Boosted Pt. 09

"What's the meaning of this?" CJ demanded, her face and eyes hard.

"Hands on your head!" Sean ordered again, his tone making it clear it wasn't a request. "Sir, step aside," Sean ordered as CJ complied and shouts of Brunswick PD! Put down your tools and remain where you are! and Sir! Put down the tool and step away from the car! echoed from the back.

The man quickly hurried to the corner of the show room and looked around, his uncertainty clear on his face.

"Cynthia Jane Bowetan, I'm arresting you on the charges of grand theft, possession of stolen vehicles, and VIN tampering," Sean said as he jerked her hands off her head and snapped handcuffs on her wrists behind her back.

"You're making a big mistake!" CJ snapped. "I'm going to sue your ass off for false arrest."

"Sir! Don't move!" Sean ordered as the man began edging toward the exit.

"I haven't done anything! I was just making an appointment to have my oil changed!"

"Find a place and sit down and we'll get you out of here as soon as possible."

Sean took CJ by the arm and led her out to one of the cruisers without patting her down, protecting her head by placing his hand between her head and the car as she settled onto the hard, but easy to clean, plastic rear seat. With the car idling and the air conditioning running, she'd be comfortable enough while they got control of the situation. He slammed the door as CJ glared at him. She couldn't open the rear doors from the inside and the plastic partition kept her from crawling into the front, so she wasn't going anywhere.

He returned to the office, the man standing where he'd left him. Sean smiled as he approached, trying to put the man at ease. "Sean McGhee, Brunswick PD. You're name?"

"Art Midland."

"Mr. Midland, you're not under arrest, but I'd like to ask you a couple of questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"Routine."

"Do I need a lawyer?"

"No. How do you know Ms. Bowetan."

"I don't. Not really. She happens to work in the place that services my Porsche."

"That your car out there?"

"Yeah."

"Nice car. What year?"

"Thanks. '72."

"Had it long?"

"Since '95."

"Buy it from CJ?"

The man spluttered. "You think it's stolen? It belonged to my dad, and he bought it new."

"How long have you been a customer of BIGS?"

"I don't know. Ten years maybe? What difference does it make?"

"Notice anything weird going on around here?"

"Why would I notice anything? This is my first time here."

"You said you were a customer for ten years."

"Yeah, in Raleigh."

"Sorry, you're right. I wasn't clear. Seen anything weird going on at BIGS?"

"Like what?"

"Like anything that didn't seem right."

"No. Why would I? I bring my car in, they work on it, I take it home. I've never been in the back."

"You were here making an appointment?"

"That's right."

"You live in Raleigh?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Seems like a long drive. Why didn't you call and do that?"

"Because I wanted to see the new place and make sure I can find it, okay?"

"You off work today?"

"Retired air force."

Art didn't seem to be hiding anything, his answers seemed to have the ring of truth, and he displayed the proper combination of nervousness and irritation. "Okay. Thanks for your time, Mr. Midland. You're free to go, but I think you're going to have to find a new place to have your car serviced."

"CJ has been stealing cars?"

"I can't comment on that."

Art looked around and then hurried out the door, giving CJ a long look as he passed, squeezed into his car, and pulled away. Sean walked to the door leading into the shop and opened it. Donner had a man at one end of the building, Pickerling had another at the other, and two more were standing to the side, separated from each other and out of hearing range of the two men being interviewed. He nodded in silent agreement. Will had separated the four men so they couldn't talk, and two-man teams were interviewing two men at a time. He glanced behind him to make sure CJ wasn't doing anything stupid in the back of the cruiser. As soon as Donner or Pickerling finished, that would free up an officer to take CJ back to the station for processing. He should have brought more officers, but he already had half his on-duty officers on this raid. He would have liked to have brought one of his female officers, but none of them were on this shift.

He walked to his car to get the stack of flattened boxes they'd brought to load evidence in, pausing to open the back door of the cruiser CJ was sitting in. "Doing okay?"

She glared at him a moment. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Okay. Get out," he said, again placing his hand between her head and the car. Holding her arm, he led her back inside and down the hall to the bathrooms. He pulled her to a stop, turned her back to him, and then unlocked one of the shackles around her wrist.

