Dead Man Code: A Jarvis Mann Detective Novel

  Dead Man Code

  A Jarvis Mann Detective Novel

  By

  R Weir

  Copyright © R Weir 2016

  The right of R Weir to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Publisher. This book may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise disposed of by way of trade in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published, without the prior written consent of the Publisher. No responsibility for loss occasioned to any person or corporate body acting or refraining to act as a result of reading material in this book can be accepted by the Publisher, by the Author, or by the employer(s) of the Author. Certain images copyright.

  R Weir. Dead Man Code.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyediting by:

  Gabriella West at

  www.EditforIndies.com

  Great Scott Editing

  www.greatscottediting.net

  Cover Design by:

  Happi Anarky

  www.happianarky.com

  To my IT friends

  Lorraine, Trina, Teresa and Byron:

  Crack the Code

  Thanks to all of my beta readers,

  who helped make Dead Man Code

  the best it could be.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 1

  I was summoned to meet with a cyber security expert on a case I’d been working. He said he had important information he needed to share, but preferred not to discuss it over the open airwaves. He was borderline paranoid about eavesdroppers, likely for good reason. We had talked before secretly, his words enlightening, though not enough to crack the case. He wanted to walk away, fear owning him, but I talked him into digging deeper. I had not heard from him for a while, but tonight he called claiming to have damning evidence to share. So I trekked over to his office building near the Denver Tech Center, the darkness of the parking lot making me nervous as I waited for his reply to my text, signaling me to come up to his third-floor space.

  I sat and waited; ten minutes and then twenty, singing a song or two under my breath to help pass the time, my fingers drumming a nervous beat. Staring at my phone didn’t make the text arrive any sooner. I tapped the screen to make sure I had a signal and could browse the Internet. ESPN loaded promptly, showing me the Rockies had lost again. Impatient, I decided to wait no longer, and ever vigilant of trouble, I stepped out of my Mustang. Apparently paranoia was contagious. My phone dinged, the text finally arriving, saying to come up.

  Security in the building was poor: no locked front entrance, elevators and stairs easily accessed without a code to enter, or magnetic card to swipe. I rode the lift up with an uneasy feeling. My gun was sitting on my back hip as a measure of security, at the ready, covered by the tail of my shirt. The long hallway of beat-up beige walls and worn, stained gray carpeting led to his front office door where the security normally started, the sign spelling out “Colorado Cyber Border Security.” But when I reached for the handle I found it ajar. Leaning back against the sidewall, I used my foot to push it open, careful of danger. Nothing happened, so I peered around the door jam, seeing nothing. I moved in low and up against the stucco, watching, and hearing anything that moved. The office wasn’t large, two openings, one on each side, each with a door. The first on the left was closed, the one on the right open. The office of the man I was supposed to meet, his nameplate mounted in brass.

  Creeping closer, I could hear noise now, though faint. Someone was there, but I wasn’t about to call out and bring attention to myself. Caution at the situation got my heart racing. Instinctively, my gun was poised in my right hand, the left one still taped from an injury. As I closed on the final doorway, I counted to myself and on three sprung, ready to strike.

  I entered, quickly surveying the scene, gun at my side. A man stood there, about my height and weight, with curly blond hair and bushy sideburns. He turned and pointed his gun at me, since I was slow to raise mine. I recognized the face. One I knew well, but didn’t care for. He aimed center mass, looking as if he’d fire at any moment, his hand a little shaky. Adam King, a fellow private detective, a foe I had encountered before because of his attempts at stealing my clients, stood there nervously, sweat beads covering his pale face, appearing a bit scared. A dead body lay behind him, the cyber security expert I was supposed to meet, an apparent bullet hole in his head.

  “Don’t move, Jarvis,” he said with a tremor in his voice, his finger on the trigger of his 9mm.

  My mind searched for a snappy comeback or brilliant idea to get me out of this situation. Nothing came to mind as time froze still. There was little I could do but stand there and let him shoot me.

