The Fractal Murders Part 18

"Jesus." Scott subscribes to AOL and all the other services, so I knew he'd covered all the bases.

"I went through a s.h.i.tload of message boards and BLOGs too, but the only people using them are computer geeks and graduate students."

"Any mathematical nicknames?"

"One guy called himself Alex the Great, but he lives in Ontario."

"How'd you learn that? I thought all you could get from message boards was the person's e-mail address."

"It's called extraction," he said. "If you have the right software, you can retrieve the on-line service's billing information for anyone who's been in a particular forum or section. Marketing companies use it all the time to develop mailing lists for people with specific interests."

"So tell me about Alex the Great."

"He's not our man," Scott said. "He and some other guy were trading messages about the pros and cons of a new programming language, and a math professor would've known the answers to the questions he was asking."

"Thanks for trying," I said. I stood and took my dishes to the sink.

"I'm not done," he said. "I didn't think of it until Wednesday, but it occurred to me we're looking for someone with an interest in the history of mathematics, so I visited a lot of web sites and posted as many messages as I could. Said I was a high school senior writing a paper on the history of mathematics and wanted to learn as much as possible about it."

"Get any responses?" I resumed my seat.

"Eight as of last night."

"Anyone using a nickname?"

"No, but I got a billing address for each of them, and I figure we might as well check them out."

"Might as well," I said.

He gulped the last of his coffee. "How do you want to start?" he asked.

"Let's start with the phone numbers," I said. "Of those hundred and fifty-seven listings, only forty-eight are in the Western states. There's an on-line crisscross service that will give us a street address for each phone number. We'll compare those with the driving abstracts to avoid duplication, then take a look at the people who responded to your messages and come up with some sort of master list."

"Okay," he said, "let's get to it." I followed him downstairs to what had become known as the War Room. Scott's bas.e.m.e.nt contains more computer and electronic equipment than any home office I've ever seen. The floor is covered in beige carpeting and the walls are finished with wood paneling, but with all the maps, scientific tables, and astronomical charts he has tacked up, the room resembles a military command post.

The crisscross service turned out to be more useful than I had antic.i.p.ated. In addition to providing a street address for each of the forty-eight phone numbers we'd submitted, we were able to learn how long the person had been receiving phone service at that address. By eliminating those who had obtained service prior to Tobias's disappearance, we shrank the list of possibles from forty-eight to eleven.

By noon we had sorted through all the information and created a list of fourteen men. Fourteen men in the nine Western states known to be using one of thirty-four names prominent in the history of mathematics. Fourteen men who had obtained a driver's license or phone service after Tobias's disappearance.

"The scary part," Scott said, "is that all this a.s.sumes he's in the Western states."

"And that he has a driver's license or phone service," I added. I didn't say it, but most frightening was the possibility that Tobias might not even be the killer. We really had nothing on him.

"Now what?" Scott asked.

"On Monday I'll start calling county officials and learn as much as I can about these people. Anyone who registered to vote before Tobias disappeared is off the list. Anyone who paid property taxes before Tobias disappeared is off the list. Anyone who registered a vehicle before Tobias disappeared is off the list." Scott turned off the computer he'd been using, then stood and stretched.

"Boy," he said, "being a private investigator sure is glamorous."

18.

C'MON," TROY URGED, "PUSH IT, PUSH IT." I SQUEEZED OUT TWO MORE REPS, THEN SET THE BAR DOWN ON THE RACK. MY FIFTH AND FINAL SET OF SQUATS. "NOT BAD FOR A GEEZER," HE SAID.

"My legs are fried."

"You'll need that leg strength if Polk comes after you," he joked. I just laughed.

It was Monday afternoon, and we were finishing our workout at Troy's gym. The first day of June. I'd spent the morning on the phone with county officials throughout the West, and I'd trimmed the list of potential Thomas Tobiases from fourteen to six: George Cantor, San Anselmo, California John von Neumann, Scottsdale, Arizona David D. Hilbert, Orem, Utah David T. Hilbert, Irvine, California Karl Gauss, Mora, New Mexico Hermann Weyl, Seattle, Washington "Want to grab a bite to eat?" I asked after we had showered and changed. It was almost five, and I didn't relish driving home during the rush hour.

"Can't," he said. "We've got Boy Scouts." Troy's son, Andrew, had joined the Boy Scouts a year ago and Troy had volunteered to serve as an a.s.sistant scoutmaster. "Want to tag along and talk about the exciting field of investigations?"

"Probably not a good day for me to speak on that topic," I said.

I bid my brother farewell and walked around the fashionable Cherry Creek area, where his gym is located. Not surprisingly, I ended up at The Tattered Cover, the largest bookstore in the Rocky Mountain region. It's supposed to be a great place to meet intelligent women, but tonight I was just looking for books. I didn't purchase any, but if anyone ever writes Heidegger for Dummies or Idiot's Guide to Phenomenology, those are two I'll buy.

I left the bookstore around six-thirty, found my truck, and headed home. The Rockies were in town that night, so most of the traffic was coming into downtown while I was heading out. Once I got past Thirty-eighth, it was smooth sailing.

It was 7:40 when I arrived in Nederland. I hadn't checked my mail that morning, so I stopped at the post office before going home. There was plenty of junk mail, a few bills, and one letter with a return address in Dayton, Ohio. Who did I know in Ohio? The only person I could think of was a former client, an embezzler serving time at a federal penitentiary. I opened the envelope. It was a handwritten letter from Monica:

Pepper:

As you can probably tell, Mindy and I made it back to good old Dayton. I'm working in a department store, and I'm already itching to get back to school and sunny California.

