Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (33 page)

“I see.” Barbara’s voice drifted.

“The connection between our families isn’t ideal.”

Barbara shook her head. “No. But I don’t know what’s normal any more. I’m so angry with Brian right now. I mean, what the hell was he doing?” She covered her face. “Then I feel guilty for being mad. For God’s sake he’s dead.”

Maggie left the woman to her moment. None of this was easy. There weren’t any words to soothe.

“That’s how I felt when my mother died.” Travis’ words brought Barbara out from hiding.

“What happened to your mother?”

“I know it wasn’t her fault she was sick. But she died and left me all the same.”

The words pricked Maggie’s conscience. She’d felt the same way when Trisha died but could never admit it. It seemed too selfish.

Barbara patted Travis’ wrist. “Thanks.” She tugged her sweater. “Enough about me. What have you got?”

Maggie wasn’t as quick to recover. “We, uh, talked last time about the extra cash your husband had. How often did your husband get it?”

“Weekly. Because he made a point of taking me out every Friday night. And we started doing expensive activities with the kids more regularly. Snow boarding. Great America. We even kept a small boat for water skiing in the delta.”

“How long did this go on?”

“It was a couple of years. Then the cash stopped. We still went out and did things with the kids, but—” Barbara stared at the ceiling. “—something changed. Brian seemed agitated. At first, I thought it was me, but he kept saying it had to do with work. So I let it be.” She came out of her trance. “What have you found?”

“Cash withdrawals from my father’s accounts. Twelve hundred a week for over two years. They stopped around the time our mother, my stepmother, died.”

“When was that?”

“About two years ago.”

She put a hand to her face. “The timing is right. That seems like more money than Brian had, but I didn’t really keep track. I just enjoyed it.”

Travis had been quiet up until now. “Could it have been blackmail?”

“A week ago I would have been outraged by that suggestion. Now—” Her body shrunk with an exhale.

“We knew most everybody that Dad did,” Maggie said. “We never met your husband before the trial. My father was sporadically coherent back then.”

“Your husband went trolling for me at the forum. He set me up, framed me for hacking. But why?”

Barbara’s skin leached of all color. “I’ve asked myself that same question. You’re such a nice young man. Brian—” She choked on the words. “He would have liked you. I can’t make sense of this.”

“I guess we have to consider the possibility of blackmail.” Maggie eyed Travis. They didn’t need to tell this woman everything. But someone had their father now, and it sure as hell wasn’t Brian Carter. Someone knew Dad had serious money stashed. Maybe someone working with Carter. There had to be a connection. “Did your husband play the guitar?”

“No. I think he played the trombone in high school. But that’s all.” Barbara chewed a fingernail. “Was your father a musician?”

“He played a mean guitar, but he didn’t earn a living that way. He managed computer servers.”

“My cousin’s husband works with computers, too. He’s been so helpful during this time.” She cocked her head. “And honestly, I didn’t expect Jack to be the one to step up for me.”

Travis’ head snapped, but only Maggie detected it. “It’s good to have family around. So Jack’s not on the Carter side of the family.”

“No, he married his way in to my side.” Barbara sniffed. “His last name is Scarson.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Eight

 

 

“I’m not discussing it.” Maggie watched Barbara Carter back her car out of their driveway before getting in Travis’ face. “Do you want to go back to prison?”

 

He knew better than to answer the rhetorical question. She was upset. Lots of good reasons for that, but sometimes the direct approach was a waste of time. He tacked a different path.

“I don’t know why Fyodor was in Penniski’s building, but I don’t believe he was involved. And I don’t believe Penniski kidnapped Dad either.”

Her head lolled to one side. “We can’t break into Jack Scarson’s house.”

“Think about it. If Dad was bleeding off information from O’Mara’s servers so he could steal the money, it makes sense that Jack Scarson discovered it. They both had complete access to the building, maybe not O’Mara’s computer cage, but certainly all the air, wires, and ducting going in or out of it. Maybe he was even working with Dad. I don’t know.”

“Travis, you’re talking about breaking and entering a man’s home.”

He missed whatever else she said because he remembered something. When Brian Carter was online as Kingphisher, he came looking for Travis specifically. By name. Understanding struck in a flashover. “That’s how he did it!”