  Chapter 2

  Months earlier I was back in Denver, returning from Des Moines, victorious at the conclusion of my case, exacting revenge on the man who was responsible for my brother’s death. It was a shallow victory, but I had accepted it. Yet I was a failure once again in my personal life, as I had cheated on my girlfriend of nearly a year, Melissa, and was now facing the music. Her reaction was swift and painful, as she slapped my face in anger, then pounded on my chest with the flats of her hands. All I could do was stand there and take it, for I had betrayed her trust once again. She started to cry, and I pulled her into me, whispering, “I’m sorry,” though the words certainly rang hollow. She twisted out of my grip and wiped her eyes, more anger in her words.

  “I can’t be around you anymore, Jarvis!” she said bitterly. “You’ve broken my heart and I can’t stand the sight of you! You must go.”

  I stood there staring, uncertain what to do, looking for words to find closure. No
thing I could say would change things.

  “Leave!” she said again, forcefully. “I said leave, damn you!”

  There was nothing more to do. Ashamed, I climbed back on the motorcycle and rode off. I was upset, too, and drove way faster than I should, traveling many miles to nowhere. Well south of town I stopped on the side of a quiet two-lane road, the afternoon sun beating down on me. I sat on the ground and put my head in my hands, cursing myself for screwing up the best thing I had in my life. I punched my chest, then the ground until my knuckles were red and nearly bleeding. Exhausted, I lay back and closed my eyes, lying there for an unknown period, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. Pieces of the events that led to all of this. The death of my brother. The killing of the man who had orchestrated it. The drunken night that led to me sleeping with Roni. The motorcycle I now lay next to, a gift given to me by my sister-in-law and niece. It was a jumble of emotions and images I couldn’t contain. Soon a car pulled up with black and blue stripes on the door, with State Patrol in black letters on the rear-side panel.

  “Are you OK, sir?” an officer called out from his PA system.

  I sat up and gave him a thumbs-up, standing now, my face warm and feeling burned from the sun.

  The Colorado state trooper stepped out, holster unsnapped, his hand at the ready.

  “Have you been drinking, sir?” he asked.

  “No, Officer. I was sitting here thinking over some things. It’s been a tough day.”

  “Let’s make sure.”

  He had me do a few tests, which I passed easily. He looked in my eyes and could see my pain.

  “How far away do you live?”

  “South part of Denver, west of the DU area.”

  “A long ride home. Do you need a lift back into town? You can arrange to get your bike later.”

  “I will be fine. Lost the love of my life today, and needed to ride and clear my head.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Not really.”

  “A matter of time. We’ve all been through it.”

  “Way more often than I should have. But it’s my own fault. No one to blame but myself.”

  “Time to make a change, then. Get your life back on track and be a better man.”

  “Easier said than done for me.”

  “Maybe. But if you want to badly enough, it can be accomplished.”

  He snapped his holster and headed back to his vehicle.

  “Sure you don’t want a lift?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be OK.”

  “Drive safe. I know on those two-wheeled muscle machines, it’s easy to drive too fast.”

  I nodded and as he drove away, I climbed back on and made a slower trek back home, where I found a cold beer and soft sofa. I collapsed there to sleep away the rest of the day and into the night, with sad dreams of the tear-streaked face of the woman I loved bouncing in and out of my slumber. For me the sleep was not restful.

  Chapter 3

  It took many days to pull myself together, flush the sadness and too many beers from my system. Knowing I had a client waiting in the wings forced me to get back to work, to put my mind on other things. Besides, she had given me a retainer before I went back to Iowa to resolve my brother’s murder, and most of that money was already gone. So refunding it would put me in the red and make for an unhappy customer, which I couldn’t afford.

  We met at a local sandwich shop a mile or so from home. Feeling cleaner and dressed in slacks and a polo, I was presentable, certainly more so than I’d been days earlier. When I walked in I found her sitting at a back table, drinking her tea out of a plastic cup, no food sitting before her. She was small in size, maybe 5’ 3”, had a nice figure covered with a knee-length gray skirt and dark blue short-sleeved blouse. Her blonde hair was loose, with waves that reached her shoulders and mostly covered her large earrings. She smiled when I approached, though sadness lingered behind her eyes, much as they likely lingered behind mine. She had hired me to find out who had killed her husband months ago, a cold case with no suspects.

  “Hello, Mandy,” I said while sitting down. “How are you holding up?”

  “Not great, but in time we’ll see. I’ll feel better once I know who did this.”

  “Well, I’m clear now to put my full attention on this case. I wanted to meet with you to reassure you of this and to go over everything again, since it’s been a while since we first talked. Determine if there are any new developments.”

