Discovered Identity

by Lisa Haselton

“Hey, Mom, I brought you some real nourishment,” Rob said as he entered his mother's apartment using his key while balancing two full bags of groceries.

She told him she was going to be attending an online writer's workshop for a week and that she stocked up on frozen meals. Being a chef, he couldn't let her do that.

He placed the bags on the counter.

“Mom, come on. You can take a break.” He shouted loud enough for her to hear him from the kitchen.

After unpacking the bags and putting some items in the refrigerator, Rob walked down the hallway to his mother's office. Her back was to the door, but he could see part of the screen.

“Mom, come on. Great food is waiting for you.”

He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders while glancing at the screen. He had no idea how an online writing conference worked, or why his mother felt the need to sit in front of her computer for an entire week.

Scrolling lines of text by different ID names drew his attention to an open group chat window. Various people chatting.

There was an open individual chat window in the lower right of the screen with the user ID BetterthanU. Without reading the chat, Rob squeezed his mother's shoulders.

“What do you say, Mom?” He moved beside her and looked down. One of her hands rested on the keyboard. The other was on her lap. She looked as though she were staring at the screen. Unblinking.

“Mom, what gives?” He leaned against her desk and looked at her face. He noticed the slight drool from the edge of her mouth. Her appearance seemed fake.

“Mom?”

He leaned forward. She hadn't blinked.

Rob felt his pulse quicken. His breath caught in his throat. Sweat trickled down his back as his stomach clenched. He reached over her shoulder and grabbed the back of the chair, shaking it, afraid that touching her might cause her to shatter.

The hand resting on the keyboard fell to her lap and her head fell forward until her chin rested on her chest.

“Mom!” He pushed the chair back and then gently eased her head back. Her face was very cold. Her eyes were still open and he noticed they were glassy. He grabbed her hand. It was also cold. She didn't move or acknowledge him in any way.

* * * *

“So, Mr. Amroth, when did you find your mother?” The detective stood poised with notebook and pen. Looks like a television show detective.

“Um, it was about forty minutes ago. I got here at two o'clock. Figured she could use some nourishment.” Rob couldn't help but stare at his mother as she was placed on the gurney and covered with a sheet.

“Why would your mother need nourishment?” The detective made a note on his pad.

“Huh?” Rob's gaze was briefly pulled away from his retreating mother's body. “Oh, it's not that she really needed it. It's just that she told me she bought herself a week's worth of frozen meals so she wouldn't have to be away from the computer for long.”

“And why would she want to live like that?”

“She didn't live like that. It was a temporary, one week affair.”

“Your mother was having an affair?”

Rob glared at the detective, but then watched and followed as his mother's body was wheeled out of the room and down the hallway.

The gurney went out of view and Rob looked around at the activity within his mother's apartment.

“Is it really necessary to be so invasive?” He noticed a female police officer looking behind photos and rearranging items in drawers.

“Sir, it's not every day that a prominent member of the community dies. We are simply looking for signs of foul play.”

“Well, you aren't going to find anything behind the pillows of the couch! Why are you assuming foul play?”

“We can't rule it out. Your mother had a new book ready to publish.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Rob took a step toward the detective. The two men stood eye to eye.

“Maybe nothing. But, your mother died while she was alone, and that is generally suspicious until an autopsy has been performed.”

Rob's mouth went dry.

“Autopsy? No one is cutting into my mother! Who do I need to talk to?” He felt bile rising from his stomach to his throat at the thought of a horrendous ‘Y' incision in his mother's torso.

The detective grabbed Rob's arm. “There's no one to contact. Like I said, anyone who dies alone has an autopsy to rule out unnatural circumstances.”

“But why are you searching the apartment now? Isn't it a waste of time? She was alone when I found her. Sitting at her keyboard. The paramedic said it looked like a heart attack.” Rob looked back at the doorway, remembering the gurney.

“And it does look like one, but we might as well see if any evidence pops up sooner rather than later. If someone did have a hand in your mother's death, wouldn't you like us to be on top of it instead of needing to come back in a few days?”

