The Blue Nowhere

fingerprints and canvassing witnesses.”
    Shelton sighed. “Welcome to the new fucking millennium.”
    Bernstein reluctantly nodded to Bishop. “Okay, you got the case. You’ll have full tactical and crime scene backup. And pick some people from Homicide in San Jose to help you.”
    “Huerto Ramirez and Tim Morgan,” Bishop said without hesitating. “I’d like them here ASAP if you could arrange that, sir. I want to brief everybody.”
    The captain called HQ to summon the detectives here. He hung up. “They’re on their way.”
    Bernstein then broke the news to Susan Wilkins and, more perplexed than upset at the loss of the new assignment, she left. The captain asked Bishop, “You want to move the operation back to headquarters?”
    Bishop said, “No, we’ll stay here, sir.” He nodded toward a row of computer screens. “This’s where we’ll do most of the work, I’ve got a feeling.”
    “Well, good luck, Frank.”
    Bishop said to the troopers who’d come to take Gillette back to San Ho, “You can take the cuffs off.”
    One of the men did this then he pointed at the hacker’s leg. “How ’bout the anklet?”
    “No,” Bishop said, offering a very uncharacteristic smile. “I think we’ll keep that on.”
    A short while later two men joined the team in CCU: a broad, swarthy Latino who was extremely muscular, Gold’s Gym muscular, and a tall, sandy-haired detective in one of those stylish four-button men’s suits, dark shirt and dark tie. Bishop introduced Huerto Ramirez and Tim Morgan, the detectives from headquarters Bishop had requested.
    “Now, I’d like to say a word,” Bishop said, tucking his unruly shirt into his slacks and stepping in front of the team. He looked over everybody, holding their gazes for a moment. “This fellow we’re after—he’s somebody who’s perfectly willing to kill anybody in his way and that includes law enforcers and innocents. He’s an expert at social engineering.” A glance toward the newcomers, Ramirez and Morgan. “Which is basically disguise and diversion. So it’s important that you continually remind yourself what we know about him.”
    Bishop continued his low, unhesitant monologue. “I think we have enough confirmation to place him in his late twenties. He’s medium build, maybe blond but probably dark haired, clean shaven but sometimes disguised with fake facial hair. He prefers a Ka-bar as a murder weapon and wants to get close enough to his victims to inflict a fatal chest wound. He can break into the phone company and interrupt service or transfer calls. He can hack into law enforcement computers”—Gillette now received a glance—“excuse me, crack into computers and destroy police records. He likes challenges, he thinks of killing as a game. He’s spent a lot of time on the East Coast and he’s somewhere in the Silicon Valley area but we have no exact locale. We think he’s boughtsome items for his disguises at a theatrical supply store on Camino Real in Mountain View. He’s a progressive, lust-driven sociopath who’s lost touch with reality and is treating what he’s doing like it’s some big computer game.”
    Gillette was astonished. The detective’s back was to the white-board as he recited all of this information. The hacker realized that he’d misjudged the man. All the time Bishop had seemed to stare absently out the window or at the floor he’d been absorbing the evidence.
    Bishop lowered his head but kept his eyes on them all. “I’m not going to lose anybody else on this team. So watch your backs and don’t trust another living soul—even people you think you know. Go on this assumption: Nothing is what it seems to be.”
    Gillette found himself nodding, along with the others.
    “Now—about his victims . . . We know that he’s going after people who’re hard to get close to. People with bodyguards and security systems. The harder to get to, the better. We’ll have to keep that in mind when we’re trying to anticipate him. We’re going to keep to the general plan for the investigation. Huerto and Tim, I want you two to run the Anderson crime scene in Palo Alto. Canvass everybody you can find in and around Milliken Park. Bob and I didn’t get a chance to find that witness who might’ve seen the killer’s vehicle outside the restaurant where Ms. Gibson was killed. That’s what he and I’ll do. And, Wyatt, you’re going to head up the computer side of the investigation.”
    Gillette shook