“Evening, Detective,” Morris said, shaking Reynolds’s hand. “Got anything interesting?”
“Hi, Dave…another thrilling evening in Gotham, eh,” Reynolds said sardonically, trying for a bit of levity.
“Never a dull moment, Mr. Wayne,” Morris replied. “Tell me the Riddler hasn’t resurfaced.”
“Riddle me this…” Reynolds continued dryly. “Here’s the synopsis.”
Reynolds paused briefly, clearing his throat. “It appears that two men parachuted onto the roof and rappelled over the south side of the building. They then breached the office at the anterior of the lab, and hacked the main computer server from that office work station,” he said pointing to the computer terminal. “We haven’t determined what was taken, but they weren’t in the office more than about twenty minutes, tops. They had detailed reconnaissance of the building. Someone very connected put this together, Lieutenant.”
Sergeant Reynolds had a particular expertise for solving crimes involving industrial espionage and computer theft. When he believed something was a certainty, most high-ranking superiors in the department considered it an incontrovertible fact.
“Thanks for the update, Mark,” Morris replied. “No surprises, then?”
“Well…actually… yes, there is a surprise of sorts. We found a crumpled piece of paper under the sofa with a phone number on it. It was written on a scratch pad from a construction company in Bernalillo, New Mexico. It’s unlikely the perpetrators would have dropped this paper; they’re too well choreographed to make that mistake. If they left it behind, it had a purpose…they wanted it found.”
“Let me see the note,” Morris asked.
Reynolds reached for a large zip-lock bag containing the previously crumpled-up paper. It was lying on a service table at the side of the office. He handed it to Morris. “We haven’t had time to dust for prints but we’ll get on this first thing at the lab,” he said, watching Morris examine the contents of the bag, turning it back and forth several times trying to get a sense of why this note would be in the office.
Morris read the note aloud, “‘Check with Apache Steel about delivery of BigMo.’ It could belong to the occupant of the office, couldn’t it?” Morris guessed.
“Sure could…but I doubt it,” Reynolds shrugged. “We won’t know until we can question the owner-Dr. Jarrod Conrad. From notes on his desk, it looks like he’s conducting some kind of gravity research. I’ve also called Sal Palatino. He’s on his way. Let’s see if he can get into the server. He’ll be able to tell us if anything was copied or corrupted.” Reynolds concluded his statements succinctly, taking the zip-lock back from Lieutenant Morris. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“Okay. I assume you’ve assigned someone to contact this New Mexico Company about a connection to Dr. Conrad?”
“Already called dispatch,” Reynolds replied. “They have the number. We’ll know who owns this company and what they do by morning. Someone from the local PD will pay them a visit tomorrow. Conrad may also be able to clear the whole thing up.”
“Okay, tell me about this breach,” Morris questioned, walking toward the hole in the window. “Looks pretty clean. How’d they get past the alarm?” he asked, pointing to one of the deactivated sensors in the corner of the office.
“Again…these guys are pros, Lieutenant, and their recon is some of the best available. They knew beforehand the type of sensors they’d encounter. The breach took less than a minute or the sensors would have recalibrated. This is a very cool customer.”
Morris rubbed his forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to assimilate all the details from Detective Reynolds. “Alright, I get the picture,” he said drawing a big breath. “It’ll be interesting to find out what these two were after.”
Reynolds nodded. “I’ll bet it was something damned important.”
“You’re probably right. Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Morris continued, still massaging his temples. He reverted to this habit whenever he wanted to focus his concentration. “We’ve got two perps dressed in ninja garb. They jump onto the roof, rappel down to the fifth floor, and enter this office to grab something from Conrad’s computer. Then they exit, but meet an eyewitness, which forces an unplanned diversion into the lab on level three. This alerts the security guards, one of whom responds and they blow him away. They immediately retreat to the roof, get picked off by helicopter, and are presently at large in the city. Does that about sum it up, Detective?” Morris asked, looking bemused by the recitation of facts.
“You got it-so far as we can tell, Lieutenant,” Reynolds replied. “Shall we visit the roof before heading back to the CP?”
“Yeah, let’s complete the circuit just in case Hawkley asks me something in particular,” he replied. He figured there wasn’t much to be gained since Sergeant Cristobel and SWAT had already investigated the scene. It wasn’t likely SWAT missed anything.
Of all the available evidence, he considered the crumpled-up note the most remarkable. There was something distinctly outof-place about it. Also intriguing was the debacle that became of the exit strategy that resulted in the murder of an innocent man. Reynolds was correct; this case had every appearance of being a well-planned, professional operation. They would be lucky to find a shred of evidence to trace to these guys. But killing Frank Santos was a big mistake, and would lead to their undoing. Morris relished the challenge of leading the investigation. There’s a pattern here…I can’t see it yet, but it’s here. The more complex the crime, the more opportunity for error.
Morris followed Sergeant Reynolds to the roof. As he suspected, there wasn’t anything new apart from what the primary investigators had already reported. He called Hawkley.
“IC, Morris,” he radioed downstairs. He looked down at the Stanford campus. Flashing lights from myriad EMS vehicles continued to saturate the area, magnifying shadows and casting surreal images across the landscape. Morris couldn’t help but feel saddened by the thought of the dead guard. He wondered if the man had a family that would soon learn the tragic news of his death. He was thankful he wasn’t the department chaplain, who would notify the family of the loss. What a waste, he thought.
“IC…report,” replied Hawkley from the incident command center. “Have you completed investigating the physical evidence?”
“Affirmative. I’m just leaving the roof. We’ve got a couple solid leads you’ll find interesting,” he said. “We may be able to piece something together.”
“I hope you’re right, Lieutenant,” Hawkley stated. “I haven’t seen squat so far. Get down here as soon as possible.”
“Ten-four.”
With that final transmission, Morris’s radio fell silent. He walked to the stairwell, wondering where this strange and confusing story would end. He remembered what his first partner had taught him: Don’t predetermine anything. It never ends up the way you first imagine.
FIVE
Stanford University
A distant bell rang disturbingly, waking Jarrod Conrad from his slumber. At first he was disoriented, having fallen into an intoxicated sleep; it took several seconds to realize that the phone beckoned a response. His head throbbed painfully as he glanced at the clock. It was after 3:00 a.m. Then he recalled the three glasses of wine he imbibed after leaving the lab. He cursed the caller for interrupting his sleep. He couldn’t imagine who might be calling at this ungodly hour, but they would get a double-barreled blast of his unmitigated wrath.
Jarrod figured it was probably Millicent, the kiss-ass graduate student he was forced to mentor. She had no sense of propriety, calling about every mundane thing that happened in his absence. Her undisciplined behavior was exactly why Jarrod Conrad had resisted the dean’s request to work with graduate students. In the end, however, he was given an ultimatum: Mentor a handful of students like every other professor in the astrophysics program, or lose tenure at the university. He hated the dean for blackmailing him this way.