"Thank--" she began before he pulled her hands around and cuffed her hands in front of her. She glared at him.

"You didn't really think I was going to uncuff you, did you?"

He opened the door and they stepped inside. "Are you kidding me? You can't stay in here!" she complained.

"Just making sure you don't go anywhere," he replied.

There were no windows or other exits, so he stepped into the hall and allowed the door to shut. A moment later he heard the toilet flush and then running water. When she appeared, he recuffed her hands behind her back and returned her to the back of the cruiser. He retrieved a stack of boxes from his car and carried them into the office, piling them on the desk before checking on how Donner was doing. They were still interviewing, so he pulled the laptop off the desk and carried it out to the cruiser with him. He set the laptop on the roof and opened the door.

"What's the password on your computer?"

"I don't remember?"

"You don't remember?" he asked. He didn't believe her for a moment, and his tone made that clear.

"Nope. I haven't been able to use that thing in weeks."

"You know I can have a judge order you to tell me?"

"He can order me, but I can't tell you what I don't know."

He sucked on his teeth for a moment. "You don't know this about me, but I have a degree in computer science. All you're doing is slowing me down and making yourself look guilty."

CJ shrugged. "Sorry. I really don't remember."

"Have it your way," he said as he slammed the door again.

He'd have to mess with the computer when he got back to the station. He was almost back to the entrance door when he heard the gate being opened. He paused and watched as a Chevy pickup passed through the gate, drove to the road, and then sped away. The driver didn't bother to close the gate. He didn't want to leave CJ alone and out of sight for long, but he changed his direction and walked around the side of the building to the gate. There were several cars parked behind the fence on the massive lot. Most of them were older European cars in various states of repair, along with a blue Audi A6, an older BMW M3, a Honda S2000, and a Dodge Durango that were parked to the side and appeared to be employee vehicles. None of the employee vehicles were ones that he'd seen enter or leave the building in the middle of the night.

He returned to the office, placed the computer back on the desk, and then opened the door to the shop. Pickerling had an extra officer with him.

"Hickman!" Sean called.

The officer who had joined Pickerling turned toward him. "Yeah, chief?"

"You and Clive come in here. Jerry, you bring your guy." Michael Hickman and Jerry Clive escorted the mechanic that worked on his Jag into the office. "Mike, take Ms. Bowetan to the station and process her in, but hold her until I get there."

"You got it. Have you read her the Miranda Warning?"

"Not yet. Go ahead and do that. She hasn't been patted down, so watch her. Jerry, with me," he said with a jerk of his head. He led the two men into the office. "Anyone talked to you yet?"

"No," the mechanic growled.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Dalton Pierce."

Sean snapped his fingers. "That's right. You worked on my Jag, if you remember."

"I remember. What's going on? Nobody will tell me a bloody thing."

"Your boss, she's been a naughty girl. Know anything about that?"

"About what?"

"Come on! You want me to believe you don't know what goes on here at night?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dalton said. "I come in, I work on cars all day, I go home. What happens after I leave..." He shrugged.

"You don't know anything about the illegal activities that happen here?"

"What illegal activities?"

"Car theft?"

"Who's boosting cars? Not me!"

"You're telling me you're not involved?"

"No, I'm not involved! Are you kidding?"

Sean watched Dalton's face. He seemed to be telling the truth. "So, you don't know anything about stolen cars coming into the shop in the middle of the night?"

"No! I told you! I come in at eight, I work until five, and I go home. That's it. If someone is stealing cars and bringing them to the shop in the middle of the night, I don't know anything about it."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"Verify what?"

"That you're not here at night."

"You want to call my wife? I'll give you her number."

"Have you noticed anything missing or out of place?"

"In the shop? No, not really. We will sometimes share a tool, but no, I haven't noticed anything." Dalton paused as if he were thinking.

"What?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes, when we were still in Raleigh, it seemed things got moved around a little. Things weren't the way I remembered leaving them, if you know what I mean? My tool box might be in a different place, or the car on the lift might be down when I thought I left it up, stuff like that. When it happened, I figured one of the guys was messing with me or something like that. But it wasn't all the time and wasn't any big deal."

"Nothing like that happened since you moved here?"

"No."

