I stared at the blue and gold square for a minute. This wasn't mine. Had it been in that case this whole time? That explained why I'd had difficulty removing and returning the card. Maybe it had something to do with the FBI, or had Barclay hidden it there for safekeeping?
Either way, I wanted a peek now.
I looked up to Aiden, who was pouring a couple of beers on tap. "Hey, you know that favor?"
"Anything," he said.
He really was in a good mood.
"Do you have a computer I can borrow? Wi-Fi on the ship is super expensive." I didn't bother to explain why I needed his computer and couldn't send an email or go on Facebook via my phone.
He saw three new paying customers, and I hoped he wouldn't think of my request being weird, but he frowned and asked, "You want to use my business computer?"
Okay, so when he put it like that, I realized it was a total invasion of privacy.
"If you wouldn't mind. I won't look at anything you have on there. I just need to do something…personal." I was certain that hadn't won him over.
He smiled to the new customers. "I'll be right with you."
I shook my head, feeling foolish for having asked. "Never mind. It can wait."
"No, no, you're Cady's best friend. She talks about you a lot. She's super grateful she has such a good friend by her side."
"Yeah?" I couldn't help but smile extra cheesy. I assumed she liked me as much as I did her, but it was nice to hear that from someone else.
"She's mentioned how much she trusts you. That the two of you don't have any secrets."
Oh, that made me feel awful. My stomach soured, and I pushed my drink a little away. I should tell her the truth about my past, my life back home, but what if she told Aiden and he happened to mention it to someone he knew? Before long, the truth could have traveled, and Mom and Timmy could be in trouble again.
Aiden was watching me. "Go ahead. It's in the office. First door on the right in back."
He was talking about his computer.
"Oh, thank you."
"No problem. The password is her birthday." With a wink, he walked to the table to take their order.
I stepped around the bar and walked through the swinging door, almost colliding into a shoulder-height stack of boxes.
The kitchen was small, with a sink, flattop, oven, and a deep fryer with two baskets. A tiny prep table and a couple of shelving racks completed the setup. Stainless steel doors to what was probably a walk-in fridge or freezer stood between the cooking area and the dishwasher in the back corner.
The first door on the right led to a tiny, windowless room with enough space for a desk, chair, and a thigh-high file cabinet. An old computer monitor sat on the desk, which faced the wall and not the door. It was an odd setup. Who wanted their back to the door? It didn't matter. I attempted to click the door shut, but it sprung back open a couple of inches. I didn't have time to mess with it, so I gave up after the second attempt. It wasn't like Aiden was going to come back here when he now had customers. Plus, I wasn't even sure what was on the card.
I hurried to the chair and noticed the computer light already on. I wiggled the mouse, and a box popped up for a password. I typed in 1210 and hesitated on the year Cady had been born. She was a year older than me, so I counted back one and added the last two digits.
Aiden's desktop photo was of him standing outside in front of the bar. His smile was electric and made me chuckle. I inserted the SD card. After it loaded, I clicked open the file and saw several more folders, each one labeled. Photos, Finley, Greer, Whitney, and Misc. Why did he have folders on his friends?
I started with Photos.
The first one I stared at was a concrete and glass office building.
"Okay, that's boring," I whispered out loud.
The next shot was the same building, but now I realized why Barclay had photographed it. Greer was captured leaving it, with a briefcase in hand. Was it Greer's place of employment? If so, why was Barclay so interested?
The next picture was of a smaller building, and Finley was getting into his car out front. Then there were several of Finley arriving at some bungalow and Whitney standing in the doorway. Their home.
Barclay had been stalking his friends.
I checked out the timestamps. These had been taken three months ago. So he had, at the very least, seen his all of buddies since college, even if they hadn't known. Or did they?
The next dozen photos were of Whitney. Shopping, going to the gym, out with girlfriends, to dinner with Finley. It looked like Barclay had been obsessed with her.
The next photo made me gasp.
