Page 40 of Sharp Force
“An intruder would be caught on multiple sensors and cameras. Janet would know it and so would I,” Lucy says.
“Frankly, I’m worried about the hologram suddenly floating through a window like Dana Diletti just experienced.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. But no one is on the property,” Lucy promises. “I don’t blame you for feeling on edge. I can be home in an hour.”
“Benton will be here soon.” I don’t want her fretting about me or doing anything reckless.
“I think I should come.” Her green eyes look at me.
“Please stay put. The roads aren’t safe.”
“Most likely the Slasher is spying and harassing, possibly even you since you’ve been on the news all day talking about him.”
“Yes, we can thank Dana Diletti for that. I’ve given her one damn interview about these cases, and she plays it repeatedly as if to give the impression I talk to her all the time.”
“The killer knows we can’t do anything about his ghostly projections,” Lucy says heatedly. “You can’t catch or shoot a hologram. And we can’t trace it either.”
“Implying that the spectrum analyzers aren’t picking up any unusual signals on our property,” I assume.
“Not so far. But like I said, we can’t trace the Slasher’s holograms. We can’t detect anything is there unless we see it on camera or with our own two eyes.” Anger has crept into her tone.
When Lucy feels outsmarted, she takes it personally.
“It’s a most unpleasant thought that the hologram could be hovering nearby, and we don’t know.” My attention is riveted to the shaded windows.
“The good news is if the Slasher decides to show up in person, we’ll know it instantly,” Lucy threatens. “It’s not possible for him to defeat our entire security system since not all of it is wireless. I assume you’ve got your Glock handy, Aunt Kay?”
“I’m all set. And hopefully, you can drop by tomorrow to exchange gifts and maybe have lunch.” I switch to a happier subject.
“I’ll be there,” she says. “Afterward I’ll drive you and Benton to the airport.”
“Much better than Uber.” I tell her Merry Christmas and that I miss her.
Settling on top of the bed, I take a sip of Scotch, the sherry patina waking up my tastebuds, reminding me I’m famished. I open my briefcase, pulling out Rowdy O’Leary’s medical records, police reports and multiple news stories copied off the internet.
Stacking the paperwork next to me, I cover my legs with the duvet, firelight wavering, wood snapping and popping. I begin reading about the hit-and-run six years ago on December 30, some four miles from where the O’Learys lived at the time and still do.
The first officer to arrive at the scene reported that Rowdy was struck at approximately ten p.m., a light rain falling, the night misty and dark. A motorist noticed a body on the roadside and stopped to help, calling for an ambulance. There were no witnesses who might have seen what happened.
The investigation was turned over to the Virginia State Police. When Trooper Trad Whalen interviewed Reba O’Leary the next day, she said that Rowdy often jogged late at night. Under a lot of stress at work, he was anxious and suffering from insomnia.
“The software designing business is cutthroat competitive,”I read in the transcript of Reba’s recorded interview. “He’d been complaining that he felt ripped off and even spied on. He was always saying that you can’t trust people.”
“Why would anyone spy on your husband, ma’am?” Whalen asked. “Related to his work, I’m assuming?”
“A lot of intellectual theft goes on in the tech world, and Rowdy’s a genius, people always after his ideas. And some of them have been stolen for sure. But he also can be paranoid,” Reba explained. “Thinking someone’s out to get him when no one is. He’s always been like that.”
“Is it possible someone was out to get him, ma’am?”
“I suppose anything’s possible,” she answered.
“I’m wondering what your husband was so afraid of,” Whalen said to her. “Did he have any reason to be afraid of you?”
“Goodness, no.”
“Have you two been getting along, Reba? Any relationship problems?”
“Who doesn’t have those?”
