Cold Calls by Charles Benoit Page B

picture.”
    â€œA painting, a photograph . . . ?”
    â€œA photo.”
    â€œDigital?”
    â€œYeah,” he said, dropping his hands hard onto the arms of the metal chair. “A digital photograph. Happy?”
    â€œYes, thank you,” Shelly said, writing it all down. “Now the harder question. How’d she get it?”
    â€œNo frickin’ clue,” Eric said.
    Fatima tilted her head. “I thought you said she took a picture of you.”
    â€œShe
has
a picture. She didn’t take it.”
    â€œSo she wasn’t there?”
    Eric looked down at the table, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he smiled. “No, she wasn’t there.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œI’m sure,” he said, his eyes shifting back and forth.
    Shelly watched him, nodding, then said, “So I’m guessing that you know who took the picture and you’re positive that whoever took it didn’t give it to the girl who’s calling us. Am I close?”
    â€œClose enough, yeah.”
    â€œSince it’s digital, she might have hacked into your computer—”
    â€œIt was on my phone,” he said. “You can’t hack into a phone.”
    â€œYes, you can,” Fatima said. “My cousin? Hassan? He’s, like, a computer expert. I’ve heard him say that there’s ways to do it but it’s really complex. You gotta be linked into a network or something.”
    â€œOkay, that’s one way the caller could have gotten the picture,” Shelly said, adding it to the paper. “Did you loan your phone to a friend or something?”
    He laughed. “They have their own.”
    â€œFine. Ever lose your phone anywhere?”
    â€œNo, I’ve always got it. My mother has it now, but before that, I always had it.”
    â€œYou
never
left it anywhere accidentally, even for a minute?”
    â€œWell, yeah, sure. But it was never more than, I don’t know, five minutes? She couldn’t get to it that quick.”
    â€œYou’d be surprised at what can happen in five minutes,” Shelly said, more to herself than to the others. “So it’s possible she stole it. How long for doesn’t matter.”
    â€œMy book got stolen,” Fatima said. “She took it out of my locker.”
    â€œExcellent. Now we know she goes to your school,” Eric said.
    Shelly shook her head. “No, it only means that she got into the school building. You have to wear a uniform or something?”
    â€œNo,” Fatima said, making a face. “It’s just Springtown. A regular high school.”
    â€œSo any girl could walk around there and nobody would notice.”
    â€œYeah, probably.”
    â€œAnd do you always lock your locker every time?”
    â€œNo one does. We got, like, two minutes between classes. You don’t want to spend half of it dialing in the combination. You close it almost all the way and it’s good enough.”
    Eric looked at Shelly. “What about you? How’d she get this . . .
information?
”
    â€œShe didn’t have to break in, if that’s what you mean,” Shelly said. “I don’t know how she found it.”
    â€œCould I find it?”
    â€œNo,” Shelly said, and before Eric could ask another question, she said, “We know more or less what she has, and for you guys, how she got it. All that’s left is to figure out who she is.”
    â€œ
Who she is
is a psycho,” Eric said.
    â€œThat’s a what,” Shelly said, “and given some of the girls I’ve met, it doesn’t narrow it down much.”
    Fatima said, “Let’s make a list of everyone we know and see who we all know in common.”
    â€œThat’s crazy,” Eric said. “You know how long that would take?”
    â€œTrue, but it’s the right idea,” Shelly said, “and there’s an easier way. We each make a