Helpless (41 page)

“Don’t worry,” said the man. “I won’t look.”

Chapter 63

F
or the past few hours Rainy and Carter had tried without success to make sense of the disparate hash values of the images Mann had given them. They were examining four of Mann’s pictures. The girl Rainy had officially ID’d was Gretchen Stiller.

“Same composition,” Rainy said to Carter.

“Exact same.”

“So why don’t these images generate the same hash value?”

“The pixels aren’t the exact same, that’s why.”

“How so?” Rainy asked.

“Take a look at the color composition of the images when compared side to side. I’ve arranged them on my monitor screen to run from lightest to darkest.”

Rainy could see that each image was progressively darker than the previous one.

“So the colors aren’t the same. What do you know about color depth in computer graphics?” asked Carter.

“About as much as I know about caring for houseplants,” Rainy said. Her spider plants were almost ready for their last rites.

“Maybe if you used your home for something more than a glorified storage locker, they might be thriving,” Carter said.

“Back to the color depth,” Rainy said.

“The job is never going to end, Rainy. There’s always going to be bad guys out there. We can’t get them all.”

“As you were saying—”

“These images are moments in time that’ll last forever. You can’t say the same thing about your life.”

“The color depth, please, Cart,” Rainy said, more irritated this time.

“Right. Color depth in computer graphics describes the number of bits used to create the color of a single pixel. The higher the color depth, the greater the range of distinct colors that can be used.”

“And the connection to these four?”

“The precision to which color can be represented gets pretty technical. At the pixel level there are slight variations to color that aren’t visible to the naked eye, but that would change the hash values.”

“Where did Mann get these images?”

“Four different sources,” Carter said.

“So each source altered the pixel colors slightly?”

“It looks that way to me,” Carter said.

“Why would somebody do that?” Rainy asked.

“That’s the question we need to answer.”

Rainy’s cell phone rang. She answered it.

“It’s the coach,” Rainy said, covering the phone. Rainy felt a little pulse of excitement, which took her by surprise. She couldn’t believe how happy she was to hear from him.

What is wrong with you, Miles?
Rainy scolded herself.
He’s good looking and probably innocent, that’s what’s wrong. Bad combination.

Rainy listened to Tom talk for several minutes without saying a word. “Of course I will,” she eventually said into the phone. She ended the call and turned to Carter. “Lindsey Wells is missing,” she said.

“Missing? As of when?”

“Sometime between last night and this morning.”

“Why is Hawkins calling you?” asked Carter.

“His daughter, Jill, may have found the sext image collection on Mitchell Boyd’s computer.”

“What now?” Carter asked.

“You’re going to try to figure out why people would make slight alterations to the same image composition.”

“And you?”

“I’m going to check out a new lead for our James Mann investigation,” Rainy answered him. “And maybe, just maybe, help find a missing girl in the process.”

Chapter 64

O
n the drive to Shilo, Rainy thought about Lindsey Wells. Her mind painted the gruesome image of a dead girl in the woods, and so she tried to think of something, anything else. Then she’d think about Tom Hawkins.

Rainy parked her sedan on the side of the road. She exited the car and followed a brick walkway to the front door. She rang the bell and waited. Through the sidelight window, Rainy watched Tom Hawkins descend the staircase. He extended his hand to her as he opened the door.

“Thanks for taking the time to come all the way up here,” Tom said.

Again Rainy felt that flash of attraction. Was she not seeing the case right? Was that attraction clouding her judgment? She pushed those thoughts aside. She needed to reestablish the divide between the law and the rest. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to come inside?” she asked.

That’s what I’d say to a suspect,
Rainy thought. What was Tom really to her? Suspect? Victim? Or something else? Rainy wanted to trust him. To believe in his innocence. But the girl linked to him had gone missing. Trust was something she wasn’t fully ready to give.

“Of course,” Tom said. “We’re glad you’re here.”

“We?”

“Marvin, my attorney. And Jill.”

Rainy followed Tom into the home. Jill was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. She waved as soon as she saw Rainy. When Rainy reached the top of the landing, the two shook hands. Rainy glanced into the living room and next down the hallway but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Jill, I’m so sorry we’re meeting again under these circumstances,” Rainy said.

