“Mr. Bowman?” McKenna touched my arm. “What do you think? Can you help us?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to, but I’m not sure what I can do. I was only there for a few weeks, and I was a consultant. Not an employee. Never a real insider. And they won’t talk to me now. They won’t even let me back on the premises.”
“I understand. But don’t worry about that. Don’t try to second-guess anything. Just listen to my questions, and answer as many as you can. If you’re not sure about anything, just say. Remember, I only want facts. I don’t want you taking any shots in the dark.”
“OK. I’ll try.”
“Excellent. I appreciate it. I’d like to start with a bunch of photographs.” He opened his folder and revealed a stack of color eight-by-tens. “These were taken over the last couple of weeks. I’d like you to look through them and tell me if you recognize anyone.”
Each of the pictures showed at least one AmeriTel employee. A few had been taken in the company parking lot, and the rest at local bars and restaurants. I identified them as fully as I could, but didn’t see anything suspicious. Not until the last one, anyway. And even then my concern had nothing to do with anything that could interest Homeland Security. The image did make my blood run cold, though. Because the last photograph showed Carolyn, at lunch with a guy called Karl Weimann. One of my competitors. And the last guy in the world I wanted her talking to.
Ten years ago Carolyn had been all set to leave AmeriTel. An acquaintance was starting a hot new theater cooperative in New York, and had offered Carolyn the chance to trade her desk for the stage. It was a dream come true for her. The only thing she’d really wanted, ever since high school. But at the eleventh hour, the opportunity had fallen through. Twice shy, Carolyn had resigned herself to life in the commercial world. She’d worked hard, hoping that the trappings of success would outweigh her disappointment. It just wasn’t meant to be, she said.
Except that fate wasn’t to blame for what happened. I was. I’d just been fired. Without the money Carolyn was bringing home from AmeriTel, I’d never have been able to finance my first product. So, knowing that Renée Weimann—Karl’s wife, and part of our social circle at the time—had matching aspirations but far greater experience, I gave her the inside scoop on the theater project. Long story short, Renée was asked to join the cooperative. Carolyn was left to climb the corporate ladder. I founded my company. Bought my Lichtenstein. And lived in constant fear of Carolyn finding out the truth.
Had Karl Weimann let the cat out of the bag? The detectives’ insinuations about Carolyn’s key suddenly seemed sickeningly plausible.
“What’s wrong?” McKenna asked. “You’ve gone quiet. Did something in the pictures ring a bell?”
“No. It’s just—that’s my wife in the last one. I wasn’t expecting to see her.”
“Oh, of course. It had slipped my mind, her working at AmeriTel. But please, don’t worry. Your wife’s not in any kind of trouble.” He slid the pictures back in the file and snapped it closed. “Now, tell me. Has anything odd happened since you left the company?”
“It depends what you mean by odd.” I sketched out the basics surrounding the Audi that had tailed me, the break-in, the visit from the two detectives, and the Infiniti I’d just dodged. “In fact, I was heading home now because I was worried someone might try to break in again.”
“I can see why you’d be concerned,” McKenna said, opening the door. “But don’t worry. We can help you with that.” He slid out, went over to the Ford, had a word with the guys inside it, then turned and got back in my Jaguar. The other driver moved off, turning sharply to avoid a battered silver Avalon—the first car that had passed us the whole time we’d been sitting there—and sped away. “My guys are going to your place now. If anyone’s there who shouldn’t be, they’ll get a nasty surprise.”
“Oh. OK. Thank you.”
“We’ll catch up with them in a minute. In the meantime, there are a couple of other things I need to ask you.”
“Sure. What do you need to know?”
“The stuff that was stolen. Your list. It’s pretty short. You didn’t leave anything out?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Like, for example, what was on those memory sticks?”
“Oh. Nothing important. Just some data files. I was going to use them to test my new product.”
“Where did these data files come from?”
This was awkward. From what I’d heard, the Fifth Amendment didn’t carry much weight with Homeland Security so I glanced at McKenna to see what I could make of the man. He looked calm and assured and in good shape, like he’d be equally happy working in a bank or climbing a mountain. His face was tanned, disguising the lattice of fine lines around his eyes, and his dark hair—about an eighth of an inch long—was showing the first signs of gray around the temples. Not the kind of guy you’d cross the street to avoid. But not the kind you’d pick a fight with, either.
“It’s OK.” McKenna smiled at my less-than-subtle inspection. “We’re on the same side. I’m not looking to jam you up. And I have bigger fish to fry than you, believe me. I just need to have a complete picture of what’s going on. Such as this data. What was it, exactly?”
“Communications records. Details of landline calls. Cellular calls. Texts. Emails. IMs. Web searches. That basically covers it.”
“Where did they come from?”
“AmeriTel.”
“I mean, who made all these calls and emails and so on?”
“Oh. Anyone, I guess. Anyone who uses AmeriTel’s network. That’s potentially their whole customer base. Hundreds of thousands of people.”
If the scope of that community fazed McKenna, he didn’t show it.
“What about AmeriTel’s own employees, at their HQ?”
“Of course. Them, too.”
“Why did you collect this data, in particular?”
“To run some reports the CEO wanted. But then he changed his mind. And then he canned me. I thought, why let it go to waste?”
McKenna was silent for a moment.
“Is that a problem?” I said. “Have I screwed myself? Because if I’ve broken some kind of rule, it wasn’t on purpose. I swear.”
“No.” He shook his head decisively. “Don’t worry. Like I said, I’m not trying to trip you up. Believe me, if I were, you’d know.”
Tuesday. Late afternoon.
THE CAR MCKENNA HAD SENT ON AHEAD WAS WAITING FOR US when we pulled into my driveway a few minutes later. It was sitting in the spot where Carolyn usually parked, and the thought that I’d allowed—even indirectly—someone else to take her place made me feel a twinge of disloyalty. And a little sadness, too, as if it turned her temporary absence into something more permanent.
The two guys who’d recently been pointing weapons at me were out of their car and moving toward us before I brought the Jaguar to a stop. The one who’d been driving was carrying a small, ribbed aluminum case. McKenna joined them for a brief huddle, then turned and motioned for me to follow them to the front door.
“Have you changed the locks yet?” he asked, as I fished for my spare key.
“No. I haven’t had the chance.”
“That’s the first thing you should do when your keys are stolen. It’s basic common sense. You need to get on it, right away, before you leave the house again. And this time, get a lock that’s more practical. And less pretty.”
“Why? Is this one no good?”