned to watch the jogger make his way toward Glendale, admiring his muscular backside. Then their eyes met and they burst out laughing.

“Gotcha,” Chris said. “If he followed me home, would I be able to keep him?”

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind getting another nice big dog. I’m sure Sergeant would love it—”

Chris dug his elbow into David’s side. David grunted.

“Dog, my ass. Tell me you were looking at the dog.”

David grinned. “Great looking dog. Did you see the legs on that thing?”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Chris took David’s arm. “If you’re up to it, I’d like to go back to the hospital tonight.”

David was silent. He’d half expected something like this. He just hadn’t thought Chris would go for a direct confrontation. He L.A. BYTES
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pulled the house keys out as they entered the courtyard. Unlocking the door, he let Chris slip past him to disable the alarm.

“David—”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” David asked, knowing it wasn’t, and knowing Chris didn’t care.

It was Chris’s turn to be silent. Then he sighed. “Yes,” he said.

“We need to talk to Laura. If she knows you’re a cop, she might let something slip. Maybe there’s nothing there. She didn’t seem like a bad character.”

“People can surprise you,” David said darkly. He had always tried to keep Chris out of his work. It was a side of his life he didn’t think the man he loved needed to experience. Chris cooperated, in his own way. David fi gured Chris didn’t really want to know all the ways people could hurt each other.

§ § § §

Chris drove. By the time they pulled into the parking lot it was just before eight.

“Let’s see if Terry was hedging about Laura.” Chris led the way inside. “He said she didn’t work that much on the third fl oor. I think he’s lying. I think he knows she had access to the computer.”

“We want to catch her as she’s going off shift.” A phone call had confi rmed she was on till eight.

At the hospital they took the elevator to the third fl oor. Chris wanted to poke around, but David kept him focused on fi nding Laura.

Chris still managed to peer into several rooms before they reached the nurse’s station. The square-faced African-American woman behind the counter looked up when they stopped in front of her. She smiled mechanically, displaying a chipped front tooth.

She wore a child’s rendering of a fl ower on her breast, above a nametag that said: Tricia Keeting.

David stepped up to the counter. Her gaze followed him and her eyes narrowed. Chris knew she had made David as a cop.

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“We’re here to see Laura Fischer,” Chris said.

“Is she expecting you?”

David took over. “Doubt it. Where might we fi nd her?”

The smile gone, she looked right, down a darkened corridor.

At the far end a shadowy fi gure of a man stooped over a bucket of water and a mop.

“She’s in room three-ten with a patient—you can’t go in there—” She sounded panicked when David nodded and moved away from the desk. Chris followed.

“We’ll wait outside,” David reassured her.

Chris paused by each open door, but outside of the nurse’s station there were no other computers visible. Terry said the suspect computer had been on this fl oor, but had never actually said where. Had it been out in the open for anyone to use? Or tucked away behind locked doors somewhere? Terry, he realized, had been less than forthcoming.

Chris mentioned that to David, who shrugged.

“Pretty typical,” he said. “If you were a cop you’d be used to it. Everyone lies.”

“I don’t expect friends to lie.”

“He’s protecting his turf. Face it, you’re not exactly trying to make him look good.”

Laura emerged from a room down the hall. She looked up at their approach, her broad face holding only mild curiosity.

“Ms. Fischer, can we talk to you for just a minute?”

She waited, staring from David to Chris as they drew near. “I know you, don’t I?” Her eyebrows lifted. She pinned Chris with a look. “Terry told me you were working for him.”

“Do you have a few minutes? We just have a couple of questions.”

Now thoroughly puzzled, Laura glanced down the hall towards the nurse’s station. Then she checked her watch.