Thread of Truth, стр. 26
I was clicking any email that didn't have a subject header. Most were from his parents, reminding him about something on the calendar or something else just as benign, but then I ran across one from another Gmail sender with what looked to be a system generated user name of letters and numbers.
I'm not giving you anymore.
It was a single sentence but I was able to scroll down because it was part of a long string of back and forth emails, started by Desmond.
I need it tomorrow.
How much tomorrow?
500.
This has to stop.
500.
Fine. But that's it. Then we are done.
Maybe.
Fuck you.
LOL Oh well. 500 tomorrow.
You can't keep doing this to me.
500 tomorrow or I tell everyone.
Fine.
Thanks.
Fuck you.
Rude.
I'm not giving you anymore.
I read through the string several times, just to make sure I had a feel for it. I checked the metadata to see if there was anything in there that might give me an idea of who the other sender was, but found nothing. I printed out the email, then searched the inbox for the sender's email. One more string came up and I read through it. Desmond, again, started it.
Hey. I need a thousand.
A thousand? You aren't serious.
Z, I'm super serious. A thousand.
I'm not rich, Des.
Fine. Eight hundred.
Come on.
Eight hundred. Or you know what happens.
I had no idea you were such an asshole.
I'm not but I need money.
So this is how you get it? Extorting me?
Eight hundred. I'll come by to get it.
There was no response.
I searched the inbox again for the email address, but it gave me just the two strings I'd already found. They were about two weeks apart and the first string I'd found had been a week before Desmond disappeared. Given how familiar the emails were, I assumed he'd deleted previous emails that might've been along the same line. He had probably just forgotten about these two or assumed he'd have time to delete them later.
I printed out the second conversation and laid both email strings on the table in front of my now empty plate. It seemed clear to me that this had been at least one way Desmond was getting his hands on money. I wasn't sure that it told me anything about the accident that killed Desmond, but it was something that seemingly no one else in his life knew about.
Or chose not to tell me about.
TWENTY TWO
“Did Desmond know someone named Z?” I asked.
Olivia Cousins frowned at me. “You mean like the letter?”
I'd called Sharon Cousins and asked if it was okay if I could stop by for a few minutes. She didn't seem thrilled, but she didn't say no. I'd promised her I wouldn't be there long, that I'd just run across something I wanted to ask Olivia about. She agreed to let me come by, so I'd cleaned up my breakfast dishes and headed back up to the north county and the Cousins home.
Sharon and Bill were both in their usual hovering positions, as wary of my presence as ever.
“Like the letter,” I answered. “Maybe it's a nickname or something like that?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don't think so.”
“What does this have to do with Desmond's death?” Bill asked, glaring at me.
“I'm just going through some old emails and things that his parents gave me,” I told him. “Trying to tie up loose ends.”
“I don't see how loose ends are going to help you find whoever ran the kid down,” he grumbled.
“I'm not sure it will,” I said, looking at Olivia again. “No one at school? At his job, maybe?”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “Not that I can think of. I mean, I haven't been at school in a while because of the baby. So I guess it could be someone there. And I don't know anyone at the landscaping company. Like, no one.”
“Do you know anyone that might've lent him money?” I asked.
“Money?”
I nodded.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Bill asked, squinting at me.
I wasn't ready to show them the emails yet, but I didn't see any reason to hold back on what I'd learned. “Desmond wasn't working as much as he told you he was.”
Olivia looked as if she didn't understand the words coming out of my mouth.
“He wasn't picking up extra hours,” I explained. “I talked to his boss. He had asked for more hours, but Mr. Zavalla didn't give him any.”
All three of them were now staring at me.
“I don't know what it means,” I said. “It may not mean anything. It's just something I've run across and I'm trying to find an answer.”
“So he was lying?” Olivia said, still disbelieving. She shook her head. “He wouldn't do that to me.”
I didn't say anything.
“Was he dealing?” Bill asked. “Because that would make sense.”
“I haven't run across anything that would indicate that,” I told him, though it had crossed my mind.
“I never bought that he was totally clean.”
“Bill, Jesus,” Sharon said, her voice giving way to an exasperated sigh. “Give it a rest.”
“What?” He gestured at me. “You heard what he said. Desmond had cash, but he wasn't working.”
“He was working,” I corrected. “His usual shifts. But he wasn't working the extra hours he claimed he was. At least not landscaping.”
“How else would he have gotten his hands on all that money?” Bill asked. His eyes drifted to the baby swing and crate of toys. I didn’t see the car seat anywhere. “Come on. It's what he knew, and it was probably easy for him. Selling to his old buddies.”
Olivia's face contorted with pain and tears filled her eyes. “I don't believe that.”
Bill's frown softened when he looked at his daughter.
“I don't know where he was getting the money,” I said, trying to ease the tension. “It seems that