Chapter Eight

The computer clicked, then whirredits way into the boot process, making noises that were as familiar to Alex Parthen as his own heartbeat and always oddly relaxing. He propped his feet up on the desk and took a sip of morning coffee from his UC Berkley mug.

He smiled as he thought back to his student days. He'd been such a rage-against-the-machine hippie at that liberal school, shuffling around in flip-flops, cut-off shorts, and a tie-dyed tank top with a peace symbol like a bull's eye smack in the middle of it. He and his computer buddies used to get into one hacker war after another to see who could topple the government's "tower of power."

Alex swung his feet off the desk as his computer settled into a low, friendly hum. It was kind of ironic to think about those rabidly anti-government days now, especially since the main contract for his at-home business was the DoD. He glanced down at himself and chuckled. He supposed he did look a bit like a stuffed shirt, too, what with his fondness for khaki Dockers, plaid button-downs, and gold-rimmed glasses. But, hey, at least he wasn't strangling himself with a damned necktie every day.

Grabbing the mouse, he opened his Gmail account and scanned for news from his sister. Ah! He clicked on her email.

Had dinner at Wasabi's last night, good, but overpriced. Off to another seminar … Sorry to be in such a rush these days. Love you.

Alex frowned. Since when did their conversations revolve around restaurant choices? And Toni didn't like sushi.

The doorbell rang.

Great, the FedEx guy. Setting down his mug, Alex hopped up and grabbed the disc he was sending off for Beta testing. He headed out of his office, sliding the disc into a preaddressed envelope as he cut across the brightly lit jungle that passed for his living room. He loved plants: ferns, palms, Pothos …. He opened the front door and –

Hey, not the FedEx courier. The man on his porch looked like a pretty regular guy, though, dressed in Levi's, cowboy boots, and a collared maroon shirt under a navy windbreaker. He was about Alex's height, though brown-haired instead of blondish-reddish, and sans glasses. He had an athletically lean body and eyes that were green or blue, kind of turquoise, maybe. Alex had never met the dude.

"Hello, may I help you?" he asked, setting the disc aside on an empty plant stand, whose occupant was currently draining in the kitchen sink.

"I hope so," the guy responded pleasantly. "Are you Alexander Parthen?"

He was tempted to come back with depends on who's asking, but the guy didn't look like a missionary or an insurance salesman, so he just said, "Yes."

The dude reached into his windbreaker and pulled out a wallet. "I'm Detective John Waterson, SDPD." He flipped it open. Not a wallet, after all, but a badge.

"Wow, shit, really?" This was an unexpected drag. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm hoping there's not, actually."

Alex tilted his head. Funky answer.

"I'm here about your sister, Mr. Parthen."

"Toni?" Alex blinked.

"Have you had any contact with her since early Wednesday morning?"

"I … wait. Is something wrong?"

"That's what I'm here to find out from you." Waterson tucked his badge away. "Your sister and I worked on a case together Monday night. A blood specialist was needed to consult on a murder scene I was investigating."

A murder scene? Hell, Toni must've drawn the short straw on that one. She hated them.

"She gave me her phone number afterward, because, uh …." The detective patted the breast of his windbreaker, as if searching for something. "We were supposed to keep in touch, so when she didn't answer any of my text messages, I started to worry. I know it's only been a few days, but she doesn't seem like the type to blow me off." Waterson shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a rubber band. "You can imagine my concern when I showed up at Scripps Memorial Hospital early Wednesday morning to investigate a violent crime, only to find out it'd been committed in your sister's hospital room."

Alex startled. "What? You're kidding?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not." Waterson circled the rubber band around his two index fingers like a pulley. Snappity-snappity. Over and over. "Toni wasn't anywhere to be found, and none of the damned nurses working that morning could remember if the crime had been committed before or after Toni was transferred to Sharp Rehabilitation Hospital, so I –"

Alex frowned. Huh?

