The Broken Window Page 13

  Sachs now asked Pam, "You can tell for sure it's from that site?"

  "Yeah. They've got that special border. If you look close it's not just a line; it's little globes, like the earth, over and over again."

  Rhyme squinted. Yes, the border was just as she'd described it. He thought back, recalling OurWorld from the article. "Hello, Pam . . . there are a lot of members, aren't there?"

  "Oh, hi, Mr. Rhyme. Yeah. Like, thirty or forty million people. Whose realm is that one?"

  "Realm?" Sachs asked.

  "That's what they call your page. Your 'realm.' Who is she?"

  "I'm afraid she was killed today," Sachs said evenly. "That's the case I told you about earlier."

  Rhyme wouldn't have mentioned the murder to a teenager. But this was Sachs's call; she'd know what to share and what not to.

  "Oh, I'm sorry." Pam was sympathetic but not shocked or dismayed by the hard truth.

  Rhyme asked, "Pam, can anybody log on and get into your realm?"

  "Well, you're supposed to join. But if you don't want to post anything or host your own realm you can crack in just to look around."

  "So you'd say that the man who printed this out knows computers."

  "Yeah, he'd have to, I guess. Only he didn't print it out."

  "What?"

  "You can't print or download anything. Even with the print screen command. There's a filter on the system--to prevent stalkers, you know. And you can't crack it. It's like what protects copyrighted books online."

  "Then how did he get the picture?" Rhyme asked.

  Pam laughed. "Oh, he probably did what we all do at school if we want a shot of a cute guy or some weird Goth chick. We just take a picture of the screen with a digital camera. Everybody does that."

  "Sure," Rhyme said, shaking his head. "Never occurred to me."

  "Oh, don't worry, Mr. Rhyme," the girl said. "A lot of times people miss the obvious answer."

  Sachs glanced at Rhyme, who smiled at the girl's reassurance. "Okay, Pam. Thanks. I'll see you later."

  " 'Bye!"

  "Let's fill in the portrait of our friend."

  Sachs picked up the marker and stepped to the whiteboard.

  * * *

  UNSUB 522 PROFILE

  * Male

  * Possibly smokes or lives/works with someone who does, or near source of tobacco * Has children or lives/works near them or near source of toys

  * Interest in art, coins?

  * Probably white or light-skinned ethnic

  * Medium build

  * Strong--able to strangle victims

  * Access to voice-disguise equipment

  * Possibly computer literate; knows OurWorld. Other social-networking sites?

  * Takes trophies from victims. Sadist?

  * Portion of residence/workplace dark and moist

  NONPLANTED EVIDENCE

  * Dust

  * Old cardboard

  * Hair from doll, BASF B35 nylon 6

  * Tobacco from Tareyton cigarettes

  * Old tobacco, not Tareyton, but brand unknown

  * Evidence of Stachybotrys Chartarum mold

  Rhyme was looking over the details when he heard Mel Cooper laugh. "Well, well, well."

  "What?"

  "This is interesting."

  "Be specific. I don't need interesting. I need facts."

  "It's still interesting." The lab man had been shining a bright light on the slit-open spine of Robert Jorgensen's book. "You were thinking the doctor was crazy, talking about tracking devices? Well, guess what? Oliver Stone may have a movie here--there is something implanted in it. In the spine tape."

  "Really?" Sachs said, shaking her head. "I thought he was nuts."

  "Let me see," Rhyme said, his curiosity piqued and skepticism on temporary hold.

  Cooper moved a small high-definition camera closer to the examining table and hit the book with an infrared light. It revealed underneath the tape a tiny rectangle of crisscrossed lines.

  "Take it out," Rhyme said.

  Carefully Cooper slit the spine tape and removed what appeared to be an inch-long piece of plasticized paper printed with what looked like computer circuit lines. Also, a series of numbers and the manufacturer's name, DMS, Inc.

  Sellitto asked, "The fuck is it? Really a tracking device?"

  "I don't see how. There's no battery or power source that I can find," Cooper said.

  "Mel, look up the company."

  A fast business search revealed it was Data Management Systems, based outside Boston. He read a description of the outfit, one division of which manufactured these little devices--known as RFID tags, for radio frequency identification.

