Page 116 of The 1 Lawyer

At length, the kid made a snort of satisfaction and gazed up at Jenny. “We’re in.”

Jenny’s hand went to her chest. “You think?” she said.

I pushed my chair back. “Into what?”

Jenny said, “Stafford Lee, I took a flash drive to the casino, one that Raymond gave me. I needed to get that flash drive into Hiram’s computer system. I figured I could con the old man into planting it himself if I had the chance to talk to him, but he wouldn’t meet with me. So I showed it to Joey Roman, held it out like bait.”

The scenario Jenny described was exactly what I’d wanted her to avoid. “Joey Roman? Jenny, you don’t want to mess with Joey.”

“But it worked! He grabbed it right out of my hand and said he was going to give it to Hiram Caro—and it looks like he did! He must’ve gone straight to Hiram, didn’t even wait until tomorrow to pass it on.”

A sense of anticipation took hold of me. “So what does the flash drive do?” I asked. I was a lawyer, not a tech guy. I was still trying to figure this out.

Jenny said, “The flash drive Joey snatched from me contained a virus.”

Raymond ran his hand over the computer screen. “The virus in the flash drive infects the computer it’s inserted into. Then the virus replicates itself and attaches to software and stored files.”

“It gives us access. To everything.” Jenny was so pumped, she was glowing with triumph.

“You mean we have access to Hiram Caro’s computer? Right now?”

“Yeah, we do.” She rubbed her arm. “Oh my God, I’ve got goose bumps. What should we open up? What do you want to dig into?”

The tech guy said, “He’s got a shit-ton of pictures. You want to look at his photos, see what he’s got stored?”

I wanted to share Jenny’s enthusiasm, to believe that this wild attempt could pay off.

Jenny said, “It’s a starting place. Come over here, Stafford Lee.”

I couldn’t imagine Hiram Caro taking a bunch of personal pics, but it was worth a shot. I joined Jenny, put my arm around her. “Yeah, let’s take a look at Hiram’s pictures.”

The photos appeared on the screen, a composite of small images. It wasn’t what I expected to see. I glanced at Jenny. She was squinting in concentration, her brows drawn together.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Her hopes had been dashed when she viewed the display—so had mine.

The photos weren’t pictures of Hiram. They were shots of Joey Roman. Joey, Joey, Joey, one picture after another. Joey at the beach, at the casino, in a boat. And nude pictures he’d taken of his reflection in a mirror or by sticking his phone down his pants.

The tech geek said, “Wow. He stored a lot of dick pics. The dude is reckless with his digital footprint.”

No argument there. Jenny turned away from the screen and buried her head in my shoulder. She muttered, “I’m sorry, Stafford Lee.”

Hiding the sinking feeling in my gut, I whispered in her ear that I was grateful for everything she’d done. Jenny had no reason to apologize; she’d risked way more than she should’ve, tangling with Joey Roman.

But Raymond Plummer seemed fascinated with the photo montage. As he scrolled through the images, I saw Joey holding up a redfish he’d caught on his boat; Joey’s meal at a restaurant; Joey in Vegas, on Fremont Street. And there were lots of selfies with a variety of women.

“Hold on!” I said to the hacker. I edged up close to the table and tapped the laptop screen with a finger. “Who’s that?”

He enlarged the selfie of Joey. It was a clear well-lit shot. Joey stood with a good-looking woman wearing a skimpy cocktail-waitress uniform.

At first, I thought maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. But no, I wasn’t seeing things. I recognized her face.

It was the cold-case victim from Gulfport.

Desiree Whitman.

CHAPTER 93

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