DANIEL Mooney’s failing as a murderer was that he had the sophistication of a twelve-year-old. Using the alias “dollparts,” and going no farther to cover his tracks, Abigail Hathaway’s husband had posted the following advertisement on a website called “Soldiers of Fortune”:
Wanted: Experienced soldier for special project. $5,000. Interested? Go to dollparts’ private chat room on this site Monday nights, 2:00 A.M.
That was all, but it was everything. I immediately understood that Daniel Mooney had tried to hire someone to kill his wife. I hoped that Detective Carswell would understand the same. I’d been leaving him messages every couple of hours since two days before, when Audrey had come over to tell me about her suspicions about her stepfather, but Carswell still hadn’t called me back. I called him again anyway. He wasn’t at work. I spoke to the desk sergeant, asking him to find Carswell and let him know that it was a matter of great urgency that he call me, at any time, day or night. I could tell I wasn’t being taken seriously and was pretty sure I wouldn’t hear from Carswell that night.
Peter didn’t go to work that night. Instead we crawled into bed together, both overcome with the enormity of what we had discovered. We lay side by side for a while, silently. Then, suddenly, I jumped.
“Oh, my God, Peter. Audrey. I don’t know if she’s still at her friend Alice’s. What if she’s home? What if she’s all alone with him?”
“Abigail’s daughter?”
“She could be in the house with him! What’s to stop him from killing her, too?”
“She’s probably at her friend’s. That’s where she told you she was going, right?”
“Yeah, but that was yesterday!”
“I’m sure she’s still there. And, anyway, there’s nothing we can do right now, Juliet. You called the detective.”
“Maybe we should call nine-one-one. Or Social Services. Or something!” I was panicking.
“And tell them what? That we think her dad’s a murderer because he was looking to chat with an experienced soldier on the web? No one would believe us. We need to talk to Detective Carswell.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. But what if something happens to her tonight and we could have prevented it? I couldn’t live with myself. You didn’t see her, Peter. She’s so vulnerable.”
“Look, he has no reason to suspect that she knows anything. And anyway, he’d have to be a total moron to hurt her now, so soon after her mother’s death. That would immediately draw attention to him. He won’t do it. It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“No, it wouldn’t. We’ll just have to hope that he acts sensibly.”
Peter and I slept little that night. Finally, at about 6:00 A.M., I couldn’t wait any longer. I picked up the phone and dialed the Santa Monica P.D. Miraculously, Detective Carswell was in.
To my surprise, he didn’t dismiss me right away. On the contrary, he took me much more seriously than I had expected and every bit as seriously as I hoped. Within half an hour he was on my doorstep, accompanied by another detective, a younger man who sported the same military haircut but wore, instead of a suit, a pair of khakis and a blue blazer. Kind of like an oversized Catholic schoolboy.
I showed the two into my kitchen and offered them coffee. They accepted.
“Ms. Applebaum, please tell us what you’ve discovered,” Carswell said, not patronizing me in the slightest. Finally.
I described my computer investigation. Carswell seemed impressed at my savvy.
“You figured out how to track his steps through all his various aliases?” he asked
I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about Julio.
“It’s really very easy,” I replied. “Any computer-literate eight-year-old could do it.”
“Still, I’m impressed,” he said, not quite grudgingly.
I smiled, feeling like I’d earned a gold star from my kindergarten teacher.
“We’d like to see the files you’ve downloaded,” the other officer said.
I showed them into my office and to my computer. The ad, which I had not only copied into my hard drive but also bookmarked, was on the screen. The young detective sat down at my chair, pulled a couple of floppy disks out of his coat pocket, and proceeded to make copies not only of the ad but also of the many conversations of the polyamorous newsgroup. Then the two sat with me for another hour, taking notes, while I described in detail all my investigations of the past week. I left out Audrey’s visit to me, because I’d promised her that I wouldn’t tell them about her, and my meeting with Julio, because I didn’t want Al to get into trouble.
I actually intended to tell Carswell about how Nina Tiger had found me going through her mailbox, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was, after all, a crime, and I hope I can be forgiven for failing to confess it to a police officer. Detective Carswell didn’t need to know that I’d broken into her mailbox or that I’d had a confrontation with her. It wouldn’t help or hurt his case any. I was rationalizing and I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself.
Detective Carswell and his partner made me go over everything a second time and then rose to leave.
“Wait!” I said. “What are you going to do now?”
The two cops glanced at each other. “We’ll review this information and have our computer experts track Mooney’s Internet activities,” Carswell said.
“And then?”
“Well, if it all checks out, if we’re convinced from the evidence that this was murder and not a hit-and-run accident, and if we can convince the judge that the evidence against him amounts to probable cause, then we’ll get a warrant and arrest Daniel Mooney.”
I couldn’t resist. “Pretty relevant information, after all, don’t you think?”
Carswell looked at me for a moment. Then, miraculously, his stony face cracked into a smile. “Pretty relevant after all,” he agreed.
“Ms. Applebaum, it’s very important that you tell no one of the things you have discovered. We don’t want to take the chance that word will get to the suspect before we’re absolutely ready to act on this information,” he continued.
“Right. Of course. I was a public defender. I know how it works.”
At that piece of information Carswell’s partner looked really worried.
“Ms. Applebaum, your defense prejudice isn’t going to influence you, is it?” the young officer asked.
This steamed me. “Look, I just spent who knows how much time and energy trying to prove that this guy killed his wife! Why would I blow it now?”
Somewhat mollified, the two detectives left our house.