‘Don’t touch that,’ Kale warned, as Cadel reached for The Collected Short Stories of Edgar Allan Poe. ‘We’ll see if it’s got fingerprints on it.’
Cadel withdrew his hand.
‘We’ll dust the phone, as well,’ Kale continued. ‘And bag the sheets. There might be hairs or DNA.’ He watched as Cadel’s gaze travelled slowly around the room. ‘I don’t suppose Prosper’s a big Poe fan, is he?’
‘You should know that better than me,’ Cadel retorted. ‘You’re the one with the billion-gig file on him.’ Without waiting for a response, he added, ‘Are you checking the phone records for this place?’
‘It’s in the works. Takes a while to get something like that – more than a couple of hours.’ Kale narrowed his eyes. ‘What is it?’
Cadel was staring at the king-sized bed. It was all made up, with sheets and blankets and about twenty cushions of different shapes and sizes. But it didn’t look as if anyone had ever slept on it.
After a moment’s hesitation, he bent his head to sniff at a pillow.
‘Prosper English had some Trumper’s cologne, at the other place,’ Kale observed.
‘Then he won’t be wearing it any more,’ said Cadel, straightening. The pillow had smelled of laundry detergent. No one, he felt sure, had used it since it was last washed. ‘What kind of after-shave does Rex wear?’
‘That we’ve gotta check.’ Kale whipped out his phone. ‘What’s in the bathroom now?’
Cadel went to look. He found quantities of fluffy blue towels, a glass jar full of soap, a comb, a toothbrush, a bottle of Old Spice, a tube of shaving gel, and an unopened packet of disposable razors. The shower stall was bone dry.
‘No Trumper’s cologne,’ he said. ‘Maybe Prosper’s switched to Old Spice.’
‘We’ll dust it for prints,’ promised Kale, before returning to his phone call.
The bathroom itself was smaller than Cadel had anticipated. He didn’t understand why its dimensions surprised him so much. Could the enormous size of everything else have given him inflated expectations? The walk-in wardrobe beside the bathroom was also quite small; Cadel noted this with an increasing sense of perplexity, as he surveyed the racks and shelves and drawers full of clothes.
Surely there was no need to cut corners, in such a house?
‘We’ll have to check all the sizes,’ Kale remarked from the door, flicking his phone shut. ‘See if they correspond with Rex Austin’s measurements.’ He pulled a face. ‘No tweed jackets,’ he pointed out.
‘No,’ said Cadel, who doubted very much that any of the checked golf pants, yachting caps or safari suits belonged to Prosper English – unless Prosper was trying to disguise himself. ‘No waistcoats, either.’
‘Yeah. Prosper English never did favour sportswear, did he? He went more for your classy collegiate stuff.’
‘Did he really go to university? I mean, was he a real psychologist?’
‘We think he went to college under an assumed name. In South Africa.’ Kale suddenly became aware that Chuck was hovering behind him, on the threshold. ‘Yeah? What is it?’
‘We can’t find any old surveillance footage at this end,’ Chuck reported. ‘But we’re contacting the firm that monitors this place. They might have something on file.’
Kale grunted. Cadel spun around.
‘You haven’t reconnected, have you?’ he exclaimed. ‘I mean, is the system back online?’
‘Uh – no …’ Chuck seemed startled. His eyes flicked towards his superior, as if seeking guidance.
‘Good,’ said Cadel. ‘Because that means we can set a honey trap.’
The idea had come to him while he was contemplating the lack of movement-activated sensors in Rex Austin’s wardrobe. He’d thought to himself: This would be a great place to hide from a nosy hacker. Then a light-bulb had gone off inside his head. Of course! This was a house just like Judith’s. And just like Judith’s, it could be used as a honey trap …
‘Someone’s been watching me via web-based CCTV networks,’ he explained. ‘Whoever it is, he might have figured out where I am by now. And if the system here goes back online, it’ll be really tempting.’ Cadel wasn’t discouraged by the silence that greeted this suggestion. On the contrary, his tone became more urgent. ‘If the hacker takes a risk, and tries to see what I’m doing, I might be able to pin him down.’