It was also of Whitney, and she was lying in bed. Her dark hair sprawled out around her head, like a giant crown. She was looking adoringly into the lens, and her shoulders were bare. It appeared that she wore nothing but the sheet. She and Barclay were having an affair? Her breaking into his room and crying on his bed suddenly made a lot more sense. She was more than a simple friend grieving an old college buddy.
Did Finley know? That was unlikely. He wouldn't go on vacation with his fiancée's lover. They were best friends. How could Barclay do this? And why would she be with him? Maybe she was lonely with all of Finley's campaigning, perhaps felt neglected, and Barclay paid attention to her. I didn't know if any of this was true, but it sounded like it could be. Then again, it also sounded like a Lifetime movie.
I clicked on Finley's folder next. It contained several images but not of people or places. They were…tests?
They were dated a decade ago, and the name on each of them was Finley Patterson. Straight As. I clicked on the last image, and this time two sheets of paper were side-by-side. The one on the left was a replica of the first image I brought up, but the one on the right was a regular piece of notebook paper with numbers and letters.
1. A, 2. C, 3. B, and so on for twenty-five numbers.
The letters matched the answers on the test perfectly. A cheat sheet.
But what did this mean? Was Barclay saying that Finley cheated on his tests, and if so, where were these from? It had to be college. That was when they all met. So Finley cheated throughout college, and from the number of images, it looked like it was more than just one class. Why had Barclay kept this? And did Finley know Barclay had them?
If so, it was possible that Finley would put his career over their friendship. But murder? That seemed so extreme. Why not find the evidence and destroy it?
I clicked on Whitney's folder next. It held one file. A video of her and Barclay having sex.
No.
Wow.
Oh gross.
Oh my eyes.
I was about to click off when Barclay said, "Say it."
Whitney giggled and said, "You're the best lover I've ever had."
I turned it off, not needing a breakdown of how much this would hurt Finley if he saw it. I did, however, want to bleach out my brain so I could forget what I'd seen. Blech.
If Finley knew about the affair and that his buddy had proof of possible cheating, would that have pushed him over the edge? He certainly wouldn't want that leaked during his campaign.
Next was Greer's. I hated to admit that I was extra interested in what Barclay had on the man.
His file contained over a dozen images, and each one consisted of two pages side-by-side like Finley's. These weren't tests though. They were printed accounts receivable records. I studied the first set. Both pages had the same date, over a year ago, and each listed a mirror copy of accounts. The only differences were the numbers—the discrepancies equaled a few hundred thousand dollars.
Was Greer stealing money, and that was why he had that cash deposit on his bank statement? If this was true, there had to be many more to add up to the amount above.
Instead of opening each image, I went straight to the last file. It was an audio recording. I turned up the computer's volume.
"I don't know what you're talking about." That sounded like Greer.
"Don't lie to me, buddy. I'm Barclay Murdock and you're Greer Rawlings. We've known each other for years."
Very clever of him to say their names so anyone listening to the recording knew who they were. Clever, manipulative, and dishonest.
There was a moment of silence.
"Okay, fine, you won't admit it, I'll spell it out," Barclay said. "You are embezzling from your company and have been for a while now."
I was right, but how did Barclay find out about it?
"So, if you don't continue your payments to me, I'm going to share all I know as well as the evidence I have with your boss and the police."
Damn. Some kind of friend he was. Now I understood why Greer had been a little hostile.
"You wouldn't dare. If you did, this cash cow wouldn't be able to fund your gambling habit anymore. Then what would you do?" Greer's tone was low and gravelly.
Barclay chuckled. "Do you think you're the only immoral sucker I know? Why do you think we all get along so well? It's so we can keep tabs on each other and our secrets."
What kind of friendships were these?
I suddenly regretted ever feeling envious of their bond.
"I don't have that kind of cash available," Greer said. "I invested it all. I'll need some time to liquify some of my assets."
Barclay chuckled again. "Sure, buddy. You have until our vacation. If I come home empty-handed, you're through."
Scuffling sounds were heard along with a huff.
"This will be your last payment, and if you even think of ratting me out…" Greer's voice grew lower. He sounded angry and dangerous. "I may have to kill you."