“Who? Did what?”

Adrenaline pumped into his central nervous system. The cramped hallway stifled his thoughts, his ability to breathe. He stormed into the kitchen where the space expanded by height, breadth, depth. The sun streaming through the windows fueled his comprehension.

It was blackmail. Dammit. But not how he thought.

He spun around. Maggie slid into the room after him. Her face filled with terror.

“What’s going on, Travis? You’re freaking me out.”

“Don’t you see? Jack Scarson was the one who set me up. Dad bragged about my hacking abilities at work. Though, he was always careful to point out that I was strictly white-hat. I even tested a security setup at the Server Farm. I got in of course, but Scarson knew my handle. He knew the name I used on the forums.”

“Why would he do that to you?”

“Because of the money. It’s always been about the money.” Travis strode the floor. “They probably thought Dad was faking his Alzheimer’s. If Dad was sitting on a few million bucks, he didn’t need a job. Jack Scarson and Brian Carter set me up to blackmail Dad. They figured if he was faking, he’d hand over the money fast. If not, so what? Maybe seeing his son go to prison would jog his memory.”

She lowered into a chair and clasped her fingers. “Don’t you think this is a bit wild?”

“Wild? The man stole a year of my life.” Travis knew she didn’t understand him. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. Kingphisher, Carter, wanted me to copy specific files from The Rockstag Group. When I first probed their network, security was good, but I found a clean way in. They had several computers still on their network that weren’t patched. Carter didn’t know where I was entering the system, but he knew what I was after and when I was coming in. They couldn’t have caught me otherwise.” He pulled himself up on the counter. “Carter asked me to get the kind of information that would cause the CEO to come after my throat. Without the letter authorizing my access, I was an easy bust.”

Maggie’s next words were tentative as if she were testing them on herself. “If that’s true, they would’ve known by the end of the trial that Dad really was afflicted. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have given you up without a fight.”

“When I was six, some kid swiped my hacky sack, and the kid’s mom didn’t make him give it back. Dad came unglued.” Travis huffed. “Maybe Carter wanted to kidnap Dad and didn’t expect any resistance.”

“You still have that sack.”

“Yes, I do.”

She smiled at Travis. It warmed him. His sister was finally back.

“Scarson’s probably been hanging around Barbara Carter because he knows she’s been over here. Calling the police is pointless. We don’t have proof.” Maggie widened her gaze at him. “We’re not even sure where he lives.”

They knew vaguely where Jack Scarson lived from their discussion with Barbara Carter. Travis had charmed all but the street address from her. He backed away before giving her reason for suspicion, but Maggie had read his play.

“I can find it online.” He hopped down from the counter and got his laptop out from the living room. He searched the county property records and located the deed record for Jack Scarson, but it didn’t list the address.

Maggie tapped him on the shoulder. “I found it in Dad’s old contact list on his computer. It’s the right area.” She held a piece of paper out to him. “Are you sure we need to do this?”

“As sure as I can be sitting here.” He pushed back his chair, his pent breath expelling from his nose. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

Her weight shifted from foot to foot like a shortstop. “All right. Let’s check out his house.”

“I have to get ready first.”

“What does that mean?” Maggie put up her stop-hand. “No. Don’t tell me. Just go do it. We don’t have much time. I’ll find directions to his house, and then get dressed in my little-black-prowling-suit.”

“We have to stop by a pawn broker and the spy shop on the way.”

She squinted at him. “Of course we do. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Bag all the small tools you can find. We may need to pick a lock.”

 

Maggie and Travis motored down I-280 in silence. The GPS tracker for Scarson’s car, now charging in the 12V jack, set them back over five hundred dollars. None of the other models met their immediate needs—real-time mapping of the car’s route, sufficient battery capacity to run for up to twelve hours, instant activation, and small enough to conceal without detection. On a full charge, this unit would last up to five days on land or sea. Maggie prayed they wouldn’t need those extra features.

They’d debated which guitar to hock to pay for the GPS tracker. In the end, they handed over the Alembic bass to a skinny woman with thick braids to gain their father’s freedom. Maggie stashed the extra cash under the rear seat of her car.

