Searching for Secrets (2 page)

"My first concern is kids, too, Ms. Heckertt." He spoke fiercely, his voice low. "Let's just say we go about it differently."

KIRK SLAMMED THE DOOR OF HIS SQUAD CAR. He had almost had 'Fast Freddy,' a regular suspect who was hard to catch making a sale. He didn't look like an obvious user himself or drive a flashy car. He and a couple of his buddies blended in with shoppers at the mall near the old capitol building, and when they went onto the University of Iowa campus they looked more like faculty than students.

But, Freddy had been careless today. Standing in full view on Market Street in downtown Iowa City, he had talked for several minutes with a young woman who appeared to be a university student. Kirk, car parked out of sight in a near-by alley, watched in anticipation. Freddy already had one felony conviction. If Kirk could get him on a charge of possession with intent to distribute, Freddy would face a long sentence. That was just the incentive the district attorney could use to offer a plea bargain to get Freddy to turn over his unknown supplier. As the small packet changed hands, Kirk had placed his hand on the car door. But, the police radio announced the possible intruder on the premises of Buckingham Elementary School, with people in the school.

Hadley pulled his car alongside Kirk’s. “I didn’t see you at the station, and saw you’d checked out a car. What were you up to?”

Kirk gave him a thin smile. “I heard yesterday that Fast Freddy's new spot might be around Market Street. I didn’t want to wait. Thought I’d be back before roll call.” He grimaced. “If we hadn’t had this call, I would have gotten him on a sale.”

“Damn. That’s the third time in a month he’s slipped away from us.”

“Tell me about it.” Kirk started to roll up his window. “See you at the station.” They'd file a report and see if the captain agreed that there wasn't much more to do.

His thoughts turned back to the school as he drove. It wouldn't have been such a waste if they at least had a suspect's description. But, Christa Heckertt hadn't seen anyone. He turned his irritation on her. Her suggestion that he should "follow through" because the break-in had occurred at a school made sense, but he couldn't get bogged down on a victimless crime. She was a looker, though. Her slender shoulders and waist were highlighted by the soft green sweater. He supposed she knew that it brought out the green in her eyes.

"Damn." He had almost missed the stop sign in front of the bookstore. He had to stay focused. His inattention had cost him dearly two months ago. Kirk was now the most ardent anti-drug cop in the Iowa City police department. Catching pushers was his only purpose in life now, and even the gorgeous Christa Heckertt would not distract him.

THE DRIVE ALONG THE IOWA RIVER always had a calming effect at the end of a hectic day. And Christa considered this day truly chaotic. The school was abuzz with chatter about the burglar, and everyone wanted to talk to her during the lunch hour. There was general agreement among the other teachers that the attempted theft was because the newspaper had announced Christa's class won the mayor's contest and thus had three expensive new computers. "Practically an ad for a cunning thief," as the fifth-grade teacher had said.

Christa turned onto Burlington Street and drove across the river. Her destination was the small shopping mall in the center of town. She had bought her home computer at the electronics store there, and the owner was always willing to answer questions. The pink bag lay on the seat beside her. She wanted to know why someone would have brought it with them, and what he thought they intended to do with it.

The garage next to the mall was crowded with shoppers and movie-goers, and she had to drive to the top tier to get a space. That level was not under roof, and she knew it was rarely crowded. Christa shivered as the late afternoon wind whipped at her neck as she hurried into the mall.

She passed a jewelry store and saw a young couple leaning over the glass case pointing at what was likely a diamond ring. Stop it, she said to herself, trying to quell the wave of sadness that always engulfed her when she thought about her broken engagement with Trevor Windham. They were together three years, with Christa certain of a future that included marriage and children. It had been a harsh lesson. You can’t create a family with a self-centered man, no matter how much you want one. She straightened her shoulders. Every minute she thought about him was wasted time.

She hurried on, anxious to get to the electronics store so she would have something else to think about. "Good afternoon, Mr. Watkins," she said as she entered the store. He nodded and raised a single finger to let her know he would be with her as soon as he finished ringing up a sale.

