I helped him navigate a curb. “I’m giving you something better. I’m giving you a chance to straighten your life out.”
“I’d rather have the five dollars,” Andy said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lights were off in the office when I walked in. Connie was sitting at her desk, tweezing her chin.
“I have a body receipt for Andy Smutten,” I said. “I ran into him in town.”
“I’ll write you a check for the capture,” Connie said. “It’s about the only thing I can do. The computers just went down. We have no electric.”
A message buzzed on my phone, and I read the message to Connie.
“This power outage is a warning. I’ll restore power in ten minutes. If you don’t give me the last two Baked Potatoes, I’ll cut power for as long as it takes. You have until midnight Friday to turn them over to me.”
I called Ranger. “Did your electric just go out?”
“Yes,” he said. “We’re on a generator.”
“Oswald is taking responsibility. He wants Charlotte and Melvin.”
I read him the message.
“This is becoming a suicide mission for Oswald,” Ranger said. “There are places in Europe and Asia where hackers are protected. It’s more difficult for a hacker to hide here, and Oswald’s obsession with the Baked Potatoes is making him vulnerable. He’s making stupid moves. Attacking the power grid will bring the feds in with resources we wouldn’t ordinarily be able to access. From what we’ve been able to see, this is a local outage, but it’s still going to get federal attention.”
I ended the call with Ranger, the lights blinked on, and Connie’s computer came to life.
“It’s amazing that Oswald can do this,” Connie said. “I have a hard time managing the apps on my iPad.”
Diesel strolled in. “Oswald is brilliant but he’s a complete wack job.”
“Did you get his message?” I asked.
“Yes. He’s being a real jerk. He’s making my job impossible. Now I’m going to have to contend with the government. Melvin treated everyone to a porno movie, and by the way he chose a classic. When he was caught, it was brushed off as a prank. Oswald proved he can cut the electricity to half of Trenton. No one’s going to laugh it off.”
“We have twenty-four hours before he pulls the plug again,” I said.
“He’s not living in his car like Charlotte was doing. He’s holed up somewhere with good internet. He probably has multiple computers and a backpack filled with hacking tools,” Diesel said. “I have people watching the train station and hanging out on street corners in town. Oswald is like the invisible lunatic.”
“I know someplace in town that has good internet,” I said. “And the owner isn’t in residence. Suppose Oswald didn’t just happen along when Lula and I were getting clothes for Charlotte. Suppose he’s been living there?”
“Alongside the cop who took him down?” Diesel asked. “I like it. Let’s go for a ride.”
Diesel had the fun car, but I had the crappy stealth car, so I drove. I did a drive-around in Charlotte’s neighborhood, looking for the Porsche or a blue sedan. We saw four blue sedans. No Porsche. I drove past the front of the townhouse, and I cruised down the back alley. The cop car wasn’t parked on the street and there was no activity. No one walking. No dogs barking. No street traffic. It was almost noon and the neighborhood felt deserted. Everyone was at work, I thought.
I parked on the cross street, and we walked down the alley to Charlotte’s house. I used her key to let us in and we stood in the kitchen for a couple of beats, listening.
“Wait in the hall where you can see both doors and I’ll clear the house,” Diesel said.
I watched him go up the stairs and listened while he went room by room. He came down and walked through the downstairs.
“He’s not here,” he said. “No clothes, no trash, no toilet seat left up.”
I went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge. I found the usual condiments plus a takeout box with half a stale sandwich, an expired strawberry yogurt, and two bottles of Russian River Pliny the Elder beer.
Diesel looked over my shoulder. “The beer has Oswald written all over it.”
I called Charlotte and asked her if she left half a sandwich, a strawberry yogurt, and two bottles of beer in her fridge. The answer was no.
“He might have been here,” I said to Diesel, “but I think he vacated after he was shot. I don’t see any Band-Aids in the trash. No half-used first aid cream lying around.”