A Short One
Previously: Jeannie, Mark, and Raj track the hacker.
Mark’s anger was exactly where it shouldn’t be: at the surface. Raj’s face went from a smirk to a gape in a matter of seconds.
“I — I basically gave you a profile of whoever did this —” Raj protested.
“Raj. Stop right there.” He didn’t want to blow it, especially in front of Jeannie’s family. “Sit down, clean the devices — ALL of the devices.” His voice was tight. It would be better if Raj just went away for now so he wouldn’t explode. “IPads, TV boxes, check the modem and router to be sure. Make sure you know exactly what was accessed and for how long. You’re on the clock for another 15 minutes, so you should be able to do all of that before you clock out, and then we will speak further in the morning.” He glared at Raj who looked genuinely hurt.
“I — I didn’t — “
“Stop. Sit. Clean. Not another word tonight. Finish up quickly and go home. We will discuss your bedside manner in the morning.” Raj deflated. He had such a talent except for his mouth running away from him. Mark knew he had to nurture one side and manage the other. Raj slunk off to his laptop on the table.
“How bad is this?” Chris asked him quietly.
“It’s not good.” A faint sound came from the other end of the room, where Langi was beginning to maneuver the judge out of the room.
“—ris” It was the judge. Chris’ head snapped toward him before darting to his side in the wheelchair. The judge looked up at him with and unspoken question.
“The judge — “ Chris looked at him and over at Raj. “The judge has files. They’re very confidential. He can’t have his files getting out.” Raj sighed from behind his laptop; Mark was relieved he had ordered him to keep silent, but silently agreed. If he’d had a proper fire wall and a better password, none of this would have happened.
“Check any files, Raj — does the judge have a computer?”
“It’s in the den.” Langi offered. “He doesn’t really use it any more.”
“Okay, check it Raj — make sure it’s clean. Make certain.” He emphasized. Raj nodded at him although he clearly wanted to roll his eyes. “Sir, to be honest,” he began, addressing the judge, “I somehow doubt this hacker would be sophisticated enough to look into your files. They were after something on Jeannie, not you, but I understand it’s a risk.” The judge blinked at him. “Raj will take a look to be sure…won’t you?” He tossed at Raj.
“Yes, of course.” Raj grumbled.
“Good.” Mark sighed. “We will get a better firewall for you too, sir. Just to make sure this never happens again.” The judge blinked at him again.
“Mister Pete, I think we should go watch our shows — there’s a good movie on in a minute. We’re watching Dark Passage. ” Langi looked up at Chris and Mark. “We love to watch the old movies on that TCM channel — Mister Pete knows all the good ones.” She gave a broad smile.
“So does Jeannie.” Chris chuckled.
“What’s the best San Francisco movie?” Mark countered. The judge’s eyes twinkled. “Vertigo? The Love Bug? Bullitt?”
“I love Bullitt,” Chris added. “But I’ll bet I know the judge’s favorite.” Langi smiled at him. “Isn’t it The Lineup?” The judge’s eyes shone with pride — he appreciated being understood without effort.
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Oh — it’s a good one. But Dark Passage is up there too for San Francisco oldies. The Lineup is more gritty — Dark Passage is kind of hokey. But the judge has a crush on Lauren Bacall.”
“Don’t we all?” Mark asked nodding at the judge.
Jeannie stood at the kitchen window which gave a lot of light to the room, even if it overlooked the airshaft. On the fourth floor of a twelve-story building, it didn’t offer any kind of view, but at least it was some fresh air. Using a wine carafe, she slowly watered the small house plants she’d added to the windowsill. This quiet, simple task was somehow clarifying.
Soft padded footsteps approached from the hallway and Fergus sat next to her, leaning against her leg.
“There you are,” she said softly, his wiry head maneuvering under her hand for a pet. “Were you in my room? You know you’re not allowed on my bed.” He looked up with his big golden eyes and then nestled into her. “Okay, I’ll get you some dinner.” Jeannie knelt down on the floor and held his head to look at him eye to eye. “I missed you today.” She wrapped her arms around his big shoulders and he heaved a deep huff, leaning in even more. “You’re gonna knock me over, man.” She leaned back to rub his long snout and gave it a kiss.
