Playing Santa

I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Madison Park watching the locals come in for a Sunday morning coffee and newspaper. I’m lucky there’s a connection. I blend in perfectly with the surroundings here—just another Sunday morning blogger. I can see three other laptops from where I’m sitting.

I’ll bet none of them got here directly from breaking and entering, though.

I’ve got to break this habit.

8:30 a.m.

I got up at 5:00 after way too little sleep. The coffee buzz from yesterday afternoon kept me up past 2:00 a.m. But I didn’t wake up puking my guts out, unlike Friday.

I got into my cat burglar outfit which is remarkably like my running clothes—black leggings, black hooded shirt, running shoes. I chose a short brunette bob wig for my hair of the day, or at least the morning. Then I drove to Madison Park and parked my car at a public access point. I focused on looking and acting like any other early morning runner, only there weren’t many there at 6:00 on a foggy morning. Fog is good. It means that it’s marginally warmer this morning than it’s been the past few days, and it means that I become invisible much more quickly when I’m headed away from some place or someone. After I’d warmed up, I took only the tools that fit in my oversized waist pack beside the backup CDs I’d taken and took off running.

It was about a mile to the access point that I identified a couple of weeks ago that led up to the Barnett house. Since I was coming up from the beach this time instead of the front drive, it was much easier to slip up to the house without a chance of being observed.

The last time I was here, I didn’t care if Brenda realized someone was in the house, so I disabled the alarm system and left the door to the garage wide open. This time, though, I didn’t want to raise any suspicions when she got out of jail. So I had to take the second story entrance. In my brief visit two weeks ago, I noticed that there was a balcony off the master bedroom above the kitchen. It overlooked the pool and the lake. I also noticed two significant things about the alarm system. One was that there was no motion-detector. Why should there be in such a safe neighborhood. The other was that like most alarm companies, door and window alarms had been installed only on the ground floor level. I guessed that Brenda was way too confident in her ability to neutralize Dag and me to have bothered changing the alarm system. Her utter disdain for anyone’s brains but her own are a great advantage to anyone else with brains.

I hoisted myself over the railing on the deck, having first checked carefully to be sure no one was coming up the jogging trail. It took only thirty seconds to pick the lock to the French doors and get into the bedroom. I closed them behind me and stood looking around the room.

I rushed on my last visit to this house. I took the necessary precautions to ensure that I was not disturbed while there and then focused all my energy on the office where I found the backup disks. Granted, I was here today just to return said disks so certain law enforcement officers could find them, but I was interested in finding anything else I might be able to use to put a nail in the Muffin-Top’s coffin. I had no idea what it would be.

The bedroom was disgusting. A laundry hamper was full and there were dirty clothes on the floor around it. An elaborate bath was marred by the fact that makeup was scattered around on the sink without particular regard for order. I could see a huge bottle of lilac scented toilet water. The scent in the room almost made my eyes water and I’m not particularly sensitive to scents like Dag is. Was.

A bedside table showed a drawer open and various adult toys were shoved into it. The bed was unmade and velvet ropes hung from the corners onto the floor. The bolsters for the bed were lying on the floor in one corner, and the spread lay in a pile at the foot of the bed. A huge walk-in closet was crammed so full of clothes and shoes that you couldn’t walk into it. No matter what image Brenda attempted to portray in public, this room painted the picture of a lazy, messy person. I left the bedroom and headed for the stairs down, keeping a careful eye out in case I had missed a motion detector.

Apparently the housekeepers had taken care of the rest of the house. That told me something, too. Apparently the bedroom was Brenda’s private space and she didn’t allow even the housekeepers in it. That or they were too disgusted to go in.
I continued to the office and carefully replaced the disks in the exact place that I’d found them. I was trusting that Silas would arrive with his search warrant soon after Brenda got home from the hearing Monday morning and she wouldn’t have time or think to look for the backups being replaced. Just in case, I’d downloaded everything onto the servers on Friday.

I searched through all the desk drawers for any other evidence of Brenda’s wrong-doing, but to no avail. I looked everyplace I could think of for a safe, but also found nothing. In fact, the house outside the bedroom was so immaculate and spotless that you’d think no one actually lived there. Not only were there no dirty dishes, there were no clean ones in the dishwasher. There was no food in the refrigerator either. Not a quart of milk or a stick of butter. It looked like the house had been cleaned for sale, but the owner still occupied one room. I was suddenly very glad that I’d slipped surgical gloves on before I entered. Dag used them to protect sensitive equipment when he disassembled a computer. I used them so I wouldn’t leave fingerprints. In a house this clean, one solo set of prints that matched me would be pretty incriminating.

I checked every drawer in the dining room sideboard, the linen closet, the utility room. I couldn’t open a door to check the garage, but I was certain from my first foray that there was nothing there. If there was a safe in this house, I knew not where. I finally gave up and headed back to my exit through the master bedroom. I opened the drawer on the other side of the bed, but it contained little other than reading material and pencils. There was a half-worked book of crossword puzzles. I glanced back at the drawer full of toys and it suddenly hit me. This drawer was less than half the depth of the toy drawer, yet from the front it looked the same. I carefully removed the contents of the drawer and pulled it out of its guide.
It definitely had a false bottom, and when I shook it gently I could hear things sliding around in it. I turned the drawer over and saw a little twist screw on the bottom like you would see on the battery cover of a laptop. I used a penny from my pocket to twist it open and the lid came open. I’d hit the jackpot.

