“I think I know how they’re doing it,” I said.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Enlighten me.”
I handed him the flyer I’d received in the mail. “Don’t you find it curious that the thieves magically know who keeps cash in their safes?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I mean, you wouldn’t think too many people would keep loads of cash at home, right?”
“Right.”
I pointed at him. “I’m willing to bet that each one of these houses has a security camera trained on the safe. I know I’ve seen at least a couple of them,” I said. “ArmorTech offers remote video access. I guarantee you someone is hacking that system and watching that video.”
Reese’s eyes widened. “And shutting down the system before they go in.”
I smiled. “Bingo.”
“Well, shit.” He handed the flyer back to me. “How are you going to prove it?”
“I’m going to consult with a criminal.”
He laughed. “Oh, really?”
“Yep.”
“What do you need me to do?”
I jerked my thumb toward the computer monitor. “Can you find those surveillance clips for me? And do some digging to find out if ArmorTech has ever been hacked before?”
He nodded and stood up. “Yeah.”
“Hey, Reese?”
He turned back around.
“But be chill about it. It could be someone on the inside over there for all we know.”
He smirked. “When am I ever anything but chill?”
I laughed. “Thanks, man.”
As he walked out, Dennis Morgan—dressed in orange and white stripes—walked in. “You asked to see me, Detective?”
“Yes.” I nodded toward the chairs. “Have a seat, please.”
Obediently, Dennis dropped into a chair. “What’cha need?”
Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my desk. “I need some information. Techie stuff.”
One of his flaming red eyebrows arched in question. I was about to be in his debt, and he knew it. “Information, huh?”
I nodded. “You know I can’t get any time knocked off your sentence. You’ve only got a few weeks left,” I explained. “But how about a meal from the outside or something?”
“How about The Walking Dead?”
I turned my ear toward him. “Excuse me?”
He smiled. “Man, I haven’t seen anything since the mid-season finale last year. You know, Rick shot that little Sophia girl on the farm. She was a zombie and shit.” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know. I think the group might turn on him or something.”
That was a good episode.
“You want to watch The Walking Dead?” I asked to clarify.
“Yeah.”
Shaking my head, I laughed. Hard. “That’s the most interesting request I’ve ever received.”
“So, is it a deal?” he asked.
“It’s a deal. If you can help me.”
He sat up straight. “All right. Hit me with it. What do you need?”
“You’re in for hacking, right?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“How possible is it to hack into a home security system? One that’s web-based, online.”
He laughed. “For you?”
I pointed at him. “No. For someone like you.”
“Pshhh…” He sat back in his seat again. “Piece of cake.” Then, as if remembering his stripes and current incarceration, he began cautiously searching the corners of the ceiling for bugs. “I mean… I’ve never done that or anything.”
Chuckling to myself, I held up a hand to silence him. “No one’s listening.”
He seemed to relax a bit.
The truth was, Dennis wasn’t a bad guy. He’d hacked the computer at the hospital and erased the debts of cancer patients. I’m not saying I would’ve let him go—a crime is a crime and it’s my job to enforce the law—but there’s a big difference between Dennis and whoever shot Carissa Withers.
He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Give me enough time and I can get into the Pentagon.” He looked around cautiously. “What do you need?”
Man, he must really want to watch some zombies.
I held up my hand again. “That’s not necessary.” I handed him the flyer for Daycon. “I’m curious about something like this.”
He laughed and didn’t even accept the flier. “Shit, man. Daycon has holes in it like swiss cheese. My niece could get through their shit and she’s seven.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You can get through their net with a decent SDR and a—”