A Grave Prediction

  “I didn’t trust Will’s replacement with the project—after all, he’d been the one tasked with regularly inspecting the software for viruses, and it was obvious that he hadn’t been doing his job—so I got the sign-off to hire Will as a consultant and we agreed that he would rewrite the code from scratch, working at night after his regular day job. He said it would take him about ten days, and we kept our fingers crossed that he’d do it before anything happened.

  “Unfortunately, while he was rewriting the code, the first bank robbery occurred. Our company is in the middle of negotiations with a much larger conglomerate, and Bill . . . Meadows—he’s our CEO—he wanted us to keep a lid on the malware attack, and he had us send a tech out to the bank to inspect the cameras and convince the bank that it was just a temporary glitch.

  “The next week there was another robbery, and it started to look very bad for us. I put a lot of pressure on Will to finish the code, and he came through for us, but as soon as we implemented it, we were hit again by the very same virus, only this time it erased other bits of code too. While we were in the middle of trying to restore our systems, the third bank heist happened, and the FBI began demanding to see the video footage of the heists, but we didn’t have any to give them.

  “Meadows was going ballistic of course, and my job was on the line. I spoke to Will and told him that we needed to identify specifically where the viruses were getting into the system, as well as re-create the code again, which was fairly easy for him, as he did it on his laptop.”

  My radar pinged as he said that and I sat up straight in my chair. Scott had just given us a major clue.

  “So then what happened?” Candice said. She’d been taking notes the whole time.

  “Will re-created the code three times,” he said. “Each time it was corrupted by the malware, which was somehow duplicating itself and entering the system. In the meantime, another bank got robbed. Finally, though, he said that he’d identified the sources of where the code was coming into the system, told me he’d put up a firewall targeted specifically at that entry point to prevent any further corruptions; then he personally delivered me the new code, and that version got the camera recording system functional again. And, I’ll add, they were up and running in the nick of time, because that very day a fifth bank was robbed and that footage we were able to give to the FBI.”

  “And it even leaked onto the news,” Candice said.

  Scott’s cheeks turned crimson. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire . . . rang in my head. Scott had everything to do with it, but I could hardly blame him. It’d probably been important to his job security that he publicly demonstrate the system was once again functional.

  Still, everything else he’d said had rung with the bell of truth to my intuitive senses. He wasn’t lying. Not about what’d happened with the malware or Edwards’s involvement. And yet, I still had the very strong feeling Edwards was directly involved with the heists, but beyond his being involved with the code to the system, I wasn’t sure how.

  Then I had a thought and asked, “Did Will have access to the camera feeds while he was working on the code?”

  Scott cocked his head. “Yes,” he said carefully. “He’d need that in order to test whether the cameras were recording in real time.”

  I looked pointedly at Candice. “He’d also need it if he was interested in casing out the branches remotely without being seen. It would’ve provided him with a perfect window to observe the employees and each individual branch without ever having to step foot inside the banks.”

  Scott’s face reddened. “I really think you have Will all wrong,” he said. “I know him. I worked side by side with him for seven years. He’d never risk his freedom or his family for money. He’s a good man.”

  I had no doubt that Scott thought so, but nobody knows everybody’s secrets. “Did you know that Will Edwards had a girlfriend named Flower?” I asked, wanting Scott to recognize that maybe he didn’t know Will as well as he thought he did.

  “I did,” he said, casting his eyes at the table as if he was embarrassed that I’d mentioned it. “He met her online, or that’s what he told me. He said she was beautiful, didn’t mind that he was married, and didn’t want anything from him other than what he could give. He’s been seeing her for several years now. I think he’s in love with her.”

  Candice and I traded another look. That surprised both of us.

  We asked Scott a few more questions about Edwards: Did he know Edwards to ever associate with members of a gang, or thieves, or even an organized crime group? He appeared genuinely shocked by that one, and swore that he had no knowledge of Edwards ever associating with anyone below board.

  “What about his home life?” I asked Scott. “Did he ever talk about it?”

  “I’m not comfortable discussing the man’s personal business,” Scott said.

  “We don’t really care if you’re comfortable with it,” Candice said bluntly. “But we need to know, Mr. Scott. Lives may depend on it.”

  Scott scowled. “Lives?” he said. “Really?”

  Candice looked him in the eyes. “Really.”

  He rolled his eyes but said, “Will is a good man. He works hard for his family every day. If I had to say anything about what I know about his home life, it’s that he’s underappreciated.”

  “Have you ever met his kids?” I asked next.

  Scott’s gaze was guarded. “I have.”

  “Thoughts?”

  His scowl deepened. “His daughter is quite accomplished. Will is very proud of her and talks about her a great deal. His son . . .”

  “Yes?” I pressed.

  “His son has been a difficult young man to raise. If there is one thing that I think Will regrets, it’s not trying to get his son some therapy at an early age.”

  It wouldn’t have helped, I thought.

  “And he and the missus?” Candice said. “If you had one word to describe their relationship, what would it be?”

