Conspiracy Girl (10 page)

‘Why do you have computers in here and computers out there?’ I ask.

‘Out there’s the legitimate stuff,’ he says, not taking his eyes off the screen. ‘Where I do my work for big corporates and non-profits. A lot of pro bono too for legal
teams,’ he adds. ‘Like the work I did for the court case you were involved in.’

He may as well have punched me in the gut and backhanded me across the face. He testified for
free
? He treated the men who killed my mum and Taylor as though they were deserving of
charity
? I thought at the very least he must have been paid for it.

‘In here,’ he goes on without pausing, ‘I do the grey area stuff.’

I grit my teeth and take a breath, trying to damp down the angry fire in my belly. ‘You mean the illegal stuff.’

He makes a noise in his throat, half laugh, half snort, his fingers still tapping. What looks like an array of blueprints appear on the screen. ‘Who makes our laws?’ he asks.
‘And who decides what’s illegal or not? And don’t say lawmakers, because most of our lawmakers are working on behalf of corporations who have their own agenda. Justice is not
blind. And when it is, it’s blindly stupid.’

I want to twist in my chair to confront him but I’m pretty much locked in position by his arms.

‘Did you find my iPad?’ I ask him instead. Last night he talked about using GPS software to locate it.

‘They disabled the GPS two blocks from your house. Somehow they overrode your password. These guys are good. They killed the cameras in the building, overrode the alarm system and the
electronic locks
and
managed to duplicate your keys.’

My stomach churns and sweat starts to snake down my spine. I don’t get it. But I instantly want to get on the phone and start yelling at the security company to which I paid tens of
thousands of dollars to fix up my house.

Finn drops suddenly to his haunches at my side and points at the images on the screen. ‘These are the blueprints of your security system.’ He points at the other monitor. ‘This
is the program whoever broke into it used.’ I blink at lines of nonsensical data. He points to the other monitor. ‘This is the program that was used to hack your house in LA two years
ago.’

I stare at the third monitor and back at the second one. I do this several times before giving up and turning to Finn. ‘What am I supposed to be seeing?’ I ask impatiently.

‘It’s the same programmer. A few tweaks to the code, but it’s the same person.’

I look at the screens. ‘How can you tell?’

‘It’s like a signature. All hackers have one. I don’t mean that they sign their name into the code, it’s like . . .’ he pauses and chews his lip for a second.
‘You can look at a painting by Picasso and another by Rembrandt, right, and know who painted what? Well, it’s the same with hackers – after a while, you can tell. People code in
unique ways and whoever wrote this code is good. Not many people are this good.’ He nods, his expression tinged with respect, if not a touch of awe. ‘Security companies like the ones
who installed your systems do not mess around. Reliability is everything. The company that installed the one in your LA house went bust after the trial. So these companies don’t take hacking
lightly – it’s their livelihood at risk. They have numerous firewalls, and they constantly test them. To get through their defences takes concerted effort and time, as well as
talent.’

‘So, you’re saying it’s the same person behind both break-ins?’

‘Yeah. I mean, that was the supposition anyway. I just proved it, though.’

I frown at him because what he’s saying doesn’t fully make sense. If Maggie is claiming that someone inside the FBI is involved, then does that mean they were involved in the first
break-in too? It’s impossible.

‘There must be a mistake,’ I say. ‘McCrory and Miles broke into my house in LA. So if what you’re saying is to be believed, they must be behind the break-in last
night.’

Finn shakes his head at me. ‘Those two guys were innocent. It wasn’t them that broke into your house and killed your mother and stepsister. And it wasn’t them who broke into
your house last night.’

My body floods with a pure, toxic mix of anger and adrenaline. ‘They had DNA evidence,’ I say, my voice shaking. ‘Fingerprints. Blood.’ I cast around in my head for more
facts, ready to hurl them in his face. ‘And their alibis fell through. You saw their records.’

‘I’m not disputing that they’re lowlife scum,’ Finn says calmly.

‘They were trained snipers. Ex-marines!’

Finn gets slowly to his feet. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘And both of them are alcoholics, one had a meth problem and the other was suffering PTSD. Both had histories of mental illness.
Just read the testimonies of the psychiatrists who assessed them . . .’

