Unknown Diners

Chapter Fifty-Five

Lorne and Catherine held their hugging kiss until his phone bing-bonged. He pulled his mouth away long enough to say email. He took two short steps, set her butt on the island, and they played kissy face.

"We'll have to try this one without our clothes in the way." Catherine wrapped her legs tighter. "Damned near came only thinking about it." She laid her head on his shoulder and kissed his neck. "So what's the email?"

"It's likely the name change. Too soon to be the court archive contents."

"You want to check?"

"Guess we should get back at it. Before I start mine, I can set you up combing CynCat's posts for comments, likes, follows. Find out who she follows, comments to, and so on. See if she uses the same name on Shufflr and do the same there. It's a great tangled web. They spread more than their legs all over it."

He showed her the basics and left her to it, then turned to his own computer. "Yup, this is what I thought it would be. The name change was approved on 1 December 2010 from ROBOTHAM, William Charles to CHARLES, William."

"That was soon after he was released, wasn't it?"

He tabbed to the criminal record. "Yeah, released tenth of November. Name change to William Charles three weeks later."

"Yeah, the time it took to submit the application and have it approved."

"This is interesting. He failed to report the name change. They're investigating."

"Failed to report?"

"The Sex Offender Registry. They have to report annually and within a week of any change of address, employment, volunteering. I'm sure name change is also a requirement."

"Is he still reporting as Robotham?"

"Don't know, but I'm going to find out." He opened the email, hit Reply and started typing.

Catherine returned to her searching, reading through the comments on each of the posted images. When she saw that Lorne had sent the email, she said, "This is quite funny, these comments. The women talking technique back and forth with each other, like discussing quilt stitches or how to grow better basil."

"I've seen a lot of that, making it seem doing this stuff is normal. It's always struck me as strange. We don't post pictures of trimming our toenails and discuss the different techniques."

She tapped Lorne's arm. "Look at this. She's showing how she clips her weights on, and in the comments, she's discussing the benefits of going regimental. Allows her to do weight stretching as she works. Fuck! The image of her with dangling weights swinging as she hosts. Fuck, guess that's why she wears long skirts most of the time."

"I can see why she has trouble keeping..." His phone bing-bonged, and he turned to the computer to open the new email. "Slippery fellow. Shows here he reported twice as Robotham, 2010 a week after he was released and his annual in 2011, then he stopped." He continued reading, shaking his head slowly. "So much for the Sex Offender Registry. They lost track of him shortly after his release."

"At least we have his new name, William Charles, to work with." She looked up from her computer and caught his frustration.

"Very stale. He would have used it only long enough to get a whole new identity. Prison's a great networking place, connections to the whole organised crime world. Likely had everything set up before he left."

"The basic structure for the restaurant thing, anticipating the move from the drug distribution monopoly that the idiocy of the war on drugs had created for them." She shrugged. "Yanks!"

"Stupid, isn't it? The USAians still defending that, protecting the rights of organised crime to distribute. Gun lobby, I guess."

"Yeah, incredibly stupid. Defending their God-given right to shoot their neighbours. God, I wish they'd come up with a name for themselves. Yanks is limiting, USAian sounds... Sounds hokey. They keep insisting, but the rest of the Americas no longer tolerate their usurping American and America, sullying, debasing and despoiling our reputation." She shrugged. "USofAins from USofAia? I don't know."

They resumed digging in their computers, quietly focusing on their quests. Near noon, his phone bing-bonged again. He waited for the email to arrive in his computer, then opened it and scanned it quickly. "The data from Roboth... From Bottom Line's computer. Three hundred and eighty-seven Gigs. They've received a copy."

"God, three eighty-seven. Take a long time to send that."

"They've asked me if I have room."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, but it'll nearly stuff my drive."

"The Cloud?"

"Too much breach."

"Yeah."

"I'll ask them to send over a physical drive." He turned back to his computer, typed a reply and sent it, then looked up at her. "Anything interesting with our sinister cat?"

"Other than way too much focus on her cunt?"

"Strange stuff, isn't it?"

"I had no idea."

"Break?"

"Fuck, yes."

"Both those?"

"Yes."