  "I've heard about those," Pulaski said. "It was on CNN."

  "Oh, the definitive source for forensic knowledge," Rhyme said cynically.

  "No, that's CSI," Sellitto said, drawing another aborted laugh from Ron Pulaski.

  Sachs asked, "What does it do?"

  "This is interesting."

  "Again, interesting."

  "Essentially it's a programmable chip that can be read by a radio scanner. They don't need a battery; the antenna picks up the radio waves and that gives them enough juice to work."

  Sachs said, "Jorgensen was talking about breaking off antennas to disable them. He also said you could destroy some of them in a microwave. But that one"--she gestured--"he couldn't nuke. Or so he said."

  Cooper continued, "They're used for inventory control by manufacturers and retailers. In the next few years nearly every product sold in the U.S. will have its own RFID tag. Some major retailers already require them before they'll stock a product line."

  Sachs laughed. "That's just what Jorgensen was telling me. Maybe he wasn't as National Enquirer as I thought."

  "Every product?" Rhyme asked.

  "Yep. So stores know where the stuff in inventory is, how much stock they have, what's selling faster than other things, when to restock the shelves, when to reorder. They're also used for baggage handling by airlines so they know where your luggage is without having to visually scan the bar code. And they're used in credit cards, driver's licenses, employee IDs. They're called 'smart cards' then."

  "Jorgensen wanted to see my department ID. He looked it over real carefully. Maybe that's what he was interested in."

  "They're all over the place," Cooper continued. "In those discount cards you use in grocery stores, in frequent-flier cards, in tollbooth smart pass transponders."

  Sachs nodded at the evidence boards. "Think about it, Rhyme. Jorgensen was talking about this man he called God knowing all about his life. Enough to steal his identity, to buy things in his name, take out loans, get credit cards, find out where he was."

  Rhyme felt the excitement of moving forward in the hunt. "And Five Twenty-Two knows enough about his victims to get close to them, get inside their defenses. He knows enough about the fall guys to plant evidence that's identical to what they have at home."

  "And," Sellitto added, "he knows exactly where they were at the time of the crime. So they won't have an alibi."

  Sachs looked over the tiny tag. "Jorgensen said his life started to fall apart around the time he got that book."

  "Where'd he buy it? Any receipts or price stickers, Mel?"

  "Nope. If there were he cut them out."

  "Call Jorgensen back. Let's get him in here."

  Sachs pulled out her phone and called the transient hotel where she'd just met with him. She was frowning. "Already?" she asked the clerk.

  Doesn't bode well, Rhyme reflected.

  "He's moved out," she said after hanging up. "But I know where he's going." She found a slip of paper, placed another call. Though after a brief conversation she hung up, sighing. Jorgensen wasn't at that hotel either, she said; he hadn't even called to make a reservation.

  "Do you have a cell number?"

  "He doesn't have a phone. He doesn't trust them. But he knows my number. If we're lucky he'll call." Sachs walked closer to the tiny d
evice. "Mel. Cut the wire off. The antenna."

  "What?"

  "Jorgensen said now that we've got the book, we're infected too. Cut it off."

  Cooper shrugged and glanced at Rhyme, who thought the idea was absurd. Still, Amelia Sachs didn't spook easily. "Sure, go ahead. Just make a notation on the chain-of-custody card. 'Evidence rendered safe.' "

  A phrase usually reserved for bombs and handguns.

  Rhyme then lost interest in the RFID. He looked up. "All right. Until we hear from him, let's speculate. . . . Come on, folks. Be ballsy. I need some thoughts here! We've got a perp who can get his hands on all this goddamn information about people. How? He knows everything the fall guys bought. Fishing line, kitchen knives, shave cream, fertilizer, condoms, duct tape, rope, beer. There've been four victims and four fall guys--at least. He can't follow everybody around, he doesn't break into their houses."

  "Maybe he's a clerk at one of those big discount stores," Cooper suggested.

  "But DeLeon bought some of the evidence at Home Depot--you can't buy condoms and snack food there."

  "Maybe Five Twenty-Two works for a credit card company?" Pulaski suggested. "He can see what people buy that way."

