First Girl Gone(89)
“Someone sent me a couple of weird anonymous emails. I didn’t take the first one that seriously, but… well, things have changed.”
Charlie got out her laptop and opened the first anonymous email.
Wheeling closer, Mason studied the screen.
“‘Follow the white rabbit. Find her,’” he said, reading the first message aloud. “Kind of creepy.”
“Just wait,” she said, pointing to the second email.
Charlie watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read.
“A mysterious package? This is some real James Bond shit. What was it?”
Chewing her lip, Charlie looked at him sideways.
“A body.”
“Like a dead body?”
She nodded.
He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows just about touching his hairline.
“Whoa,” he said, and just when it looked like he was going to say something else, he said it again. “Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“I was going to ask what had changed to make you suddenly take these so seriously, but I guess I have my answer.”
He gestured toward the laptop.
“May I?”
Charlie scooted it over to him.
“The police took a look and declared it a dead end, but… I guess I was hoping you might find something they didn’t.” Charlie pointed at the header of the email. “See here, how it looks like I sent the email to myself?”
“Spoofed,” Mason said. “It’s pretty common with scammers these days. They can do it with phone numbers, email addresses… an easy way to cover their tracks.”
“Is there a way to find out who really sent it?”
“Let’s see.” Mason bent closer to the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Well, the good news is that this isn’t a very elaborate spoof attempt. You can see the original sender right here.”
He pointed at a foreign email address on the screen, a Gmail address made up of a string of apparently random characters.
“And the bad news?” Charlie asked.
“The bad news is that you can’t really trace Gmail addresses. The IP address just comes back as a Google server.”
“I was afraid of that,” she said. “So there’s no way to find out who sent it?”
“Well, we could…” He started to type again, then paused, frowning. “Is your computer always this laggy?”
Charlie crossed her arms.
“No, but it has been kind of funky the last day or so.”
Mason worked quickly, opening windows, typing commands. He was so fast that Charlie could barely keep track of what he was doing.
After a few moments, he stopped abruptly and asked, “Do you have kids?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, if you had kids, it might be a reason for you to install a keylogger on your computer.”
“A keylogger?”
“Yeah, it’s a program—spyware, basically—that keeps track of every keystroke. Everything you type, every password, everything—it logs it and sends it on to another computer.”
“Right. I know what a keylogger is. But I didn’t install it.”
Mason tapped a finger against one of the icons on her computer screen.
“Well, whoever did messed up. Usually the programs have a way of hiding themselves from the user. Only the person who installed it has the password to access it. If this had been installed correctly, I probably wouldn’t have been able to spot it. Not without a lot of digging.”
“I think I already know what the answer is, but is there any way to figure out who installed it?” Charlie asked.
“Well, parents sometimes install it to monitor their kids’ internet activity. Spouses might use it to spy on their significant other. Employers use it to find out what kind of personal browsing their employees are doing on the company computers. Criminals generally want to try to steal passwords and credit card information. Which one would best apply to you?”
“None. It sure as hell wasn’t my mother. I don’t have a significant other. Frank is technically my employer, but you know how he is. Even if he wanted to spy on me for some reason, he gets confused checking his email. And I don’t know any criminals who would have had access to my computer, unless…”
Mason waited for her to go on, both eyebrows raised.
“What if it’s the same person who’s been sending the emails? What if the killer installed it so he could keep tabs on the investigation? Know where I was looking?”
Charlie’s mind latched onto the idea, spun it around, considering every angle. It would explain why he’d been able to pivot so quickly once they’d ruled Robbie Turner out. If the killer was spying on her, he would have known he’d need to provide a new scapegoat. That was why he’d dumped the body that pointed to Gibbs as a suspect and planted the evidence on the Gibbs property. It all fit.
“Can you think of any times your computer would have been accessible?” Mason asked. “That might narrow it down.”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“All the damn time. I have it in the office with me every day. The front door is open for anyone to come in. Any time I run upstairs for a cup of coffee or something, someone could slip in and out. And I’d have no idea.”