The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [101]
“Good. Why don’t—” The phone’s electronic bleat sent her into the kitchen to answer it; it was Cynthia from CART with the lab’s analysis of Vail’s hard drive.
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Cynthia said. “First, I’ve got a guy working on the sender’s name, G. G. Condon. But we both know that’s going to be a dead end. However, because the offender sent the message to you at work, it was stored on the Academy server. That’s the good news. From what we’ve been able to determine, the way this self-destructing email works is that it sends its message with a tracking number embedded in its source code. Unbeknownst to you, he sent another message simultaneously to our mail server, which also got downloaded into your inbox; it looked like an identical copy of message number one, so you probably ignored it. But its source code was different. The effect was like a ticking time bomb; message two contained simple instructions that identified the tracking code on message one, which triggered a self-destruct countdown as soon as you read it. At the predetermined time, message one “dissolved,” to use an inaccurate but descriptive term, into its digital components—ones and zeroes. The message literally vanished.”
“Great.”
“Actually, it is. We were able to recover the message and routing information, including the second message that erased the first.”
“Let’s cut to the chase. What’d we learn from all this digital skulking?”
“Your message originated from a cybercafé in Arlington.”
“Arlington.” She wondered if Kim Rossmo had finished the geographic profile yet. Would Arlington fall within the offender’s geographic range? “If we have the time stamp on it, we can check their security cameras to see who was in the café at that time. They do have security cameras, don’t they?”
“That would be too easy,” Cynthia said. “Either the offender got lucky or he’s smart.”
“He’s smart. Very smart.”
“Then I’m afraid the only thing you can do is stake out the place, see if he comes back.” Vail’s shoulders slumped. “We don’t even know what the guy looks like.”
“Even if you did, there’s no guarantee he’ll use the same cybercafé.”
“He won’t,” Vail said with resignation in her voice. “We need to find some other way of tracking him.”
“That’s your neck of the woods. We decrypt and unlock secrets, report the info to you. You guys get to have all the fun.”
Vail had another word for it but thanked Cynthia and hung up. After relaying the information to Robby, she said, “Why don’t you go find out what forensics came up with. Meantime, I’ll spend some time with the file.”
He placed a hand on her cheek, then turned and walked out.
forty-one
“He’s coming up the path,” Robby said. Everyone scattered, as if a pebble had been dropped in a pond. Robby pretended to have just arrived and started removing his jacket as Hancock walked through the door. He nodded casually at Hancock, then took his seat.
Bledsoe sauntered in, tossed a few papers onto Sinclair’s desk, and stopped in front of Hancock. “You doing okay?”
Hancock shrugged a shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t called me.”
“We had some stuff to go over. Lab findings. I thought you’d want to get back in the saddle and help us out. We sure could use it.”
Del Monaco, sitting at Vail’s desk, reclined in his chair, observing Hancock’s demeanor, body language, and speech patterns. Sinclair, Manette, and Robby all tried to busy themselves with paperwork, though they each kept an eye on Hancock’s movements.
“Yeah, sure. Help any way I can.”
“Good. Get me a copy of your CV, I’ll circulate it at the station, see if anyone knows somebody who needs a security chief.”
Hancock’s eyes narrowed. “You’d do that for me?”
“Why not? You’ve been very helpful with this investigation. You’re the one who came up with the artist interpretation of the blood murals. I think that’s going to turn out to be significant. Even Karen didn’t think of that.”
Hancock frowned. Perhaps mentioning Vail’s name was a mistake. But a second