“Every time I leave you alone, you’re doting on Fergus.” It was Chris from the doorway.
“And you’re still jealous about it.” Jeannie chuckled a little, coming up to standing. Chris came over to her slowly, studying her face.
“Are you…okay?” She nodded firmly.
“Yeah, yeah I am. I had a moment there, but I realized none of this is about me, really.” She sighed. “It hurts, but it’s not about me.” Her arms went around Chris’ waist and he hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry this happened to you — to both of us.” Chris inhaled in her hair.
“So am I.” He murmured. “It worries me.”
“I know it does.”
A knock came from the doorway revealing Mark.
“Sorry to interrupt you. Raj has left for the day. I’m going to have a chat with him in the morning about his attitude. He’s helpful but needs to learn some sensitivity.” Jeannie sighed again, moving into the pantry to scoop up Fergus’ food.
“He’s helpful and has good ideas, but he’s young.” Jeannie offered. “He’ll learn. It’s a mentoring moment for you too.”
“I know. I know.” Mark sighed then chuckled. “You sound like my wife…who I should probably be getting home to —”
“I was going to offer a cocktail if you can stay a minute?” Chris offered tentatively. “I realize you may still be on the clock — Jeannie’s told me about that being a no-no.”
“No, I think this day is officially over.” Mark moved into the kitchen and shrugged slightly. “I’d — I’d love a cocktail, a short one though.” He sounded almost shy. “I’ll call Paco and tell him we’re done.”
“Good, I have a question for him.” Jeannie added. She moved to the far wall to place Fergus’ dish on the floor, giving the giant dog’s head a good rub.
“Preference on alcohol?” Chris asked, moving into the pantry and clicking on the light.
“Dealer’s choice.” Mark said, dialing the phone. “Hey Pac - we’re done for the day, you should head out…okay good. I’m putting you on speaker…Jeannie’s here, what’s the status on the video.”
“I mean, it’s pretty graphic and it lines up with her statement that’s for sure.” Paco sounded tired. “It’s getting lot of commentary.”
“Okay good, we’ll comb it tomorrow and see if there’s anything there.”
“Paco — I have a question about it.” Jeannie said, licking her lips. “What exactly did the caption say with the video?”
“The caption….let me go back. Okay, the caption says: Stop harassing the lady cop. She’s trying to help. Let’s remember who the real bad guys are.” Chris paused from the pantry and looked at them wide-eyed.
“And with a video where the golden boys are definitely violating their honor code.” Mark added.
“Wow. Well, that’s interesting.” Jeannie said. “And revelatory.”
“What do you mean?” Paco asked.
“It means this bullying of me and the whole Pr3pSF site is just a misdirection for us. It’s not about the bullying. I mean, maybe our victim had been bullied or was being bullied on there, but I don’t think it has anything to do with Friday night at all. Plus, it means that whomever had that video was sitting on it for some reason. Either,” Jeannie swallowed. “Okay, there’s two perspectives on the video, right? Either it shows our victim as a prude who doesn’t want to party, OR —”
“Or it shows her as the target of bullying and harassment by her own boyfriend and his friends.” Mark added. “And since someone just posted it with that caption, it means the latter.”
“Which is weird, because I think whomever created that website is a girl.”
“You do?” Paco asked.
“Yeah. Just the type of bullying we’re seeing it’s girlie stuff: clothes, bodies, “you’re so pretty”, “she’s so ugly”, “she’s such a slut”…that’s stuff girls say, not boys. Boys may chime in and go along with it, but it isn’t what they say. It’s why whoever hacked in here used the picture they did — something,” Jeannie blushed, “something I’d never post online or make public, something where I’m practically naked, where my body is on full display — even if I look alright, it’s meant to be something to make people judge me. And judge me in a mean-girl, high school way.” Jeannie’s hands instinctively went up to cover her heart. “It’s meant to make me vulnerable by taking away my uniform, my authority — making me some girl on the beach they can rate. Believe me, I hate it in every way, but when I stand back and look at it, it shows me the kind of person behind it.” They were all silent. Chris moved into the pantry to shake the cocktails.