Christa walked toward the display of personal computers and laptops in the back of the store. Each was on, and various colorful images stared at her from the video monitors. She sat down at one and jiggled the mouse so the computer would come out of its “sleep” mode.

She wanted to know what was on the machine, so she went to the menu that showed the list of programs housed on its hard drive. It quickly showed her a list of about 20 programs, and she studied it carefully. There was a mix of games, word processing, and educational software. Nothing especially interested her. She noted the sign on top of the computer touted its huge hard drive and memory. She smiled to herself. It was probably enough room for every piece of software in the entire elementary school.

"How can I help you today, Ms. Heckertt?"

She looked into the store owner's affable face and returned the smile. "I'm looking for a little advice." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pink bag and showed it to him. "Someone was trying to take apart one of my classroom computers this morning, and I interrupted him. He, or she, left behind this bag and a small screwdriver. I’m hoping you can tell me what the bag’s for."

Mr. Watkins took the bag and turned it over. "It's made of polyethylene foam. Meant to protect sensitive computer components from static. You don't know the damage static does until it's too late. Doesn't actually destroy the data, but could cause other parts of the system to crash and that would have the same effect as wiping out everything."

"I see." Christa looked at the small bag. "So, what would go in here?"

"If you bought a new hard drive, for example, it would of course be in a box, but inside that box it would be wrapped in material identical to this. This is about the right size for a hard drive." He handed it back to her. "Sorry about your burglar."

"Me too," she said, staring thoughtfully at the bag. "To transport the computer, would it be safer to take out the hard drive and put it in this pink bag?"

Mr. Watkins looked at his watch and snapped his fingers. "I was supposed to call a customer at five o'clock to tell them their computer was ready. Can you wait just a minute?"

"Sure," Christa said. She looked at the game software. Many of them were, in her opinion, pure trash. Pretty violent, too. But, a growing number of the games combined play with education. If nothing else, the children learned better hand/eye coordination by working a joystick or a mouse. She noticed a sign highlighted games with numbers. 'Learn how to decode spy messages." The software package was called "Crypto Gram," and said anyone could prepare a message with a hidden meaning. That was all she needed, Christa thought. Software that would teach her fourth grade boys ways to write notes she would not understand. Last week she had intercepted one that said 'everyone drop your pencils at 1:30." She smiled to herself. The boys would like this game.

Mr. Watkins stood beside her again. "You were asking about making the hard drive safer to transport. With older computers that was a concern. Now, all computers have what we call automatic park." A new customer came into the store, and he nodded at them to acknowledge their presence. "Every time you turn it off it knows to put the heads in a special position so that if you pick it up or jostle it there can't be any damage."

Christa wasn't sure what the "heads" were, but she was certain Mr. Watkins knew what he was talking about. "That makes me think," Christa said, "that the person didn't want the whole computer, just the hard drive."

"Or maybe something else, like the modem. But components are so cheap these days; it's hard to imagine someone going to all that trouble." He gestured to the far wall, which had all kinds of unfriendly-looking boxes with internal computer parts. "It would be a heck of a lot easier to shoplift one of my new parts than break in a school and take apart your computer." He winked at her.

His sense of humor was one of the reasons Christa felt comfortable asking him so many questions. She stood and held out her hand. "Thanks, Mr. Watkins."

"Don't know as how I helped that much," he said.

"You did," she replied matter-of-factly, and returned his wink.

Back out in the mall, Christa strolled slowly, looking in the windows at the winter clothes on display. She needed a new casual jacket, but wasn't willing to spend the money just yet. She'd wait for a sale. The Iowa City public school system paid her well enough, but she still had to maintain a strict budget. Especially since she had bought her new home computer, scanner, and printer, with the combined price tag of more than $800. Her old one still worked, but it was like trying to wash your clothes with a wringer washer. They were clean when you were done, but it took a lot longer to do the job.

