One, she knew Carter. That was clear.
Two, she hadn’t heard from him since he disappeared. Also clear.
“He’s still alive, isn’t he? That’s what you’re saying,” she said. “He didn’t kill himself.”
“We hope he’s still alive. We don’t know for sure,” I said. “But, yes, there’s some evidence to suggest he didn’t die by suicide.”
Paulina nodded as if vindicated. “I knew it. I just knew it.”
“Which is why we’re here,” I said. “To talk about what else you might know.”
She tugged on her white T-shirt, her eyes darting back and forth at Elizabeth and me. “How did you find me?” she asked.
Well, you see, it’s quite simple. It turns out the National Security Agency’s global spy satellite network compiles more than one hundred petabytes of data every six months, more than the total data stored on all of Facebook’s servers, and the NSA has to offload it periodically to an undisclosed data center so the network doesn’t throttle itself. This network is the virtual equivalent of Fort Knox, using 256-bit encryption, but the transfer is only 64 bit because by that point the data is deemed innocuous with no national security implications and is essentially nothing more than Google Maps, albeit featuring a minute-by-minute rendering of every inch of the planet with the kind of clarity that goes well beyond what any map app could ever offer. For instance, the vehicle identification number on the black Range Rover HSE registered to your name and address, Paulina, that you’ve been driving to the von Oehson home in Darien, Connecticut (latitude and longitude N 41°3’4”, W 73°28’45”), for a hell of a lot of Tuesday afternoons. Of course, 64-bit encryption is nothing to sneeze at in terms of data security unless you happen to be one of the world’s foremost—if not the most—gifted hackers. God bless you, Julian.
That was a little lengthy for an explanation, so I tightened it up a smidge for Paulina. “We found you,” I said. “That’s all that matters.”
“You need to be straight with us about Carter von Oehson,” said Elizabeth. “You want to help us find him, don’t you? Bring him home safe?”
“I do. Believe me, I want to. But there are certain things I can’t tell you,” she said.
I took that as my cue to be blunt. “Like his paying you for sex?”
Elizabeth shot me a look that said, Jeez, you really do need my help, Professor Tactless. “What he means, Paulina, is that we don’t care about your profession,” she explained. “That’s not why we’re here.”
“You were possibly the last person to see Carter before he disappeared,” I said. “We need to know more about the time you spent with him this past Tuesday afternoon. Did he act any different or say anything strange, something you might have picked up on?”
“No,” said Paulina.
“No? Nothing at all?” I asked. “Take a minute to think it over. There had to have been something.”
She didn’t take a minute. She didn’t need one. “I wasn’t at his parents’ house last Tuesday. I wasn’t with him.”
“Where were you?” asked Elizabeth.
“I was here in my apartment.”
“Is that something you can prove?”
“I’m telling you,” said Paulina. “I wasn’t there.”
“And I’m asking you,” said Elizabeth. “Can you prove it?”
“What more do you want?” She balled her hands into fists, frustrated. Angry. “I wasn’t with him. It wasn’t me!”
I looked at Elizabeth. Elizabeth looked right back. Paulina looked at both of us, realizing what she’d just revealed. It wasn’t me.
“Shit,” she said.