Leawood slinked away and was not seen again. Fourteen years passed before he paid for his crimes.
* * *
—
Late Wednesday afternoon, Lacy was out of excuses and weary of procrastinating. She closed and locked her office door and called the first of several phone numbers for Betty Roe. None were answered, which was not unusual. Minutes later, her smartphone pinged with a text from an unknown number. Betty wrote: “Go to the green line.” Code for Use your burner. Lacy picked up her disposable phone and waited another minute for the call.
Betty began cheerfully with “How about that story in the Ledger?”
“Interesting to say the least. I wonder how they put all the murders together so fast.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure it was an anonymous email from someone who’s familiar with the murders, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would indeed.”
“I wonder how our boy reacted.”
“I’m sure it ruined his day.”
“I hope he had a massive stroke and gagged to death on his vomit. They say he’s in bad health anyway. Rumor of colon cancer, but I doubt it. More like a good reason to get out of town.”
“You sound feisty.”
“I’m in pretty good spirits, Lacy. I went to Michigan and spent last weekend with my daughter, had a great visit.”
“Good, because I have some news that you may not want. We’ve finished our assessment of your complaint and we believe it has merit. We are referring it to the state police and the FBI. Our decision is final.”
Silence on the other end. Lacy plowed on. “You shouldn’t be surprised, Betty. This is what you’ve always wanted. You used us to start the investigation and give it credibility while you hid in the dark. Nothing wrong with that, and I assure you your name has not been used. We will continue to protect your identity, to the extent possible.”
“What does that mean? ‘To the extent possible’？”
“It means I’m not sure how the investigation will go. I don’t know if the FBI will want your input, but if they do I’m sure they know how to protect a key witness.”
“I won’t sleep until he’s arrested and locked up. You should be worried too, Lacy. I’ve warned you about this.”
“You have and I’m being careful.”
“He’s smarter than we are, Lacy, and he’s always watching.”
“You think he knows about our involvement?”
“Assume he does, okay? Just assume the worst. He’s back there, Lacy.”
Lacy closed her eyes and was ready to end the call. Betty’s paranoia was at times irksome.
33
The computer and phone networks of the Harrison County Sheriff’s Department had been turned over to Nic Constantine, a twenty-year-old part-time student at a community college down the road. He enjoyed the work and loved hanging around the deputies and other law enforcement types, most of whom needed plenty of help with technology. He had serious talent for it and could design and fix anything. He was constantly urging them to upgrade here and there, but there were always budget problems.
Nic knew the Verno/Dunwoody case was top secret. The vultures from the press were still circling, and Sheriff Black had put a lid on all communications, most of which were kept offline. To his great delight, Nic had been at the murder scene, and, later, led the sheriff and Deputy Mancuso to the two cell phones in the tiny town of Neely, Mississippi. An easy job any twelve-year-old could handle.
Nic routinely swept the network for viruses, but had been unable to detect Rafe and his evil pals from Maggotz. They were dormant for the vast majority of the time. The mistake was made by Detective Napier, who sent a naked email to the sheriff confirming a meeting with the FBI on Friday, April 25, at the Bureau’s office in Pensacola. Napier referred to the FBI as “Hoovies,” said a team from Washington would fly in, with an expert, the cell phone, and the PTP. Napier immediately realized his mistake, deleted the email, found Nic, and asked him to wipe it clean from the network. He tracked it through the department’s internal server and was confident everything had been erased.
Napier and Nic then found the sheriff and explained what had happened. Nic dreamed of working for the FBI and was thrilled at the news of the meeting. He offered to be there, with the warning that he might be needed in case of more mistakes. Sheriff Black was not impressed.
* * *
—
Rafe, dormant but ever present, saw the email. Thirty minutes later, Judge Bannick saw it too and was stricken with panic. He knew how much the FBI loved acronyms. He knew the lingo as well as the agents in the field. PTP—partial thumb print.