Mr. Mercedes (Unnamed Trilogy #1)(68)

“My guys tell me that it’s easy to capture that code, if you have the right gadget. You can modify a garage door opener or a TV remote to do it, only with something like that, you have to be really close. Say within twenty yards. But you can also build one that’s more powerful. All the components are available at your friendly neighborhood electronics store. Total cost, about a hundred bucks. Range up to a hundred yards. You watch for the driver to exit the target vehicle. When she pushes the button to lock her car, you push your button. Your gadget captures the signal and stores it. She walks away, and when she’s gone, you push your button again. The car unlocks, and you’re in.”

Hodges looks at his key, then at Jerome. “This works?”

“Yes indeed. My friends say it’s tougher now—the manufacturers have modified the system so that the signal changes every time you push the button—but not impossible. Any system created by the mind of man can be hacked by the mind of man. You feel me?”

Hodges hardly hears him, let alone feels him. He’s thinking about Mr. Mercedes before he became Mr. Mercedes. He might have purchased one of the gadgets Jerome has just told him about, but it’s just as likely he built it himself. And was Mrs. Trelawney’s Mercedes the first car he ever used it on? Unlikely.

I have to check on car robberies downtown, he thinks. Starting in . . . let’s say 2007 and going right through until early spring of 2009.

He has a friend in records, Marlo Everett, who owes him one. Hodges is confident Marlo will run an unofficial check for him without a lot of questions. And if she comes up with a bunch of reports where the investigating officer concludes that “complainant may have forgotten to lock his vehicle,” he’ll know.

In his heart he knows already.

“Mr. Hodges?” Jerome is looking at him a little uncertainly.

“What is it, Jerome?”

“When you were working on the City Center case, didn’t you check out this PKE thing with the cops who handle auto theft? I mean, they have to know about it. It’s not new. My friends say it’s even got a name: stealing the peek.”

“We talked to the head mechanic from the Mercedes dealership, and he told us a key was used,” Hodges says. To his own ears, the reply sounds weak and defensive. Worse: incompetent. What the head mechanic did—what they all did—was assume a key had been used. One left in the ignition by a ditzy lady none of them liked.

Jerome offers a cynical smile that looks odd and out of place on his young face. “There’s stuff that people who work at car dealerships don’t talk about, Mr. Hodges. They don’t lie, exactly, they just banish it from their minds. Like how airbag deployment can save your life but also drive your glasses into your eyes and blind you. The high rollover rate of some SUVs. Or how easy it is to steal a PKE signal. But the auto theft guys must be hip, right? I mean, they must.”

The dirty truth is Hodges doesn’t know. He should, but he doesn’t. He and Pete were in the field almost constantly, working double shifts and getting maybe five hours of sleep a night. The paperwork piled up. If there was a memo from auto theft, it will probably be in the case files somewhere. He doesn’t dare ask his old partner about it, but realizes he may have to tell Pete everything soon. If he can’t work it out for himself, that is.

In the meantime, Jerome needs to know everything. Because the guy Hodges is dicking with is crazy.

Barbara comes running up, sweaty and out of breath. “Jay, can me n Hilda n Tonya watch Regular Show?”

“Go for it,” Jerome says.

She throws her arms around him and presses her cheek to his. “Will you make us pancakes, my darling brother?”

“No.”

She quits hugging and stands back. “You’re bad. Also lazy.”

“Why don’t you go down to Zoney’s and get some Eggos?”

“No money is why.”

Jerome digs into his pocket and hands her a five. This earns him another hug.

“Am I still bad?”

“No, you’re good! Best brother ever!”

“You can’t go without your homegirls,” Jerome says.

“And take Odell,” Hodges says.

Barbara giggles. “We always take Odell.”

Hodges watches the girls bop down the sidewalk in their matching tees (talking a mile a minute and trading Odell’s leash back and forth), with a feeling of deep disquiet. He can hardly put the Robinson family in lockdown, but those three girls look so little.

“Jerome? If somebody tried to mess with them, would Odell—?”

“Protect them?” Jerome is grave now. “With his life, Mr. H. With his life. What’s on your mind?”

“Can I continue to count on your discretion?”

“Yassuh!”

“Okay, I’m going to put a lot on you. But in return, you have to promise to call me Bill from now on.”

Jerome considers. “It’ll take some getting used to, but okay.”

Hodges tells him almost everything (he omits where he spent the night), occasionally referring to the notes on his legal pad. By the time he finishes, Barbara and her friends are returning from the GoMart, tossing a box of Eggos back and forth and laughing. They go inside to eat their mid-morning treat in front of the television.

Hodges and Jerome sit on the porch steps and talk about ghosts.