Next up was the trickier part of the process, but one that Ryan had grown proficient at leveraging, having honed his craft over many years of investigations. He started a series of sequential logins, bouncing between various servers all across the globe, all of which was necessary to cover his tracks and avoid detection by NMT’s security systems and law enforcement should his efforts ultimately be discovered.
He was in.
Ryan moved quickly, finding the billing logs where all U.S. terminated cell phone calls were stored. He smiled at how little had changed since the last time he needed to access NMT’s logs. These systems were huge, incredibly expensive, and making even the slightest of changes took careful planning and even more rigorous testing beforehand. IT execs hated messing with these software beasts as mistakes meant lost revenue. And lost revenue meant goodbye exec who’d effed it up.
His first query asked the system how many texts and or phone calls were made from the originating burner phone. The billing system told him it had only been used once—just to send that single text message. Ryan reflected on that for a moment. The person sending the text had gone through a lot of trouble to send only one message.
He shifted gears to look at how that particular cell phone interacted with NMT’s network—what towers had been contacted for coverage. Once he knew the tower IDs, he could work backwards and determine their physical location and then, based on a little math and triangulation, perhaps even figure out the location from where the text message had been sent. A few minutes later he had the relevant cell tower logs.
Authentication request initiated. Authentication request approved. Authentication token issued. IP Address issued. Text message received from IP address x.x.x.x. Text message sent. Text message delivered to recipient’s carrier. Authentication token expired.
Only a handful of towers had reported any interaction with that cell phone number. And then nothing. This told Ryan that the phone was no longer in use.
It didn’t take a scholar to figure out what had taken place. The sender had taken out the cell phone battery until they’d chosen a secluded spot. Then, they reattached the battery and turned on the cell. The phone booted up, and then they sent the text to his mom, waiting for delivery confirmation. Once received, they turned off the phone, removed the battery and took off.
“Yoda,” Ryan commanded, “analyze NMT’s cell tower log. Triangulate between the tower data and their physical locations and tell me approximately where the cell phone was used to send the text message.”
“Yes, Ryan,” Yoda replied. “Triangulating right now...” The AI system immediately began the process of narrowing down the geographic origin of the text message.
“We’re looking for a large open space Yoda, one that has very few cameras,” Ryan instructed. “The sender would want privacy and seclusion to send the text and shield their identity from curious onlookers.”
“I’ve narrowed my search to a half-mile radius.” Yoda paused. “My analysis indicates that the most likely place based on the calculated probabilities is Franklin Park. It is a 485-acre park that remains Boston’s largest open space. It has acres of woods, miles of trails, and a renowned cross-country running course. With a constant flow of people both into and out of the park, it appears to be an ideal spot for someone who wishes to remain inconspicuous.”
“Makes sense.” Satisfied as he was with Yoda’s response, Ryan remained frustrated. True, they now had limited information about where the text was sent from. But they were also left with an impossible task—locating a potential source of video surveillance near the park to ferret out just what the sender might have looked like. Without knowing anything at all about the sender, this avenue was pointless.
Whoever they were, they were long gone. The question was, were they still in Boston?
Possibly. Maybe even probably. There were no guarantees.
But Boston was a congested city of over four million people, easy to get lost in. So it was a good place to start.
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Claire’s Yoga Room, Third Floor
Tribeca, Manhattan, New York
Tuesday, March 14, 12:15 a.m.
Claire sat in lotus position on her yoga mat, the door tightly shut, the room lit only by two dim candles.
Spread out in front of her were the items Marc had brought back from the Walshes’ house. She’d already handled the his and hers coffee mugs and spoons, and gotten only the same flashes of a shared morning ritual, along with the aura of a warm and loving partnership. The same applied to the twin coasters.
The personalized towels were more telling.
Claire’s eyes closed as she held each one, her hands sinking into the soft terry, her fingers tracing the letters of their names.
Shane’s towel emanated a gamut of emotions, ranging from love and commitment to duty and responsibility. Claire’s brows knit as she picked up on the worry and the protectiveness Shane had been feeling the last time he’d used his towel. Not self-protectiveness. Protectiveness for his family. They were in danger. Grave danger. And it was up to him to eliminate it.
Caitlin’s towel screamed worry and fear. Unlike Shane’s structured emotions, Caitlin’s were abstract and all over the place. Intense. Fearful. Spreading out from her and Shane to Kennedy. What would happen to their daughter? How could Caitlin keep her out of the equation and safe—especially when Kennedy wasn’t with her, when she couldn’t keep an eye on her every move?
The bottle of shampoo both Caitlin and Shane had used was white-hot with terror and an equal amount of determination.
But whose—Shane’s or Caitlin’s? And what was it based on?
With a premonition of dread, Claire set aside the bathroom items and reached for the LEGO blocks Marc had taken.
Surges of darkness jolted through her the instant her fingers touched the blocks. At the same time, a clear vision popped into her head. Caitlin. Kennedy. Sprawled on the carpet, assembling pieces. Building the tower together. Caitlin putting up a brave front. Kennedy concentrating on her project, unaware of her mother’s anguish.