  "Not bad, rookie, but some of the time the vics must've paid cash."

  It was Thom, surprisingly, who provided one answer. He fished out his keys. "I heard Mel mention the discount cards earlier." He displayed several small plastic cards on his key chain. One for A&P, one for Food Emporium. "I swipe the card and get a discount. Even if I pay cash the store still knows what I bought."

  "Good," Rhyme said. "But where do we go from there? We're still looking at dozens of different sources the victims and fall guys shopped at."

  "Ah."

  Rhyme looked at Sachs, who was staring at the evidence board with a faint smile on her face. "I think I've got it."

  "What?" Rhyme asked, expecting the clever application of a forensic principle.

  "Shoes," she said simply. "The answer's shoes."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "It's not just about knowing generally what people buy," Sachs explained. "It's knowing the specifics about all the vics and the fall guys. Look at three of the crimes. Your cousin's case, the Myra Weinburg case and the coin theft. Five Twenty-Two not only knew the kind of shoe the fall guys wore. He knew the sizes."

  Rhyme said, "Good. Let's find out where DeLeon Williams and Arthur buy their footwear."

  A fast call to Judy Rhyme and one to Williams revealed that the shoes were bought mail order--one through a catalog, one through a Web site, but both directly from the companies.

  "All right," Rhyme said, "pick one, give them a call and find out how the shoe business works. Flip a coin."

  Sure-Track won. And it took only four phone calls to reach somebody connected with the company, the president and CEO, no less.

  Water was sounding in the background, splashing, children laughing, as the man asked uncertainly, "A crime?"

  "Nothing to do with you directly," Rhyme reassured him. "One of your products is evidence."

  "But not like that guy who tried to blow up the airplane with a bomb in his shoe?" He stopped talking, as if even bringing this up was a breach of national security.

  Rhyme explained the situation--the killer's getting personal information about the victims, including specifics about Sure-Track shoes, as well as his cousin's Altons and the other fall guy's Bass walkers. "Do you sell through retail locations?"

  "No. Only online."

  "Do you share information with your competitors? Information about customers?"

  A hesitation.

  "Hello?" Rhyme asked the silence.

  "Oh, we can't share information. That would be an antitrust violation."

  "Well, how could somebody have gotten access to information about customers of Sure-Track shoes?"

  "That's a complicated situation."

  Rhyme grimaced.

  Sachs said, "Sir, the man we're after is a killer and rapist. Do you have any thoughts about how he could've learned about your customers?"

  "Not really."

  Lon Sellitto barked, "Then we'll get a fucking warrant and take your records apart line by line."

  Not the subtle way Rhyme would have handled it but the sledge-hammer approach worked just fine. The man blurted, "Wait, wait, wait. I might have an idea."

  "Which is?" Sellitto snapped.

  "Maybe he . . . okay, if he had information from different companies maybe he got it from a data miner."

  "What's that?" Rhyme asked.

  This pause was one of surprise, it seemed. "You never heard of them?"

  Rhyme rolled his eyes. "No. What are they?"

  "What it sounds like. Information service companies--they dig through data about consumers, their purchases and houses and cars, credit histories, everything about them. They analyze it and sell it. You know, to help companies spot market trends, find new customers, target direct-mail pieces and plan advertising. Things like that."

  Everything about them . . .

  Rhyme thought: Maybe we're on to something here. "Do they get information from RFID chips?"

  "Sure they do. That's one of the big sources for data."

  "What data miner does your company use?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Several of them." His voice was reticent.

  "We really need to know," Sachs said, playing good cop to Sellitto's bad. "We don't want anybody else to get hurt. This man is very dangerous."

  A sigh floated over the man's debate. "Well, I suppose SSD is the main one. They're pretty big. But if you're thinking that somebody from there was involved in a crime, impossible. They're the greatest guys in the world. And there's security, there's--"

  "Where are they based?" Sachs asked.

  Another hesitation. Come on, damnit, Rhyme thought.

  "In New York City."

  Five Twenty-Two's playground. The criminalist caught Sachs's eye. He smiled. This was looking promising.

  "Any others in the area?"