The audio file stopped, and I sat there holding my breath. This didn't prove anything, but if I had to lay odds on the four of them, I'd bet that Greer had killed Barclay.
I clicked on the last folder and saw a hodge-podge of files. There were no names or any discerning clue as to what they were about, just a long string of numbers and the .jpg extension on the end of each. A few of them were videos.
I sorted them by date with the oldest first, which was dated only a month ago, and clicked on a video. It was grainy and dark. After a few seconds, I realized it was the inside of someone's home. It looked like hardwood floors, contemporary, boxy furniture, everything with straight lines and hard corners. A shadow passed and approached the far wall. It swayed. Not the shadow but the wall. What the heck?
A trickle of light entered the space, and I realized that what had shifted were drapes on tall ceiling-to-floor windows. The shadow became a darkly dressed person, and this was definitely someone's living room. I couldn't make out if the person was male or female from the angle of the camera, but they weren't very broad, just an average build. I was staring down at the room on an angle, probably from a camera hoisted up in the corner between the ceiling and wall.
The person looked along bookshelves and cabinets that lined the wall across from the boxy sofa. Other than the furniture, there didn't seem to be any personal effects. It looked like a bachelor pad. It could've been Greer's place or even Barclay's. Perhaps someone I hadn't met. I suddenly wouldn't have put it past Barclay to blackmail everyone he knew, and maybe this person was trying to find the evidence.
I backed out of the video and realized the next two were all of the same house, the same room, and with the same person sneaking around. In the last one, this creeper was still dressed in black or dark clothes, and they entered a room off camera. If Barclay suspected someone was entering his home, he would've tried to figure out who and installed a security camera. This made sense, but why not put cameras all over his house? I sure would've loved to know what this person was doing off screen.
When they came back into the living room, they headed to the windows, which turned out to be sliding glass doors. After they stepped outside and turned back to shut the door, the sunlight hit their body in a way that I caught a glint of something on their chest. It was high up on the left side.
I stopped the video and zoomed in, which made the quality worse. But after a full minute of staring, it looked like letters. I shut one eye to see better, and it looked like NCS. Oh, that TV show, NCIS? So this person was a fan of a crime show. How fitting.
The next image was a sheet of paper that looked like it had gotten caught in a door or a drawer. It had a chunk torn off the bottom left side and also along the whole top. There were three columns and each one was divided in two. The left side had abbreviations like CSF1PO and TPOX. Then the remaining columns were numbers. I had no clue what any of it meant, but at the bottom, in red, it said, Probability of Relatedness: 76.8427% and the portion of the fine print below that read: Based on the testing results obtained from the analyses of the DNA loci listed, the… The rest of it was missing.
This was part of a DNA test. Did Barclay suspect he had fathered a child? From the way Whitney described his sexual appetite in college, this wouldn't have surprised me.
I clicked on the last video and sucked in a breath. It was not of Barclay's house but inside Aiden's bar, and it had been taken a few days ago. It looked as if Barclay had recorded this on his phone.
What was he doing?
The camera panned his friends seated at a table by the front doors. Then he shot the bar area and then crossed into the kitchen. The back door was open and light spilled in. Aiden stood there with another man. Wait, that guy looked a little familiar, but I wasn't sure where I'd seen him.
From the camera's angle, I'd say that Barclay—assuming he took this—was hiding by that stack of boxes I'd seen when I came into Ocean Grille's kitchen.
Aiden handed the man a regular white business envelope, and the man handed Aiden a small package. Each of them opened the other's gift and looked inside. The guy pulled money out of the envelope. I couldn't tell what he had given Aiden, but my stomach sank.
My first guess was drugs.
No, no, no. This couldn't be true. This explained his strangeness at the club last night. Hanging outside where people came and went, that extra long handshake with the cab driver, where drugs and money could've been exchanged.
That was it!
The guy in the video was the cab driver from last night. He was probably Aiden's dealer or whatever his title was on the drug hierarchy.
