Cold Grave (33 page)

‘They’re not really made of dogs, silly,’ Ben announced. ‘It’s a frankfurt on a bun with ketchup and mustard.’ He looked to his father for verification. ‘And cheese. I like them with cheese. At home we only have them with tomato sauce, don’t we Dad?’

‘Too right.’ Martin grinned. ‘Guess Wes is more of a pizza man. And I’m thinking . . . vegetarian.’ Anya followed them outside the door.

‘That kid could suck life out of an active volcano. Come to think of it, reminds me of myself at that age.’

‘Which part?’ Anya mused. ‘The dyed black hair in his eyes, low-hung pants, illegally accessing private websites, breaking laws for a challenge, or aversion to mystery meats?’

‘What’s that famous quote – Bismarck, I think. “Laws are like sausages. It’s better not to see them being made.” Only I say, it’s no reason not to get stuck into them either. Maybe we are alike after all.’

Anya went back inside. Wes was standing by the piano. ‘Lush. This must have cost a mint.’

She wasn’t sure if he meant the suite or the instrument. Jasmine sat quietly at the keys.

‘Do you play?’ Anya asked.

‘Guitar is more my thing.’

‘What sort of music?’

Jasmine was listening.

‘My tastes are pretty eclectic. Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, Romantic. Occasionally Neo-Classical.’

Anya had to smile. That may have seemed like a broad range to the teen, but not to anyone else.

‘What about you?’ Wes asked Anya, obviously nervous about addressing Jasmine.

Her interests were in no way as refined as those of the teens in the room. They were both musicians, whereas she played for fun, dabbling in music she’d loved since childhood. ‘Drums. Rock, jazz, pop. There weren’t a lot of solos written for drums in the eighteenth century.’

Wes’s eyes crinkled. Just a bit. ‘You look more like a flute. Or oboe.’

Anya was not quite sure what that meant. ‘Looks can be deceiving.’

Jasmine glanced up at her and smiled.

Wes pulled open the computer bag, and had a glint in his eyes. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Anya unplugged her laptop and placed it on the table. Wes joined her while Jasmine began to play something classical.

‘Jasmine’s sister, Lilly, died after an overdose of a drug called GHB. Sometimes called liquid fantasy, some people think it improves sex drive. Unfortunately, it’s used as a date-rape drug.’

‘Holy shit.’ He bit his lower lip. ‘I’ve heard stories about it, but I’ve never taken anything like that. I promise.’

Anya believed him. He was only guilty of social ineptitude when it came to expressing himself to girls. ‘We know that.’

‘That stuff is insane. My dad got addicted to painkillers after the explosion. He was a medic, and his team was headed to some injured soldiers in K
a
^–
pis
a
^–
. Only there was a roadside bomb. Dad was lucky. Two other guys got killed.’

That explained the injuries to Mr Meeks’s right side, and the night terrors.

‘I mean it wasn’t his fault, the painkillers. But then he starting drinking pretty heavily. It wrecked our family. Man, I could never do that to someone I cared about, no matter how bad things got.’

Anya plugged in the power cord on the wall behind the table. ‘You couldn’t give anyone drugs, or take them yourself?’

‘Either.’

That, Anya thought, was a large part of the problem they now faced. The men who had raped Lilly and Kandy had treated them like objects. The blogging girl seemed to view them the same way.

Anya typed in the address of the social site Laura had identified, but she couldn’t access members without an account herself. ‘Don’t suppose you have an account?’

Wes glanced across. ‘Only two because this site’s more for old people.’ He tapped away and located his own page.

Anya wondered how old he considered college students. ‘We need to access someone’s account to help find out who gave the GHB to Lilly. It’s under the name of Hornycollegegirl.’

The hair was flicked from the eye. ‘Seriously? Sure it’s not a fifty-year-old man?’

The thought had not occurred to Anya. It could have been a man masquerading as a woman. ‘I was told a search warrant was the only way to find out who she is.’

‘In theory, you need a warrant to get neoprints and photoprints. They’re profile information the networks keep to themselves. They’re supposed to be inaccessible to anyone. None of us is supposed to be able to see our own.’

‘Is there an easier and quicker way?’

Jasmine continued playing, seemingly lost in the music.

Wes was checking one of his own pages and seemed to be deleting entries. ‘People are basically stupid. They use easy to remember passwords, like their birthdate, pet’s name, kids’ names. It’s unbelievable. So what’s Hornycollegegirl done, apart from being stuck in the 1970s?’

Anya didn’t want him to see, or Jasmine to hear. She spoke quietly, ‘She says she took photos of someone we think was Lilly Chan. Lilly had already been drugged and could have been unconscious.’

She didn’t want Wes to know she had already seen some photos of Lilly’s fifteen-year-old friend.

He closed his eyes. ‘What a douche nozzle.’ He glanced over at the piano. ‘Does Jasmine know?’

‘I’m not sure if the family’s been told yet. I thought if we could stop the photos spreading . . .’

‘You came to the right person.’

Part of Anya felt a little guilty about getting Wes involved, but unless something could be done to identify the College Girl, no one would be accountable for what had happened to Lilly.

‘Wes, I want to take complete responsibility for this. You were never involved. Okay?’

