“Interesting,” Ceepak says again and moves closer to the wall so he can stare at the two cards. “Then the Phantom is tied to The Avengers by the common theme of Revenge.”
“Maybe so. Very powerful motive, revenge.” McDaniels looks at me. “Were you ever a pirate, Mr. Boyle?”
“No.”
“Didn't think so. These things are never that easy. The two cards have another common link: the lead characters are wearing tights. Leotards. Doesn't necessarily mean our shooter is a ballerina.”
“What about all the Derek Jeter cards?” I ask. “What's up with that?”
“That's the key,” McDaniels says. “The Jeters will help us decipher these first two cards. It's why the guy left seven of them.”
“Does he want to get caught?”
“No. Usually, they just like to show off. Let us see how damn clever they can be.”
One of the CSI guys lays the seven baseball cards out on the table. Different poses. Different card makers. All Derek Jeter.
Ceepak sees something.
“Dr. McDaniels-when did this movie debut?”
“The Phantom? I forget. It was in the summer. You know, they always bring out the superheroes in the summer.”
“Do you remember the year?”
“No. Back in the nineties, I guess.”
“I suspect it was nineteen ninety-six.”
“You do?” She curls her lip and nods. She's impressed by whatever logic train Ceepak is riding on. “How come?”
“These baseball cards? They're all different yet the same. They're all from Jeter's rookie year with the New York Yankees.”
“Nineteen ninety-six?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“What about the other card? The Avengers?”
“I have a hunch. Come on.”
We follow Ceepak out the door and down the hall.
We're off to see Denise Diego, Sea Haven PD's resident computer nerd.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Diego has a plastic Legolas Greenleaf action figure taped to the top of her terminal.
That's the character Orlando Bloom played in Lord of the Rings. The hunky elf with the arrows. As I said: Diego rules when it comes to computer research. And, like all her cybergeek brethren, she's got a pretty heavy thing for LOTR.
“You think this guy is sending you a message?” she asks as she taps some keys. Her fingers dance across the keyboard like she could type a hundred words a minute on an accordion if she wanted to. “Is this some kind of code?”
“It's a possibility,” Ceepak says.
“Awesome. Yesterday, I downloaded a Zip file of a program package that can crack most monoalphabetic substitution ciphers.” She's tapping keys the whole time she's talking except when she grabs a Nacho Cheese Dorito out of the vending machine bag she's having for a late breakfast along with her Mountain Dew.
She's Googling “Marvel Masterpiece Trading Cards.” She recognized the Avengers card as coming from the Masterpiece series. I guess she knows people who collect these kinds of cards-guys she meets at Lord of the Rings fanfests.
Google now sends us off to some comic book Web site.
“Crystal,” Diego mumbles.
“I beg your pardon?” Ceepak asks.
“I think the red-haired chick on the card is called Crystal.” She clicks on a link. “She hangs out with all the other Avengers.”
The screen switches and there she is. Red hair. White leotard. Extra-strength cleavage.
“It comes from the nineteen ninety-six Marvel Masterpiece trading card set made by Fleer,” Diego reads us the information she and Google dug up. “They also have the Human Torch, Invisible Woman. I'm curious …” She clicks the Invisible Woman link. “Thought so. She's wearing blue tights. Why does she need to wear anything if she's supposed to be invisible?”
Diego clicks her back button and we're with Crystal again.
“Nineteen ninety-six,” Ceepak says.
“Yes, sir. I can print this out if you want it.”
“That'll work. Be good to know the mythology surrounding this Crystal character.”
“I think she used to date the Human Torch. They were hot and heavy.”
She doesn't know she's making a joke. I think she thinks this comic book stuff is actually true. That Crystal really did date the Torch.
“Then she moved to the moon and married this mutant named Quicksilver. They had a baby. Luna.”
I'm beginning to wonder whether Diego spends too much time alone in this darkened room, staring at her screen, talking to the little plastic elf.
“What about this movie,” Ceepak says. “The Phantom?”
Diego taps a few more keys and hits return a couple times. Once again, Google comes through.
“Release date: June seventh, nineteen ninety-six.”
“Nineteen ninety-six.”
“Hmmm.”
“What?”
Diego points to something on her screen.
“Catherine Zeta-Jones was in it. Must've been before she was, you know, Catherine Zeta-Jones.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Nineteen ninety-six.”
It's dark in here, but my eyes have slowly adjusted. I can see Ceepak staring at me. McDaniels is staring, too. I figure they both want to ask the same question.
Ceepak goes first.
“Danny-what happened in nineteen ninety-six?”
“Think, Mr. Boyle.” McDaniels moves in closer. “Nineteen ninety-six.”
“You mean like in history?”
“No,” Ceepak says. “In your life.”
“I dunno. Nineteen ninety-six. I was, what? Fifteen.”
“What about in the summer?”
McDaniels takes another step forward. “We've got Derek Jeter, one of baseball's ‘boys of summer.’ We have The Phantom, a summer movie.”
It hits me.
Duh.
“Nineteen ninety-six is the summer we all met. The summer we started hanging out.”
“Who?” McDaniels doesn't know about National Toasted Marshmallow Day.
“Me, Jess, Katie, Becca, Olivia, and Mook.”
“Our primary targets,” says Ceepak. “And our possible shooter.”
“Okay,” McDaniels rubs her tiny hands together. “We're getting someplace.”
“Officer Ceepak?” A young cop from the radio room is at the door.
“Yes?”
“Are you guys still looking for a Harley Mook?”
“Roger that,” Ceepak says.
I glance at the clock. Twelve ten P.M.
“Has he been spotted?” Ceepak's ready to roll.
“No. He just called in.”
“Excuse me?”
“He just called nine-one-one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sea Haven's cellular service is pretty technologically advanced.
We have something called E911 for Enhanced 9-1-1. That means our cell towers can tell our 911 operators where you're calling from, thanks to some sort of GPS technology Ceepak probably understands but I never will.
It's the only way we have to find Mook. He never told the operator his location. No address, no landmarks. According to the transcript, the call went something like this: OPERATOR: This is nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?CALLER: He fucking shot me.
That's it.
The call stayed connected but Mook didn't say anything more, which isn't like Mook at all. Usually, the guy never shuts up. Not when we were fifteen, not now. They know it was Mook on the line because the caller ID system at 9-1-1 told them that, too.
E911 is sending us to Oak Street near Beach Lane. Probably a house. It's close to the public beach where Jess had his lifeguard chair in ’96, the beach where I used to hang out with my best bud and casually bump into the bathing beauties who were always there because Jess looked like one of those tanned weight lifters in red gym shorts from Baywatch. Jess was only one man, so there was no way he could flirt with all his fans. I took care of any spillover.