Sean nodded. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Maybe CJ did need more room, but it was so her nighttime activities were easier. In Raleigh, she was probably having to move client's cars out of the way to make room in the shop for the stolen cars.

"Notice anything else?"

Dalton shook his head. "No. What was supposed to be happening to these stolen cars?"

"Some were parted out, others had their VIN numbers changed. You change the VIN on any cars?"

"No! Absolutely not! I don't work on the new stuff anyway."

"Who does?"

"The other guys do sometimes."

"Ever see them doing anything suspicious?"

"No. Look, I keep telling you, I come in, do my job, and I go home. What the other guys are doing isn't my concern. I have my own job to do, so unless they ask for help, I let them do it."

"You ever notice new cars in the shop?"

"Sure."

"What do you remember?"

"What are you asking?"

"What do you remember about them when they come in. What was the last new car you can remember?"

Dalton shrugged. "We had a Panamera in here, and a 911, not too long ago. There was a Lambo before that."

"A silver Range Rover?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it, there was one of those here, right before we moved into the new shop."

"And you didn't wonder why these new cars were here?"

"Why would I? I don't schedule the cars. Appeared to me like they were in for routine service."

"What do you mean?"

"Oil change, things like that. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"And you didn't think that was odd?"

"No. Why would I? Maybe the owners were pissed off at the dealer, maybe we were cheaper, or maybe they knew somebody who works here. Like I said, I don't schedule the cars, I just work on them. Why someone might bring a car in wasn't any of my business."

"Did the same person work on them every time?"

"No, I don't think so. I think it was whoever was available."

"But not you?"

"No. Like I said, I stick to the old stuff. If it has electronics, I'm not interested. I'm kind of old-school that way."

"You drive one of the cars outside?"

"Yeah, the Durango, why?"

"It has electronics on it."

"I didn't say I couldn't work on it, or wouldn't drive it, I said I wasn't interested."

Sean scratched at his neck. "And you didn't see anything that made you go, 'Hmmm... that's odd?'"

Dalton shook his head. "How many times do I have to tell you? I come in, do my job, and then go home. That's it. I never saw anything around the shop that made me question what was going on. They damn sure weren't cutting cars apart while I was here."

"How long have you worked for BIGS?"

Dalton shrugged. "Eight, nine years."

"Where'd you work before that?"

"Firestone."

"Why'd you leave."

"Because BIGS gave me a chance to do what I really like to do, which is to work on old European cars."

Sean thinned his lips. If Dalton was in on it, he wasn't going to get anything out of him. "Go on, get out of here, but if I find out you've lied to me, about anything, I'm going to have you sitting in my jail, understand?"

Dalton nodded. "You don't have to threaten me. I haven't done anything. Worse, I'm going to have to go home and tell Karen I've lost my job. I have lost my job, haven't I?"

Sean nodded. "I don't think CJ is going to be open for business tomorrow, no."

"Fuck me dead," Dalton muttered. Sean looked at him. "It means I'm fucked because now I've got to find another job, and it will probably be working on the new pieces of shit that pass for cars," he explained.

When Pickerling and Donner finished, they joined Sean in the office. Sean and Jerry had been busy loading boxes but paused to hear what the other officers had to say.

"What do you think?" Sean asked.

"I don't know," Will said. "I don't get the sense they're lying, but how they can work here and not know something was happening is beyond me."

"Same here," Tyrell said. "One of the guys I talked to said he serviced both the Porsches, but he didn't think anything about them."

"What did he do to them?" Sean asked.

"Changed the fluids, checked the brakes, belts, hoses, and tires, stuff like that. CJ said a customer was getting ready to sell the cars and wanted them checked out, to make sure there was nothing wrong with them, so they'd get top dollar."

"And he didn't think that was odd?"

Tyrell shrugged. "Didn't seem to. According to him, some of these guys have more money than God and they might decide to sell a car that's only a few months old simply because they saw another one in a color they liked better."

Sean sighed. "Okay. We take everything, invoices, service records, the works."

Tyrell glanced around. "There are eight file cabinets!"

Sean nodded. "Good thing we brought a lot of boxes, huh?"

