Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) (24 page)

“Uh, yeah,” Eric said as he pulled a piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his jacket. “The person sending these messages clearly had no intention of ever being found. They w
ere good.”

“But not as good as you and your friends, right?
” I asked.

“Of course not,” Eric said. “No one’s better
than me.”

Why did I have the feeling he wasn’t just talking about
computing?

“So what did you guys find out?” Terrence asked, taking a sip of h
is scotch.

“Well, the address the e-mails were coming from and the phone numbers used for the text messages w
ere fake.”

“But we knew that already. My guys down at Quantico dug that up weeks ago,” Terrence said dis
missively.

“Yes, but that’s where mere mortals stop and where I take over. Where your guys ended is exactly where the person sending those messages wanted you to end. Most government agencies, and certainly local government agencies, don’t have the technology, or frankly the talent, to be able to go deeper and break through these
networks.”

“So how deep did you go?” Terrence
shot back.

Was this really
happening?

I took another large swallow of the cool purp
le liquid.

“Oh, I went all the way, brother. Trust me,” Eric said with a hint of cocky bravado in his voice I’d never heard before. MJ kicked me under the table, clearly enjoying their
exchange.

“So
look. Here’s what they did. They used
software that basically makes it impossible for their computer’s IP address to be tracked and then connected it to a VPN, virtual private network, where they basically rented a remo
te computer to route all of their Internet traffic throug
h Sweden.
”

“Wow, that’s quite elaborate,” I said, signaling the waiter for another cocktail.
“Like you said, this person clearly didn’t want to
be found.”

“Yes, but I did find them.” Eric took a swallow of his beer, drawing out the suspense. He smoothed out the paper on the table and read the name and address of the person who had been sending Vanessa and Marcus deat
h threats.

“Well, that can’t be possible?” I said as the waiter set down my second Purple Diva in front of me on
the table.

“Why do you say that?” a
sked Eric.

“Because she’s dead,” Terrence said, setting his empty glass down on
the table.

“Kalinda Walters was killed, shot in the head,” I said, fishing out one of the blueberries from my drink and popping it into my mouth. “So unless God has Wi-F
i . . . ?”

“I’m one hundred percent certain that this is the originating IP address, so if you’re serious about catching the person stalking your friend, then if I were you, I’d pay this location a visit,” Eric said confidently as he pushed the piece of paper across the ta
ble to me.

MJ headed up to his room to go over the final details for tonight’s party while Terrence, Eric, and I walked out into the blazing-hot Phoenix afternoon. The front of the hotel looked like the showroom of a luxury-car
dealership where several Mercedes, Lamborghinis, BMW roadsters, Porsches, and Maybachs were lined up. Valets desperately tried to manage the flow of cars while keeping a smile on th
eir faces.

“It looks like the address is about twenty minutes away,” Terrence said, fiddling with the GPS on his iPhone. “We can tak
e my car.”

As Terrence walked over to the crowded valet stand, Eric pulled me over into the shade under a lar
ge canopy.

“Thank you for tracking down this information,” I said. “I know it was a lot of work, and I know you didn’t have to do tha
t for me.”

“No, it was my pleasure,” Eric said, still holding on to my arm. “You know I’d do anything for
you, Nia.”

“I know,” I said, looking down at the limesto
ne ground.

“So, do you think I can see you again before you head back to
New York?”

“Um . . . I don’t know, Eric. I mean my schedule is pretty crazy this weekend with the party and ev
erything.”

“I know you’re busy, but I’d really like to have a chance to talk to you.” I looked up into his dark brown eyes as he smiled down at me. “Come on, Nia. Meet me for
a drink.”

“We just had a drink,” I said playfully as I saw Terrence begin to make his way back over to us. “OK, look, I’ll call you later, and we’ll work somet
hing out.”

“Thanks, Nia,” he said as he leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. “I look forwa
rd to it.”

“All set,” Terrence said as he cleared his throat and motioned to the black Lexus waiting at
the curb.

“Thanks again, Eric,” I said. “I’ll call y
ou later.”

“Yeah, thanks, Eric,” Terrence said, extending his hand. “We really appreciate all your,
uh, work.”

“No problem,” Eric said, staring Terrence dead in the eye and shaking his hand. “Glad I cou
ld help.”

Why did I feel like they were still sizing each
other up?

“Be careful, Nia,” Eric called after me as the valet helped me slide into the front seat of the wa
iting car.

“Don’t worry, Eric,” Terrence tossed over his shoulder as he walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “She’s
with me.”

Terrence steered the Lexus smoothly along the Phoenix streets while I adjusted the air-conditioning vents to direct the cool air onto my legs. It had to be a hundred degrees outside, and having drinks with both my exes wasn’
t helping.

It had been weird to see Eric again. He looked good and had clearly
gotten his life together. I was happy for him but wasn’t sure why he thought we needed to see each other again. Since he had gone through all the considerable trouble of tracking down the information for this stalker, however, I at least owed him another drink. But he needed to understand that I was trying to focus on moving forward, and he was a painful memory from the past. So why did it feel like the same thinking applied to Terrence as well? At least Terrence was engaged, so he was o
ff-limits.