“This makes sense.” Mark sighed. “It’s like what Raj said about the hacking — that it seemed like someone who’d never done it before and got spooked. They were in and out. They didn’t touch anything else — they didn’t even look.”
“And honestly, I don’t think someone like Tripp Hartman is smart enough to do it.” Jeannie added, looking to Mark. “Maybe, maybe she had been bullied, but I think we need to talk to someone like Carolina…see what she says about it. She might also know who see was seeing.”
“Okay, let’s get on the video first thing, and we have Owen and Steph tomorrow too, so hopefully they can help us put a dent in things. How’s the evidence map Pac?”
“Good. Amanda and I will show you tomorrow.”
“Good. I need to convince my guy at the Justice...okay Paco, have a good night.”
“Night all…” Paco said, hanging up.
Chris emerged from the pantry with Old Fashioneds, handing one to Jeannie then Mark before getting his own. The three gave their cheers and sipped quietly.
“Ooof - that’s perfect, thank you.” Mark offered, giving Chris a slight smile.
“Of course…although, I heard you say Tripp Hartman.” Chris looked between the two of them.
“Oh shit.” Jeannie whispered. “Chris this cannot leave this room.”
“I know that. I’m not going to tell anyone, but —” he sighed. “The Hartmans? Jim Hartman is ruthless. And he knows everyone.” Jeannie thought of her Lieutenant but said nothing. “People were even talking about him on Sunday at the Club.” Chris took a sip of his drink.
“What do you mean?” Jeannie asked, her brow wrinkled. Chris sighed.
“It was weird. Brand and I finished golf and we’re in the bar at Lakeside and the football game was just starting and Goose was there — you know, Marco Ragusa?” Jeannie nodded. “He’s just down the bar from us and we’d said hello and what-not, and then some old guy comes and says hello to Goose, and mentions that if he hadn’t been hosting out of town friends for golf that weekend that he’d be at the game in his buddy Jim Hartman’s seats.” Chris’ voice gave a faux bellow to imitate the old man’s bluster. “He was so dazzled by somebody having season tickets in the new stadium, and of course, he’d probably had a few Bloody Marys already, so he kept going on, wanting us to be impressed.” Chris shrugged.
“What’s weird about that?” Mark asked.
“Well, here’s the weird part. Old guy finally moves it along and joins friends at a table and Goose comes over to me and Brandon. You know Marco is at Donaghue & Fitzgerald right? That old school law firm? On the sly, he mentions — and okay, this is totally out of line and he shouldn’t have done it, but it happened — we all know lawyers talk when they shouldn’t — he mentions that he’s on the team overseeing the Hartman family trust and that they’ve been contacted by an independent accounting firm on behalf of Marilyn Hartman. She’s hired them to do a full forensic accounting. Everything: trusts, bank accounts, properties, all of it.” Chris took another sip of his drink. “Goose kind of told it as an eye roll, like, can you believe that old guy bragging about his friend’s fancy 49er tickets when the wife is doing an audit? I didn’t think anything of it in the moment, just that it was some gossip, but now you’ve mentioned the kid’s name —” He broke off.
Mark and Jeannie looked at each other, stunned. Jeannie took a long gulp on her Old Fashioned.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Mark asked her.
“The same question we’ve had all day?”
“Yup.”
“What’s the question?” Chris asked, confused.
“Where’s the fucking money?”
“What do you mean? The Hartmans have millions.” Chris asserted. “I figured the wife probably wants to count it up and see if she can buy a condo in Mexico or something. Or maybe she wants to threaten him with divorce, which will probably go nowhere. Families like that don’t do divorce.” Jeannie was thoughtful, remembering what Brother Driscoll had mentioned to them earlier in the day.
“Maybe she just wants to know if she could survive a divorce and come out with some money.” Jeannie looked at Mark who raised both eyebrows.
“Or maybe things aren’t adding up to her either.” Mark added.
