“Valla Eam,” David said.
“You got it. I’m betting Lincoln worked with Professor Leeds to build the site. The professor probably gave him access to all the admin stuff-the registration, the site itself. Then when he died, Lincoln kept it.”
“While he grew crazier and crazier,” David said. “So this Web site has been sitting there all this time? Don’t you have to pay for server space?”
“This one’s hosted at one of these freebie places. The account’s in Leeds’s name. I checked hit activity and the site had a low level of visitors for the first half of last year. The real activity started last April, right about when the domain was renewed.”
“So who’s been visiting?”
Tom drew a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Names I was able to track. The rest are IP addresses I couldn’t track. You’re back to asking Ethan for help on those.”
David read the list, then frowned at a name that kept appearing over and over again. “This name I know. Joel Fischer. Why do I know that name?” He closed his eyes, concentrating. “Oh yeah, I remember now. It was Monday when I was listening to the news reports on the condo fire. Joel Fischer died on Monday. Car accident.”
“I remember him now, too.” Tom looked thoughtful. “He went to the university. The heavy Web traffic in April was probably research for a spring semester class.”
He was at the fire, David thought. Then he’d driven his car off the road, unable to deal with the guilt. Joel’s home was the visit Olivia had made right before she’d come to the cabin last night, before everything hit the fan. “He’s important.”
“And you’re not going to tell me how,” Tom said flatly. “Uncool, David.”
David leaned over, murmuring, “He was at the condo fire, okay?”
Tom’s brows shot up. “Really? He doesn’t seem like a smart criminal, then. He didn’t try to hide his visits to this site and he visited a lot. Of course, hits to the site have gone off the charts since yesterday when the story of the glass ball broke.”
Olivia needed the information, but David wasn’t sure how he’d tell her where he got it. He scanned the list again. There was a name that was noticeably absent.
“Lincoln’s name isn’t anywhere,” David said thoughtfully. “No wonder that Fed was so pissed. Lincoln’s been there, right under their noses for twelve years, keeping up the Web site. But they had to have known Professor Leeds had died. Why not investigate?”
“If no new content was added after Leeds died, they may have assumed it was a static site. Maybe they stopped checking it. That’s all I got. Talk to Ethan about the credit card payment for the domain re-up. He has ways of tracking stuff.”
“I don’t think all his ways of ‘tracking stuff’ are completely legal,” David murmured.
“So? You want legal or you want to keep Grandma safe at your loft?”
“You’re right. I’ll give Ethan a call. Thanks for your help, kid.”
“Anytime.” Tom gave him a quick one-armed hug, then stepped back, amused. “You need to lay off the honeysuckle perfume, David. People will talk.”
David’s cheeks heated. Olivia had jumped into the shower without her shampoo. He’d pulled back the curtain to give it to her and found her crying, a new wave of grief having hit when she’d found herself alone. He’d held her while she cried, washed her hair because he knew the massage calmed her. Then one thing had led to another and he’d made the day go away one more time.
Tom barked a laugh. “You should see your face. I have to get to class. Call me if you need me.” He handed David a card. “Ethan’s cell.”
David took the card. “Thank you. I mean it.”
“No problem. Grandma’s still with Evie?” Tom asked and David nodded.
“Yeah. Noah had to work last night, after Kane…” He sighed. “Anyway, she called Glenn and he stayed there during the night. I assume he’s still there.”
“I guess it’s about time for Grandma, too. She’s been alone a long time.”
It still made him wince. “Yes, she has.”
Tom shrugged. “Hey, I had to watch my mom fall for your brother.”
“But it turned out okay.”
“Sure it did. And this will, too. You shouldn’t be complaining. If he’s good enough to be your friend, then he’s okay for your mom.”
“You’re right. Hey, you know you could have called me with all this information.”
“I know,” Tom said. “But I saw the fire on the news during the night and heard one of the firefighters was hurt. Grandma called me, told me it wasn’t you, but”-he shrugged uncomfortably. “Guess I needed to see for myself that you were all right.”
David felt his throat close once again. “Well, I am. Get to class. And thanks.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Wednesday, September 22, 8:00 a.m.
Olivia stood outside the doors to the police department, her fedora in her hand. On her way out of David’s cabin she’d seen it on the sofa and picked it up on a whim. No, not a whim. A talisman maybe. But she hadn’t been able to put it on her head.
She was late but couldn’t make her hand reach for the door. She didn’t want to go inside. Didn’t want to see Kane’s desk or Abbott’s round table. Didn’t want to see the looks of sadness on everyone’s faces. Just get through today. Easier said than done.
“Good morning, Detective.” It was Dr. Donahue.
Great. The department-mandated shrink smelled blood in the water. “Good morning,” Olivia said and if she sounded a little curt, so be it. I have stuff on my mind.
“Contrary to what you think, Detective, I’m not here to analyze you. I’m here for Abbott’s meeting.” She brushed by and, too late, Olivia realized her eyes had been red.
Olivia followed. “Dr. Donahue.” The shrink kept walking, face averted. “Jess. Wait.”
Donahue stopped, dug in her pocket for a tissue. “Can I help you, Detective?”
For a moment Olivia didn’t know what to say, then searched her purse for a compact, handing it to Donahue. “Damage control.”
Donahue swept powder under her eyes, but it was a token effort. “Thanks.”
Olivia dropped the compact in her purse, then drew a breath. “I can’t go up there.”
Donahue’s gaze was level. “Yes, you can. You have to.”
“I have to get through today.” The words made her sneer.
“As trite as that sounds, yes. Detective… Olivia, nobody said this would be easy.”
Olivia looked at the elevator, watched people getting on. Knew if she got on with them, she’d go into full panic mode. She looked back at Donahue, whose eyes had softened with understanding.
“Let’s take the stairs,” Donahue said. “Fewer people can see my face like this.”
Grateful for the excuse, Olivia followed her. They’d climbed two flights when Olivia stopped. Donahue paused on the next stair and looked down, waiting.
“I’m afraid of crime scenes,” she heard herself admit. “Afraid to look at the bodies.”
Donahue looked unsurprised. “Was that so hard to say?”
Olivia swallowed hard. “Yes. So was that the hard part?”
Donahue’s mouth curved. “Hell, no. The hard part’s moving on, but at least now we can get to work. First, though, we have to get up these stairs.”
And past his desk. Olivia stared at the hat in her hand. And put it on her head.
“Nice,” Donahue murmured. “Very Ingrid Bergman.”
Olivia pursed her lips, a new sob threatening to rip her in two. She gripped the handrail until it passed. Until she could breathe again. Then she made her feet move.
The bull pen was eerily quiet. In front of her, Donahue moved like a soldier, eyes forward, feet almost marching. Olivia followed until she came to Kane’s desk. She made herself look at it, made herself remember all that blood on the ground. Then squared her shoulders and went into Abbott’s office where everyone was waiting.