“He knew I’d figured him out,” I said.
How? That flash at the end of the videos kept playing in my mind until I formed a very strong suspicion.
“I think there’s a good chance he’s bugged my computer somehow,” I told Bree. “And maybe the FBI’s. That would keep him ten steps ahead of us, wouldn’t it?”
Chapter 76
When I finally got in the shower, I was no longer merely suspicious but convinced my computer had been compromised by the fake Alden Lindel. I’d called Rawlins and Batra at the FBI to alert them, but neither of them picked up the phone. I left them messages saying that I believed their system was at risk as well, and I hoped they’d call sooner rather than later.
Under the hot water, I felt sickened again at what Flint had done to those animals and at the fact that he claimed there were tens of thousands of subscribers to the websites he sold his footage to. Was that true? What possible pleasure could someone find in innocent animals suffering?
It was so beyond me that I got angry. That anger only deepened when I considered my inability to make headway in the hunt for the missing blondes, especially Gretchen Lindel. What a brave thing she’d done, standing up to those men like that, defying them.
When at last I turned my thoughts to the trial, I got angrier still, and then depressed.
Two eyewitnesses had testified that I’d shot three people without just cause. There were videos of the shootings and no sign of computer-generated imaging or anything to suggest I was being framed.
The weight of those cold, hard facts kept growing as I showered myself into a darker mood. A conspiracy had been hatched and directed at me. The conspiracy was working. The gears of justice were grinding, and I could see no path out.
I got dressed and went downstairs in a black cloud.
“Doesn’t it’s-a-secret smell incredible?” Bree said when I came back into the kitchen.
Distracted, I nodded.
Out in the great room, my dad chuckled. “I think I love it’sa-secret.”
“You will,” Nana Mama said. “Where’s that Ali?”
“Where he’s been the past four days,” Jannie said with a roll of her eyes. “Up in Dad’s old office in the attic with the door shut.”
“He’s still working on his Houdini paper?” I said. “I’ll go get him.”
“Let me,” my dad said, coming into the kitchen. “Give me some time to bond with my grandkiddo.”
Drummond disappeared. I helped Bree set the table, wondering how many more times we’d get to do this simple chore together. I opened a bottle of white wine and poured myself a generous glass.
Bree was watching me.
“One healthy one,” I said.
“You deserve two healthy ones.”
“Dinner’s on,” Nana Mama said, bringing a big iron skillet with a lid to the table. She set it on a lazy Susan. “Rice is coming. Where’s that Ali, now?”
Before I could reply, she left the kitchen and went to the bottom of the stairs. “Dinner, Ali! You don’t want dinner cold, you better come on down.”
“Two minutes,” my dad called. “He’s showing me something.”
My grandmother came back, muttering under her breath. She’d always been a stickler for us being at the table when she was ready to serve, and she had a sour expression on her face when she brought a big bowl of steaming jasmine rice in and sat down.
“Let’s say grace,” she said. “We don’t have to wait.”
When we were done thanking God for the meal, Nana Mama lifted the lid on the skillet. The smells that wafted up made me close my eyes and smile.
My grandmother said, “Tiger shrimp in fresh tomatoes, onions, garlic, and it’s-a-secret.”
“Mmm, Nana,” Jannie said after taking her first bite. “What is that?”
“That’s the secret,” she said, smiling. “Good, isn’t it, Alex?”
“Amazing,” I said, but my mind was elsewhere.
“You don’t sound very amazed,” Nana Mama said.
I set my fork down. “It’s delicious, Nana, really, but I think we all need to talk about what life will look like if I’m sent to prison.”
Nana Mama’s face fell. Bree grew distant. Jannie’s eyes welled with tears, and she said, “I don’t want to think about that, Dad. I—”
Ali came running into the kitchen. “Dad, you won’t believe it!”
My grandmother said, “Now is not a good time, Ali.”
My son stopped short. “But I—”
“Not now, Ali!” Jannie shouted, and she broke down in tears.
My father came in behind Ali and said to me, “You better listen to him, son.”
Chapter 77
Looking weak but determined, Judge Larch rapped her gavel and called the court to order at nine the next morning. Bree and my dad sat behind me. I’d been up until three a.m., had slept fitfully, and was feeling fuzzy and on edge from two cups of high-test Brazilian coffee.
Larch stared down through her thick lenses and said in a restrained voice, “Ms. Marley, have your analysts examined the videos?”
Looking chagrined, Anita said, “They agreed that they have not been tampered with digitally. The defense has no further objection to the videos.”
The judge seemed disappointed. Assistant U.S. attorney Nathan Wills was stone-faced but nodding his head and jiggling his knee, probably already working on his closing arguments in his mind.
“Mr. Wills?” Larch said.
“A moment, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, then he leaned over to his assistant, Athena Carlisle, and whispered something in her ear.
Carlisle drew back with a startled expression and shook her head emphatically. Their conversation got heated, and then Wills stood up.
He glanced at his scowling assistant and threw back his shoulders, which thrust his belly forward against his starched white shirt.
“The People rest, Your Honor.”
That surprised me and it didn’t. According to the witness list Wills and Carlisle had provided, there were six or seven more people slated to appear, mostly to testify about ballistics and other basic crime scene evidence. But why bother when the videos were legitimate?
“Ms. Marley,” the judge said. “You’re up.”
Anita had evidently been half expecting the prosecution to rest as well, because without hesitation, she said, “Defense calls Kimiko Binx for cross.”
Binx came forward wearing black slacks, black pumps, a black blouse with a high collar, and costume pearls. I got the distinct feeling she was more concerned about her appearance than about facing the formidable Anita Marley.
“You’re still under oath, Ms. Binx,” Judge Larch said.
The web designer nodded and sat down with composure and poise.
Anita said, “Ms. Binx, did you alert Claude Watkins that you were on your way the day of the shootings? Call to tell him you were coming to the factory with my client?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
Naomi handed Anita a plastic evidence bag. Anita took it over to Binx.
“Recognize this?” Anita said.
Binx frowned and took the bag, saw what it was. “It’s a SPOT.”
Anita looked to the jury. “A SPOT is a satellite personal tracker, a GPS device that tracks the wearer. Runners like Ms. Binx use them to plot their workout routes, isn’t that correct?”
Binx nodded. “And in cases of emergency, you can send an SOS signal.”
“There’s also a button that allows you to send a prepared text to people you list on the SPOT website, correct?”
“Um, I guess.”
“Actually, we looked at your account with SPOT, Ms. Binx,” Anita said. “On the day of the shootings, from your apartment and twenty minutes before you arrived at the factory, you pressed that button and sent a text to Claude Watkins that read ‘Game on.’”