I don’t like him standing over me so I stand too. The thing is I still have to tip my head back to look at him and when I put my hands on my hips I feel immediately self-conscious,
especially as my top is starting to stick to me.

‘The guys couldn’t tell you which way was up. They were jacked to their eyeballs.’

‘One had already killed someone in cold blood,’ I hiss.

‘It was manslaughter,’ Finn counters calmly. ‘Totally different circumstances.’

‘Killing someone is killing someone.’

‘Listen to me, the person who cracked your security system, then and now, is an expert. There are only a handful of people in the world who could do that, who could write a program like
that and get in and get out without setting off alarm bells. Those guys probably don’t even know how to turn on a computer, let alone write code.’

‘OK, fine, say they didn’t hack into the security system,’ I spit. ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. They were still the ones who broke into the house and
pulled the trigger.’ I feel like a frustrated child about to stamp my foot and burst into tears.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Finn tells me.

‘Why?’ I say through clenched teeth.

‘Let’s see,’ he starts counting off on his fingers. ‘They had two alibis for their whereabouts the night of the incident. Both alibis happened to die in the same week.
One from a drug overdose and the other from a fatal stabbing.’ He looks at me as if to say
Coincidence, I don’t think.

‘They were friends with meth addicts. Not so unusual,’ I counter.

‘Neither of them can remember anything about the forty-eight hours either side of the crime.’

‘They were off their heads, you said it yourself.’

‘One of them has a permanent slur from a facial injury sustained while serving in the marine corps.’

‘So?’

‘Your testimony claimed you heard two men, both talking, possibly in an accent but with no slur. With all due respect, your testimony had holes in it. Huge ones.’

I suck in a breath, feeling like he’s just kicked me in the stomach. ‘What?’ I say, my voice coming out eerily calm despite the fury rushing through my veins.

‘I listened to your testimony again after the trial. The DA did a hopeless job at cross-examining you. But you had the sympathy vote with the jury. He couldn’t press you without
coming across as a dick. It was a hard call.’

I can feel the hysteria rising inside me like a beast suddenly given wings. ‘There was a fingerprint,’ I yell. ‘There was DNA evidence.’

‘Nic, DNA evidence is easy to plant. You were in a state of severe trauma and shock. Your reliability as a witness is problematic.’

‘You’re calling me a liar!’ I say, disbelieving.

‘No,’ he says in a weary tone. ‘I am not calling you a liar. I’m just saying that what you think you heard and what you actually heard are two different
things.’

It takes me a few seconds to process Finn’s words and then it takes every ounce of willpower in my body not to shove him backwards into his server stacks. ‘Screw you,’ I say. I
spin towards the door, almost tripping over the chair in my haste. ‘Let me out.’

‘There were so many inconsistencies,’ he says, completely ignoring my request and keeping on talking to my back. ‘There’s no way the case should have come to trial, but
it was a slam dunk. No one wanted to look bad. The media were all over the DA’s office. The LAPD needed a quick win. It wasn’t about justice. It was about calming the public. The guys
were scapegoated. I just could never figure out why or by whom. But now we’re being thrown another bone.’

I whip around. ‘A bone? What do you mean we’re being thrown a bone?’

He shrugs at me. ‘Well, they’re back. Same people as before. They want something. Something involving
you.
And this time,’ he smiles and I see the glint in his eye
– excitement, like he’s enjoying the thrill of this – ‘this time we can make sure no one gets scapegoated.’

He reaches behind me and for a second I flinch, not sure what he is doing, but he’s just unlocking the door. He looks down at me, his eyes gleaming in the shadows.

‘We can actually find the people who did this to you,’ he says. ‘The people who killed your mom and Taylor. And we can make them pay.’

‘What about the cameras?’ she asks, as I lock the cube behind us. ‘They must have picked up something.’ She’s still pissed at me. She’s not
even trying to disguise it. Not even my convincing appeal to her that we can find the people who actually killed her mother seems to have worked. She really is certain it was those two guys.