Rob looked around and then nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. But I'd like everything left in tact, please. It's all I have to remember her by, now.” He felt tears welling up. He knew he was not going to let the detective, or anyone else, see him cry.

Crying could be done later. When he was alone.

* * * *

Alone in his mother's apartment, with no one left to notify, Rob went over the events of the past couple of days.

His mother was excited about her online writing conference. She said she was going to be able to meet the perfect agent for her newest book. When he pressed her for details as to genre, she was evasive and mumbled that it was quite steamy and erotic.

Rob hadn't wanted to hear any more. Imagining his mother having sex was bad enough, but to think about her writing some hot sexy novel that other women, and men, would read and get worked up over was just too much for him. As a son, he did not want to know any details.

“Why can't you write books for kids? Or even another mystery to go in your series, Mom?” he had asked. “Why do you have to get pornographic?”

“It isn't pornography, Rob,” she said. “It's erotica. There's an actual story line, and I believe my novel is quite marketable. The agent is going to be at this conference and I'll have an opportunity to make a pitch and send her some preliminary pages. This could be my big break!”

“Mom, you're already set for life financially and your mysteries are doing okay. Why do you feel you need a big break?”

“I want to be known for my creativity. I don't like being niched as a soft mystery writer.”

He knew his face had paled at that statement, even though they were talking on the phone. “You're going to publish this with your real name?”

“Absolutely! I have nothing to be ashamed of.” He'd never heard her so excited.

“Tell me you're joking, Mom. You can't publish porn in your real name! Not in this community!”

“Rob,” she said with a patient voice. “It's my life. This is a great story. I'm quite proud of it, and I will be publishing it in my own name. Society be damned.” She giggled. “And, please stop referring to it as pornography. It's erotica. There's a big difference.”

“Not to me, Mom. Do you know the repercussions I'm going to feel?”

“Excuse me?” The humor left her voice and he felt as though he had suddenly been reprimanded. “You're worried about how my book is going to affect your life? I raised you better than that, Rob.”

“I'm sorry, Mom.” He meant it sincerely, but wasn't sure she heard it that way.

“I need to go. I love you. Bye.” She hung up before he could say any more.

He thought about calling her right back but he didn't know what he would say. He knew he was going to take a lot of ribbing, at a minimum, once her book was published and people connected the easy dots. Amroth was not a very common name. And Madeline Amroth, widow of the late Wilber Amroth, founder of slipper cuffs for the elite upper crust of society, was a commodity already. For her to publish an erotica novel using the family name was just ghastly to consider.

Perhaps he could work with the family attorney and put a stop to the publication. No, that wasn't right. She and his father had a tough marriage. Years ago, his father had one particular affair with a young woman which caused quite a commotion in the town. The family took a lot of heat from tabloids. Rob wanted to change his last name back then so kids wouldn't know he was related, but somehow he survived the ridicule and taunts and ended up making a name for himself as a chef without any tawdry strings attached.

He took a deep breath and realized he could handle any fallout his mother's erotica novel would cause. He actually started laughing when he thought about how upset he got over the prospect. Maybe, he realized, he was more upset knowing his mother was writing such material, rather than the fact she was going to use her name when it was published.

And getting it published wasn't even a sure thing. She felt her novel was worthy of publication, but she hadn't even passed it to an agent yet. Maybe she won't even get it out the door .

He called his mother a few hours later and apologized for his insensitivity. She accepted his apology and told him she couldn't talk. She sounded agitated and he asked what was wrong.

“Just a guy in my critique group who has taken issue with my story,” she said. “No worries, we'll hash it out. Kisses. Bye.”

* * * *

“Jealous writing partner!” Rob came out of his memories and remembered the online chat he had glimpsed when he found his mother. The one with the user ID of BetterthanU. What had that IM said? Rob made his way back to his mother's office and walked in without a pause.

Once in the room, however, he halted and looked at the mess the paramedics had left. Wrappers from packages they had opened for needles and medications while trying to revive her were scattered about the room.

He felt his chest tighten. Tears welled up and fell down his face before he could take his next breath. “Mom,” he said as he knelt and then fell back against the wall. He didn't fight the emotions. He let the sobs leave his body. His entire life changed with her death and he didn't know how he was going to go on. He loved his mother tremendously. They were each other's best friends.

