Playing Dead (31 page)

Confirmed his tenure with UC Davis.

Six years with Madison, Bergstrom, Truedell & Smith. Three years with Johnson & Mather. One-year internship with Young, Blaine, Forsyth & Associates. Graduate USC law school, 1990. Graduate UNLV, 1987. Born 1964 in Phoenix, Arizona.

Her eye went back to Johnson & Mather. She recognized all three law firms, but that one . . .

Her hand started shaking as she typed in another search.

George Prescott with Johnson & Mather was her father’s defense counsel. During the same time that Don Collier was on staff.

Don Collier had been responsible for reviewing her father’s case file for the Project, and rejected looking into it. Don Collier had been Oliver Maddox’s advisor. Had Maddox known that Collier had been with the same law firm that represented her father at trial? Claire had to assume he did . . . he was a law student. He would definitely have known who represented her father. And if he was doing research, he would have figured out that Collier was there at the same time. That there was a huge conflict of interest. Collier knew more about the case than he’d admitted.

She dialed Randy Sizemore at the Western Innocence Project. It took several minutes, and a threat to come by and sit in the office until closing, before he came on the phone. “Ms. O’Brien, I don’t see how I can help you any more than I already have.”

“One question. Please.”

“One.”

“Do you allow the attorneys reviewing case files to assess cases they’ve worked on, or where one of their colleagues worked on it?”

“Of course not. That would defeat the purpose of our checks and balances system.”

“Do the attorneys know this?”

“Of course they do. They simply recuse themselves from reviewing the file. It’s not a problem. I have dozens of attorneys who review files for me.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask why?”

“You told me that Don Collier reviewed
State of California v. O’Brien
and deemed it a just conviction.”

“Yes.”

“Collier worked for the same law firm as my father’s attorney. Johnson & Mather.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s not? Why?”

“Don would have told me.” Randy Sizemore didn’t sound so sure of himself.

“So you didn’t know.”

“Ms. O’Brien, I don’t know what you’ve found, but there must be a logical explanation.”

“Thank you for your time.” She hung up. She didn’t think that Sizemore had known about Collier, but since they were friends, she didn’t want him to tip Collier off that she was onto him.

“Claire?”

She jumped, turned, and saw her friend Jayne standing in the doorway.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“What are you doing?”

“Background check.”

Jayne frowned. “J.T. called me this morning about you. Asked me to monitor your database usage. He’s a little worried.”

Claire straightened. J. T. Caruso was one of the principals of her firm. “Worried? Why?”

“He didn’t say, but, well, I did a little research and I think he found out your dad is in Sacramento.”

Claire’s stomach dropped. “How could he know that? How did you know?”

“The FBI has a surveillance tape of your dad in Redding. And then there’s the buzz around the D.A.’s office that he’s surrendering today. J.T. knows people there. And in the FBI.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” Claire said.

“Just watch yourself, okay?”

Claire didn’t want to be fired, she loved her job, but her father’s innocence and safety were more important than her career.

“I’ll be careful.”

Jayne nodded. “If you need me for anything, you know how to reach me.”

“I have a question. A computer question.”

Jayne sat down on the corner of Claire’s desk. “What?”

“How could a digital file disappear?”

“You need to be more specific.”

“Don’t ask me why.”

“All right.”

“There’re two missing coroner’s reports. They are archived digitally and kept in a data warehouse. They are in the log, but not on the tape.”

“Is there other data on the tape?”

“I think so.”

“Well, if there
isn’t,
the tape was corrupted. Someone didn’t check once they burned the tape or the disk that the data was readable or even there. It happens
all
the time because people are lazy. But if there’s other data on the tape, then those files were never copied over.”

“You can’t just delete them?”

“Most data warehouses store data on unrewritable software, to prevent accidental deletion of data. There are a lot of protections in place. Climate controls, backups of all data, and—”

“Backups? Why would they need a backup?”

“Most good archive systems have a searchable system, then a condensed data file that has everything they have in the searchable system. So if there’s some big catastrophe, they can re-create the data files.”

“Is there a way to erase some files and not the others?”

