‘What about email from Frank? Or Ed?’
‘None from Frank at all. A few replies from Ed, including one suggesting very politely that she not forward junk email to him at work. I’ll see it when I get home, honey, he said. Amazingly sweet, for a Red Man.’
‘So, Ed did have an email account of his own?’
‘Yeah, somewhere. But he didn’t use this laptop for it that I can see. If he had, there’d be a folder with his name on it under Documents and Settings. The only folders here are the ones that come with the machine and Angela’s. You need me to show you or you want to believe me on that?’
Sarah held up her hands and said, ‘Hey, it’s not a question of believing. You know more about this stuff than I thought. How come?’
‘Most families have one person who is the designated technical support person. In my family, that’s me. Kids, wife, grandma, Aunt Kate – I spend a lot of time figuring out where things have gone to on the box.’
‘I do that too for my family, but I think in another year or two I’ll be asking Denny for help instead of the other way around. So … anything else you can tell me about Angela from what you see there?’
‘Her email usage started to peter out right after Frank’s death – and ended about when her marriage was breaking up. Probably got to the point where she couldn’t stand to turn on the laptop and just let it sit on that table.’
‘I don’t understand; what’s painful about turning on a computer?’
Ollie clicked the mouse a couple of times and rotated the laptop. ‘Check out her desktop background.’
Sarah stared at the full-screen picture of Angela and Ed, radiant and laughing, cutting their wedding cake on what may have been the happiest day of their lives. When she nodded, Ollie pulled the screen back around to face him again.
Having placated and praised, Sarah went back to her strong suit – persistence. ‘I still would like to have Genius Geek take a look at the machine before we put it back in that trunk. I’ve seen him find stuff that just wasn’t there for us mere mortals.’
‘Aw, come on. What’s a kid with zits going to find that I haven’t?’
‘Plenty, I bet. Ask Leo.’
‘Go away, Sarah.’ He put on his don’t-mess-with-me look.
‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘Go on, ask him.’
For a few seconds, Ollie looked as if he might be getting seriously annoyed – she saw, now, how proud he was of his keyboard skills. She was counting on their history – some speed bumps they’d shared during their years as street cops, and the fund of trust it built up. And before long she saw him get up and walk, grumbling, two cubicles east, where he said, to Leo Tobin’s wide rumpled back, ‘Sarah says you think this Genius Geek kid is the real deal on a computer search.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Leo kept his eyes on his screen and went on tapping keys.
‘You think he might find something in this machine even if I can’t?’
‘Almost certainly.’
‘Well, what’s that silly kid got that—’
Losing patience with the ongoing interruption, Leo leaped out of his chair, scattering paper clips and memo pads over a wide area, and yelled, ‘What the fuck’s the matter with you? Can’t you take yes for an answer?’
Startled, Ollie jumped back. Unfortunately, Sarah had followed close behind him. He barely missed crushing her instep, but trod heavily on her right small toe.
Leo blinked as Sarah jumped out from behind Ollie, yelling in pain. She kicked off her shoe and cradled her right foot in both hands. Standing on one leg like a stork, she groaned, ‘Oh, it’s all my fault.’
‘What is?’
‘I’m the one who insisted he come over here. Ow. I should have checked to see if you were busy. Oh, hell, this hurts.’
Leo said, ‘What’s the matter with your foot?’
‘Ollie stepped on it.’
‘Did I?’ Ollie said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He didn’t sound sorry – just absent-minded. He was staring open-mouthed at Leo’s screen. ‘Leo, what are you looking at?’
‘What does it look like? It’s a perp walk, the unnecessary spectacle beloved of two-bit lawmen everywhere. Two policemen are leading Frank Martin out of the credit union in handcuffs, as if that poor little weenie there was any kind of a threat to anybody. Look at him. Wouldn’t it make you barf?’
Sarah was already looking, but not at poor, cringing Frank Martin. And Ollie was seeing the same thing she was, evidently. Behind a desk, to the right of Frank Martin and his clinging lawmen, an attractive female observer registered shock.