The Present
The next day Georgia inserted a flash drive containing the contents of Dena’s laptop into her own computer. Dena’s data was now in her possession. She’d had a brainstorm the night before and called Jeffrey Baldwin.
“Hi, Jeffrey. Georgia Davis.”
“Yes . . .” He didn’t sound enthusiastic to hear from her.
“Did Dena have a computer at the foundation? Or did she bring her personal laptop to the office?”
“She had an iMac, just like me.”
“Really?”
“Mom went all out when she set up the foundation.”
“Would you know if it was synced to her laptop or iCloud?”
“It was. Mine is too.”
Georgia could hardly suppress her elation. “Can I come down first thing in the morning and make a copy of her hard drive?”
“Sure, but if you don’t mind, let me make the copy. I’ll have a flash drive ready for you.”
Georgia wasn’t sure why he’d want to make it himself, but she couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t. “What time do you get in?”
“I’m there by eight.”
“Okay. I’ll be there by eight too.”
She smiled. Score one for the PI. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why LeJeune had been so brusque with her yesterday. Part of it was likely an attempt to make her feel like a second-class citizen because she was a PI with no official standing. But was part of it—even a little bit—because she was a woman?
Whatever it was, she forced herself to let it go and booted up her laptop. Vanna had taken Charlie to a Moms and Tots class, and a few solid hours examining Dena’s data might reveal some authentic clues.
Her first surprise was the absence of a password restricting access to the laptop. Georgia had assumed Dena was a sophisticated user. She had to know about all the security breaches that had exposed the information of millions of Americans. Did she think she was immune? That she had special dispensation from the hacker gods? Georgia sighed. Generation Z was supposed to be tech savvy. Was Dena playing with fire? Or did the FBI disable her password for easier access?
Georgia clicked on Chrome, brought up all of Dena’s other passwords, and printed out the list. Then she logged into Dena’s Facebook account. Twenty-five hundred twenty-two unread messages. Christ. It would take days to go through them. As the group’s founder, Dena was also one of the administrators. She’d probably configured the settings so that in addition to herself, the other administrators got every message and comment generated by the group so they could monitor and approve them before they posted.
She was scrolling through the subject lines of the messages when she realized Ruth had already given her a lead. The guy who said he was in love with Dena. Georgia checked her notes. Willie Remson. From Maryland. She typed his name into the search box, which took her to his Facebook page. The page was public, which meant anyone could see his profile. The first thing Georgia noticed was dozens of family pictures. She clicked through them: an attractive dark-haired woman and two towheaded kids at a swimming pool. The same group standing in front of a minivan, the kids dressed for Halloween. Was Remson trying to prove what a family man he was?
She went back to Dena’s messages and scrolled to the first one from Remson. They started in February and ran through May. The early notes were friendly but distant. Remson asked about the group, told her he was experienced in social media, and offered to help. Within a couple of weeks, however, Dena started to ask him provocative questions and leave comments with double entendres. Flirtatious. It only took him a minute to reply in equal fashion. Georgia leaned forward. Dena must have checked out his Facebook page and seen the family pictures. But she still went after him.
Which was Georgia’s second surprise. According to Ruth, Dena had claimed Remson initiated the relationship. But Dena seemed to be the one leading him on. If Ruth was wrong, and it was Dena who pursued the relationship, knowing he was a married man, why tell Ruth something different? In fact, why tell Ruth at all? People usually kept an affair secret. Especially since Dena was already in a relationship with Curt. It didn’t make sense.
The following week the message chain grew more personal and erotic. Both made pronouncements about the lack of trust and love in their lives, pronouncements they claimed they had never told anyone until now. Within a week they talked about meeting in a neutral city like Vegas.
Georgia blew out a breath. Why was Dena toying with this man, a married man at that? And then revealing it to another member of the group?
She read on. Dena had written:
Now, go with me on this. Imagine we meet for the first time in the lobby of a hotel on the strip. We decide to share a drink at the bar. Even though it’s mid-afternoon, the bar is dim and quiet. I order a Chardonnay. You have a draft. Both of us check out the other. I decide you’re hot. I tell you so. Then you—
Then she stopped. Your turn now . . .
Remson picked up on it right away. I can see your breasts through your T-shirt. You’re not wearing a bra. I want to touch your nipples.
Dena wrote back. I want you to. And I want to touch you too. I want you to want me.
The conversation grew pornographic. When Georgia came across a message that began with I lick . . . , she got up from her computer for a glass of water.
As she swilled it down, she found it curious that they’d never met. Ruth said Dena claimed Remson “disappeared” when Dena discovered he was married. But Dena had to know he was married when she checked his Facebook page.
She went on. By November they pledged undying love for each other. But there was no mention of him being married. It appeared as if Dena assumed he was single.
The last message was from Remson. Apparently two days had passed without any word from Dena. He sounded worried. Why haven’t you written? What’s going on? Are you sick? Please let me know you’re okay.
Georgia sensed his distress. To go from the height of passion to brooding silence was a blow, even in a virtual relationship. But it wasn’t unusual. Anyone who played the online love affair game knew that a partner could disappear when they grew bored.
Dena never responded.
Not surprisingly, Remson’s subsequent posts turned nasty. She’d been leading him on. How dare she? What about the hotel on the strip? Didn’t that mean anything? Was her come-on just a game? Even though their entire relationship had been a fairy tale, he sounded like a genuinely jilted lover.
Then his messages took a different turn. With still no word from Dena, Remson began to make threats. You can’t do this. And don’t tell me you didn’t know I was married. All you had to do was look at my Facebook page. It’s all there. You’re a cunt. You’ll pay for this.
Georgia started to pace. People who created relationships—no—affairs out of whole cloth were crazy. How could they pledge undying love to someone they’d never met? And then hurl threats when the fantasy didn’t play out? Georgia was grateful to have found Jimmy. She stopped pacing and sat down again. This time she pulled up Dena’s Facebook block list. There were hundreds of names, mostly trolls, Georgia assumed. She scrolled down the list. There it was. WRemson. He didn’t “disappear” like she’d told Ruth. She’d made him disappear. The question was why. Dena clearly knew he was married. The spray of photos on his Facebook profile was proof. Unless—what if the photos were posted after Dena was killed? She quickly checked his Facebook page. No. They’d gone up several years ago.
She stood up. Georgia didn’t “do” conspiracy theories. The most logical explanation was that Remson was just a guy swept up in the illusion of adultery, like every other man on the planet. So why the threats? Retribution?
There was something else, too. Based on what she’d been able to uncover, the FBI had to know about Remson. She wished she had an inside source who could fill her in; without it, she would be forced to duplicate the FBI’s work. She tapped a finger on the mouse. One thing was sure. Willie Remson had just shot up to the top of her suspect list.