  Scott pursed his lips and seemed to think about that for a beat. “Strained.”

  We ended the interview with Scott very shortly thereafter, thanking him for his time and promising not to reveal anything that he’d said to us to anyone else. Of course, my fingers were crossed behind my back when I made that promise, and I can’t really speak for Candice’s fingers not being crossed too.

  After he’d gone, Kelsey came to the table and set down her laptop. I’d thought I’d heard the tapping of keys behind me. “Everything Scott said checks out,” she told us.

  “You verified all that, that fast?” I asked.

  “Edwards’s telecommunications company granted me access about fifteen minutes ago,” she said. “I have the e-mails between him and Scott to prove that he was hired as a subcontractor to rewrite the code and logged all the issues week to week that Scott claimed he had. Edwards appeared earnest about trying to find the source of where the code kept replicating itself within the system and wreaking such havoc. Three weeks ago he confirms with Scott that he’s identified the source, and assures him that it won’t break into the system again. The last communication is him stating that he’s rebuilt the code from the ground up and wants to deliver it to Scott.”

  “Still, he could’ve taken his time, right? He could’ve organized the heists to come during the time he’s supposedly rebuilding the code.”

  But Kelsey’s expression was skeptical. “I don’t know where he’d find the hours to do that, Abby. The guy was working full-time at his current job, then coming home and working on the code until well after midnight, at least according to the time stamps on the e-mails back and forth to Scott. During that five weeks he couldn’t have gotten more than five hours’ rest a night.”

  “Okay, so the guy didn’t sleep,” Candice said. “If he got away with a couple hundred thousand dollars, maybe that
was incentive enough to forgo some snooze time.”

  Kelsey shook her head. “See, it’s more than just that. The heists all occurred at between three fifteen and four thirty on a weekday afternoon. I’ve confirmed with his employer’s HR department that he was at work on all of those days at that time.”

  I sighed. “He’s involved,” I insisted. “I mean, if he wasn’t, why would he get all cagey when Candice and I confronted him and then go off and hide his computer somewhere we’d never find it?”

  “I don’t know,” Kelsey said. At that moment her cell phone chirped and she looked at the display. “Damn,” she said. “The federal prosecutor’s office wants a meeting with me and Rivera to discuss the Grecco case. I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. We needed Kelsey’s full attention on this case, but no way could we ask for it under the circumstances. Candice and I would have to keep on working without her.

  “We’ll keep at it,” Candice said as Kelsey gathered up her things.

  “I can come back after the meeting,” she told us. “But I’m not sure how long it’ll be.”

  “We’ll be here,” Candice assured her.

  Kelsey smiled, offered us a wave, then hurried out of the bar. The second she was gone, I said, “Feel like some coffee?”

  Candice eyed me curiously. “You have that wicked glint in your eye, so I’m guessing you want more than just coffee.”

  “You would be correct,” I said. “I want the name of the girl who spiked Phil’s tea.”

  Candice’s mouth quirked into a sly smile. “The plot thickens.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, dressed in a ball cap and sweats, I walked into the Starbucks across from the library. To my delight, it was all but empty. Only one patron was in the place, over in the corner, sipping something hot and reading the paper. Two baristas were behind the counter, one at the register and one scrubbing the espresso machine.

  There was no sign of the manager Candice had freaked out the night before, which was a good sign. I approached the young woman doing the scrubbing at the espresso machine, rubbing my neck a little. “Excuse me,” I said. She looked up. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m developing a sore throat and about three weeks ago I was in here and one of your coworkers mentioned a tea that was amazing. I get these chronic sore throats—bad tonsils or something. Anyway, she recommended a brew that really helped, but I don’t remember which one it was.”

  The young woman smiled sweetly and said, “Do you remember the way it tasted? Maybe we can figure it out that way.”

  “Well, it was a little minty. . . .”

  “Mint Majesty?”

  I made a face and shook my head. “I don’t think that was it. There was a little citrus to the aftertaste.”

  “Jade Citrus?”

  I bit my lip and tried to look perplexed. “I don’t think that was it either. You know, I think she might’ve combined two of the teas to give me the best result.”

  “Oh, really?” the girl said. “We’re not supposed to do that.”

  I smiled and said, “I know. She was new. She told me it was her first day. Is she here by any chance? I’ll gladly pay for both teas—I just really want to get the recipe right.”

  The girl bit the inside of her lip. “She was new?”

  “Yes. I only saw her that one day, but she was so sweet to me.”

  “You said it was about three weeks ago?”

  I nodded and felt my heart rate tick up. The girl looked like she knew the barista I was talking about. “I think that was probably Ivy,” she said. “She only worked here for like, two days. I trained her, and you’re right, she was super nice, but she’s not here anymore.”

  My breath caught and I took a step back from the counter. Every single loose thread from this crazy complicated case came crashing into my head at once and it left me stunned.

  “You okay?” the barista asked me.