“So what made you reach out to your ex?” Terrence asked. “I mean Eric
, not me.”

“Very funny,” I said. “Look, how many computer hackers do you know? If you know the best, you reach out to him. We weren’t really getting anywhere with your
contacts.”

“Is that the only reason?” he asked, looking at me through his dark s
unglasses.

“Of course that’s the only reason,” I snapped. “But even if it wasn’t, what business would that be
of yours?”

“OK, OK . . . Damn, I was just asking. You’re right, it’s none of my
business.”

“Exactly. Anyway, where’s your
fiancée?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we arrived this afternoon, and I dropped her off to rehearse for the fashion show before I headed over to yo
ur hotel.”

“Oh, she needs to practice walking?” I couldn’t stop myself from the sni
de remark.

“I don’t know what they do at these things,” he said, laughing. “I just know she’ll be there for the next four hours and then we’re going t
o dinner.”

So I guess that meant he wasn’t going to come to my party tonight. Not like I had formally invited him, but I had secretly hoped that he’d want to come. Of course then that would mean that he’d be with her, and I certainly didn’t want the supermodel on the red carpet of my party. That’s the last thing I want
ed to see.

“Well, then we’ve got two hours to figure out why threatening e-mails are coming from a dead woman’s computer
,” I said.

“According to the Phoenix police files, Kalinda Walters lived with a roommate, a Sean Beckman. A computer science major at the University of
Arizona.”

“Sounds like we may have our guy,” I said, looking at t
he window.

Terrence stopped the car in front of the Gardens, a large stucco apartment complex forty-five minutes from our hotel. A few palm trees lined the street. A little boy sped down the block on his bicycle while another boy trailed him on his scooter. We walked into the brick courtyard of the complex past several rows of metal mailboxes and a swimming pool full of young co-eds splashing around in the cool blue water. Just being out of the car for five minutes left me dying to join them as a trail of sweat made its way dow
n my back.

We got to building C and walked up two flights of stairs to unit 2D. When Terrence knocked on the door, a small dog could be heard barking behind
the door.

“Yeah, who is it?” a man’s v
oice said.

“Sean Beckman? My name is Terrence Graham, and I need to talk to you about Kalinda
Walters.”

The door opened to reveal a thin man in his early twenties with pale freckled skin and a shock of curly red hair. He was wearing a large white T-shirt with a University of Arizona logo on the front, socks, and flip-flops. And even though he was wearing baggy basketball shorts, I doubted he’d ever played the game a day in
his life.

“Are you from the police department?” he asked, looking at us sk
eptically.

“Not exactly, Sean,” Terrence said. “I’m from the New York district attorney’s office, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about the e-mails coming from this apartment to Marcus and Vane
ssa King.”

Sean immediately tried to slam the door, but Terrence jammed his foot in th
e doorway.

“Look, Sean. We won’t take up too much of your time. We just want to ask you a few questions. You can let us in now to talk, or we can come back with a few officers from the Phoenix police department and have an entirely different type of conv
ersation.”

“I don’t have to let you in,” he insisted as he pressed his thin body up against the door, still trying in vain to push
it closed.

“No, you’re right, you don’t have to let us in,” I said, leaning in so that Sean could see my face. “But I also don’t think you want us to continue this conversation in front of your apartment so all your neighbors can hear about you sending threatening e-mails from a dead woman’s
computer.”

Reluctantly Sean opened the door and let us enter the apartment. We walked by the small kitchen with a cracked linoleum floor and sink full of dirty dishes. Just off the entryway was a tiny living room sparsely decorated with a cheap but serviceable black IKEA sofa, two matching chairs, and a black wooden coffee table littered with half-empty coffee mugs, dirty paper plates, and a MacBook Air. A large University of Arizona pennant hung over the couch. The black TV stand across the room held a large television, a few textbooks, a PlayStation console, and two framed pictures of Kalinda. In one, she was fresh-faced and smiling, standing next to Sean in a graduation cap and gown and holding the dog that greeted us. In the other, she wore tight gold spandex shorts and a matching black-and-gold halter top, the dance uniform of the Phoen
ix Lasers.

The barking little dog, a small white and gray poodle, hopped around our feet
excitedly.

“Down, Chee Chee. Stop it,” Sean said as he scooped up the little dog. He walked to the back of the apartment and put the small ball of fur into one of the bedrooms and shut the door b
ehind him.

Joining us back in the living room, Sean invited us to have a seat on the sofa and shifted nervously on
his feet.

“Cute dog,” I said, motioning to the photo of the three of them on the
TV stand.

“Thanks. I got Chee Chee for Kalinda as a graduation present. She loved that dog. But you’re not here to talk about Kalinda, right?” Sean asked as he took a seat in one of the well-worn chairs. It was obvious from the way he said her name that he had more than a roommate interest in the sla
in dancer.