Chat - Archer Mayor [73]
Lester didn’t bother pointing out that he actually understood a great deal of this already.
Leppman had by now switched over to another computer, so that he could access the Internet rather than merely study the static contents of the Steve’s Garage clone.
“Huh,” he grunted. “Rockwell put a block on his chat room profile. No surprise there. Being a kid, though, Mandi was a little less cagey. She lied about her age—you can’t log in, supposedly, unless you’re over eighteen—but all the rest looks legit.”
He scribbled down her particulars onto his pad. “Okay, so far, so good. She even gave us an address, which is unusual—the standard profile is hobbies, age, gender, general location, and the rest. I guess Mandi’s still used to filling out forms correctly. Great for us.”
He sat back and rested his hands for a moment, not bothering to turn his head as he spoke. “One last step before we get legal—this is just something I’ve learned through habit. So far, all this has been pretty much public domain information—something anyone can do with a computer and a connection. I do one more thing along similar lines: I check that address I just got against one of the mapping programs, just to make sure it’s not in the middle of the Hudson River, or Lake Champlain, or Christ knows where.”
He put his hands back over the keyboard and began typing. Lester watched as the screen did its version of scratching its head—portrayed by a small ticking-clock icon—before finally flashing, “Address not found.”
Leppman tried a couple of variations, equally unsuccessfully, and then sat back in his chair again. “Nothing. Well, so much for good little Mandi. I guess she saw me coming after all.”
Lester watched his profile, again caught by the man’s level of engagement. “No sweat,” he said. “I’ll get on those subpoenas.”
JMAN: U there?
JMAN: Mandi144. U there?
Mandi144: hey
JMAN: thot I got the wrong time
Mandi144: nop. Probs w/ my mom
JMAN: wat?
Mandi144: she got fired. At home a lot
JMAN: bummer
Mandi144: ur telling me. R plans r messed up now
JMAN: I cant cum up?
Mandi144: Ill tell u when
Chapter 17
“Your mom tells me you’re a police officer.”
Joe looked up from the coffee machine, where he’d been hoping the spigot over his paper cup wouldn’t either miss or overflow. He was so used to everyone knowing what he did for a living—and had been, it felt, for two lifetimes—that he was almost startled at the question.
Karl Weisenbeck, Leo’s doctor, was standing next to him with a dollar in his hand.
“Hi, Doc. Yeah. Vermont Bureau of Investigation.”
Weisenbeck nodded a couple of times, as if trying to remember the name of a song. “Sounds important.”
Joe laughed as he watched the cup filling, successfully so far. “Not if you’re in law enforcement. Most cops assume we exist only to steal all the credit and headlines they have coming, not to mention the grant money.”
“Do you?”
Joe retrieved his cup and stood back to give Weisenbeck a shot at his own luck. The condition of the floor at the foot of the machine suggested he had a fifty-fifty chance. He enjoyed the man’s directness—had from the day they first met.
“Try not to. How’s Leo doing? I mean really?”
Now it was Weisenbeck’s turn to look up inquiringly. “You think I’ve been bullshitting you?”
“Not one bit. That’s why I’m asking.”
The doctor returned to monitoring his progress, even delicately placing his fingers around the cup so he’d be in position to tear it away at the right moment. A veteran.
They both waited until that time when, indeed, he had to extract prematurely and allow the spigot to piddle a little extra coffee into the miniature catch basin, from where it dribbled onto the floor. Weisenbeck shook his head with disgust and began walking with Joe down the hallway toward the ICU.
“He’s no worse, which, given what he’s facing, is saying a lot. From what we can tell, he’s suffered no additional