Stu had spent most of the afternoon communing with Frigg via text rather than Bluetooth for fear of being overheard. Texting by phone was a slow, cumbersome process. Finally, in desperation, he paired a spare keyboard with the phone. He didn’t think it was possible for Frigg to infect that.
There was no sign that Graciella had actually taken the bait. As far as Frigg could ascertain from her credit cards and bank accounts there had been no transfers or purchases. And after being online almost constantly for the previous twenty-four hours, all of her accounts had gone dark.
E-mails voicing questions and concerns about the High Noon intrusion were still coming in, and those had to be answered in a timely fashion, but Stu found his ability to concentrate flagging. He had been close to asking Ali if she’d let him take off early and give him a ride back to the Village when a text came in from Cami, written in bold all caps.
COME TO THE BREAK ROOM NOW! YOU HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS!
Stiff and sore from sleeping either in a chair or on a chaise, Stu levered himself upright and lumbered out of the computer lab.
“What?” he demanded. “What’s going on?”
Cami’s iPad and cell phone lay side by side on the table. “Take a look,” she said.
Stu leaned over and stared down at the two devices. The iPad held the mug shot image of El Pescado that Stuart had seen before when Frigg had put it up on a screen in the man cave. Cami must have downloaded it from the Internet. When he glanced at the phone’s much smaller screen, Stu’s first impression was that he was seeing the same thing. When he picked up the phone to study the screen more closely, he realized they weren’t the same thing at all. One was a photo; the other was a drawing.
“El Pescado?” he asked wonderingly. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s a composite drawing done by a woman named Traci Rhodes, Cameron Randall Purdy’s girlfriend, who happened to be in the car with him the night he was shot at point-blank range.”
“An eyewitness?”
Cami nodded. “When she did the drawing, the cops thought she made it up as cover for an old boyfriend.”
“Where is she?” Stu asked.
“She was in the Chicago area in 1992. I have no idea where she is now.”
Stu reached for his Bluetooth. “Frigg?”
“Good evening, Stuart, how can I help?”
“I need you to find someone named Traci Rhodes. That’s T-R-A-C-I.”
“Is that a maiden name or a married name?”
“I couldn’t tell you, and I don’t have a middle initial, either. All I do know is that she was living in the Chicago area in 1992.”
“Of course, Stuart,” Frigg said. “Let me see what I can do.”
“How do we explain this if Frigg does find her?” Cami asked.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Stu told her.
It took all of eleven minutes for Frigg to locate Traci Rhodes Cantrell, now a married mother of three, living on a ten-acre parcel just outside the city limits of Boise, Idaho. According to the report Frigg provided, Traci had been married to Steve Cantrell for seventeen years. Her husband was self-employed, owning and operating a small contracting business, while Traci taught second grade. Frigg, ever efficient, provided a full catalogue of addresses and phone numbers.
“So what do we do now?” Stuart asked. “Do we call her or do we hand this over to the cops?”
“Let’s see,” Cami said. “I believe you wanted me to be on the up with this. We learned about the Duarte Cartel because of the intrusion and have been researching same—with all my browsing history still fully intact, just as you requested. So I’m clean. I’ll have to figure out a way to have located her phone number on my own, but otherwise I’m good. I should be able to call her and get away with it.”
“That whole experience must have been a nightmare for her. Should we even bring it up?”
“Twenty-five years ago Traci had a brand-new boyfriend who was murdered in front of her eyes. At the time the cops thought she was involved, if not responsible. They probably still do. All the way along, the only person who believed her story was Cameron’s brother, James. I think finding out that there are other people who believe her will be a blessing to her rather than a curse.”
“All right, then,” Stu said. “We’ll call her, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re the one who has to talk to her. I’ve done my one phone call for the day.”
A minute later, Cami dialed the phone Frigg had listed as Traci’s home number.
A man answered. “Cantrell residence.”
“May I speak to Traci?” Cami asked.
“She’s busy cooking. Can I tell her who’s calling and what this is about?”
“It’s about a homicide that took place near Morton Grove, Illinois, in 1992.”
“Hey, hon,” Steve Cantrell said. “You might want to take this in the bedroom. I’ll finish getting dinner on the table.”
A few seconds later, a woman’s voice came on the phone. “Who’s calling?” she asked warily. “Why couldn’t I take this call downstairs?”
“My name is Camille Lee, and I work for a company called High Noon Enterprises,” Cami told her. “I’ve been investigating a break-in that occurred at our corporate headquarters in Cottonwood, Arizona, last week. In the process, I’ve come across the story of a woman named Christina Miramar who was attacked in Panama City, Panama, back in 1989.”
“Oh God, not that again. I know all about it. I dated one of the guys who was part of that whole mess. Cameron told me about it when we first met. He said he was so drunk at the time he didn’t even remember, but he was part of it, and he took his medicine along with everybody else. I think he thought I’d break up with him as soon as he told me, but I’d done some stupid stuff, too. And then he was killed.”
“Right in front of you.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“And the cops thought you did it.”
“That, too.”
“Do you have a cell phone with you right now?” Cami asked.
“It’s in my pocket. Why?”
“If you wouldn’t mind sending me the number, I’d like to send you a text.”
“Are you sure this isn’t some kind of scam? Are you trying to get my number so you can put it out on the Internet?”
“I can assure you, this isn’t a scam,” Cami said. “I want to send you a mug shot of the guy I think murdered Cameron Purdy and at least four of those other six guys from the Christina Miramar case.”
The entire transaction took less than a minute. When the image came through, Cami heard Traci gasp. “Oh my God, it’s him—the one who did it! Where is he? Is he still alive? How did you find him?”
Cami heard a man’s voice in the background. “Okay, the kids are eating. What’s going on?”
After that, for the better part of two minutes, all Cami and Stuart were able to hear over both phones was the sound of Traci Rhodes Cantrell’s wracking sobs. Finally her husband’s voice came on the landline. “I’m hanging up now,” he said. “We’ll have to call you back.”