In the drawer were three complete sets of identity papers, passports, credit cards, birth certificates, marriage certificates, and a sizeable amount of cash in hundred dollar bills and 500 Euro notes. Everything in the house made sense now. It was cleaned to evacuate. The last room to be done was the only room Brenda had been using since… well, probably since Simon was killed. Brenda was prepared to run. In fact, my guess was that if Silas hadn’t stepped out of the closet to arrest her Tuesday, she’d have been gone by Wednesday morning.

I copied down all the information from each document on my notebook. The identity kits were complete for both Simon and Brenda. Sets this good must have cost a fortune. One set showed them as residents of Belize, one of Bangkok, and one of Monte Carlo. The names were all different. Two of the sets showed them married with the same last name and marriage certificate from the country in which they lived. The third was for two single people.

I replaced the contents of the drawer and put it back on its track in the bedside table. Then looking around to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, I retreated out the balcony doors and made my escape. After running back to my car, I moved it to the coffee shop where I’m supposed to meet Teri by 9:00. I see her coming in now for our Sunday adventure.

As if I need more!

6:00 p.m.

Teri and I had a good time. We went to a little French Bistro for Sunday brunch and then went out to catch the first matinee of “Déjà vu.” Yeah, I’m a sucker for action films if there is a good plot and a good lead actor. It was fun. And Denzel Washington! Yow!

Here’s a concept. Everyone was all gaga over having a new blonde Bond. How about casting Denzel Washington in the role of Bond. Now I’d really be a Bond girl for that!

I got home about 5:00 and had a message from Lars. He wanted to set up an appointment to meet with me at my office tomorrow morning. I called back and offered to come up to see him, but he said he really wanted to come down to the pier for this. Absolutely wouldn’t say what it was all about.

Well, it could be that I haven’t done a damn thing on my thesis for two weeks, including have any meetings with him. But why at the pier?

It got me thinking and I went back into my bedroom and picked up Dag’s envelope that he had his lawyer deliver to me. Yes. I’m a huge chicken. I finally went to sleep last night with it still in my hand unopened. I decided I had to do it now. I curled up on the bed with it and slit it open.

I’m not going to tell you everything that was in it word for word. John Allen said it wasn’t a good idea. But here’s a couple things. There’s a long string of numbers followed by his name and mine. There is a page of what he thinks is on Simon’s thumb drive. I can’t believe he deduced all his guesses based on the limited amount of actually knowledge we have, but it is definitely a wow! And then there was this page:

I realize now that there are things I never got around to teaching you or telling you. Maybe some of them I did tell you so I’ll review.

First, you can do it. It may look impossible at first, but I have faith in you. It’s not a big business, but it is a good one. If you decide to stop, be sure to dismantle everything. Don’t leave a trace left.

Second, being clever, smart, and pretty won’t always be enough. Sometimes you’ll just plain have to be lucky. I’m hoping you will always be lucky. You’ll improve your luck if you decrease the risks you don’t have to take. Right now it’s easy to go prowling around when people don’t know you are there and just take what you need. But you will be luckier if you limit the amount of breaking and entering you do.

Third, the law doesn’t always define what’s right, but we don’t either. Whenever you decide to do the “right thing” and it’s not the “legal thing,” well… let’s just say that I’ve made my mistakes. The whole BKL thing was probably a mistake. I’m guessing we were manipulated through the whole thing. Doing what seemed like the right thing probably wasn’t even the smart thing.

Fourth, find good people to make up for your weaknesses. I’m not accusing you of having weaknesses, but I know that when I found you I made up for a lot of my own. I’m hoping you can find a partner that will back you up the way you’ve been there for me. Doing it all alone isn’t nearly as much fun as doing with a good partner. It’s a lesson I learned way too late in life.

Fifth, I know it’s been the hardest thing I’ve tried to teach you, but anything you can find out about someone else, a better hacker can find out about you. Take your security seriously. Don’t leave files, passwords, access codes, or anything else on your computer. You have a memory; use it for your own best interests. No one can subpoena what exists only in your head.

There are a couple of last things I’d like to ask you to do for me. There’s a letter addressed to my cousin Teresia in Sweden in the Vault. Write her a note and tell her that I’m gone. Enclose the letter. She’ll let the rest of my cousins know. I’ve left instructions that I be cremated. They’ll give the ashes to you if you ask for them. There’s a beach on Whidbey Island just south of Deception Pass. You’ll recognize the place when you get there. Scatter my ashes on the water at sundown. I’m finally going to find out what is out there in that sunset.

I wish I’d been thirty years younger when I met you Riley. Knowing you has been the best thing to happen in my life.

There you have it--the important part of it. Apparently Dag figured out a way for me to keep working here. That’s probably what Lars wants to talk to me about. He’s the executor of Dag’s estate.

I have to go to bed now. My stupid eyes are leaking again.