I head to my desk by the window. I’d rather not use these computers for what I want to show her, I’d rather keep all my legit and non-legit work separate, but she looked like she was
about to pull a server stack down on my head if I didn’t let her out. And it was getting hot in there.

‘That’s the thing,’ I say, switching on the screen, trying to focus. ‘There’s nothing. They were made to look like they were still functioning, but whoever overrode
your alarm system and entry systems also cut the phone lines and switched off the cameras. Nothing recorded for a period of five hours.’

‘That’s not possible.’ She looks furious, her hands bunched into fists at her sides.

‘It is possible,’ I say, wondering what ludicrous amount of money she paid her security company, and hoping she gets a refund along with an apology. If they don’t offer one
I’m going to make them. ‘Here’s the proof.’ I step aside, revealing the monitor screens.

She moves beside me, taking care to leave several inches between us. She stares at the snowstorm of static on the screens.

‘Look,’ I say, hitting a button and rewinding the recording. ‘There’s nothing from seven thirty-eight yesterday evening.’

I fast forward to 12.44 a.m. The camera blinks back on. Crime scene techs in white suits are sweeping every inch of the room. It’s been transformed into a bloodbath. Colour leeches across
the screen.

Beside me, I feel Nic shudder. She wraps her arms around herself, her skin – which still glistens with sweat – now prickling with goosebumps. Without thinking I grab a shirt
that’s slung over the back of my chair and put it around her shoulders. She jerks around, giving me a death stare.

‘Sorry,’ I say, backing away. ‘You were shivering.’

She looks away, colour returning to her cheeks. I think about taking the shirt back but then she slips her arms through the sleeves. It’s too big for her of course, and she has to roll up
the sleeves, but when I snatch a look at her I feel a slight tug in my chest.

I shake it off. ‘How did your stepfather behave the night when he visited? It was two nights ago now, right?’ I ask.

Her brow furrows. ‘He was weird,’ she says guardedly. ‘Acting strangely. He kept looking out the window, and he asked about my security systems. He seemed worried about
me.’ She swallows, presses her hands against her eyes as though trying to banish an image. Then she removes them and looks up at me. ‘Where do you think he is?’ she asks.

‘I called his secretary, pretending to be from the IRS,’ I tell her, seeing the instant flare of surprise on her face. ‘She hasn’t heard from him either. No hotels have a
record of him. He didn’t take any flight out of JFK or Newark, or any airport on the eastern seaboard for that matter. I checked the manifests for all flights going to all destinations.
There’s been no activity on his credit cards and he hasn’t logged into his emails since he left your apartment.’

Nic sinks back into my chair, staring into the middle distance. ‘Do you think he’s OK?’ she asks.

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. But I’ve been watching the footage from your apartment. He asked to use the bathroom before he left. Is it possible he hid something in your apartment
and that’s what the people who broke in were after?’

Her shoulders press back into the chair. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘It’s possible, I guess.’

I nod. ‘OK.’

‘OK what?’ she asks.

‘Well, I guess we better go take a look and find out.’

She sits up right, Goz too, both of them staring at me, one salivating, the other glaring. ‘Back there? You want me to go back there?’

I watch the pulse firing rapidly in her neck as she turns to look back at the screen. The crime scene techs are photographing the blood spill and I wish I had fast-forwarded it. It’s
stupid, walking back into the lion’s den. And to take her with me. Then again, Maggie told me not to take my eyes off her and leaving her here would require me to do just that. And besides,
she’s the only one who’ll know if anything is out of place.

‘Yeah,’ I say, leaning past her and hitting a button so the view switches to another angle.

Her hands grip the dog tighter, her foot tapping on the chair. ‘OK,’ she says without looking at me. ‘When? Now?’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. I hit another key and the camera angle jumps so we’re looking at the vestibule. An NYPD cop is standing sentry just outside the door to
Nic’s apartment. ‘This is real time,’ I tell her.

Nic has gone visibly paler. ‘So, how are we going to get in?’ she asks.

‘We’ll wait until later tonight,’ I answer, wondering if I should call Maggie and tell her my plan. Something tells me though that it’s best if I keep everything off the
radar for the time being.

Nic doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring at the screen in front of her.