" – immediately hauled my butt out to Sharp to check on her there. And guess what?" Snappity-snappity. "They have no record of her whatsoever. By now, of course, my detective alarms are clanging like crazy. I don't like it when things don't add up. So I head back to Scripps to find out what the F about your sister, and this time I talk to the folks up in Admin. They now inform me that Dr. Parthen has had to leave town suddenly on a personal family emergency, return date unspecified. But, hey, lo and behold, here I am talking to you, her brother, who's clearly not off on a family emergency and seems fine and dandy."

"Holy cow, man." Alex ran a hand through his hair. "Sounds like a screw up of the highest order. You can mellow out about Toni, though, okay. She's at a hematology seminar in St. Louis. She emailed me just today."

Waterson's brows flew up. "Really?" Then he blew out his cheeks. "Jesus Christ, what a relief." He shoved the rubber band back into his pocket. "Hey, do you mind if I come inside for a minute? It's colder than a witch's tit out here."

"Oh, sure." Alex stepped aside to allow Waterson to walk past him, smiling apologetically. "California's sun can be deceiving." He closed the door. "You want some coffee? It's hot."

"Thanks, that'd be great." Waterson followed Alex into the kitchen. "I'm going to need Toni's contact information. She's not answering her cell, and I have to question her about what she might've witnessed in or near her hospital room Wednesday morning. But, mostly, hell, I just want to hear her voice and make sure she's truly okay."

Alex pulled his Yes, I practice safe text mug out of the cupboard and crossed to the coffee pot. After this conversation, he needed the same. "Sure, man, as soon as I get her number, I'll pass it on to you." He handed the steaming mug to Waterson. "Cream and sugar?

"Black's fine." Waterson took the mug, cupping his hands around it. "You don't know her hotel info?"

"No." Alex leaned back against the kitchen counter.

A flicker of surprise crossed Waterson's face. "Have you asked her for the information?" He sipped the coffee.

"Of course. Several times. But she keeps forgetting to tell me. This seminar's keeping her super busy, and I think she's just exceptionally distracted because of that."

Waterson took another sip. "This is really good coffee, by the way." He was silent for a moment, just drinking. "Is that … unusual for your sister not to give you any contact information?"

"Um …." Alex's stomach felt funny all of a sudden. "Yeah, actually, it's extremely unusual."

Waterson peered down into his mug for a long moment, then looked up. "My detective alarms are clanging again," he said quietly.

"Aw, c'mon, man." Alex pushed off the counter. "Don't say that."

Waterson set his coffee cup on the kitchen table. "Would you mind if I take a look at her emails?"

"Shit." Alex exhaled. "All right, yeah." He led the way out of the kitchen.

His office was nothing special, simply furnished with everything IKEA could provide, and his computer looked like any other PC to the average consumer, little fishy screen savers bobbing across the monitor. On the inside, though, his tower was jacked to the hilt with such a choice collection of high-tech software, any propeller-head worth his salt would go sloppy-faced over it: CSAP database system, Automated Security Incident Measurement software, intrusion detection, triple data encryption standard, a myriad of filters, and enough firewalls to stop the best of hackers. All comfortably tucked into a terabyte of RAM and kept humming along in a liquid-cooled interior.

Alex wiggled his mouse to make the fishies swim away. Toni's last email was still up on the screen. "You should be able to see the entire email stream between us for the last couple of days. It's not much."

"Okay." Waterson gestured to the desk chair. "May I?" At Alex's nod, the detective sat, first pulling the rubber band out of jeans pocket. As he read, he circled it around his index fingers again with that snappity-snappity noise. Over and over. Snappity-snappity.

Alex couldn't help grimacing. "I know you're a cop and all, but, dude, if you don't stop doing that, I'm going to have to hit you."

The rubber band stilled. "Sorry. I'm, uh, trying to cut down on smoking and sometimes I have to do something with my hands or go nuts." He swiveled toward Alex. "These emails aren't personal at all, general newsy stuff for the most part. Is that normal?"

Alex shrugged. "We usually keep the real personal stuff out of cyberspace and talk about it over dinner." He and his sister maintained a standing Friday night date.

