Or on computer. The night before, while composing the lists, I had checked and found that both the Femmes Fatales exotic revue and Club Snake Pit had websites that featured photographs of their dancers. There were numerous photos of each dancer, including full-length shots that showed their legs and feet. On www.femmesfatalesatthecleo.com, there were chorus-line shots that showed the dancers high-kicking at the camera. If the Unsub’s paraphilia included leg braces and the need for a giraffe body type, as Rachel had suggested, then the website would have allowed him to research his prey.
Once a victim was chosen, the killer would need to go to work identifying the woman and filling in the other details on the lists. It could be done that way but I had a hunch that it wasn’t. I felt sure that there was something else in play here, that the victims were connected in some other way.
I zeroed in on the first item on both lists. It seemed clear to me that at some point the killer had acquainted himself with the details of each of his victims’ legal affairs.
With Denise Babbit, he had to have known of her arrest last year for buying drugs and that the arrest took place outside the Rodia Gardens housing project. This information inspired the idea of leaving her body in the trunk of her car nearby, knowing that the car might be stolen and moved but ultimately traced back to that location. The obvious explanation would be that she had gone there again to buy drugs. A smooth deflection away from the true facts.
With Sharon Oglevy, the killer had to have known the details of her divorce. In particular, he had to have known of her husband’s alleged threat to kill her and bury her out in the desert. From that knowledge would spring the idea of putting her body in the trunk of his car.
In both cases the legal details could have been obtained by the killer because they were contained in court documents that were open to the public. There was nothing in any of the records I had that indicated that the Oglevy divorce records had been sealed. And as far as Denise Babbit went, criminal prosecutions were part of the public record.
Then it hit me. The thing I had missed. Denise Babbit had been arrested a year before her death but at the time of her murder the prosecution was ongoing. She was on what defense lawyers called “pee and see” status. Her attorney had gotten her into a pretrial intervention program. As part of her outpatient drug-abuse treatment, her urine was tested once a month for indications of drug use and the courts were ostensibly waiting to see if she straightened out her life. If she did, the charges against her would go away. If her attorney was good, he’d even get the arrest expunged from her record.
All of that was just legal detail but now I saw something in it I had overlooked before. If her case was still active, it would not yet have been entered into the public record. And if it was not part of the public record, available to any citizen by computer or visit to the courthouse, then how did the Unsub get the details he needed to set up her murder?
I thought for a few moments about how I could answer that question and decided that the only way would be to get the information from Denise Babbit herself, or from someone else directly associated with her case—the prosecutor or the defense attorney. I leafed through the documents in the Babbit file until I found the name of her attorney and then I made the call.
“Daly and Mills, this is Newanna speaking. How can I help you?”
“May I speak to Tom Fox?”
“Mr. Fox is in court this morning. Can I take a message?”
“Will he be back at lunchtime?”
I checked my watch. It was almost eleven. Noting the time gave me another stab of anxiety over still not hearing anything from Rachel.
“He usually comes back at lunch but there is no guarantee of that.”
I gave her my name and number and told her I was a reporter with the Times and to tell Fox that the call was important.
After closing the phone I booted up my laptop and put the Internet slot card in place. I decided I would test my theory and see if I could access Denise Babbit’s court records online.
I spent twenty minutes on the project but could glean very little information about Babbit’s arrest and prosecution from the state’s publicly accessed legal data services or the private legal search engine the Times subscribed to. I did, however, pick up a reference to her attorney’s e-mail address and composed a quick message in hopes that he received e-mail on his cell phone and would return my request for a phone call sooner rather than later.
From: Jack McEvoy
Subject: Denise Babbit
Date: May 18, 2009 10:57 AM PDT
To: [email protected]
* * *
Mr. Fox, I am a reporter with the Los Angeles Times working on the ongoing story about Denise Babbit’s murder. You may have already spoken to one of my colleagues about your representation of Denise, but I need to speak with you as soon as possible about a new angle of investigation I am following. Please call or e-mail as soon as possible. Thank you.
Jack McEvoy
* * *
I sent the message and knew that all I could do was wait. I checked the time on the corner of the computer screen and realized it was now after two P.M. in Washington, D.C. There seemed no way that Rachel’s hearing could have lasted this long.
My computer dinged and I looked down and saw I had already gotten a return e-mail from Fox.
From: Tom Fox
Subject: RE: Denise Babbit
Date: May 18, 2009 11:01 AM PDT
To: [email protected]
* * *
Hi, I cannot respond to your e-mail in a timely manner because I am in trial this week. You will hear from me or my assistant, Madison, as soon as possible. Thank you.
Tom Fox
Senior Partner, Daly & Mills, Counselors at Law
www.dalyandmills.com
* * *
It was an automatically generated response, which meant Fox had not yet seen my message. I got the feeling I would not be hearing from him until lunchtime—if I was lucky.
