Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(93)

They are set up in the dining room at a sleek, dark wood table. I note Quincy’s long coat slung over the back of a chair, her computer bag occupying the seat. On the table, her computer is up and running, while across from her, Keith’s hunched over a laptop. It doesn’t look like his computer from yesterday. This machine is both larger and older-looking. I’m confused for a moment, then …

“Is that?” I ask Quincy, staring at the computer in rapt fascination. Keith still doesn’t look up. He seems intent on avoiding me. That pleases me.

“Ness’s actual computer? No. First rule of forensic analysis, you clone the hard drive so you’re never working on the original. Granted, we made this replicate six years ago, so some of the external scarring is authentic by now.”

“You brought the machine to Keith?” I leave my next question hanging in the air. Why?

“He seems to know a great deal about Jacob Ness, as well as computers. I have profilers who can give me the first half of that equation and geeks who can give me the second half, but as for one person with insight into both psychology and technology …”

Quincy’s voice trails off. I scowl. I don’t want Keith to be that valuable to this investigation, never mind that I’m the one who involved him in the beginning.

“The geeks cracked the password?”

“We think. But that’s only a piece of the puzzle. Are you familiar with the dark web?”

Quincy pulls out a chair, takes a seat without asking. Clearly it’s up to me to follow if I feel so inclined. Across from us, Keith continues to type furiously, scowling at the monitor. Briefly, the FBI agent’s gaze goes from me to him and back to me again. I don’t think much gets by her.

“The evil underbelly of the internet,” I say. “Its haunted house.”

“Good analogy. The typical online experience, or open web, features legitimate businesses, interests, services. The dark web … the less reputable sort. Illicit drugs. Firearms. Assassinations. And, yes, human trafficking.”

I take a seat.

Quincy leans forward. “One of our issues with Ness’s computer was how clean it initially appeared. His use of SteadyState meant that every time he rebooted his computer, it automatically deleted any traces of websites he may have visited or content he downloaded.”

I nod.

“Even knowing he must’ve been visiting the dark web—given the Tor browser—we couldn’t make any headway with the one username we had. Keith and you, however, cracked that nut for us yesterday when you helped determine Jacob’s ‘real’ username, so to speak.”

“I. N. Verness,” I fill in. “But you still need a password.”

“To access sites on the dark web, absolutely. Which meant we were thrilled at four this morning when codebreaking software finally spit out the magic answer. Better yet, like a lot of people, Jacob seems to have reused the same password over and over again. Meaning now, a mere six years later, that computer right there, our Ness clone, is currently logged into several markets and forums on the dark web. Hallelujah!”

Keith looks up briefly at Quincy, nodding in acknowledgment. The glance he throws my way is harder to interpret. Sullen? Hurt?

“But here’s where it gets tricky,” Quincy continues. “Even if we could re-create every IP address Ness ever visited six years ago, the internet—open or dark—changes all the time. Basically, we’ve finally arrived in the right country. But all the roads and landmarks are different. We have no idea where to go or what to do next.”

“So what’s he doing?” I ask, gesturing to Keith. “Learning the landscape?”

“Actually, I have other techs mapping out the terrain; one of them is an expert on the dark web and is continuing to cross-check Jacob’s username with all the pages we know would appeal to a subject with his tastes.”

“Porn, prostitution, human trafficking,” I provide.

“Keith, on the other hand, I gave a different task. He’s basically … wandering around. Seeing if he can get anyone else to approach with directions.”

I don’t understand right away; then it comes to me. “This is the first time I. N. Verness has been logged on in six years,” I say slowly. “You’re waiting to see if someone who used to do business with him, or hang out in a chat room with him, recognizes the name and initiates contact.”

“Precisely. To the best of our knowledge, Ness kept his online identity secret, even from his fellow surfers. Meaning they don’t know Verness was Jacob Ness or that Jacob is dead. They’re simply seeing a visit from a long-lost guest.”

“Won’t the six-year gap scare them off? I mean, why now?”

“Fortunately, given that a lot of the activity on the dark web is illegal, it’s easy to imply Verness spent the last few years in prison. Just got out. Not a new or interesting story, given the company. And of course, as someone who’s been incarcerated, he’s trying to get his bearings again.”

I can’t help myself. I move around the table and peer over Keith’s shoulder. Up close, I can smell the scent of Keith’s shampoo, see the ends of his hair still damp from his morning shower. I also sense the tension through his shoulders. My own stomach has tightened, as if readying for a blow.

I turn my attention to the screen. I’m not sure what I expected, but this appears so … banal.