After what felt like forever, Rob wiped his eyes and stood up. He grabbed the desk chair and pulled it up to the computer. Moving the mouse caused the screen to come out of standby mode. Everything he had noted earlier was still on the screen, although the group chat was a bit different.

Funny how the detective didn't want to search the computer. Isn't that the first key hiding place for clues nowadays? Rob didn't let his thoughts continue along those lines. His mind was distracted by the IM window in the bottom right corner of the screen.

BetterthanU: what's the matter? feeling a little choked up?

BetterthanU: ha ha ha

BetterthanU: how does it feel knowing I've won?

BetterthanU: come on, u can share

BetterthanU: oh, wait, that's the whole point!

BetterthanU: how could I forget!

BetterthanU: ha ha ha

The instant messages were sent earlier that afternoon. The last one was shortly before 2PM. The user signed off at 2:15.

“What did you do to my mother, you bastard?”

He clicked on the IM window and scrolled up to view the rest of the chat. It had been antagonistic the entire time. His mother, using the simple ID of MAmroth, didn't participate much in the conversation.

BetterthanU: u don't deserve to be here

MAmroth: It's open to anyone

BetterthanU: ur book will hurt a lot of people

MAmroth: who is this?

BetterthanU: someone who knows what u r up to

MAmroth: then tell me who you are

BetterthanU: how could you write it?

MAmroth: write what?

“Who the hell are you,” Rob said as he continued scrolling through the chat. He searched the directory for other conversations with the same user ID and couldn't find any. It seemed to be the only time his mother had encountered this person.

He tried to make his way around the conference chat rooms, but was restricted from most. It prompted for a username and password and he had no idea what that entailed. He looked through his mother's email. She was always quite organized and he easily found a folder for Writer_Conference. He also found a directory and folders of the same name on her hard drive. As he was searching through files for the username and password information, the writer chat room popped up and his mother's ID became active.

MAmroth: I'm looking forward to meeting Angela.

FelixUnger: me 2, she's a gr8 agent

Jules: She's represented me in the past. Great lady.

Moderator: We have about five minutes before Meet the Agents starts. Feel free to keep chatting until then.

MAmroth: I've already taken the Make a Pitch session, hope I can convince Angela to accept my manuscript

“What?” Rob couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. He tried typing.

MAmroth: Who are you?

FelixUnger: I'm a writer

Jules: me too. Published novelist.

MAmroth: No, who is using this ID?

Moderator: MAmroth, r u in the right chat room?

MAmroth: Someone is using this ID and I need to find out who it is

Moderator: u r using it

“Ugh!”

MAmroth: No, someone was using this before I started.

Moderator: It's not possible for two people to be logged in with the same name

MAmroth: Well, it's happening.

Moderator: We need to get started with the chat now.

Moderator: Welcome everyone to Meet the Agents, today we have with us agents representing memoirs and autobiographies…

Rob pushed away from the desk. His hands went to his head and his fingers weaved through his hair. He watched the chat session start. He couldn't figure out how someone could be using the same ID from somewhere else, but he was convinced someone was trying to steal his mother's identity, or her work.

“The novel.” He sat back down at the desk and looked through his mother's computer folders. Everything was carefully and clearly identified. Finances. Critique group. Musings. Ideas. Journal. Oh, that may tell me something.

Rob clicked on the Journal folder and saw hundreds of files named with the date. He clicked on the most recent entry, earlier that morning. He did a quick scan. It was nothing but rambling. She hadn't used punctuation or capitalization. Rob looked through a few files. He decided the entries, which were all created early in the morning of each day, were simple stream of consciousness ramblings and didn't contain anything useful.

“There has to be more, Mom. Where.” He looked through more folders and files but couldn't find where she would keep a complete novel. Nothing that even hinted at erotica on the computer. “That's very strange. If it's not here, where would it be?”

She was going to make a pitch and submit some sample pages. It has to be here somewhere.

The computer clicked and Rob glanced down at the PC box.

A window popped up on the screen. “Copying file…10% complete…”

“What?”