  "No. Axciom, Experian and Choicepoint, the other big ones, aren't around here. But, believe me, nobody from SSD could be involved. I swear."

  "What does SSD stand for?" Rhyme asked.

  "Strategic Systems Datacorp."

  "Do you have a contact there?"

  "Not anybody in particular exactly." He said this fast. Too fast.

  "You don't?"

  "Well, there are sales reps we deal with. I can't recall their names at the moment. I could check it and find out."

  "Who runs the company?"

  Another pause. "That would be Andrew Sterling. He's the founder and CEO. Look, I guarantee nobody there would do anything illegal. Impossible."

  Then Rhyme realized something: The man was scared. Not of the police. Of SSD itself. "What are you worried about?"

  "It's just . . ." In a confessional tone he said, "We couldn't function without them. We're really . . . partnered with them."

  Though, from his tone, the spurious verb seemed to mean "desperately dependent on."

  "We'll be discreet," Sachs said.

  "Thank you. Really. Thank you." The relief was obvious.

  Sachs politely thanked him for his cooperation, drawing an eye roll from Sellitto.

  Rhyme disconnected. "Data mining? Anybody heard of it?"

  Thom said, "I don't know SSD but I've heard of data miners. It's the business of the twenty-first century."

  Rhyme glanced at the evidence chart. "So if Five Twenty-Two works for SSD or is one of their customers he could find out everything he'd need about who bought shave cream, rope, condoms, fishing line--all the evidence he could plant." Then another idea struck him. "The head of the shoe company said that they sell the data for mailing lists. Arthur had gotten some direct mail about that Prescott painting, remember? Five Twenty-Two could have found out about it from their mailing lists. Maybe Alice Sanderson was on a list too."

  "And look--the crime-scene photos." Sachs walked to the whiteboards and poin
ted to several pictures from the coin-theft scene. Direct-mail pieces sat prominently on the tables and floor.

  Pulaski said, "And, sir? Detective Cooper mentioned E-ZPass. If this SSD mines their data, then the killer might've been able to find out exactly when your cousin was in the city and when he headed home."

  "Jesus," Sellitto muttered. "If it's true, this guy's stumbled on one hell of an M.O."

  "Check out this data mining, Mel. Google it. I want to know for sure if SSD is the only one in the area."

  A few keystrokes later: "Hmm. I got over twenty million hits for 'data mining.' "

  "Twenty million?"

  Over the next hour, the team watched as Cooper narrowed the list of the top data miners in the country--about a half dozen. He downloaded hundreds of pages of information from their sites and other details. Comparing the various data miners' client lists with the products used as evidence in the 522 case, it appeared that SSD was the most likely single source of all the information and was, in fact, the only one based in or near New York.

  "If you want," Cooper said, "I can download their sales brochure."

  "Oh, we want, Mel. Let's see it."

  Sachs sat next to Rhyme and they looked over the screen as the SSD Web site appeared, topped by the company's logo: a watchtower with a window, from which radiated lines of illumination.

  "Knowledge is Power" . . . The most valuable commodity in the 21st Century is information, and SSD is the number-one leader in using knowledge to hand-craft your strategies, to redefine your goals and to help you structure solutions to meet the myriad challenges you'll be facing in today's world. With more than 4,000 clients in the U.S. and abroad, SSD sets the industry standard as the pre-eminent Knowledge Service Provider on earth.

  THE DATABASE

  innerCircle(r) is the largest private database in the world, with key information on 280 million Americans and 130 million citizens of other countries. innerCircle(r) resides on our proprietary Massively Parallel Computer Array Network (MPCAN(r)), the most powerful commercial computer system ever assembled.

  innerCircle(r) presently holds more than 500 petabytes of information--that equals trillions of pages of data--and we anticipate that soon the system will grow to an exabyte of data, an amount so vast that it would take only five exabytes to store the transcript of every word spoken by every human being in history!

  We have troves of personal and public information: telephone numbers, addresses, vehicle registration, licensing information, buying histories and preferences, travel profiles, government records and vital statistics, credit and income histories and much, much more. We get these data into your hands at the speed of light, in a form that's easily accessible and instantly usable, uniquely tailored to your specific needs.