Cady was going to flip. When I'd mentioned Barclay possibly dying from recreational drugs, I had no idea Aiden was dealing. I couldn't keep this from her. She deserved to know.
I sat back in the chair and heard a sound behind me. I flinched and looked over my shoulder. The door was open a couple of inches more than when I sat down. Was there a breeze, or had Aiden stood there and watched me watch him buy drugs?
I ejected the SD card and pulled it out of the computer. I started to put it back into my purse, but I wanted this sucker close to me. I couldn't lose it. Not only did it give motivation to each of Barclay's friends, as well as Aiden, but at some point, I needed to get it to the cops so they could do their thing.
I stuck it in my bra, beneath my boob, and stood up. I walked back to the front of the bar and saw a couple more tables of customers had arrived. Aiden was behind the bar making drinks, and he looked to be in the weeds already, which was restaurant talk for being slammed and super busy. I'd waited tables in college.
He looked up at me and gave a curt nod. No smile, no gratitude for helping save his business, which I hadn't really done, but still. I couldn't tell if his hard stare was because he was focused on working or if he knew what I had in my possession.
"Um, thanks. I'll see you later," I said and walked off. It took everything in me to not start running.
I headed back to the ship. As soon as I got to my room, I was taking a shower to feel human again and calling Kyle. I also wouldn't mind some food. It had been hours. And while all of that was important, I also knew I'd spend most of the night going over what I'd learned so far.
Which was:
1. Finley and Barclay spent some weekends at his cabin, suggesting they were still close regardless of the test copies Barclay had.
2. Whitney and Barclay were having an affair.
3. Barclay had been a ladies' man in college, hit on me yesterday, and possibly fathered a child.
4. Barclay caught Aiden buying drugs from a man on video.
5. Barclay was blackmailing each of his three friends and maybe Aiden for all I knew.
And 6. He'd caught an NCIS fan, on tape, sneaking around his or someone's home.
He certainly pissed off one of them enough that they wanted him dead. But which one? Each of them seemed to have a solid motive. I still wasn't sure how Barclay had been poisoned, but my gut told me it had something to do with his insulin. Mostly because of the timing. He died right after he went to inject.
I had no idea where someone would get that kind of chemical. Did they buy it online, or could they get it from a local drug dealer? I needed to do some research. Maybe even ask a certain doctor I knew. That would be a great way to end tonight.
The ship was a few yards ahead. I stared out at the water, glistening under the setting sun. I looked up at the darkening sky and spotted several stars. It didn't matter what led me to life on a ship. I was grateful I'd had the opportunity. Despite seeing a man axed to death, the threats against my family, and the whole death thing, I knew how wrong everything could've turned out.
Footsteps sounded behind me, soft but fast. I hoped it was a crew or staff member and not a guest. I wasn't in the mood to put on a big smile and be cheerful. I needed twelve hours of sleep after my shower and meal, not that I'd get that much rest. When I finally returned to New York, I planned a full day in bed. So much uninterrupted sleep that my body wouldn't understand what was happening.
I considered glancing over my shoulder to be polite and greet the person, rather than ignore them, but before I made up my mind, something hit my back, shoving me forward. I stumbled and righted myself, only to be shoved again.
I cried out and heard light chatter in the near distance.
What the heck was going on?
My brain couldn't comprehend the reality of this, but it couldn't be a joke. This was beyond not funny.
I started to turn, to see who was behind me and tell them off, when the person grunted and I felt an explosive pain at the back of my head. The expression white hot pain was nothing compared to the fireball that ignited and spread out like hot tendrils throughout my skull, down my neck, and across my shoulders.
I reached up to touch my hair, as if that would stop the pulsating pressure, and I was pushed once again.
This time I couldn't collect my balance. One foot over the other like some drunken dance and gravity pulled at me fast. I glanced down and didn't see the concrete anymore but shimmering darkness. It wasn't until my hand touched the cool surface that I realized I was falling off the dock and into the water. My shoulder, then my head, and soon the rest of me hit it with such force that I went immediately under.