Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,54

policy.”

“I already paid. Conrad Carter. Shot Tuesday night by his wife in Boston. Look it up. Lead detective Sergeant D. D. Warren.”

“D. D. Warren?” I can tell by the change in Quincy’s voice that she knows the name. “Does she know you’re calling me?”

“Not yet. But I’m also her CI, so if she decides on bodily harm, at least she’ll feel conflicted about it.”

Across from me, Keith’s eyes are growing rounder and rounder.

“I want to know what was on Jacob’s computer.” I plunge ahead. There’s no stopping now. “Did you find evidence of e-mail correspondence, chat-room visits, online associates? He spent a lot of time on his computer. In real life, he was a loner. I already know that. But on the internet … Some predators network. I know that, too.”

Keith is nodding softly, leaning closer to his laptop. Both of us eye the phone positioned on the table between us. This is the heart of the conversation. I paid. Now, would SSA Quincy play?

“Yes and no,” she says at last.

My shoulders sag. Keith rolls his eyes. We share an immediate and unplanned moment: feds. Good God.

Then, as if she could see our exasperation: “Ness’s computer was curiously clean.”

“What does that mean?”

“We know he took photos and videos; we have the images he sent to your mother.”

I nod. Keith starts to type.

“But his laptop was clear. Not a single copy existed. And wiping a hard drive is no easy task. Most experienced computer techs can rebuild anything these days. Find ghost images, piece together fragments of a fragment. So how did a long-haul trucker with only a high school–level education know how to clear his entire hard drive?”

Keith opens his mouth. I immediately hold up a hand to silence him, vigorously shaking my head. I probably should’ve mentioned his presence in the very beginning of the call. Having failed that, I wasn’t about to spook a federal agent by mentioning we had company now.

“You think someone must’ve taught him how to cover his tracks,” I say.

Keith is scribbling furiously. He holds up a note.

I continue: “Maybe even told him about particular apps that would assist in clearing his hard drive.”

Keith nods.

“What did this Conrad Carter do?” Quincy asks.

“I don’t know. He traveled. Spent time in the South, I know that.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“A bar. Honky-tonk. He sat down right beside us. After a bit … I had the impression Conrad was there for me. Like, maybe Jacob had made a deal with him.”

Keith starts typing.

“Did you leave with him?” SSA Quincy asks.

“No. I threw up on him. Then he went away. And Jacob beat the shit out of me,” I add almost as an afterthought. “But that was nothing new.”

There’s silence. Keith is no longer typing. I refuse to look at him. I don’t want to see what’s in his eyes.

“Were there other such instances?” Quincy asks. “Other meetings with other men?”

“No. But soon after that … I realized I’d never make it if I kept fighting.” I stare at nothing in particular. “I decided to become Jacob’s friend. Make him need me a little, as my entire existence depended on him.”

“You survived, Flora. That’s what matters. You picked a strategy and it enabled you to come home safe to your family.”

I smile; I can’t help myself. But I know it’s a sad expression, because both my mother and brother will tell you that I didn’t come home at all. They just got a shell that looks like their beloved daughter and sister, except there’s nothing left on the inside.

Keith is scribbling another note. He holds it out to me. I read his question to the agent. “When was the last time the computer was analyzed?”

“Six years ago.”

I glance at Keith, already anticipating his next point. “There have been advancements in computer forensics since then,” I say.

He nods vigorously.

“Given the new development, I could have the computer reexamined. Did Jacob strike you as techie?”

“No. But—” I catch myself. “He was clever. And mechanical. I mean, he could keep his rig running on his own. And you know, building the pine coffin and all. He prided himself on self-sufficiency. I can’t imagine him in a classroom environment. But pursuing something that would help him get something he wanted, yeah, he’d do that.”

“He still would’ve had to utilize resources,” Quincy states. “We never recovered any books on computers, web surfing, or programming one-oh-one from his vehicle. On the other hand, he only made contact with your mother through internet cafés, which