I noticed the law firm’s website listed at the bottom of the message and clicked on the link. It brought me to a site that boldly trumpeted the services the firm provided its prospective clients. The firm’s attorneys specialized in both criminal and civil law and there was a window marked Do You Have a Case? in which the site visitor could submit the particulars of their situation for a free review and opinion from one of the firm’s legal experts.
At the bottom of the page was a listing of the firm’s partners by name. I was about to click on Tom Fox’s name to see if I could pull up a bio when I saw the line and link that ran along the very bottom of the page.
Site Design and Optimization by Western Data Consultants
It felt to me like atoms crashing together and creating a new and priceless substance. All in a moment I knew I had the connection. The law firm’s website was hosted in the same location as the Unsub’s trip-wire sites. That was too coincidental to be coincidence. The internal portals opened up wide, and adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream. I quickly clicked on the link and I was taken to the homepage of Western Data Consultants.
The website offered a guided tour of the facility in Mesa, Arizona, which provided state-of-the-art security and service in the areas of data storage, managed hosting and web-based grid solutions—whatever that meant.
I clicked on an icon that said SEE THE BUNKER and was taken to a page with photos and descriptions of an underground server farm. It was a colocation center where data from client corporations and businesses was stored and accessible to those clients twenty-four hours a day through high-speed fiber-optic connections and backbone Internet providers. Forty server towers stood in perfect rows. The room was concrete lined, infrared monitored and hermetically sealed. It was twenty feet belowground.
The website heavily sold the security of Western Data. What comes in doesn’t go out unless you ask for it. The company offered businesses big and small an economical means of stor
ing and securing data through instant or interval backup. Every keystroke made on a computer at a law firm in Los Angeles could be instantly recorded and stored in Mesa.
I went back to my files and pulled out the documents William Schifino had given me in Las Vegas. Included in these was the Oglevy divorce file. I put the name of Brian Oglevy’s divorce lawyer into my search engine and got an address and contact number but no website. I put the name of Sharon Oglevy’s attorney into the search window next and this time got an address, phone number and website.
I went to the website for Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward and scrolled to the bottom of the homepage. There it was.
Site Design and Optimization by Western Data Consultants
I had confirmed the connection but not the specifics. The two law firms used Western Data to design and host their websites. I needed to know if the firms were also storing their case files on Western Data servers. I thought about a plan for a few moments and then opened my phone to call the firm.
“Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward, can I help you?”
“Yes, can I speak to the managing partner?”
“I will put you through to his office.”
I waited, rehearsing my lines, hoping this would work.
“Mr. Kenney’s office, can I help you?”
“Yes, my name is Jack McEvoy. I’m working with William Schifino and Associates and I’m in the process of setting up a website and data storage system for the firm. I’ve been talking to Western Data down in Arizona about their services and they mentioned Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward as one of their clients here in Vegas. I was wondering if I could talk to Mr. Kenney about how it has been working with Western Data.”
“Mr. Kenney is not in today.”
“Hmmm. Do you know if there’s anybody else I could talk to there? We were thinking about pulling the trigger on this today.”
“Mr. Kenney is in charge of our firm’s web presence and data colocation. You would need to speak to him.”
“Then you do use Western Data for colocation? I wasn’t sure if it was just for the website or not.”
“Yes, we do, but you will have to speak to Mr. Kenney about it.”
“Thank you. I will call back in the morning.”
I closed the phone. I had what I needed from Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward. I next called Daly & Mills back and went through the same ruse, getting the same backhand confirmation from an assistant to the managing partner.
I felt that I had nailed the connection. Both of the law firms that had represented the Unsub’s two victims stored their case files at Western Data Consultants in Mesa. That had to be the place where Denise Babbit and Sharon Oglevy crossed paths. That was where the Unsub had found and chosen them.
I shoved all the files back into my backpack and started the car.
On the way to the airport I called Southwest Airlines and bought a round-trip ticket that left LAX at one o’clock and would get me into Phoenix an hour later. I next booked a rental car and was contemplating the call I would need to make to my ace, when my phone started buzzing.
The screen said private caller and I knew it was Rachel finally calling me back.
“Hello?”
“Jack, it’s me.”
“Rachel, it’s about time. Where are you?”
“At the airport. I’m coming back.”
“Switch your flight. Meet me in Phoenix.”
“What?”
“I found the connection. It’s Western Data. I’m going there now.”
“Jack, what are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Will you come?”
There was a long delay.
“Rachel, will you come?”
“Yes, Jack, I’ll come.”
“Good. I have a car booked. Make the switch and then call me back with your arrival time. I’ll pick you up at Sky Harbor.”
“Okay.”