The purchase had eaten up better than half of her savings, but she could easily rationalize spending the money. While her schoolteacher mother had kept her grades in a leather-bound book and composed her tests on an electric typewriter, Christa used her computer for literally everything. She couldn't imagine having to hold onto copies of all the paper she generated each school year. She turned in her grades each marking period and then stored the information on the computer. At the end of every school year, she downloaded that year's tests and other files onto a CD and put it in her safe deposit box at the bank. The same disk had her thoughts on each student. After six years, she remembered all the names, but she sometimes had to think awhile to put a face and name together, or remember who was good at what. She wanted to remember everything about them.

Christa stopped at the bookstore and debated whether to go in. Nope. She had to get home. Because she worked late last night, she'd hardly been in her apartment. She hated that "just-stopping-by" feeling she got when she wasn't there much. And her cat resented being left alone too long. Good old Brandy. She might be declawed, but she could still think of ways to annoy Christa if her owner was away too long. Her favorite was to overturn all the waste baskets in the apartment. Christa walked into the drug store and bought Brandy a can of food. It would be a special treat, a break from her usual diet of hard food.

She stuck the small can in her pocket as she got on the elevator that would take her to the top level of the parking lot. The pink bag was in the other pocket, and she fingered it during the short ride to the top level. Christa looked around the parking area. There were only four cars on that tier, and it was dusk. Iowa City wasn't troubled by a lot of crime, but even so, Christa didn't like the lonely feeling as she hurried to the car.

She unlocked the car door and was just about to open it when the fast-moving figure darted from behind the car a few yards away. Though she didn't turn to face the man coming toward her, Christa had no doubt he was after her purse. She yanked the door and had inserted one foot into the car when he grabbed her. Christa screamed and looked at his face. All she could see was the ski mask and blue eyes. Instinctively she clutched her purse, but it wasn't his target. Instead, he lunged for her pocket and pulled out the pink bag, tearing the fabric at the corner of the pocket as he did so. With a quick movement he shoved her against the car and ran toward the stairs.

Numb, Christa watched him pull the heavy door and enter the stairway. There was hardly any sound as he ran down the concrete steps. She took a deep breath and eased herself into the car and then closed and locked the door. She leaned back into the seat and folded her arms in front of her, squeezing herself as she did so. If only she could stop shaking!

Tears stung her eyes. Aloud, she said, "You could have been killed." No, she was being melodramatic. The thief had wanted only one thing. And Kirk Reynolds thought it was a waste of his time to investigate the attempted theft of her computers. She wondered what he would say now. She reached to turn on the ignition, and realized her keys weren't in it. She opened the door and looked on the ground. They lay where she had dropped them when the man spun her around, and she picked them up and closed the door again.

The sound of the car engine made her jump. "Calm yourself, woman," she said. It was a short drive to the police station. Since it was just after five o'clock, Kirk Reynolds might still be on duty and she could tell him what she thought of his investigative techniques.

No such luck. "He left on time today," the officer at the information counter said. “But, his partner’s here early and late, if you want to talk to him.”

"He's helping his sister," came a voice from behind the sergeant. Christa recognized the officer who had arrived at the same time Kirk did.

"Oh, good," she said. What was the man's name? Hadley, she thought. "You were there this morning, too."

As Christa started to explain what had just happened to her, the sergeant pushed a button and there was a buzz as the glass security door unlocked. Officer Hadley opened it as he listened attentively.

Two hours later, Christa had a better sense of why Kirk Reynolds wanted to avoid a lengthy investigation of that morning's attempted burglary. Even the school system didn't have as much paperwork as the police department did. Officer Hadley had been more than kind. Eventually, she realized he was probably supposed to be off-duty, too, and she had hurried her explanation. Though she had seen the man this time, she could only describe him in terms of his height (maybe five foot eight), blue eyes, ski mask, and dark clothes. Not much for police to go on, she knew, and she could tell that Hadley doubted the pink bag was the target. Twice he politely indicated that the thief must have thought he was grabbing a bag that contained a purchase. Frustrated, Christa drove toward her apartment, her haven.