The Fractal Murders Part 5

"Three-o-three, that's Colorado, right?"

"Yeah." The 303 area code had once encompa.s.sed the entire state, but in less than a decade the influx of people from California and New Jersey had forced whoever runs the deregulated mishmash once known as the telephone company to carve the state into three distinct calling areas. Now 303 covers only Denver/ Boulder, and they've started using yet another area code for new numbers in the metropolitan area, so you have to dial ten digits even for local calls. "I've been hired to see if I can find a link between the death of Professor Fontaine and the deaths of two other mathematicians."

"You know the FBI already investigated that?"

"I was a federal prosecutor for years. I don't take the bureau's conclusions as gospel."

He laughed. "Lawyer turned investigator, huh? You're movin' up in the world."

"Long story."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"What I'd really like is to see your file. I've read everything these people ever wrote, but all I know about their deaths is what was in the papers and what I learned from talking with a detective in Boston."

"You probably know more than me. All I know is, I've got a dead math professor, no motive, and no suspects. And this guy wasn't just shot, he was executed. Single bullet to the back of the head at point-blank range. Then I find out two other math nerds are dead."

"Any chance I could see your file?"

"You really read everything these people ever wrote?"

"All their professional papers."

"I'll bet that was fun."

"Gotta start somewhere," I said.

"True enough," he said. "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. I'm up to my a.s.s in alligators right now, but if you can find a way up here, I'll show you what I've got and we can kick it around a bit." It was an offer I couldn't refuse.

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

5.

ON THURSDAY MORNING I DID something I'd been putting off. I called the Denver office of the FBI. I'd been putting it off because I wanted to learn a little about the case before I called. And because I'm not exactly Mr. Popular down there. On their list of least favorite people I'm right up there with Randy Weaver, Richard Jewell's lawyer, and every congressman on the Waco subcommittee.

"FBI." She had the sterile voice of a government receptionist. In my kitchen, wearing only flannel boxers, I was making a peanut b.u.t.ter and brown sugar sandwich for breakfast as the morning sun filled my kitchen. The Sinus Infection from h.e.l.l seemed to have weakened.

"Tim Gombold, please." I was using the speakerphone.

"May I say who's calling?"

"D. B. Cooper. I want to turn myself in." That had been the name used by America's first skyjacker. He had parachuted out the back end of a Boeing 727 in 1971 with $200,000 in twenties tied to his waist and hadn't been seen since.

"Just a moment, sir." She put me on hold. I heard a few clicks and listened to forty-five seconds of static. It was just after eight, so I thought I had a good chance of catching him. He'd just gotten remarried a month or two ago-I'd attended the wedding-but old habits die hard. Gumby likes to get to work early, down some government coffee, and read the morning papers before hitting the pavement. He reads both Denver papers cover to cover each morning. Says he likes to know what's going on.

"Jesus, Pepper," he shouted, "you can't do s.h.i.+t like that." I picked up the receiver.

"Have a sense of humor, Tim."

"I ought to drive up there and shoot you myself for that." I struggled to keep from laughing. "What do you want, for Christ's sake?"

"I want to talk about a case you worked."

"And based on the high esteem the FBI holds you in, you thought we'd be only too happy to oblige?"

"Exactly."

"Which case?"

"The fractal murders."

"Oh, Jesus. That math professor hire you?"

"Say she did." I heard a typewriter in the background. Despite the advent of word processing, every FBI office kept a few IBM Selectrics on hand for use in completing forms that aren't easily scanned.

"Look, Pepper, three people with the same specialty died within six or seven months of each other. Stranger things have happened."

"Which office ran the investigation?"

"We did."

"Denver?" None of the deaths had taken place in Colorado.

"Yeah, your math professor was the one who brought it to our attention, and we needed someone who could explain the mathematics to us. The boss figured it would be easier to run it out of our office."

"Did you check the victims' phone records?"

"No," he said. "With all the budget cuts, we've had to stop doing that. Now we just rely on psychics."

"What I meant was, did the phone records tell you anything?"

"Far as we know, they never spoke with each other, never corresponded."

"Three of the best-known people in their field," I said. "Seems strange they never communicated with each other."

"Pepper," he said, "we ran down every lead and couldn't find a connection. Fontaine takes a shot to the back of the head, the girl in Lincoln gets raped and stabbed. Totally different MO. And there's nothing to indicate Underwood didn't commit suicide."

"While he was jerking off," I said.

"How'd you know that?"

"Give me some credit, Tim."

"It doesn't even matter," he said. "Our guys say it was a typical autoerotic death. Happens every day."

"Not to a Harvard professor," I said. He sighed.

"Listen," he said, "if you can make a buck helping this lady satisfy her conscience or curiosity or whatever, I've got no problem with that, but we put a lot of hours into it and couldn't find anything."

"Can I see your file?"

"You must have b.a.l.l.s like an elephant."

"Is that a no?"

"I've got work to do, Pepper." He sighed again.