Waterson nodded, accepting that. "She's definitely evading your questions, though: where she's staying in St. Louis and when her seminar ends. Whether she's doing that because she's distracted or for some other reason is the big question."

Alex stilled. "What other reason could there possibly be?"

"I don't know," Waterson answered honestly, "that's what I'm trying to figure out." He stroked a thumb along his jaw. "When was the last time you actually saw your sister?"

"Um, Monday night, right after her car accident. My mother and I both went to see her in the hospital. Wednesday I was supposed to pick her up when she was discharged, but I got a text from her, telling me that she was heading to St. Louis. The hospital was providing transportation directly to the airport."

Waterson frowned. "So soon after an accident?"

Alex spread his hands. "Toni's generally a hard charger, so, you know …."

"You didn't talk to her on the phone about it, though?"

"No."

"So you haven't heard the sound of her voice since … when?"

"Shit … Tuesday, I guess. I called her at the hospital to check in."

"Did anything strike you as strange about the conversation?"

"No." He shoved his hands into his pocket. This conversation was really beginning to blow chunks. "She was just anxious to get out, doctors making the worst patients and all."

Waterson went silent. He stared at the computer screen for what seemed like a small eternity, stroking his jaw again. "Is there any way to determine if these emails are actually coming from St. Louis?"

"Yeah, I can do that." Alex took over his desk chair. "Even though Toni would be using her own laptop, she'd most likely be hooking into her hotel's WiFi." As he spoke, he clicked on details at the top of Toni's email. A full message header popped up. He scanned down until he found the received from line, then ran the IP code and checked the location. "It's the Crowne Plaza Hotel in St. Louis."

Relief spread over Waterson's face. "Well, that's good news. Now I can track –"

"Not necessarily." Alex's throat squeezed down to a narrow cable as he read further. "This might just be a proxy server."

"A what?"

"A forged IP address. In other words, even though the email looks like it came from St. Louis, it could've actually originated from someplace else. See" – he pointed to a row of numbers on the screen – "the time stamps are off … they don't match."

Waterson bent and squinted at the monitor. "I don't understand."

"There's a significant time delay between when Toni's message was sent and when it arrived here, meaning that it bounced through several servers before coming out as the Crowne Plaza."

Waterson straightened. "Why would it have done that?"

Alex scooted his chair back and looked up at the detective. "Somebody programmed it to do that."

Waterson's face stilled. "To hide the email's true starting point?"

"That's the usual reason, yes." Alex's stomach was really feeling funny now.

A tic pulsed in Waterson's jaw. "Can you determine the actual place of origin?"

"Probably not. The sender most likely used an anonymizer to create their proxy server, and those are almost impossible to trace." Maybe he'd just get it over with and throw up already.

"Damn," Waterson breathed.

"Tell me …." Alex had to swallow twice before he could continue. "What does all this mean, Detective? Is Toni in trouble?"

"I'm not sure," Waterson answered, at least still being honest about it. "I don't like this, though."

Alex didn't, either. "Do you think any of this has to do with that murder you guys investigated together? It just seems like all this convoluted crap started right after Toni consulted with you."

"That occurred to me, too, but I've wracked my brain and can't come up with any connection." Waterson sighed. "This is probably just one of those stupid situations that will turn out to be nothing. Toni's probably consumed by work, like you said, and hasn't realized how much time has passed since she last called you. I'm sure there's –"

"Yo, John!" A voice hollered from the front of the house.

"Here!" Waterson shouted back. "Excuse me," he added to Alex, "that's my partner."

Waterson headed out of the office and into the living room.

Alex followed, slowing in the hallway at the sound of the other cop's voice.

" – just got word from Matthews," he was saying. "He's at the Medical Examiner's office."

"Hell, finally," Waterson came back. "The ME got a report on our acid corpse yet?"

"No, amigo, that's the thing."

There was a weird note in the partner's voice, and Alex stopped walking completely.

"The corpse is gone."

"What do you mean gone?" Waterson demanded.

"Gone, like in, poof! Like it just got up and walked out of the morgue."