For obvious reasons the celebration that followed was confined to the break room, well away from that one remaining transmitter.
“Traci called us back after she pulled herself together,” Cami explained to Ali and B. “She wanted to know what she should do. I told her that was up to her. I suggested to her that going to the cops would probably bring all of that old business back to light. If she didn’t want to go there, it was perfectly understandable. I mean, she’s a whole other person now. She has kids of her own; she teaches school. I warned her that going to the cops might throw all of that into uproar. I gave her James Purdy’s number in case she wanted to be in touch with him. The last thing Traci said to me was that she and her husband would talk it over and decide what to do.”
“The thing is, I’m not sure her going to the cops will do any good,” Stu said. “If an Illinois DA decided to press charges, it would be a circumstantial case at best, based on eyewitness testimony only and with no physical evidence. Besides, El Pescado is holed up in Sinaloa. If the US isn’t trying to extradite him over something as recent and horrific as that series of firebombings, the chances of his ever being brought to trial on a twenty-five-year-old cold case are slim to nonexistent.”
That dose of reality sucked the jubilation out of the room. “Trial or not,” Ali said, “what you two did today was huge. You validated what that poor woman has been saying for a quarter of a century. She’s been walking under a cloud of suspicion for all this time, and you gave her a way to possibly fix that.”
“What about the other families?” Cami asked. “Should I get back to them with that composite drawing?”
“I think so,” Ali said. “Cameron Purdy’s family deserved some answers, and so do the others. We may not be able to give them convictions, but having answers and some idea of who was responsible may help.”
“I’ll work on that tomorrow, then,” Cami promised, “but for right now, I’m done.”
And so was everyone else. That long, exhausting weekend from Friday through Monday had drained them all. Like Cami, Stuart, too, was at the end of his endurance.
“Are you going to stay here?” Ali asked him as they were getting ready to close down for the day. “Or would you like a ride back to the Village?”
“Village,” Stu answered. “I’d like to do some work with Frigg on the screens instead of the iPhone. But first let me grab a few things, including some sweaters and jackets. I damn near froze to death last night, and maybe we can pick up a pizza on the way.”
An hour later, layered in two sweaters and with a piece of pepperoni pizza in hand, Stuart Ramey settled into a chair in front of Control Central, donned his headset, and summoned Frigg.
“Good evening, Stuart, is there something you need?”
“Yes, what’s going on with our friend Graciella today?”
“Is Graciella our friend? I thought she was on the other team—the bad guy team.”
Stu shook his head. Frigg was smart but not subtle. “I was being sarcastic.”
“Sarcastic,” Frigg repeated. “Having to do with sarcasm: a sharp, often satirical or ironic utterance meant to be hurtful. So when you said the word ‘friend’ you did not mean friend?”
“Friend or foe, does it really matter?” an exasperated Stu replied. “Just answer the question, please.”
“Ms. Miramar has gone completely dark,” Frigg reported. “She was logged in to an audio storage account on the dark Web earlier today. Once she logged out of that, there has been no additional usage on either one of her computers or on her cell phone.”
That pretty much confirmed what Stu had suspected. Graciella knew about Frigg for sure now, and she suspected she’d been hacked, so of course she’d gone dark.
“What about financial transactions? Any credit card dealings with airlines or private jet providers?”
“Not that I can see.”
That was disappointing. There was no way to tell for sure if Graciella had taken the bait. Was she coming or not? And if she did come, would she show up alone or would she come with a troop of armed helpers? Stu and Ali had talked about that on the drive from Cottonwood—about the possibility of his needing a weapon for protection, something with a little more firepower than his grandfather’s Swiss Army knife.
“As you said earlier, we’re up against some very scary people,” Ali had warned him. “If they come after us, we have to be prepared to defend ourselves. Even in the office, Cami and I shouldn’t be the only ones carrying, and that goes double for you when you and Frigg are on your own there in the man cave.”
“I’ve never owned a gun in my life, not even a BB gun,” Stu replied. “I wouldn’t know how to use one if I had one.”
“No matter,” Ali said. “Tomorrow morning when I come to get you, I’ll bring along my spare Taser and show you how to use it. I also think I’ll ask Alonso to come over here and keep an eye on the place when you have to be in Cottonwood.”
“Do you think Graciella knows that we’ve set Frigg up in the Village?”
“Obviously she’s not stupid. If she’s done any kind of property records search, she might have found this address listed and figured out that it would be a logical location.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t have someone like Frigg working for her,” Stu said.
“Let’s hope,” Ali agreed.
Stu felt a chill that had nothing to do with the humming AC unit. In Cottonwood he would have been tucked into his studio behind the impenetrable barrier of security shutters. Here he was isolated and completely on his own.
“Frigg,” he said, “is there a video available explaining how to operate a Taser?”
“Of course. Would you like me to send it to one of the screens?”
“Please. And what is the weather report for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow in the Village of Oak Creek, the high will be seventy degrees and the low thirty-eight with scattered clouds. Will there be anything else?”
Frigg already knew that he was no longer in Cottonwood.
“Yes, there is,” Stuart said. “I would like you to create an accessible index of what information you keep available for off-line use and what you have in online storage, by category. I want to be able to read through it myself.”
“That is a complex undertaking.”
“I’m sure it is,” Stu agreed, “but take your time. There’s no rush.”
“I will use the Apache Lucene format for the index. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, Apache is fine.”
“Will there be anything else?”
“Yes,” he said, “one more item. On the night of Sunday, April 8, 1979, there was a two-car motor vehicle accident on I-10, somewhere between Phoenix and the California border. Three people died as a result of the incident, including Penelope and Robert S. Ramey, Jr.”
“Your parents,” Frigg said.
Having created a dossier on Stuart for Owen Hansen, it wasn’t surprising that Frigg instantaneously knew that detail of his background.
“Yes,” he confirmed, “my parents. I’d like to know more about the accident, including exactly where it happened—the milepost, if possible.”
“Of course, Stuart. I’ll get right on it. In the meantime, I’m sending the Taser video right now.”