“There’s a way to do everything, Claire. But it wouldn’t be easy. They’d need access and everything leaves a trail. It’s easier to leave a false trail than no trail. Unless you’re really good.”

“Like you.”

Jayne smiled.

“But if it was never there . . .”

“If it was never there, you can’t do anything about it, but then there shouldn’t be a record of the data in the log. Unless the log was manually created, which sort of defeats the purpose of eliminating human error. If there’s a log of the files, and they’re just gone, then they’re still there.”

“Stop. You’ve confused me.”

“Anything deleted isn’t really deleted. Unless the tape is completely wiped—and there’re ways of doing that—then the data is still there. It’s just hidden.”

“Could you find it?”

“If it’s there, I can find it.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Depends.”

“I have a friend in the coroner’s office. He has access to the archives. He’s the one who discovered the files were missing. If I clear it with him, can you help him find the hidden files?”

“Between you and me, right?”

Claire pretended to zip her lip and toss away the key.

Jayne nodded. “Okay.”

Jeffrey Riordan arrived in Sacramento just after ten that morning. He’d had to suffer through traffic almost the entire drive from San Francisco—it had taken
three hours
when it should have taken two. He drove directly to Richie’s house. Chad Harper answered the door.

“Clue me in, Harper. What the fuck is going on? Hamilton has called me a half-dozen times in the last two days. It’s usually Richie who panics, not Judge Prozac.”

“You know everything, except the latest news. Hamilton is on the phone with Richie. The district attorney is meeting right now with O’Brien’s attorney to arrange terms of surrender.”

“Good! Get him back into custody. Take care of him once and for all.”

“There’s a little problem.”

“What?”

“The FBI is involved.”

“Shit.”

They didn’t have a mole in the FBI office. Local government, local law enforcement, D.A.’s office—within reach, they had at least one person under their thumb. But the FBI? None. And it irked Jeffrey. He had
one,
but only in Washington. That sure as hell wouldn’t help him here in Sacramento.

He started up the stairs, but Harper called him back. “I had a call from Isleton.”

“Isleton? Who the fuck cares about—” He stopped. “Dammit, I knew we should have offed Barney when he moved back to Sacramento.”

“Jeffrey, sometimes murder isn’t the best solution. Barney knew nothing of Lowe’s arrangement with Taverton. He went to L.A., bought a bar, lost a bunch of money, returned to his hometown. Nothing strange there. Killing him? No. Maddox didn’t learn anything from him. He’s not talking because he knows shit. If he knew anything, our snitch would have heard.”

“That retard?” Jeffrey snorted.

“At least she follows orders and keeps her mouth shut.”

“So who’s down there snooping this time?”

“Two federal agents.”

“Shit.”

“They’re only following up on Maddox’s death. I don’t think they will be a problem.”

“You don’t know that! This is spiraling out of control again, just like with Maddox. If we’d taken Barney out of the picture with Lowe, or even two years ago, I’d be far more comfortable.”

“Barney knows nothing. It’s too late to do anything—killing Barney would only raise suspicions, and
if
he knew what Frank Lowe did, he would have talked or asked for money.”

“Maybe, but somebody tipped off Maddox about Tip Barney being back in Sacramento.” Jeffrey hated not being in control.

“Maddox found out about Lowe and Barney from Taverton’s personal files, but we have those now—both the copies and the original—so there’s no threat. And if Claire O’Brien starts asking questions, she’ll be taken care of.”

“She’s far too nosy. Let’s keep this tidbit from the others. They are already too paranoid, and paranoia makes people act stupid.”

“Agreed.”

Jeffrey went to the top of the stairs and opened the double doors into Richie’s plush office. “Put Hamilton on speaker,” he demanded.

Richie said into the phone, “Jeffrey’s here. You’re now on speaker, Hamilton.”

“O’Brien is surrendering to the FBI today at six,” he said.

“The FBI? Why?”

“Safety issues. I didn’t get much out of the D.A., but the word is out that Matt Elliott is quietly reopening the case.”

“That’s it. We’re done for,” Richie said.

“No we’re not.” Jeffrey slammed his fist on the desk. “Keep your cool. It’s not over. It’s never going to be over. They can’t connect anything to us.”

