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leaning over Nine’s shoulder.
Nine hits a few keys, and within seconds we’re looking at the google street view of a small blue house with white trim and a flowery front walkway. “Who is this person, anyway? Someone important?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure yet,” I say looking over the information on the screen. “She could be.”
“How very vague of you,” Nine says. “I’m pulling up the public records for the house. There’s a bunch of city citations for overgrown grass and things like that which leads me to believe the house is abandoned.”
“Can you see when it was abandoned?”
“I can get close. Yeah. Here. The last utility bill was paid for last June so anytime in July I would assume. Wait, look at this.” Nine points to the screen. “Morgan Faith Clark was reported missing by an aunt in Sarasota.”
Nine’s fingers fly across the keyboard and I find myself missing the feeling. The sound of the keys sings to me like a favorite song I know all the words to.
“The aunt reported her missing on the 10th of July after Morgan didn’t show up at her house in Sarasota the prior morning. The police opened an investigation.” He clicks a few more keys. “But it’s never been closed.”
The screens change and flip as Nine flies through sites and codes, unearthing everything the internet wants to keep hidden like an archeologist of the web. Window after window appears then disappears as I follow along.
“Pull up the police report. Use the back way and use 911 at the end of the code if you’re going in via their webhost. That usually works.”
Nine scoffs, ash falling onto the keys. “Like I’ve never broken into a police department before. What do you think this is, amateur hour?” Nine’s cigarette dangles from his lips. “And you really are a tech geek aren’t you?”
I nod. “I am. Or, at least, I was.”
“Okay, here. Police report states that they went to the house, and there was no sign of foul play. Morgan’s purse and belongings were gone as well as her car, leaving them to believe she might have skipped town, but they note that there was no activity on her bank account or credit cards after July 9th.”
“Does the house have a security camera?” I ask.
“Already on it.” Nine reads down the report to the bottom in a flash. “The police report indicates the house has a Aestro Pro 7688 security system, but when they tried to access the feed, it was blank.”
I shake my head. “No such thing as blank feed unless a camera’s broken.” I say. “Aestro is high end security. Even if it’s not on the mainframe, it can be recovered through their servers.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Nine asks, looking at me with over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised. He stubs out his cigarette into a coffee mug and lights another joint. I pluck it from his hand before he has a chance to lift it to his lips, and I take a long slow drag, dramatically blowing the smoke at the computer screen.
“Maybe one of these days. If things work out for me. We’ll meet again, and I’ll tell you my story,” I say.
Nine smiles and takes back his joint, turning back to the laptop. “It’s a date,” he says. “But, not that kind of date. I don’t think Smoke would appreciate if it was.”
“Why would he care?”
“Uh, I saw the way he stormed out of here. A man doesn’t leave like that unless he’s frustrated as all hell and needs to clear his head. Plus, I saw the way he looked at you.”
“Bullshit,” I say.
“I’m hacking into Aestro now. Entering her address and the dates she went missing and cross reference that with the connected motion detectors in a few seconds we should be able to pull the feed.” Nine says. “And it’s not bullshit. He looks at you like you like he wants to…”
“Like he wants to kill me,” I finish for him.
“Yeah, that too.” Nine says.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s got some deal with a guy named Griff. Smoke’s keeping me while this Griff person tries to get my father to surface using pictures of me. If my father doesn’t show his face in a few days, and he won’t, Smoke’s going to take me to this Griff person so he can get take his pound of flesh my father owes him out on me.”
“Something sounds a bit screwy with your story,” Nine says.
“What do you mean? It’s the truth.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m just saying that if Smoke was hired to kidnap you for this Griff person don’t you think he’d hand you over to him right away? There’s got to be a reason why he hasn’t. Something more personal to the story.”
“Like what?”
“Beats the fuck out of me, Frankie girl.”
Nine hits enter and a screen pops up. A black and white video. He fast forwards through the feed and finds the day in question. He pauses and hits play again. A woman, who I assume is Morgan is there. She’s a little older than me with shorter wavier dark hair. She’s alone and obviously very pregnant. She’s just walking around the house packing for the most part. There’s an open suitcase on the kitchen island. The video doesn’t have sound, but she appears to be whistling.
That is, until she’s no longer alone. “Shit,” Nine whispers.
Morgan jumps back in surprise, but whoever she’s surprised to see it off camera.
Nine tries to pick up another angle, but the feed suddenly goes blank.
“Where did it go?” I ask, needing to know and see more.
“Shit. It’s not there. Someone must have washed it out,” Nine says, slamming a few keys. “I’ll try and recover.”
After prying open a few internet doors that were never meant to be opened, the screen flashes with an image but it’s hard to see what’s on it because it’s flickering on and off like a light bulb that’s about to die.
“There, that’s all that’s left of it,” Nine says. “Whoever cleaned house knew what they were doing, that’s for fucking sure.” He takes another drag of his joint and passes it to me. I do the same.
“Can you freeze it?” I ask, leaning over his shoulder.
Nine presses a few more keys, and the image freezes and expands.
My stomach flips, and I cover my mouth.
“Holy fucking shit,” Nine whispers, his eyes as wide as the computer screen.
I’m glad it’s in black and white because I can’t imagine how it would look in color if it’s making me want to vomit now.
“I can’t look at this anymore,” I say, as Nine’s sauce threatens to burn its way back up my throat. “Do you think Smoke could have…”
“I don’t know.” Nine shakes his head. “I know some sick fuckers, but this…” He leans into the screen and squints. “Wait! Look.”
He expands the image again. In the corner of the frame, walking away from the bloody scene is a man. “I’m going to zoom in more.” The face of the man is blurry, but he’s too small to be Smoke.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“So, all we can make out is that the man is wearing an old fashioned white hat with some sort of black ribbon or stripe around it above the brim,” I say.
“And that it’s not Smoke.”
“And that it’s not Smoke,” I repeat.
I was hoping this would give me some insight into what Smoke’s hiding from me, but all it’s done is make me ask more questions than ever.
“Fuck me. Do you see that?” Nine says, pointing to what the man’s carrying in his hands.
“Holy shit,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand. Nine’s right. There ismore.