Rob pressed the eject button on the CD drive. The drawer opened. It was empty.

“Copying file….35% complete…”

“This doesn't make any sense!” Rob kept closing and opening the CD drawer. The copy continued.

“AGGHH. What are you copying? Stop!” He slammed the desk and then thought, Power.

He leaned under the desk and yanked the power cord. The computer went dark.

“What the hell is going on?” He stood and paced the room. He walked to the window then back to the door, glancing at the computer as he paced.

Someone had been controlling the computer remotely. How is that possible?

Rob pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial number. “TJ. How can someone control a computer remotely?”

“Software? How far away can the person be?”

“Really? They can be anywhere.” Rob stared at the computer. His free hand kept running through his hair.

“Well, I watched my mother's PC be taken over. First it was her IM name. I was able to use it too and type back using the same ID.”

“Yeah, I'm serious. And the next thing I knew there was a message saying a file was being copied. The CD drive was empty, but a file continued to be copied. I finally yanked the power cord.”

“No. I don't want to plug it back in.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” Rob looked behind the desk, under the desk, all around. “I'm not seeing any cable.”

“Yeah, of course, she must have wireless.” He listened. “On the back? Okay, hang on.”

Rob pulled the PC box away from the wall and looked at the back. He moved a small switch from left to right. He noticed a small rectangular key sitting in a USB drive. It didn't have any wires connected to it. He yanked it out, came out from under the desk and picked up his cell phone.

“Okay, I did that. I also found this small rectangular key in a USB port. Could that be the remote control?”

“Flash drive?” Rob turned the stick over in his hand. He noticed a 2GB stamp.

“This is where the file is?” He listened for a moment. “I've never seen one before.”

“Okay. So, anyway, you think I should be safe to boot up and the person can't take control again?”

He nodded to himself as he bent and lifted the power cord. “Thanks, TJ. I'll give you a call if I need more help. Bye.”

Rob put the phone in his pants pocket and plugged the computer back into the wall. He pressed the power button and the system started to reboot.

After watching it boot up and notify him that the system had shut down unexpectedly, the system settled down and he thought it was ready to use.

A message popped onto the screen asking if he wanted to continue copying. The system was no longer connected to cyberspace, but Rob's pulse quickened as he rushed to click “No”.

He opened the CD drive. He looked at the stick he held in his hand.

Rob looked at the desk and saw a stack of readable CDs. He took a blank CD out and placed it in the drive. He had no idea why. He just went with his gut. Just in case.

“Okay, now what.” He didn't know what to do, but he felt the flash drive was critical, or at least important.

He decided to see what was on the small disk. He stuck the disk back into the USB port.

It took him a while, but he managed to find his way to the contents of the external memory stick. It contained one file, SamanthasRansom. Rob opened the file and briefly scanned it. It was a book manuscript with 206 pages. He was confident it was his mother's erotica novel. Rob closed the file, removed the stick from the USB drive and stuffed it in his pocket.

He was starting to believe his mother had been murdered. But how would that be possible if she was home alone? Poison. There wasn't any food on her desk. There was an empty mug on the top shelf. He knew she liked to have tea, but it didn't appear that she had any recently.

There wasn't remote software for murder, was there? Who would want to kill his mother?

He clicked on her email program. It wouldn't connect.

Well, no kidding, I disabled the wireless connection.

The doorbell startled him. “At this hour?” he said as he looked at his watch and walked to the door.

“Who is it,” he said into the intercom.

“Detective Mark, from earlier today. I was hoping to catch you, sir. May I come up to ask a few more questions?”

Rob took a deep breath. “It's late, detective. I can stop by your office in the morning.”

“Sir, I'd really just like to take care of a few easy questions, if you don't mind.”

Rob didn't know why, but his body tightened and he felt like running. He shook off the fear and pressed the button which allowed the building's front door to unlock.

Feeling a bit nervous and not knowing why, he rushed back to his mother's office and shut the computer down. He pushed it back under the desk, then went back and held the door open as the detective made his way to the tenth floor. The elevator beeped and he heard someone walking down the hall.