It took over an hour for them to box up all the files and load the cruisers. All six of the cars were packed tight with boxes occupying every available space. The service computer was a desktop machine, and because there was no extra room in their cars, Sean left it behind. He knew where it was if he needed it. He left Will and Clive to tape off the scene and secure the building while he and the rest of the officers left to haul their boxes back to the station.

"Put all the stuff in the conference room," Sean ordered before he took the laptop to his office. He'd move the stuff to the evidence locker once he had a chance to go through it to see if there was anything they could use.

He wanted to start with the computer, so he didn't have to resort to digging through all the paper files looking for evidence. He powered the computer up and tried several different, if obvious, passwords, none of which worked. While at BIGS, he'd searched the office desk but hadn't turned up any scraps of paper that looked like a password had been written on it. Giving up, he walked down the hall to the two detention cells. The cells were small, two concrete block boxes only eight by twelve feet, with a stainless-steel bench to sit on and a steel door with a window. The rooms had no comforts, but they were only intended for holding prisoners until they could be transferred to the county lockup. He stepped up to the door and looked in the window. CJ sat on the bench inside and glared at him.

"Remember the password?" he asked, the array of small holes in the window allowing CJ to hear him easily.

"Nope. Sorry."

"It will go easier on you if you cooperate."

"I can't tell you what I don't know."

He let out a sigh of mock exasperation. "Have it your way. Can I get you anything?"

He smiled and turned away when she gave him the finger. He started to return to his office but detoured to the dispatcher's office first. CJ wasn't going to be any help.

"Kim, have an officer transport our guest to County. Tell whoever she's been Mirandized but not patted down."

"Right away."

He returned to his office. He first considered trying to crack the Microsoft login password, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He powered the computer off, flipped it upside down, and using the small toolkit he kept in his desk, quickly removed the hard drive from the computer.

After the hard drive was on his desk he pulled out the drive adapter he'd had for several years and plugged the device into his computer. The drive spun up and after a few mouse clicks to bypass the security, he was able to read the drive. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he could read the files. If she'd encrypted the drive, he'd have had no choice but to crack the computer's password.

He created a folder on his hard drive and copied all the data from CJ's computer into the new folder. It took several hours for the copy to finish, but when it did, he returned the hard drive to BIGS' computer and then placed the device in its own evidence box and locked it in the evidence room. He wasn't too concerned with someone taking the boxes of paper files, but the computer was more valuable and likely contained the information he needed.

He spent an hour looking through files but found nothing until he stumbled across a password protected zip file. The zip file was named 'Old Backup,' but he didn't buy it. Why would anyone bother securing backups when the rest of the drive was open? Also, whatever was in the archive wasn't very large for a backup. More likely the file was named that in the hopes someone would skip over it because it was locked.

Again he tried several obvious passwords, but like with the computer, none of them worked. He sighed and glanced at the clock in the corner of the computer screen. It was almost time to go. He scrubbed furiously at the back of his head with his fingernails. He'd been working on his vow to leave his work at the station, but if he was going to try to crack the password, he should start it before he left for the day so it could run overnight. Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he quickly searched the web for a cracker tool. In Boston he had access to specialty tools for this type of work, but this wasn't Boston, he didn't have the tools, and he couldn't afford to spend thousands of dollars for software he likely wouldn't use again. He quickly located a highly rated program and downloaded it. After installation, he started the software. He could use two different attack methods, dictionary or brute force. The dictionary attack would work well if he had a hint what the password might be, to limit the number of permutations the software had to try, but since he didn't, he had no choice but to go for the brute force method.

He pointed the software at the file and started it working. The software promised a minimum of thirty attempts a second, but even at 108,000 attempts an hour, it could take days, if not years, to crack the password, if it could be cracked at all. A good password of nine or ten digits wouldn't be cracked in his lifetime. He checked to make sure his computer wouldn't go to sleep when he closed the lid, so the software would keep cranking away, before he snapped his laptop closed and stuffed it into his case. If he was lucky, when he woke up in the morning the file would be open. He slung the computer over his shoulder. He doubted he'd be that lucky. He just hoped he wouldn't be retired before the crack finished. He'd give the computer a week. If it hadn't cracked the file by then, it probably wouldn't crack it for months, if at all, and he didn't have that much time to wait.