"Well?" she said. "Where are we?"
I told Evelyn about the car rental lead. "The company is a dead end so far. The Internet highway is nothing but roadblocks. The company name is IPP Incorporated."
"A shell company," Quinn said. "That was my guess."
I nodded. "I don't have a lot of experience with things like that, but Quinn says a very generic name combined with no easily accessible information suggests a shell company, which doesn't help us out at all."
"I'll dig some more," Quinn said. "See if I can find it through other sources."
"Evelyn will, too," Jack said.
"Will I?" she said.
"Up to you. Don't feel like helping?" He pointed at the door.
"Of course, I'd be happy to check my sources," Evelyn said. "I would just prefer to be asked."
Jack looked as if he wanted to say something to that, but he brought his coffee over to me instead and we returned to the journal.
As we worked on that, Quinn and Evelyn did research. Quinn's online resources are law-enforcement based; Evelyn's are criminal. The Internet has its share of side roads into the underworld, usually disguised and tightly guarded. Evelyn knew her way into all of them. When she searched for IPP, Inc., though, she ran into a problem: someone, somewhere really didn't like people looking for that information.
The search triggered a computer worm, which set off an alert. She tried another search result link and got the same thing. So did a third.
"This is interesting," she murmured.
"I think the word you want is scary," I said. "That's some serious tech power."
"Which makes it interesting." She shut down her computer and reached for her phone. "It seems I'll need to do this the old-fashioned way."
The old-fashioned way was also the slow way, so Jack and I decided to track down Shannon Broadhurst in the meantime. It was her first year at college, so she was staying on campus. I opted for the simple approach--go to her dorm room and knock.
The dorm was in what looked like an apartment building. There was a security desk inside the doors, and no passing it without proper access. I flashed my Department of Intrastate Regulation and Enforcement ID. It's a lovely card really. Even has a photo of me. Very official . . . or it would be, if there was any such agency. The card is from Quinn. It's his standard trick. There are so many damn federal agencies that unless you're dealing with government, no one's going to question the existence of this one, especially if you say it with enough authority. Quinn's got that part down pat. I did a decent enough job to convince a guard who looked barely past college age himself. It helped that I wasn't asking for acces
s to the building. I just wanted to speak to Ms. Broadhurst.
Shannon wasn't in her room. The guard was in the midst of taking a message when he glanced up to see a young, dark-haired woman walking in.
"Oh, that's her now," the guard said.
The girl looked young for her age. Maybe five foot two, barely a hundred pounds. Oversized sweatshirt. Dark hair pulled back. No makeup. When she saw us looking her way, she slowed, and I thought she might take off, but she only steeled herself and walked up to the desk with a casual, "Hey, Billy, what's up?"
"These folks want to speak to you."
I repeated my introduction, quickly adding, "We just need to ask you a few questions about someone you used to know."
"Sure." She waved a thank-you to the desk guard and led us across the lobby. "We can find a quiet place outside. Who's it about?"
"A man you knew as James Emery."
She stiffened and I tensed, ready for her to bolt.
"Did you catch the son of a bitch yet?" she asked finally. "Please tell me that's why you're here."
She looked over and in her eyes I saw something that hit me square in the gut. A rage and a hate so familiar it was like looking in a mirror. I wanted to tell her Aldrich was dead. And I couldn't.
"We aren't at liberty to discuss the exact situation, but a case is being built against him, and he's not . . . at large. I can assure you of that."
"Good. Whatever you need from me to put him behind bars, you have it."