“How did the OPR hearing go? It seemed like it went really long.”
Again, a hesitation. I heard an airport announcement in the background.
“Rachel?”
“I quit, Jack. I’m not an agent anymore.”
When Rachel came through the terminal exit at Sky Harbor International, she was pulling a roller bag with one hand and carrying a laptop briefcase with the other. I was standing with all the limo drivers holding signs with their arriving passengers’ names on them and I saw Rachel before she saw me. She was looking back and forth for me but not paying attention to what or who was directly in front of her.
I stepped into her path and she almost walked into me. Then she stopped and relaxed her arms a little bit without letting go of her bags. It was an obvious invitation. I stepped up and pulled her into a tight hug. I didn’t kiss her, I just held her. She bowed her head into the crook of my neck and we said nothing for possibly as long as a minute.
“Hi,” I finally said.
“Hi,” she said back.
“Long day, huh?”
“The longest.”
“You okay?”
“I will be.”
I reached down and took the handle of the roller bag out of her grasp. Then I turned her toward the exit to the parking garage.
“This way. I already got the car and the hotel.”
“Great.”
We walked silently and I kept my arm around her. Rachel had not told me a lot on the phone, only that she had been forced to quit to avoid prosecution for misuse of government funds—the FBI jet she had taken to Nellis in order to save me. I wasn’t going to push her for more information but eventually I wanted to know the details. And the names. The bottom line was that she had lost her job coming to save me. The only way I was going to be able to live with that was if I somehow tried to set it straight. The only way I knew how to do that was to write about it.
“The hotel’s pretty nice,” I said. “But I only got one room. I didn’t know if you wanted—”
“One room is perfect. I don’t have to worry about things like that anymore.”
I nodded and assumed she meant that she no longer had to worry about sleeping with someone who was part of an investigation. It seemed that no matter what I said or asked, I was going to trigger thoughts about the job and career she had just lost. I tried a new direction.
“So are you hungry? Do you want to get something to eat or go right to the hotel or what?”
“What about Western Data?”
“I called and set up an appointment. They said it had to be tomorrow because the CEO is out today.”
I checked my watch and it was almost six.
“They’re probably closed now, anyway. So tomorrow at ten we go in. We ask for a guy named McGinnis. He apparently runs the place.”
“And they fell for the charade you told me you were going to pull?”
“It’s not a charade. I have the letter from Schifino and that makes me legit.”
“You can convince yourself of anything, can’t you? Doesn’t your paper have some kind of code of ethics that prevents you from misrepresenting yourself?”
“Yeah, we’ve got a code but there are always gray areas. I’m going undercover to get information that cannot be gathered any other way.”
I shrugged as if to say, no big deal. We got to my rental car and I loaded her bag in the trunk.
“Jack, I want to go there now,” Rachel said as we got in the car.
“Where?”
“Western Data.”
“You can’t get in without an appointment and our appointment’s tomorrow.”
“Fine, we don’t go in. But we can still case the joint. I just want to see it.”
“Why?”
“Because I need something to take my mind off what happened today in Washington. Okay?”
“Got it. We’re going.”
I looked up Western Data’s address in my notebook and plugged it into the car’s GPS. Soon we were on a freeway heading east from the airport. Traffic moved smoothly and we were to Mesa after tw
o freeway changes and twenty minutes of driving.
Western Data Consultants loomed small on the horizon on McKellips Road on the east side of Mesa. It was in a sparsely developed area of warehouses and small businesses surrounded by scrub brush and Sonora cacti. It was a one-story, sand-colored building of block construction with only two windows located on either side of the front door. The address number was painted on the top right corner of the building but there was no other sign on the facade or anywhere else on the fenced property.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Rachel asked as I drove by the first time.
“Yeah, the woman I made the appointment with said they had no signs on the property. It’s part of the security—not advertising exactly what they do here.”
“It’s smaller than I thought it would be.”
“You have to remember, most of it is underground.”
“Right, right.”
A few blocks past the target, there was a coffee shop called Hightower Grounds. I pulled in to turn around and then we took another pass at Western Data. This time the property was on Rachel’s side and she turned all the way in her seat to view it.
“They’ve got cameras all over the place,” she said. “I count one, two, three… six cameras on the outside.”
“Cameras inside and out, according to the website,” I responded. “That’s what they sell. Security.”
“Either the real thing or the appearance of it.”
I looked over at her.
“What do you mean by that?”
She shrugged.
“Nothing, really. It’s just that all those cameras look impressive. But if nobody is on the other end looking through them, then what do you have?”
I nodded.
“Do you want me to turn around and go by again?”
“No, I’ve seen enough. I’m hungry now, Jack.”
“Okay. Where do you want to go? We passed a barbecue place when we got off the freeway. Otherwise, that coffee shop back there is the only—”