  “Yes, it has. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back.”

  “I’m sorry. I was dealing with a personal matter, not unlike your own. It took longer to resolve.”

  She looked up from her tea, her face looking pale, as if never seeing the sun.

  “And were you able to resolve it satisfactorily?”

  “Yes. One in the win column for me.”

  I left out the part about the pair of losses on the personal side.

  “I’m glad. I hope you can resolve this one as well. What else do you need to know?”

  “Tell me all you can about your husband. Start anywhere you want. I find it’s best to learn as much as I can about all the parties.”

  She let out a long sigh.

  “I know it’s hard. Take your time.”

  “Aaron and I met in college, about six years ago. He was a nerdy geek and I was the pretty cheerleader. It wasn’t love at first sight, but over time there was something about him that made my heart beat faster. He was shy, so I asked him out. All the other girls thought I was nuts, because they wanted the jock and couldn’t see what I saw in him. Pretty soon we never wanted to be apart. About a year later we moved in together and six months after were married.”

  She grabbed her purse, pulled out a photo and handed to me.

  “Here’s a picture of him shortly before he was killed.”

  Taking a look at him, he didn’t appear all that geeky to me, though he was wearing thick-framed eyeglasses. No pock-marked skin and goofy grin. He actually was pretty handsome if you looked closely.

  “May I keep this?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Please go on and tell me more about him.”

  “As he completed his degree, he had offers from several tech companies. Microsoft, Apple and Cisco all were interested in his skills. But a newer tech company came to the forefront with a big money offer, which he jumped at. They had offices here in Denver, so he wouldn’t have to move.”

  “What was the company?”

  “Waterton Albers New Networking Systems. Most in the tech industry refer to them as WANN.”

  “Is this who he was working for when he was murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”

  “Been around for a while now and rising fast. They have cut into Cisco’s profits significantly in the last couple of years, selling network firewalls, switches and routers at a price much lower than anyone else in the industry. Breaking into the consumer market first and then the business one. Their market share is climbing, with a large number of big companies switching to their equipment and software because of the cost savings. They have razor-thin margins, but their stock is through the roof.”

  Stock pricing, I cared little about, or the tech world in general. It was all foreign to me. I did know that sagging profits didn’t always translate into poor stock prices. But I’d have to do some serious research to understand more thoroughly.

  “What was it he did there?”

  “High-level security testing. It was his job to find bugs and security holes in their software design.”

  “So you believe he found something which may have gotten him killed?”

  “Yes…maybe…I don’t really know for certain. He spoke software geek-speak a lot. I often tuned him out, because I didn’t understand it. All I know is something concerned him about what they were doing in their products.”

  “I see in my notes from before that you mentioned identi
ty theft.”

  “It’s a term you often hear. I threw it out there. I have no hard facts.”

  “So it’s not something he mentioned.”

  “He may have. I don’t recall for certain. Again there were times I would tune him out when the computer acronyms started flying. I wish now I’d listened more closely.”

  It seemed hard to imagine what they had in common, but that wasn’t my place to worry about for now. Though my experience with computer nerds was, they did talk a lot of gibberish I didn’t understand either. This case would definitely test my attention span.

  “What else can you provide for me? Any notes or files he kept on what was going on? Anything digital on his home computer he may have shared via social media?”

  “No. He never shared anything work-related on social media. He knew, working for a tech company, they would be monitoring for leaks of any kind. He would only post personal items, like pictures of us together, friends or family.”

  “What about friends or family he might have confided in?”

  “He wasn’t close to his parents. They live in San Diego and didn’t even come to the funeral. Only sent flowers, which really burned me. As for friends, I can give you a few names. I’m certain they will talk with you. But I doubt you’ll learn anything more than what I’ve heard from them.”

  I wrote down the names of the friends and could talk with them later. They might open up more around me than her, as they might be afraid of hurting her more. I got the parents’ names as well. There might be something there that I might be able to pry out of them. To not even come to the funeral was odd.

  “How about in your life? Anything going on which may have led to his death?”

  She looked up from her tea, as if surprised by the question.

  “I’m sorry. It’s something I must ask. Sometimes people you love are hurt by things you do or have done.”

  I was speaking from past experience. She looked as if she might begin to cry, but held it together.