Some unusual firsts for Maggie. It was her first time in a spy shop, the first time she hocked something, and the first time she’d left her house with intent to burgle. Drastic times and all that.

As a family, they’d stopped all forward motion after Trisha died. Daddy from disease. Travis due to injustice. Maggie out of resentment. Grief restrained them on a short leash. It was time for action.

She veered her old Subaru toward the exit ramp and looped on the cloverleaf toward Scarson’s house. Travis brought his new laptop on the mission. She wasn’t sure why, but the computer concerned her. They had to come up with two million dollars by morning. That should be his only concern.

Travis wanted her to trust him. Why was that so damn hard? In this case, he wanted her to commit a felony. But long before tonight, her confidence snapped when it came to trusting others. Her mother, Travis, Trisha, Fyodor, now, even Daddy, in a way, they all left her disappointed.

But this wasn’t their problem. Life still required her to take a shaky step out on faith and test it with some weight. So what if they hadn’t kept their end of the bargain? Her bargain. Maggie’s unilateral bargain. She loosed her grip on the wheel. No one ever promised to keep her balloon afloat. Maybe it was time to let it go.

They reached the edge of Jack Scarson’s neighborhood. Maggie paced the other traffic. Not too slow. No speeding tickets. The sun slipped over the edge, the moon refused to rise, and darkness gathered at ground level.

Her voice broke with panic. “Now what?”

“Let’s drive past the house first. Make sure it’s his.”

“What’s he drive?”

“Black Volvo last I remember. It was pretty new then. Unless he’s trading in every three years, he probably still has it.”

“People are trying to get more mileage out of everything these days.” Her shallow breaths caught with each intake. “What’s the address?”

“1016 Cypress Lane. It’s the next right.”

“Does he have any kids? I mean, even if he’s gone, who else might be there?”

“No kids. Turn here.”

Lead filled her limbs as she rounded the corner. “This car makes so much noise. What if he sees us?”

Travis gripped her knee. “Maggie, it’s dark. He’s not going to see us unless he’s standing out front. It’s a risk we have to take.”

She gulped down the fear. “I know. We have to find Daddy.”

They rolled down Cypress Lane in the noisy Subaru checking addresses as they went. The even-numbered houses aligned on their right. The bedroom community consisted of mostly stucco ranch homes, a smattering of Eichlers, and the odd McMansion hunching in a small lot. Mature trees clung to the roadside. Maggie saw lights inside many homes, but no human activity outside. It was a working neighborhood with a weekend rapidly closing.

“Scarson’s should be the third one from here,” Travis said. “The driveway’s empty. Slow down a little when you cruise by, so I can check it out.”

Maggie’s gaze never strayed from the house. It was a single-story stucco with an attached garage on the left and a protruding room on the right. In between, a porch formed around the recessed front door. Overgrown junipers lined the façade and partially obscured the windows. The house looked dark. “It’s 1016. No car though.” She said, “At least we can return the GPS tracker to the spy shop.”

“I didn’t see a name on the house, but that’s probably it. Drive to the next street. We can park there.”

She counted houses to the intersection, turned right at the next two streets, and counted houses again until they were parallel with 1016 Cypress Lane. She parked in the darkest spot she could find. The other cars along the roadside made her feel less conspicuous.

Travis let out a long breath. “I need to make sure this is Scarson’s house. I’m going over the fences. Hopefully, I won’t have to dig through too much trash to find some proof. That’s a disgusting job even with gloves.”

“Have you got a flashlight?”

“An LED jobber. Should be fine.”

“I’ll walk back the way we came and wait for you at the fence by the garage,” Maggie said. “That’s probably where he keeps the trashcans. I didn’t see any out front when we drove by. If it’s not his house, hop the fence, and we’ll walk back to the car. If it is his—” Her hand started to tremor. “—then we find a way to break in.”

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Nine

 

 

Travis listened at the fence for any hint of a dog. Anxiety blistered his nerves. While he was fond of critters, dropping down on one in a strange yard rivaled suicide. Then again, any self-respecting canine would have been yapping at him by now. He put his hands on top of the wooden fence and hoisted himself up and over. He landed on thick grass.