He reached over to Anya’s computer. ‘Fine. I’ll use yours then. And what I’m doing is only illegal if I get caught. If he or she’s as juvenile as they sound, I’ll find them in no time.’

Anya had no idea how. With all the random permutations of numbers and letters, the chances of guessing a password, even using algorithms, should have been almost impossible. As far as she knew, that was the point of passwords – to stop others accessing personal information.

Obviously, Wesley Meeks Jr had other ideas.

33

Martin and Ben returned with a tray full of hot dogs, burgers, and slices of pizza. Judging by the sauce smear on Ben’s face, he hadn’t waited to eat.

‘Wes,’ Martin said, ‘if you’re anything like I used to be, you’re always hungry. And I can assure you only vegetables were picked, chopped up and cooked in the making of this pizza.’

‘Any fries?’ Wes didn’t look up from the computer.

‘Do I look like a smorgasbord?’

Anya picked up the pizza and a plate of fries and placed them on the table next to Wesley. Martin could never help himself when fries were on offer. She dipped into a few herself.

‘This place sure has amateurs running its security system.’ Wes took a large bite of pizza and spoke with his mouth full. ‘I’ll leave them a message before Sydney.’

Martin stared.

‘What? I’d make sure it’s anonymous. Kind of like a public service.’

‘As opposed to the police, knocking on your door for all your “good deeds”.’ Martin joined them at the table. ‘If you can access the passenger lists, what about internet usage? Everyone has to sign up for an account and log in every time they use it, whether you use a personal computer or one of the public ones.’

‘While I’m in, do you want to check yours before you settle the bill?’

Martin covered his ears. ‘I’m not hearing this.’

Ben took a plate of fries to Jasmine, who joined him on the lounge.

‘If you prefer, I can delete the whole account.’ The teenager gave a wry grin.

Martin groaned. ‘Of all the IT savvy people on board, we end up with Al Capone’s accountant.’

Anya stretched her neck. ‘If you can tell when the entries were posted, we could check the times against the logon information.’

‘Or I can make small talk with College Girl and as soon as she posts, find out who’s accessing the ship’s internet at exactly that time. We can catch her with her pants down. Sorry. Poor choice of words there.’ His face flushed again.

‘Says you,’ Martin said, under his breath, ‘with your trousers halfway down your butt.’

The thought of being outsmarted by a teenager was obviously galling.

‘Are you really married to him?’ Wes asked.

Anya tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Not anymore.’

‘That figures.’

‘Hello! I can hear you.’ Martin bit into a hamburger.

‘Do you want to know what College Girl or Guy looks like?’

‘Why do you ask?’ Anya was curious what else he could propose.

‘Because we can snap whoever it is in the act.’

Wes had Martin and Anya’s complete attention.

‘All I have to do is write a virus that goes to all the computers on the network. The ones for passengers all have webcams for video calling.’

‘How does sabotaging the network help?’ Martin clearly disapproved.

Wes took a prolonged breath. ‘Not all viruses are destructive. You can write a programme to do whatever you like. Every computer has its own
mac
address. No two are the same . . .’

He seemed to wait for them to finish the concept. Neither spoke.

‘So . . . I get the webcam to switch on when anyone logs on to these sites. The camera takes a photo of the user right at that moment. I get the virus to send the
mac
address and image to my email.’

‘Isn’t the
mac
address numeric? How do you know where it is?’ Anya wondered how they would find the woman – or man – on a ship this size, even with her photo. Sifting through thousands of passenger IDs was time-consuming and it would be easier to miss a woman, especially if she had a different hairstyle or was wearing a hat.

‘It’s simple. There are naming conventions for computers in offices and places like this. The IT manager has to be able to locate any one if there’s a problem or complaint. All I do is get the unique name of that computer sent to my email with the other info. We should know straightaway what deck and part of the ship she’s in.’

‘And if it’s on a personal computer?’

‘Seriously. College Girl doesn’t sound like the type to take a personal computer with her to a party. Isn’t that what this cruise is supposed to be?’

‘The kid makes a good point.’ Martin almost sounded impressed.

Anya felt uncomfortable about what they were doing, but knew there were no other options. She glanced over at Jasmine talking with Ben on the lounge. They had good reason for doing it. ‘You promise not to damage any of the computer systems or programmes?’

Wes was already tapping away. ‘Trust me. I use my powers for good, not evil.’

‘One thing,’ Anya was still concerned. ‘What if the virus gets found. You – or we – could be in a lot of trouble.’

For the first time, Wes smiled. The corners of his eyes upturned and his whole face changed. Dimples appeared in each cheek. He should do it more often, then girls like Jasmine would melt, Anya thought.

‘You underestimate my powers. I can make the virus delete itself whenever we want. Every twelve hours, or every hour if you want. Then I pre-programme it to reinstall just before the deletion.’

‘So by the time someone from IT notices, and works out what it is, it’s gone again.’ Anya didn’t want to think of all the others like Wes, who may not be so civil-minded.

‘There’s no footprint. No way of ever tracing it.’

‘You are a scary little dude,’ Martin said. ‘But you’re growing on me.’

‘In that case, you might want to change your email password. “Benjamin” is way too obvious.’