‘Naw, she’s never included him in that. He just sent a message to her wall – a post, like anyone can do. Normally, everything would be filtered to only Courtney. The weird thing is, this guy knew you would get it.’ He searched through the forwarding options and unchecked Striker’s email address. ‘There. Fixed again . . . But that doesn’t explain how he got into your email options in the first place. What are your security settings on your computer?’

Striker shook his head. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘You need to know this stuff, Shipwreck. It’s the computer age, remember?’

‘That’s Felicia’s role. I shoot people.’

Ich laughed softly. He worked his way to the internet settings and shook his head. ‘Your firewall is down, man. Anyone can get in here.’ He made a few clicks, then saved the changes. ‘There. It’s secure now. But for all we know, this guy could’ve been rooting around in your computer for months. If he’s good enough, that is – and I think he is.’

Striker said nothing. He was not a social-networking-savvy guy, nor was he technologically up to date. Every day, he just turned on the computer and it worked; that was about as far as his skills went. Felicia was the technological master of their partnership. He wished she was here right now.

For many reasons.

‘What about the original sender?’ he asked Ich. ‘Can we find him?’

‘Untraceable.’ Ich grabbed a can of Monster drink from the table and slurped back the rest of it. He then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and continued. ‘First off, you need a warrant for this stuff.’

‘That’s not a problem, I can get one in two hours.’

Ich shook his head. ‘Don’t bother, that’s not the point. I got a contact with MyShrine, and I already used him. He gave me the account info – off the record, of course. The message is being sent through a proxy server. Which isn’t good for us.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because most of those companies wipe their data every hour on the hour. And ninety-nine per cent of them are set up offshore. The chance of getting anything back is abysmal, much less something useful. Plus, if this guy’s smart enough to do this, he’s probably using other hide-ware programs as well.’ Ich gave Striker a hard look. ‘Be careful with this guy. This shit ain’t easy to do.’

‘Point taken.’

Striker read the message one more time. Analysed it. There was no actual threat in the words, only insinuation. But that was enough. And the sender had signed the message with no real name, only The Adder – a name Striker had never heard before.

It was typical. In a time when internet sickos were cyber-bullying people, opening paedophiliac chat rooms, and defacing online memorial sites like creepy electronic trolls, not much surprised him any more.

He swallowed back the rest of his cup of coffee. ‘Thanks for your help, Ich. Really, I owe you one.’

The techie just shrugged. ‘Any time, Detective.’

Striker put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve done enough. Go home and get some sleep.’ He smiled. ‘My day’s just starting.’

Ich nodded and stood up from the computer. ‘If this guy sends any more messages, don’t delete them. Don’t open them. And don’t turn off the computer. Just leave it alone and call me – ASAP. I’ll come right over.’

Striker nodded. He walked Ich to the front door, thanked him again for his time, and watched as the police car drove off into the grey darkness of the winter morning.

Ich had no sooner left when another police car came roaring down the road. An unmarked. A Ford Taurus. It came to a sliding stop on the icy road and almost hit the kerb. The sight of it made Striker smile.

Felicia had arrived.

She got out gingerly, balancing two coffees in her hand. Tim Horton’s coffee. The Best. She walked up the sidewalk, kicked open the gate, climbed the steps, and handed him one. In the yellowish light of the porch lamp, she looked pretty. Rested. Like she’d slept well and was ready to go for another day.

‘Good morning, Sunshine,’ he offered.

She stepped right past him. ‘Where the hell’s this message?’

Before he could even answer, she walked into the house, kicked off her boots, and crossed into the kitchen. By the time Striker had shut the door and caught up with her, she was already paging through MyShrine.

‘The Adder?’ she asked.

‘It’s a type of snake,’ he explained. When she gave him one of her annoyed looks, he added, ‘A poisonous one.’

‘I know it’s a poisonous snake, Jacob. I didn’t grow up in a friggin’ commune. Who is this guy?’

Striker shrugged. ‘It’s untraceable.’

Felicia put down her coffee and shook her head. Her eyes stayed heavy on the screen and her jaw was tight.

‘I don’t like this,’ she said.

‘No one does. But there’s no real threat here, just a wise-ass message. And that’s the way I’m taking it for now. He’s just another loon.’

‘Or he could be our guy.’

Striker nodded in agreement. ‘I realize that. I understand the coincidence and timing. But the more you go over things, the more you realize that’s a pretty big could.’

‘How so?’

Striker joined her at the table. ‘Well, for one, the message was sent after we’d been seen on TV. If it had come in before the news segment, I would have given it a little more credit, but now, well, it could have been anyone in close proximity to a television set.’

Felicia thought this over, but her face remained hard. ‘Still, we should take some precautions. I mean, what if it is him? We just go around doing our job like a pair of sitting ducks?’

‘No, we watch our backs. Like we always do.’

She said nothing for a moment. She read the message once more, then twice, and frowned. ‘It’s like this is a game to him,’ she said. ‘He’s a sick fuck. And he’s bold. Who knows, he might even come after us.’

Striker smiled at that.

‘If only we could be so lucky.’

Twenty-Nine

It was just after six a.m. when Striker and Felicia decided to leave his little bungalow on Camosun Street and head for the downtown core. Courtney was still fast asleep in her bed, and Striker had considered waking her up to say goodbye. He missed her, as always, and he felt like they never had enough time together. Felt like he was failing her as a father.

That thought was always with him, clouding his thoughts.

In the end, he had opted to let her sleep. The girl had been depressed lately, upset over her injuries and the lack of progress in her rehabilitation. This morning, she seemed to be getting some much-needed rest.

He didn’t want to disturb that.

He left a note on the computer, telling her not to touch it because of police-related reasons, then left the house with Felicia by his side. As they stepped into the Ford, Striker took a long last look at his cosy little rancher.

Felicia noted this. ‘Holy Jeez, she’ll be fine, worrywart.’

Striker frowned and she laughed at him. He climbed inside the car, started the engine, and they headed for police headquarters. Not the downtown one, but the building on Cambie Street. It was their next best step in finding Larisa Logan.

It was where Victim Services was located.

Cambie Street was not far from the Dunbar area, so they made it there in less than ten minutes. When they arrived on scene at 0615 hours, the parking lot out front was unusually empty. Echo shift had already gone home for the night, Alpha was out on the road, and Bravo had not yet arrived.

Striker ditched the car and headed into the foyer. The building here on Cambie was owned by the Insurance Corporation of BC, not the Vancouver Police Department, and this pissed off a lot of the cops. Underground parking was shared with ICBC civilians – and, therefore, insecure – the elevators broke down every second week, and the entire building had a ramshackle, compartmentalized feel to it.