“You two aren’t making sense.” Chris said looking from one to the other. Jeannie sighed and looked at Mark who shrugged slightly.
“Okay, what I’m about to tell you is absolutely strictly confidential, Chris. If anything we tell you comes out I’ll know it was you because no one else knows.” She gave him a grave, wide-eyed look.
“Jeannie — of course. I’m not going to say anything to anyone. Consider this under attorney-client privilege.” She looked at Mark again.
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Okay. Broad strokes.” Mark moved to set his empty glass next to the sink. “The youngest of Jim and Marilyn Hartman’s boys, Tripp Hartman, hosted the party on Friday night which was attended by our victim. We’ve since learned that Tripp has a bit of a reputation for being a nasty bully, and that he was part of a group that bullied the victim over July 4th in an incident that apparently was recorded on video and is now on the Pr3pSF website where someone had also posted your photos.” Mark sniffed a little. “Jim Hartman refused to let us speak to his son during the interviews on Sunday — instead insisting that his 49ers tickets were more of a priority — so we’ve done a little digging. We’ve since learned that the family, though wealthy and respected, has a history of abuse and all-around bad-behavior from the boys.”
“Do you remember that story a few years back about that boy at Xavier that was beaten so badly in the locker room?” Jeannie asked Chris, who squinted his eyes a little, leaning back against the counter. “It came out as sort of a rumor, but we’ve confirmed it’s true. And the guy that beat him up was one of the Hartman boys. We went out to Xavier and talked to Brother Driscoll earlier today.” Chris’ eyes got wide.
“You did?”
“Yeah, he asked about you. Anyways, he confirmed the story and confirmed that Jim Hartman paid for the new athletic facility at the prep as a sign of good faith that the Jesuits would still admit the other two Hartman sons. Except —”
“Except what?” Chris asked.
“Except he didn’t pay for it.” Chris looked from Jeannie to Mark.
“What do you mean? His name is on the building.”
“Yeah, well, according to Driscoll he made the down payment and never came up with the rest. He said the whole project cost $200K and Hartman only put in $75K. They had to go out to the top donors with open palms, trying to make up the difference. Maybe they hit up your dad? He could probably confirm, even if it was meant to be on the DL.”
“I’ll ask him, but what do you mean? Who paid for the building?”
“Okay, don’t ask him until this blows over, alright? That will just gin up the rumor mill.” Jeannie warned quickly.
“Well, to answer,” Mark began, “Brother Driscoll said that someone named Con Sullivan stepped up and matched Hartman’s 75, but they had to go to the general fund to move over another 50K.” Chris was very still.
“Con Sullivan?” He looked at Jeannie, a shade of awe and concern in his eyes. “Con Sullivan is a fucking bastard.” Chris said quietly.
“I thought you might know something about him.” Jeannie was matter-of-fact, moving into the pantry to fetch the cocktail shaker. She added a touch to Chris’ glass and offered some to Mark who waved her off.
“My father knows him well, and not in a good way.” Chris shook his head exhaling hard. “So, what happened? Why would Sullivan pay out for Hartman? It doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s what we said.” Jeannie looked to Mark. “Also, why doesn’t Hartman have the cash to pay it himself, even if he had to make a settlement on the boy who got beaten up, which we heard was expensive, they’ve got all these houses and cars and boats and club memberships and opera and symphony — they’re always in the Nob Hill Gazette and the social column.”
“So, like we said, where’s the fucking money?” Mark sighed again. “And frankly I wish we could find out. My guy at the DOJ said Hartman was in play somehow. Some department or other is investigating him so they may not like it if we want to investigate on our side. This is why we have to come up with something compelling by Thursday. Given everything, I’m guessing it’s the IRS.”
“Why don’t I look into it?” Chris offered.
“Chris, no. No way.”
“No, Jeannie, let me do this. I can’t find out much any way because he’s a lawyer with a private firm — there won’t be any public business records, but I can find out enough.”
“You’d do that?” Mark asked.
“I mean, I can’t promise anything. It would probably be pretty cursory, but I’ll try,” he looked at Jeannie, “if you’ll let me.”