Kale was scratching his jaw. ‘You’re talking about an online ambush,’ he said flatly.
‘That’s it. Only I’d have to do it myself, because I know what to look for.’
‘Mmmph.’ Kale grimaced. ‘Your lawyer won’t have a bar of that,’ he opined.
‘My lawyer’s not here yet.’
‘I guess not …’
‘I won’t let any hackers start messing with the house,’ Cadel insisted. ‘There won’t be any malfunctioning doors or exploding fridges, I swear.’
Kale pondered. Then he sighed. Then he turned to Chuck and said, ‘Is Larry here?’
‘Larry’s in the panic room,’ Chuck replied, cocking his thumb. ‘He’s the one who’s been searching for security footage.’
‘Okay. Good.’ Kale nodded, before addressing Cadel once again. ‘Agent Domenico is our computer expert, and he’ll be in charge. But if you talk to him about this, and he says it’s workable, then you can try it out. Together. Is that clear?’
‘I guess so,’ Cadel reluctantly agreed. ‘Except that it might waste a lot of time, explaining what I want to do –’
‘I said, is that clear?’
Though Kale wasn’t tall, he could be very imposing. It had something to do with his banked-down impatience, and the way he used his voice. He gave the impression that he had lots of energy to spare.
Cadel swallowed.
‘Yes,’ he mumbled.
‘All right,’ said Kale. ‘Then let’s have a look at this panic room, shall we?’
THIRTY-ONE
Rex Austin’s panic room was exactly like Judith’s. It had the same kind of concealed toilet, a similar bank of cupboards, and an almost identical built-in desk. Even the light fittings looked familiar to Cadel.
And it’s no bigger than Judith’s, either, he thought, his gaze coming to rest on a small collection of monitor screens. They were mounted over a computer keyboard, and all were blank save for the one in the middle, which seemed to be displaying some kind of directory.
A short, solid, swarthy young man was peering at this directory through a pair of rimless spectacles. He had clipped black hair, bright green eyes, and the kind of vigorous stubble that needs to be shaved twice a day, if it’s to be kept under control.
Kale introduced him as Agent Larry Domenico.
‘Larry’s in computer forensics,’ Kale explained. ‘Larry, this is Cadel. He’s got an idea you might want to consider.’
‘Hi,’ said Larry. He shook Cadel’s hand.
‘You guys can discuss things while I step outside and make a phone call,’ Kale suggested. ‘It’s a little cramped in here for three people, anyway.’ He then addressed himself exclusively to Cadel. ‘If I were you, I’d take a look at those cupboards. Just so you don’t miss anything.’
‘All right,’ Cadel agreed.
‘They’ve been searched already, haven’t they?’ Kale asked Larry, who nodded. ‘Good. Okay. I’ll leave you to it.’
There was a brief silence after Kale had gone. Larry seemed to be waiting for input. Cadel didn’t quite know how to begin. At last he said, in a hesitant tone, ‘I know quite a lot about computers. Did – did Kale tell you that?’
‘I’ve been briefed on it,’ Larry confirmed. He wasn’t unfriendly; just unforthcoming. Cadel wondered if this blank-faced demeanour was some kind of FBI interrogation technique.
‘Well … I was thinking that I could set up an ambush for the hacker who’s been spying on me,’ he continued. ‘If we log onto the Net again, he might try to get back in. And I might be able to catch him doing it.’
Larry took his time answering. It
was as if he wanted to consider the notion from every possible viewpoint.
‘This is the same guy responsible for that tailor-made infiltration program?’ he finally asked. ‘The one designed specifically for this house?’
‘Yes.’ It was a relief to discover that Larry was so quick on the uptake. ‘I’d have to be ready, though. I’d have to get everything set up before we reconnected.’
Larry pursed his lips. Again, he appeared to be weighing his options.
‘I wouldn’t let anyone get into the systems, here,’ Cadel added. ‘If that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘I’m not worried,’ Larry said calmly. ‘How were you wanting to proceed?’
Cadel explained how. Larry absorbed this information without comment, nodding occasionally when he judged that some sort of feedback was required. At one point he even vacated his chair, so that Cadel could have easy access to the computer. And when Cadel had finished, Larry’s ‘Mmm-hmm’ somehow conveyed that Cadel’s plan had been fully absorbed and understood.