“You’re the one all hot and heavy to kill people!” Richie said.

“Only if it has to be done. Maddox had to go. He made too many connections.” Jeffrey started giving orders. “Richie, you make sure there is no paper trail.”

“There isn’t—”

“Double check. Triple check! And Hamilton, you keep your ear to the D.A.’s office. We need to know
everything
Matt Elliott is up to.”

“I’m already on it, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“It’s not over,” Jeffrey reiterated.

Lexie Santana hated surveillance. She’d much rather be in the thick of things, like bringing in the fugitive, Thomas O’Brien.

But maybe she’d get lucky. Maybe the daughter would lead her to O’Brien and Lexie wouldn’t be so bored just
sitting
here.

She watched as a car pulled up in front of Claire O’Brien’s house. Maybe this was it . . . A man got out—late thirties, a bit overweight, dressed business casual. A kid got out of the passenger side. Boy, ten or eleven. The man put his arm around the kid’s shoulders, squeezed, then dropped the arm as they approached the front door.

Not O’Brien. Damn. The dogs in Claire’s backyard started barking. They continued to bark. No one answered the door. The man stood there a few minutes, then walked away. They sat in the car for about five minutes, then drove off.

Lexie left her surveillance post and ran across the street to the house. She knocked on the door. The dogs barked. There was no answer.

Did she have probable cause to enter O’Brien’s house? No one had left or entered. Yet . . .

She called Meg. “I think Claire O’Brien has given me the slip. She didn’t answer her door to a visitor, and now I’m looking in all the windows and it doesn’t look like she’s here. Her Jeep is, she isn’t.”

*   *   *

Mitch and Steve walked into FBI headquarters at noon. They’d stopped by Frank Lowe’s mother’s apartment, but she wasn’t home. Her neighbor said she worked for the postal service and usually came home between four thirty and five.

“Mitch. Steve.” Meg waved them into her office. “Good news, we got the contents off the flash drive.”

“What do we have?” asked Mitch as he sat down in front of Meg’s desk.

“That’s the problem. I’m not quite sure.” Meg slid over a small stack of papers. The top was the cover page from their Menlo Park facilities verifying they were able to retrieve all data from the flash drive. The second page was a print of a JPEG, a beautiful young woman. “There’s nothing about her on the drive, but we ran her photo. Jessica White. Missing since 1978. She was a student at Stanford University and disappeared her sophomore year. No evidence of foul play, no anything. The police felt there were some shenanigans at one of the fraternity parties, but the girl was seen at three different parties the night she disappeared. They interviewed everyone at the fraternities and Jessica’s sorority; nothing solid. I’ve requested the files, but I don’t know how that’s going to help us. Except I did learn one thing—Oliver Maddox requested the files as well.”

“Did they send them?” Steve asked.

“Maddox picked them up in person on Friday, January 18,” she answered.

“We didn’t find anything like that in his town house,” said Mitch.

“And they aren’t on the flash drive, either,” said Meg.

Mitch turned the pages. There was a series of articles related to the Delta Conservancy, Elk Grove, the Waterstone Development Corporation, and probably a half-dozen more. They were all LexisNexis files that had been saved to the drive.

“Did you contact LexisNexis to retrieve any other searches Maddox might have done?” Mitch asked.

Meg frowned. “The U.S. Attorney’s office is working on it, but there are huge privacy issues. We won’t have anything today.”

“These are all old stories. Twenty, twenty-five years.” He turned pages and found an obituary. “Rose Van Alden. Died at ninety-one, in her sleep.” Mitch read the article. She was a lifelong resident of Elk Grove and left her money to the Delta Conservancy. “Is there anything important here?”

“I don’t know. They’re old articles, and normally I wouldn’t waste my time, but Maddox swallowed the flash drive for a reason, so I’m thinking there’s a connection we don’t see. I’ve sent everything to analysts at Quantico and asked for a rush. But one thing seems pretty obvious: Keep going,” she said.

Mitch flipped through the articles, then started to see another pattern—a series of stories about Judge Hamilton Drake.