Jill nodded quickly, several times, which Rainy took to mean “Thanks, but I can’t talk about it yet.”

Marvin, who was dressed in a tracksuit, shook Rainy’s hand as well. “Sorry about the attire,” Marvin said. “Tom’s got me on a new workout program. Five pounds in two weeks. Not bad.”

“No. Very impressive,” said Rainy.

“I really appreciate the tip you gave me about the computer battery,” Marvin said. “It’s going to make a difference.”

“D.A. isn’t going to drop the charges,” Rainy said. “They told me that several times.”

“Me as well,” Marvin said. “But the jury is going to see it as a huge hole. Big enough to dump in truckloads of reasonable doubt.”

“As long as we’re on the same page,” Rainy heard herself say. She sounded cold. Detached. Was she just being protective of herself? Was she afraid of getting close to them—to Tom and Jill? He was going to be tried for the very crimes she’d dedicated her life to preventing. She worried it was a trial they couldn’t win. Unless she could prove otherwise, Tom Hawkins might be going to jail for a very long time.

“Agent Miles, this case is not what it seems,” Marvin said. “I’m glad you’re here to help.”

I don’t know what to believe,
Rainy thought.

“Why don’t we sit at the kitchen table,” Tom suggested.

“Sounds good,” Rainy said. She followed Tom into the spacious, bright kitchen and took a seat at the rectangular table. Her seat faced the windows, and she could see out into the backyard, with its spacious, well-kept lawn. There were no tents or tarps out back that could conceal a hostage or a body. No storage shed, either, at least from what she could see.

The battery. James Mann. A collection of sexts. Different pixel colors used for the same image composition. A missing girl.
Rainy wanted the delineation between guilt and innocence to be as clear as the bright and cloudless Shilo sky.

“Can I get you something to drink, Agent Miles?” Tom asked.

“No, thank you,” Rainy said. She would never accept a drink from a suspect, but of course, she wouldn’t tell him that.

Tom sat across from Rainy, Jill in the seat to her right, and Marvin next to Jill.

“Are you sure you want to talk to me?” Rainy asked.

Tom nodded, though he now appeared confused. “Of course we want to talk to you. We invited you here.”

“Of course,” Rainy said. She knew to overdo the questions, to plug any holes Marvin might use to try to demonstrate entrapment. Marvin and Tom seemed to think Rainy was on their side, but she wasn’t sure whose side she was on.

“Let’s start with Lindsey,” Rainy continued. “You said on the phone that she’s missing. Have there been any new developments?”

Tom took hold of Jill’s hand. Jill didn’t pull away. Did she no longer believe Lindsey and her father were having an affair? Rainy wondered if she was partly responsible for that turnaround.

“Nothing has changed,” Tom said. “Lindsey’s mother has filed a missing persons report. I guess notices have been sent to all the New England and New York police departments. If she doesn’t turn up in twenty-four hours, they’ll organize a search.”

“Have the police questioned you in connection to Lindsey’s disappearance?” Rainy asked.

“Not yet,” Marvin answered. “But I’m sure they will.”

“At this point, people usually tell me they didn’t have anything to do with a disappearance,” Rainy replied.

“I didn’t think I had to,” Tom replied.

“Why don’t you tell me how you think this is connected to sexting.”

It took Jill several minutes to tell Rainy everything she knew.

“So, Lindsey told you that she sent pictures of herself to Tanner Farnsworth?”

Jill nodded.

“You found topless pictures of yourself on Mitchell Boyd’s computer?”

Again, Jill nodded. “There were other girls on Mitchell’s computer, too,” Jill added. “Some I knew. Some I didn’t.”

Marvin brought Rainy up to date on Tom’s car accident, careful not to reveal too much privileged information. Tom recounted how he rescued his daughter from Mitchell’s bedroom.

“I’m worried the police are going to focus on my dad,” Jill said. “What if Mitchell Boyd had something to do with Lindsey’s disappearance?”

“Well, I can speak with the Shilo PD and make sure they have all this information,” Rainy said.

“That would be a big help,” said Marvin. “I don’t think anything we have to say will carry much weight with them.”

“Did you tell the police what you told me?” asked Rainy.

“No,” Tom said. “But when you talk to them, you can’t mention that I broke into the house. They can’t know.”