‘I think it’s worth trying,’ was Larry’s final assessment, delivered after the usual period of careful, almost painstaking consideration. ‘As long as Agent Platz alerts the rest of the team.’
‘We’ll need to switch everything back on,’ Cadel advised. But Larry didn’t hear; he had already left the room to consult with Kale Platz. Cadel therefore got up and yanked open the nearest cupboard door, behind which he found a selection of tinned foods. The next cupboard contained sheets, pillows, a first-aid kit and an inflatable bed. The cupboard after that was full of toilet paper. There seemed to be nothing noteworthy in any of the cupboards. Cadel certainly couldn’t see any Trumper’s cologne or silk waistcoats.
Only the cramped dimensions of the storage space puzzled him. In fact they puzzled him so much that he wandered out into the bedroom, past Kale and Larry, until he’d retraced his steps to the bedroom door. This door opened onto a short passage lined with linen cupboards. Turning left at the end of the passage, Cadel entered another bedroom that was slightly less impressive than the main one; it had a less imposing view, a less expansive bed, and much less floor space. But it did have its own bathroom and walk-in wardrobe, which appeared to share the same wall cavity as those opening off the main bedroom. As far as Cadel could judge, both bathrooms were probably set back to back.
Or were they?
The second bathroom was even narrower than the first. Cadel measured it with his feet. He did the same in the second wardrobe, which was empty. Then he returned to the passage, where he tried to pace out its length. Unfortunately, all the stepped floors, curved walls, indented corners and irregular alcoves made judging distances very hard.
Kale joined him as he was inspecting the linen cupboards.
‘What’s up?’ asked Kale.
‘I don’t know …’ Cadel surveyed the beautifully laundered, carefully folded sheets and towels. They told him nothing. ‘Have you ever seen a plan of this house? I mean, something that shows you the ducts and plumbing and elevator shafts?’
‘No. But I’m sure we can find one. Why?’
Cadel hesitated. He felt slightly embarrassed by his own suspicious nature; clearly he had reached the point where he couldn’t even trust his own eyes.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
‘It must be this weird architecture,’ he ventured at last. ‘I can’t make the connections.’
Kale frowned. ‘What do you mean? What connections?’
‘It feels like it doesn’t fit together. Like it’s not systematic.’ Cadel scratched his scalp, wondering if he was being bamboozled by a clever design. ‘You don’t have a measuring tape, do you?’ he said impulsively, just as a cry rang out from the panic room.
‘Sir? Sir!’
It was Larry’s voice. Galvanised by its urgency, Kale hurried back to the monitor screens, with Cadel close behind him. All of the screens were now operating; they showed a selection of views from across the entire house, in full colour and real time.
Larry was pointing at one of them.
‘Look,’ he said.
Kale gasped. Cadel froze. They stood gaping at an angled shot of the toolshed’s exterior, filmed by a camera that must have been mounted near its door. This camera was tracking the progress of a man wearing orange overalls and a baseball cap. He crossed the visual field at a brisk pace, leaving it behind just as Cadel croaked, ‘That’s Prosper.’
Kale leaned forward. He grabbed Larry’s shoulder, saying, ‘Where’s he got to? Find him! Hurry!’
‘It might be a trick,’ Larry warned. He skipped from one view to the next, his fingers fluttering, his gaze fixed on the screens. ‘Didn’t you say there was some kinda CCTV bug that inserts a fake Prosper English into the footage?’
‘There!’ Cadel exclaimed. ‘Stop!’
There were multiple shots on each screen: shots of the main gates, the pool, the garage, the front entrance (from several angles), the wine cellar, the driveway, the viewing platform. Every window was protected by a camera – as was every exterior door. And the garden contained more cameras than the house.
One of these cameras was focused on the shrubbery behind the toolshed, where a fleeting glimpse of orange was visible before it disappeared behind a cluster of large, grey, spiky plants.
‘Did you log onto the Net?’ Kale asked Larry, whose brows were knitted in consternation.