"Had to ask," I said.

"Besides, Dittmer would have my a.s.s. He's canned two agents in the past six months. We're all walking on eggsh.e.l.ls." I knew Dittmer had been the agent in charge of the Denver office for about two years. I knew he'd been a Rhodes scholar. I didn't know much else about him, but I'd heard he'd won the Silver Star while serving as a counterintelligence officer in Vietnam.

"I thought you liked Dittmer," I said.

"He's the sharpest guy I've ever met, but he's changed over the past year. He was in line to be a deputy director, but the director chose a woman with nine years on the job. And just after that, he lost his wife to cancer."

"Jesus."

"I think he's bitter," Gumby said, "but he keeps it bottled up inside and throws himself into his work like every other alpha male. He's all business these days. He's perfect and he expects everyone else to be perfect. No mistakes. He's even started auditing investigations on a random basis to make sure we haven't f.u.c.ked anything up. Including your fractal case, by the way."

"Sounds like he's been through a lot," I said, "but I'm sorry he's making your life miserable."

"Well, he'll probably retire next year anyhow. At least that's what he says. Wants to buy a boat and live in the Florida Keys."

"Like that would be more fun than busting crack dealers and monitoring Muslim extremists in Denver in the winter."

"To each his own," he replied.

"Hey," I said, "let me ask you one more question about this fractal thing."

"Sure."

"If these deaths were unrelated, what was your jurisdiction in the first place?"

"The Chang girl crossed state lines."

"Kidnapping?"

"Kidnapping, possible conspiracy."

"One more question," I said.

"You just said that."

"Any chance Underwood could've done the other two, then killed himself?"

"No, we checked that. He had good alibis for both murders."

"Thanks, Tim, give my love to Polk."

"I think I'll pa.s.s on that," he said. "His divorce trial starts in an hour. Probably doesn't need to hear from you today."

"Whatever," I said. "Thanks for the info."

"Yeah. Good luck."

I clicked on CNN, ate my sandwich, downed a protein shake and my daily regimen of vitamins, then took a quick shower. It had been years since I'd left my job as a federal prosecutor, but I'd worked closely with Gombold in those days. He'd done a stint in D.C. after I'd left, but he'd somehow managed a return a.s.signment to Denver and we'd crossed paths now and then while I was in private practice. A few years younger than me, he'd been a certified public accountant before joining the bureau. He was a wiry man known for his expensive suits, all-business demeanor, and methodical approach. I still considered him the best agent in the Denver office.

The batter clearly beat the throw, but the first-base umpire called him out. "He was safe!" Scott shouted. Scott "Two Toe" McCutcheon. I've known him since I was three and love him like a brother. We were next-door neighbors back when Denver was a cow town. You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but the lean six-footer with the receding hairline was a navy SEAL and holds black belts in karate and aikido. He is my best friend and spiritual cut man. Though he holds a master's degree in astrophysics, he earns his living as a freelance computer consultant and jokingly refers to himself a self-employed techno-geek. I jokingly call him chief of my technical services division.

"That ump should be a trial judge," I said. It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon and we were at Coors Field enjoying game one of a doubleheader between the Rockies and the Dodgers. Two mediocre teams. Top of the seventh, home team down by three. One out. We were right behind first base, seated beside a dozen or so Cub Scouts. "Let's talk business," I said. "I'm deducting this as a business expense."

"Me too," he said. I laughed and sipped my three-dollar diet c.o.ke. I had purchased the tickets.

"Fractals," I said. I'd outlined the case during our drive down from Boulder.

"What do you want to know?"

"Relate them to money." He sat up straight, placed his four-dollar beer on the concrete, and turned to me.

"Fractal mathematics has plenty of commercial applications," he said, "but it's no big secret. Some of these software companies have been using fractal image compression for ten years."

"Medical imaging?"

"Medical imaging, meteorology, metals, geology, engineering-you name it. Any object with an irregular pattern can be represented by a fractal model." One of the Rockies. .h.i.t a solid shot down the line. We rose with the crowd. The third baseman scooped it up, but bobbled the ball, causing the throw to be late. The umpire saw it differently.

"He was safe!" Scott screamed as he rose to his feet. I said nothing. We'd been fairly verbal about five or six bad calls and I had a hunch both the first-base umpire and the den mother had grown tired of our act. Scott sat down and finished his beer.

"Back to fractals," I said.

"A lot of different companies use fractal-based models," he said. "Some use them internally; most are selling software or services that rely on fractal-based software."

"These companies make money?"

"You bet."

"And this has been going on awhile?"

"Depends on what you mean," he said. "Fractal geometry's been around more than twenty years, but it's only been in the past five or ten that industry has started to explore all the potential applications."

"Why's that?"

"Two reasons," he said. "First, the knowledge of fractal geometry is no longer limited to a few mathematicians. As more students and researchers gained an understanding of it, they began to look for ways to apply it in the real world."