Ishmael, I thought. Ishmael, who knew I left the office on January 11, the day the cave pictures were shot. But did you leave, too?
With a tight, desperate flutter in my chest I picked up the phone and dialed Melinda at her office. I was surprised, almost chagrined, that she picked up.
“How are you, Mel?”
“Oh, Terry. A little pissed off, I guess.”
“At me.” Not a question.
“Yes.”
“How’s Penny?”
“Ditto the above.”
There was a silence.
“How come you’re not at the conference?”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“He took my job.”
“That’s got to be the least of your troubles.”
“It ranks a lot higher than you might know.”
“What do you want, Terry?”
“I want the IRC log-on records for Ishmael’s computer, and his phone-out sheet. I need to know who he’s networked with, and who he’s talked to. And I want to know if he left the building on January eleventh, and for how long.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Ridiculous.”
“I need that stuff worse than I can tell you.”
She hesitated again. “Why?”
“I think he set me up.”
“Oh, Terry.”
“Melinda, have you networked with I. R. Shroud?”
“No.”
“Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Is that name in your network file? It would have come in through CAY. He’s a pedophile.”
“That’s your world.”
I caught the condemning irony in her voice.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quickly.
“All right. But you’re copied every time we open a link. And you review the log-on printouts every month. You know that.”
“Okay, I’ll look. But I’ll tell you what the answer is.”
More silence, then she was back.
“No. I told you.”
“Melinda, do you have a pencil and paper handy? Good. Now write out the initials and name, I. R. Shroud.”
She sighed, but I could hear her shuffling, and the distant crack of a sheet of paper.
“So what?”
“See what else those letters spell.”
More time went by. I could hear her breathing.
“I’m no good at games like this.”
“It spells Horridus.”
One of those loaded hushes.
“Oh. Jesus Christ — it does.”
“I need to know who’s been networking with him.”
“But... how do you know anyone has?”
“It’s a hunch. The Horridus gave Shroud’s name to Stefanic on the citation, before he killed him.”
“I never heard about a citation.”
“You won’t I found it in the ladies’ room out at Caspers. I’ve been... well, staying busy.”
A brief second while Mel processed.
“But what’s it prove?”
“Nothing, goddamnit, until you check Ish’s log-ons.”
“Terry.”
“Look, Melinda, you think I did that stuff with the girls? Come on now, you know me better than just about anyone. You’ve seen me through the booze and the hate and the coming back out. You helped me get both feet on the ground, and you’ve seen my worst, woman — I know it, and so do you. So is that what you’re saying? That you spent a year of your life living with a child molester? That you left your only daughter alone with me a million—”
“—I don’t believe that. I never said I did. And that isn’t what this is about.”
“This is about the rest of my life. So put your money where your mouth is, Mel. Get Ishmael’s logons and IRC parties. See if I. R. Shroud is on them. He’s in the conference, so do it now. The master logs are in that binder right on his desk. He sees everybody else’s, so why can’t you look at his?”
“You’re out of your mind, Terry.”
“Go see, Mel. It will take you five minutes. All the heavies are at the courthouse. You’re the computer crime expert — so go see who Jordan’s computer has been talking to. It’s your job, Melinda.”
“I’ll call you back.”
I gave her the number.
“Where are you?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do the right thing, Melinda. If I’m wrong, you haven’t hurt a soul.”
“Except mine.”
Ten minutes later she called.
“Shroud is one of his log-ons. I. R. Shroud.”
“When?”
“There are, well... thirty-two of them over the last sixty days. I went back two months.”
I smiled a bitter inward smile.
“But you know, Terry, it still doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves he talked to The Horridus, for God’s sake.”
“No, Terry. That’s one of the rules we live by in Computer Crime. All it means is that somebody used that machine.”
“Okay, it was Jim Wade, then. It was one of the late-night janitors. It was Elvis.”
“Be careful what you infer, Terry.”
“It was Jordan, Mel. What more is there to say? He used the pedophile network to get a job done. The job was to make those pictures of me. I’m due in court to defend myself on sixteen counts of sex with children, and he’s out running my unit, acting like he can catch The Horridus.”
Silence. I loved every revealing, damning second of it. I knew that Melinda could only embrace the good and detest the wicked. It’s her character. She’s always on the side of right. She knows no grays. That is the binary nature of her mind, and it is one of the things that drew me to her in the beginning. It was what made her a good woman and an excellent cop. It also made her a difficult, judgmental person to live with, for anyone less than perfect. And that’s why I called on her.
“I checked the sign-out sheet for January eleventh. He was meeting with Ingardia in the afternoon.”
I thought about that, wondering if Dom Ingardia’s secretary would say the same thing.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. It was almost a whisper.
“Thank you.”
“We need to talk, Terry. Soon, face to face and for real.”
“Name the time and place.”
She did, and I wrote them down. Then she hung up.
You haven’t fully lived until you’ve watched yourself on the TV news, denying that you are a sexual predator of children. I sat there with my mouth open, watching this cop firmly proclaiming his innocence. He gave it his all. And I couldn’t help but note that the interviewer was not hostile; she seemed even-handed, truth seeking, unprejudiced.
She did, however, heavily edit what I had said to her that evening. My bumbling and self-mystification were gone. The bizarre last third of the interview while the camera showed only ceiling was gone. She deleted my attack from the stool. There was nothing of my confession to “recognizing” the girl in the pictures with me but not being able to remember from where or when. Likewise, my confession to “recognizing” myself but not remembering from where or when was blessedly dropped. Donna also edited out the passage about Ardith’s pictures of my son and me. All in all, Donna Mason had edited in my favor. And her intro and close were subtly, reassuringly, pro Terry. I wondered if her producers at CNB ever got to see the original, and realized that they hadn’t.
It was late that night when I. R. Shroud finally responded to my postings. His message came in sometime between 8:45 and 11:30 P.M.
Hello, Mal. We have much to talk about. I. R. Shroud. Meet at Midnight Ramblers and we’ll go from there.
A few minutes later I was on with him, chatting live in the privacy of the Ramblers’ room. He cut straight to the chase.
I. R. Shroud: Quite an interview tonight. RU TN of CNB fame?