Part 26 (1/2)

”There it is,” she said. ”It's not far from Walla Walla.”

”No,” I said, ”it isn't.” It was on the Columbia River. About forty-five minutes from Walla Walla. Right where the gun had been found.

28.

THIS WAS YOUR SECOND DATE, right?” We were seated beside each other on the concrete floor, legs outstretched, our backs supported by an equally uncomfortable concrete wall.

”I guess so,” I said. Not counting one lunch date and our chance encounter at the bookstore.

”How'd it go?” Scott asked.

”We didn't do it, if that's what you mean.”

”There goes my theory about the second date.”

”We fell asleep on the couch,” I said. A fly landed on his left forearm; he smacked it with his right hand and flicked the remains away. ”It's probably just as well,” I added. ”I want to have the D and M talk before things go too far.” He looked at me.

”D and M?”

”Depression and manslaughter.”

”I've got a news flash for you,” he said. ”If you two were curled up on the couch, things have already gone too far.” He was right, of course. I had selfishly refused to disclose things Jayne had a right to know because I hadn't wanted to put a damper on a delightful evening or a potential relations.h.i.+p. He glanced at his watch. ”Almost midnight,” he said.

Sat.u.r.day was about to become Sunday and we were alone in a musty boiler room in the bowels of the mathematics building at the University of Colorado. We'd been there since seven, waiting for an a.s.sortment of die-hard instructors and students to go home. We wanted to be the only ones in the building before starting phase two. Now we were talking about the case.

”a.s.suming,” Scott said, ”these three developed some kind of wonder model, it just doesn't make any sense that there's no evidence of them communicating with each other.”

”My theory is that whoever did it destroyed anything that might've linked the victims to the model or to each other.”

”Before he kills them, he makes them hand over all the doc.u.mentation on the model and all their correspondence with each other?”

”Yup.”

”Why?”

”Two reasons,” I said. ”First, he wants to claim the model as his own. Second, if he eliminates any evidence linking the three victims, the murders are more likely to be treated as three unrelated crimes. That's why he used a different MO for each murder; he wanted them to appear unrelated.” Scott pondered that.

”How do you eliminate records of phone calls over a period of years?” he asked. ”They had to be talking with each other.”

”The bureau checked all that,” I said. I explained what I had learned from Gumby about the lack of any uniform policy on the retention of billing records by telephone companies. ”I read Polk's report on all that line by line. His boss double-checked it. If there were ever any records, they're gone now.”

We sat in silence on the concrete for a few more minutes. ”Something else doesn't make sense,” Scott said.

”What's that?”

”I'm the killer,” he said. ”I get into Fontaine's home and force him to give me all the doc.u.mentation and correspondence. A lot of this stuff has to be on his computer. So we go upstairs and he gives me the disks. But some of what I want is on his hard drive, so I have to identify those files before I kill him. Then I have to copy them onto a disk and delete them from the hard drive.”

”Okay.”

”You said the police checked Fontaine's computers and didn't find any files linking him to the other two?”

”Yeah.”

”They must not have done a very good job,” he said.

”What do you mean?”

”I mean, if you're right, the information is still on his hard drive.”

”What?”

”When you delete a file,” he said, ”it doesn't just disappear. The information remains stored on the hard drive until there's so much new data that the machine has to overwrite the deleted material. You can recover the deleted file by using a simple utilities program.”

”I guess I knew that,” I said. ”So if our killer wanted to completely eliminate that evidence, how would he do it?”

”Only two ways to do it,” he said. ”You reformat the hard drive or remove it from the computer and grind it into dust.”

”But he couldn't do either of those things because that would've told the police something about his true purpose.”

”It sounds like the police just inventoried the files they found on the hard drive, but made no effort to recover the deleted files.”

”I'll call Gilbert tomorrow.”

”Have him check the computer in Fontaine's office too. If your theory is right, the killer had to bust into Fontaine's office before or after he killed Fontaine to find whatever doc.u.mentation might be in his office.”

”It wouldn't have been hard to do,” I said. ”There was a bike rack that could've been used as a ladder right outside the building. And some of the windows in that building were wide open.”

”You might want to ask this cop in Walla Walla if there's any evidence of a break-in.”

”Okay,” I said. ”Speaking of busting into offices, one of us should go take another look.”

”I'll do it,” he said. He stood and began walking down the dark corridor.

I closed my eyes and tried to do some meditation, but my mind kept coming back to Jayne Smyers. Her delicate features. The scent of her perfume. The taste of her kisses. It was too early to call it love, but it was something I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Ten minutes later I heard Scott approaching. I knew it was Scott because n.o.body else would be whistling ”Jambalaya” under such circ.u.mstances. ”Those kids finally took off,” he said. ”It's just us.” The last holdouts had been some students in a seminar room on the second floor.

”Took 'em long enough,” I said. I stood, but my legs were asleep. I laughed and jumped up and down a few times to get the blood flowing. When the tingling sensation ceased, we donned surgical gloves and began a cautious journey to the third floor.

”I feel like E. Howard Hunt,” Scott whispered. We were just outside Finn's office.

”Let's hope we do a better job than those jokers,” I said. Scott knelt to examine the doork.n.o.b and keyhole. ”You can forget that,” I said. I pointed to the suspended ceiling. He understood immediately. I a.s.sumed a squat position. When he was firmly on my shoulders, I stood. It took him less than thirty seconds to pop one of the ceiling panels, climb over the threshold, remove a panel on the other side of the door, descend into Finn's office, and open the door for me.

The first thing we did was replace the ceiling panels. ”Now what?” Scott whispered. The room was dark.