I found the enclosed article while unpacking and I thought it might interest you. It contains a discussion of the use of fractal geometry in predicting the behavior of economic markets. Thought it might help you catch the bad guys.

Say hi to your groupie.

Fondly,

Monica

The article was ent.i.tled "Frontiers of Finance" and had been published in The Economist. I put it in my shirt pocket and drove home.

I let the dogs out, cleaned up the house, and wondered what to do with myself. Monday Night Football would return in a few short months, the Broncos would begin their annual quest for a Super Bowl t.i.tle, and all would be right with the world. My problem was what to do for the next few hours. I considered driving to Barker Reservoir and throwing a few lures in the water, but it would be dark soon. Besides, over the past few years, I'd found myself thinking more about animal rights, with the result that I was now somewhat ambivalent about fishing.

I suppose I could've read the article Monica had sent, but I'd done enough for one day and just wanted to relax. I scanned my collection of CDs and selected Peter, Paul and Mary. Then I did something I do once every six months-I tamped some tobacco into a pipe my father had given me, then sat on the front deck while I enjoyed the music.

After forty-five minutes or so, Buck started barking and I saw Luther and Missy walking up the path to my home. They had a dog with them, the same shepherd mix I'd seen in their yard a few weeks ago. It wasn't unusual for Luther to stop by, but Missy seldom accompanied him. Buck trotted over and extracted the requisite amount of affection from each of them.

"Hey, kids," I said, "what's up?" We exchanged greetings and I invited them to sit down. Missy's long gray hair was in a bun and she looked distraught. She took the other rocking chair and Luther sat on the porch steps.

"Missy saw something today," said Luther, "that I think you should know about."

"What's that?" I asked. She seemed hesitant.

"Go ahead," urged Luther.

"Well," she began tentatively, "a few days ago I saw a man park on the road and walk up to your house, but I didn't pay much attention to it."

"What kind of car?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "A big car."

"What did he look like?"

"I didn't get a good look at him," she said. "He was tall."

"Tell him what you saw this afternoon," Luther interjected.

"Well," she started, "this afternoon I saw a man walking around your house like he was inspecting it. He parked on the road and walked around your house a couple of times."

"A meter reader?" My pipe had died, so I relit it.

"No," she said, "he was wearing a tie."

"What did he look like?" I asked.

"He was real big and had blond hair."

"The same man you saw a few days ago?"

"It could have been. I'm not sure."

"Did you get a better look at the car?" I asked.

"It looked new," she said. "One of those big luxury cars."

"A Cadillac? A Lincoln?"

"I'm not very good with those things," she said. "Sorry."

"That's okay," I said. "What color was it?"

"Dark blue."

"Did he visit any other houses?"

"No," she insisted, "he came to see your house. He even looked in your windows. Buck was going nuts this afternoon. That's what caught my attention."

"Did he see you?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Did you get a license plate?"

"I wanted to," she said, "but I couldn't get close enough without letting him see me."

Big guy with blond hair. Wearing a tie. Driving a late-model sedan. It could've been a Realtor prospecting for new listings, but they usually leave a card or a brochure. Luther interrupted my thoughts.

"Does this mean anything to you?" he asked.

"It might," I said. "Thanks for being alert. If you see anything else unusual, let me know." They a.s.sured me they would, then walked away hand in hand.

I mulled over Missy's story as I continued listening to Peter, Paul and Mary. I tried to think of an innocent explanation for what she'd witnessed, but couldn't. If Polk had bugged my house or tapped my phone, he was about to feel the hammer of justice. I'd hammer in the morning. I'd hammer in the evening. I'd hammer all over this land.

"Mornin', Wanda," I said.

"Mornin', Pepper," she replied. "Earliest I've seen you here in a while. You wanna try a fresh bear claw?" She reached for my Foghorn Leghorn mug.

"Sure," I said. I have to buy something once in a while to avoid giving the impression that I don't like her pastry.

I poured myself some coffee, waited for the bear claw, then found an empty booth. It was six-thirty Tuesday morning. I'd stayed up well past midnight. The stranger had not entered my home, but I'd conducted a visual search for bugs just the same. Then I'd used a portable radio in an attempt to detect hidden batteries. If you hear static or interference as you pa.s.s the radio over something, that can be indicative of a low-level signal or a power source, but I had been unable to find anything.

I'd finished the process that morning by combing the exterior of the house and the yard for transmitters. Now, as I scanned the Rocky Mountain News, I felt confident there were no listening devices in place. Yet.

I finished the paper, poured more coffee, and tried to examine the situation in a logical manner. The threshold question was whether it had been Polk. If so, what had his purpose been? One possibility was that he had intended to search my home or place listening devices inside it, perhaps in an attempt to learn how my investigation was progressing. But the FBI had closed the case, so why should he care? Another possibility was that he was still smarting from our encounter at the federal building and wanted to finish it, but that seemed unlikely. He wouldn't risk his career for that, and it appeared he'd purposely waited until I'd left my house.

I put the incident out of my mind and began reading the article Monica had sent. It described the evolution of a school of thought that holds that the behavior of financial markets is fractal in nature. Using a coastline as an example, Jayne had explained that two things are characteristic of fractal objects. First, each point in a fractal object is correlated with the points next to it. Second, the shape of the object remains more or less the same no matter how closely you examine it.