“Why?”

“Because Roland Boyd could use that to press charges against me. If he starts to feel any heat on Mitchell, he could say that he wasn’t aware I’d broken into his home. It would get my bail revoked. Jill would be left vulnerable.”

“I see,” Rainy said. “Well, I can tell them Jill’s side of the story. They need to know where to start looking.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” said Tom.

Marvin appeared satisfied, but Jill looked worried.

“Mitchell won’t do anything with your pictures, Jill,” Tom said. “Not with people watching him now.”

“After I talk to the Shilo PD, I think I’ll take a trip over to Roland Boyd’s house myself,” said Rainy.

“Why?” Tom asked.

“I’d like to see just how cooperative Roland Boyd and his son feel like being with me.”

“That sounds great,” Marvin said. “I’ve got a trip planned for the afternoon myself.”

Tom shot Marvin a surprised look. “Where are you going? I thought you said you had witness depositions for my case this afternoon.”

“I moved them,” Marvin said. “I managed to get a meeting at Cortland & Associates this afternoon.”

“Cortland? What for?” Tom asked.

“Can’t say just yet, but I think these guys do a lot more than help creeps like Frank Dee erase their digital past.”

Chapter 65

M
arvin Pressman used the power of intention to create the perfect parking space. As he cruised the one-way streets and maddening intersections of downtown Boston in his pre-owned Subaru Impreza, he softly recited his foolproof space-making mantra. “There’ll be a space in front of the building.... There’ll be a space in front of the building.” Sure enough, as Marvin neared the twelve-story office tower where Cortland & Associates was headquartered, the taillights of a gray sedan flashed, and soon after, the car vacated a metered space five steps from his destination.

Marvin fished two hours’ worth of quarters from an ashtray that had never been blemished by a single ash. He exited the car, fed the meter, and paused to study his reflection in the building’s tall ground-level window.

You’re getting there.... Five more pounds ...

Hugging his briefcase close to his side, Marvin spun through the revolving glass door and emerged into an air-conditioned marble foyer that spoke of success. He signed in at the security desk, stuck his peel-away name badge to his suit’s breast pocket, and took the elevator to the tenth floor.

Gold-plated letters spelling out CORTLAND & ASSOCIATES filled one black marble wall of the tenth-floor lobby. The double glass doors to Cortland’s offices were locked, and they opened only after Marvin pushed a button on the intercom.

Marvin approached the reception desk. “I have a meeting with Simon Cortland,” he announced to the receptionist.

“Yes, Mr. Pressman. Please have a seat. Mr. Cortland will be with you shortly.”

Marvin sat on one of the stylish black leather chairs in the waiting area. He felt uncomfortably low to the ground.

Simon Cortland soon appeared. He was tall, accentuating Marvin’s low position. Marvin wondered if that was the furniture’s intended purpose. Cortland was dressed splendidly in a dark blue suit, pink shirt, and rich burgundy tie. He looked young, handsome, and rich. Marvin disliked him for those offenses alone.

“Marvin Pressman?”

“Yes,” Marvin said. “Simon Cortland, I presume.”

“Correct. Pleasure to meet you,” Cortland said.

Cortland’s handshake was firm. The man’s cuff links were gold, and his shoes Italian. Marvin felt woefully underdressed, despite having worn the best suit in his arsenal.

“I’m glad our schedules worked out for this meeting,” Marvin said.

Cortland nodded and said, “Me too. We’re incredibly busy, and I’m with clients more than I’m in the office. You caught a lucky break. A client meeting was canceled. My colleague, Aaron Donovan, is waiting for us in the conference room. Please, follow me.”

Marvin took in what he could of the office layout as he trailed Cortland to the conference room.

The floor layout was the typical division of the haves and have-nots. The closed door offices had views of the city skyline. The gray-walled cubicles in the interior space offered views of the neighboring cube.

Cortland held open the conference room door. Marvin entered first. A man, whom Marvin assumed to be Aaron Donovan, rose from his high-back leather chair to greet him. They exchanged business cards after shaking hands. Donovan was essentially a Cortland clone, dressed in equal splendor. The man hid his confidence with all the subtlety of a floodlight. Marvin took a seat at the expansive conference table, across from the two.