“Did Adam ever mention a man named Ben Forsberg?”
“That’s the guy the cops are looking for. I saw his picture on TV.”
“Yes.”
“Adam mentioned a couple of days ago he was talking with a consultant named Forsberg who might help him get investors to start his new company. Was this guy working with the people that killed Adam?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
“Listen, I don’t care about the money Adam’s software might make . . . I just don’t want Adam’s work to be stopped. I mean, he was killed by a sniper, what the hell is that? He and the project must have been a threat to somebody powerful. Maybe someone in the government.”
“Tell me more about this new project. Because I haven’t heard of any notes, or software found on his system, that would be dangerous.” But then, she thought, she hadn’t gone through Adam’s stuff. Pritchard had had everything in Adam’s office seized and put under her control.
“Homeland Security has his project data, his prototype of the software,” Delia said slowly. “You’ve got the goods. You don’t need to ask me.”
“I can assure you his property won’t be stolen or misused.”
“I’m wondering if that’s why your boss put a choke hold on me. Because you’ve got his software and it’s valuable to Homeland?” Delia’s voice rose.
“Of course not. Our technical people will go through all the programs and files on his system, to see if we can find who might have targeted him, but nothing will be misappropriated. Really, Delia, do you think we’re robbers?”
“I don’t know what to think. Who to trust.”
“Then I’ll trust you. Adam contacted us about a serious threat. Maybe terrorism. That might be why he wanted to disappear for a while. Is there a place where he would go if he was in trouble? Maybe he kept details about this threat in a safe place.”
“He would come here.” She gestured at the lovely, mostly empty house.
“But if he wanted to keep you out of danger . . .”
“He never went anywhere. He lived for his work. He . . .” She stopped. “We drove to New Orleans a few times when we first met, with friends, and we love it. The people, the food, the music. Then this week he made an odd comment about it. We haven’t been since Katrina hit and he said he didn’t want to go anywhere near New Orleans, not anytime soon.”
Vochek frowned. “But he didn’t say why?”
“No.”
Vochek hesitated. Pritchard had warned her to stay clear of Hector Global, but there was no harm in a question, especially since Hector’s name had come up more than once. And Adam was a government contractor, too. “Did Adam ever mention a man named Sam Hector?”
Delia took a long sip of her coffee. “Sam Hector. Not a familiar name.”
“He owns a huge private security firm. Multimillion-dollar government contracts.”
Delia shrugged. “I’m sorry I’m not being of help. Adam didn’t tell me much about his work. It was technical, and I’m not . . . I’m afraid Adam knew computer theory was about a thousand feet above my head.” Her voice went raw.
“Did Adam say anything else unusual?”
“No. He was excited about how his work was progressing. I . . .” Delia stopped abruptly, like a weight had dropped on her. “I’ll call you if there’s anything else I can remember. I have your number from when you called yesterday.”
“I lost my cell phone.” Vochek wrote down her new number on a note-pad sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Can I tell his mother that he’s dead? She may not understand. But I can’t not tell her.”
“Of course. If there’s anything else you can tell me . . .”
“I don’t think so.” Delia folded Vochek’s note in half. “And I’d appreciate knowing when Adam’s body’s going to be released. I have a funeral to plan.”
She knows something, Vochek thought. But if you press her, she’ll just clam up more.
Find out the body’s disposition, that would earn a point. Vochek headed back to her car. Delia Moon, far from being the grieving girlfriend eager to help the investigation, was going to be a problem; Vochek was going to need warrants to find out more about Delia. She called Margaret Pritchard, left a message asking to be updated on what the computer team found on Adam’s computers and also when the body would be released for burial. She tried to call her stolen cell phone again. No response.
She paged through her file and found the name she wanted next. Bob Taggart, the police detective who had assisted the Maui police in investigating Emily Forsberg’s murder. He’d checked into Emily and Ben’s life in Dallas to see if a motive could be uncovered for Ben to kill his new wife. He lived south of Dallas, in the town of Cedar Hill. She called, explained why she wanted to talk to him, and Taggart told her she was welcome to visit him.