  I stared at her like I was seeing her for the first time. “I’m . . . perfect,” I said. “But I have to go.” Fishing into my purse, I pulled out a ten and left it on the counter, then dashed outside and ran straight to the car.

  Candice was there waiting for me, her earbuds in and her phone resting on the dash. She had a look of utter disbelief on her face.

  The second I opened the door and got in, Candice and I both shouted at each other, “I know who robbed the banks!”

  From there it was a struggle to shout over each other how we knew, because we were both so excited to finally have all the pieces in place. “Ivy Clawson was the one who spiked Phil’s tea! The barista in there just told me that she trained Ivy to work there, but Ivy only worked for two days before quitting! She was the one who gave Phil the Smooth Move tea!” I yelled.

  Candice shouted, “Emma and her cheerleading friends were the gang of thieves! They were talking about it on their lunch hour!”

  It took my brain a second to catch up to what Candice had just said. “Wait, what?”

  Candice yanked the earbuds away from her ears and pulled them out from her phone jack. “Listen!” she said as she fiddled with her phone. “My audio surveillance app sent me a flag on the very first recording from the Edwards house, and at first I thought it was a glitch, but you have to hear this!” With that, Candice pressed the Play button and the speaker function and set the phone on the dash again.

  The voices coming out of the mic were tinny, but there was no mistaking the giggly sounds of a group of teenage girls. “Ohmigod, Emma,” said one girl. “I can’t believe I’m never going to see you again after next week. It’s like, breaking my heart!”

  “I know, Ives,” another voice said. “I’m so totally sad too. And I’ll never forget what you guys did for me. Like, ever.”

  There were small mewing sounds coming from multiple speakers; then yet another voice said, “Are you sure it’s enough? I mean, after our cuts it’s only like seventy thousand. How long can you live on that?”

  “In Thailand? For, like, a really long time, you guys,” said Emma.

  At this point I felt myself grinning ear to ear. We had them. We totally had them! “Confirmation!” I said to Candice.

  Candice pumped her head up and down and held up a finger as if to say, Wait for it.

  Ivy’s voice suddenly rang out of the phone to say, “I’m worried that it’s not enough, Em. I mean, my dad makes a lot more than that and Mom is always complaining that we don’t have any extra money. What if you run out and you have to come back here? What if he hunts you down and finds you?”

  “We could go for it one more time, you guys,” said a third unidentified voice. “I mean, we’ve been averaging almost sixty thousand a bank and no one’s caught on to us yet. Well, except your dad, but he’s not going to say anything, right?”

  “No,” she said. “He won’t. I don’t think he knows if it’s me or Trace, but he found my ninja costume in the garage and threw it out along with his laptop, you guys. We’d have to go into the next bank and actually look around.”

  “Would we?” said Ivy. “They’re all laid out pretty much the same, right? Except for one lobby being a little bigger than the other, they’re all basically the same. And we did think about that bank in Glendale before calling it quits. We already know what the inside of that branch looks like.”

  “And as for your ninja outfit, we could totally get you another one,” a fourth voice said. “They sell those online for, like, cheap.”

  “We can’t buy it online, remember?” Emma said. “The police are probably looking at anybody who buys one of those on the Internet.”

  “Then we’ll go back to that costume store in Torrance and buy you another one,” said Ivy.

  “We’d have to get new shoulder pads too,” said the third voice. “God, those were a pain to sew in, right?”

  “At l
east your mom didn’t find your top on her sewing machine,” Ivy said. “God, I almost had a cow when she came into my room with it and wanted to know what it was.”

  “I loved your answer,” Emma said. Mimicking Ivy’s higher-pitched voice, she added, “It’s for Spirit Week, Mom.”

  “Yeah, which isn’t for like, four months!” said another one of the girls.

  They all laughed. Then, someone said, “Melanie, you should have Ivy fix that left shoulder pad. I swear it’s still crooked.”

  “So we’re actually considering this?” said someone other than Ivy or Emma.

  “I think I still have the screenshot of the lobby from the Glendale branch hidden upstairs, you guys,” Ivy said, excitement in her voice. “There’s no guard there and we can practice the routine this weekend at Mel’s place.”

  “Ohmigod,” said one of the unidentified girls. “We totally should do this! And I’d be willing to give my whole portion to Emma this time, just to make sure she had enough to last a long, long time.”

  Emma became emotional. “Valerie,” she said sweetly through choked-back tears. “I love you so much, girl.”

  “Awww! We’ve got your—” There was an abrupt halt to a third girl’s speech, and then, “Was that the garage door?”

  Silence followed; then, in a hushed voice someone said, “Ohmigod! I think he’s home!”

  What sounded like the opening of a door could be heard faintly on the recording; then a male voice said, “Are the hens huddled around the henhouse?” Nobody answered. “You know how they kill chickens on a chicken farm, right?” he said next. My skin crawled. It was obvious to me that Trace had entered the kitchen and all the girls gathered there were both alarmed and frightened by his presence.