‘No,’ Larry replied. ‘If it’s that CCTV bug, it must be in the system already.’
‘It’s not the bug,’ said Cadel. When his two companions blinked at him, he jerked his chin at the closest monitor screen. ‘There were no shiny spheres in either of those pictures. You need a shiny sphere to make it work.’
Silence fell. For a couple of seconds no one spoke or moved. Then Kale whipped out his police radio.
‘Okay – who’s near the toolshed?’ he snapped at Larry, his eyes scouring the screens in front of him. Some half a dozen agents could be seen in various locations, either patrolling the grounds or stationed at strategic vantage points. ‘Show me, dammit!’
‘Umm … let’s see, now …’ Larry murmured, jumping from shot to shot. But Kale couldn’t wait. He charged out of the room, throwing a few last instructions over his shoulder.
‘Stay here and keep the door locked. Don’t open it to anyone but me,’ he barked. ‘If you see the perp again, call it through pronto. I want his exact position.’
‘Roger that,’ said Larry.
‘There might be more than one,’ Kale added, before slamming the door shut behind him. Cadel then locked it. He thought that Kale was probably issuing a general alert, but couldn’t hear anything through all the layers of reinforced steel that protected the panic room.
‘Bingo,’ said Larry. He’d hit upon a stretch of gravel path, which was pinched between a high hedge and the perimeter wall. For some reason, Prosper English had decided to use this path. Cadel couldn’t help wondering why, since gravel was such a noisy substance to walk on.
‘Now that would be … what? The south-east sector?’ Larry wondered aloud. ‘What are the camera coordinates on this?’ He fumbled for his own walkie-talkie. ‘There’s gotta be a network map in here somewhere.’
‘Look.’ Cadel pointed at another scene. ‘There he is. In the distance.’
‘That’s south-east, for sure,’ Larry decided, then promptly made his report to Kale.
Cadel, meanwhile, had spotted something. One of the cameras seemed to be focused on a narrow laneway, which ran between a high stone wall and a patchwork of fences. It took him a moment to work out that he was looking at the outer edge of Rex Austin’s property, where it hit a line of neighbouring back yards.
Cadel’s gaze only snagged on this obscure corner because a small steel door in the stonework was stealthily opening.
‘Look! Quick! There might be a car!’ he yipped. On the screen, Prosper was pulling the door shut behind him, in a leisurely kind of way. Then he moved west, out of the visual field
.
‘That’s an access point,’ said Larry. ‘Goddammit, someone should be covering that!’
‘Is there a cliff-top walk of some kind?’ asked Cadel, but received no answer. Larry was firing an update into his walkie-talkie as he searched the CCTV network for Prosper’s orange overalls. Cadel noticed a flurry of movement on the monitor screens; FBI agents were rushing past cameras, guns drawn.
‘Maybe it’s not a car,’ he continued anxiously, thinking back to the jetty at Prosper’s Australian hideout. ‘Maybe he’s got a boathouse, down there.’
‘Not possible,’ Larry rejoined. ‘There are no private beaches in California. It’s all public land, along the coast.’
‘Oh.’ Cadel wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his t-shirt. ‘Well … maybe he hasn’t been living here at all, then. Maybe he’s been living nearby, and paying visits.’ After a moment’s reflection, he added, ‘Maybe someone’s hired him as a gardener. He’s certainly dressed like one.’
Larry said nothing. After skipping around for a bit, he had managed to refine his search by concentrating on shots of an area around the south-western corner of the estate. Agents were converging on this spot from all directions, surging through the steel door and spilling out onto the laneway, clumping into pairs before they disappeared off camera. From one angle, Kale could be seen talking and gesturing – but he stopped abruptly when a call came through on his police radio.
It was Larry’s call.
‘I haven’t got a fix on our target,’ Larry declared. ‘I think he’s moved out of range.’
‘Roger that.’ Kale’s voice sounded fuzzy and distorted. ‘Keep your eyes peeled. Just in case more of ’em start coming out of the woodwork.’
‘Woodwork is right,’ muttered Larry. ‘Where in hell was he hiding? That’s what I want to know.’
‘You could check the footage,’ said Cadel. ‘There might be something we missed.’