Rob briefly thought about the flash drive in his pocket and felt to make sure it was still there.

“Detective,” Rob said as the man came into view.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Amroth. This really won't take long.”

Rob closed the door. “So, what can I help you with, detective?”

“I'd like to take a look at your mother's computer. It seems to be one area the officer overlooked earlier. Do you mind?” The detective was walking down the hallway as he talked.

“Well, yes, actually, I do,” Rob said and caught up with the detective.

“Oh? Why is that?” The detective stopped and turned so quickly that Rob brushed into him.

Rob regained his balance and took a step back. “You said you had questions. You didn't mention anything about looking at her system.”

“Well, all my questions can be answered by looking at her system, I'm sure. It'll save us both time.” He turned and motioned toward the office. “Shall we?”

“No, I'd really like you to leave, detective.”

“I can come back with a warrant and turn this place upside down. But, why should I go through all that hassle and leave you with a messy apartment to clean up?”

Rob's knees shook. “What? My mother just died and you're here hours later giving me attitude? Get out!”

“No can do, Rob. I need to look at that PC.”

“What did you just call me?”

“You don't recognize me, do you?”

Rob knew his mouth was open. “You're the detective working this case.” He was totally baffled about the conversation. Why was this detective here asking to see his mother's computer and then being familiar and calling him by his first name? The whole day was beyond insane. He needed a shot of whiskey. Too bad he didn't drink.

The detective turned and walked into the office. Rob caught up and stood in the doorway.

“You shut the system down?” He looked back at Rob with a smile.

“Yeah, why not?” Rob didn't return the smile.

“Really wish you had left it alone. You may have tampered with evidence.” The detective sat in the office chair and turned the PC on. He pressed the CD eject button until the drawer opened. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to pick up the CD.

“How could I tamper with evidence when my mother probably died of a heart attack? What's really going on here? Why are you taking that CD?” Rob kept his hand away from his pocket and the flash drive.

“We haven't determined if it was natural causes or not,” the detective said. “Until then, I think you should leave the premises. If you give me a key it can speed things up and I won't have to bother you with repeated visits.”

“I think I'd rather have you deliver a court order in order to do that. I'd like that CD until you have a court order, also.” Rob held out his shaking hand.

“I'll give you a receipt for this,” the detective said as he stuffed the CD into his jacket pocket and then pulled out his small notepad from another. He scribbled something on the page, tore it out and handed it to Rob.

“This isn't official,” Rob said.

“It's official enough. I'll get out of your way now and get started on that court order. Shall I contact you here or at some other number?”

Rob reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a card. “You can reach me at the cell number. I'll hang on to the keys. Look forward to seeing your search warrant.”

He escorted the detective to the door and made sure to use both locks after the detective left. He then listened for the elevator chime. He heard the detective talking briefly before his words were cut off by the elevator door. Rob pushed the “Listen” button on the intercom to listen for the detective exiting the building. He didn't really expect to hear anything, but he knew he'd feel calmer if he could hear the man leave. With it being so late, there wasn't much activity at the front door.

“Harriet, I have it. Don't worry. He's clueless. I'm on my way,” the detective said.

Rob couldn't believe his ears. He bolted away from the intercom. What are the odds that the man would be speaking right at that moment? “You bastard,” Rob said to the intercom. “Why are you playing with me? What the hell is going on?”

Rob paced around the living room for a while. He sat down, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and then stood up and paced some more. What's going on? He heard a noise outside the door. Hoping to see a neighbor, he unlocked the door and peered out. No one was in the hallway. He walked down and looked around the corner. Empty.

He turned back to the apartment. Frazzled. It's been a long day. His face felt rough to the touch. He closed the door and walked over to the hallway mirror and laughed an empty laugh. “It's amazing what your mom's death can do to you, isn't it,” he said to his reflection.

He shivered at a chill and realized the central air had turned on. His knees buckled and he fell against the wall. The pain in his chest was excruciating. What's happening? His left arm felt as though it was being squeezed in a vise. His breathing became labored. Heart attack? How? Why? The questions ran through his head as he struggled to get the phone out of his pocket.

He fell to his knees. The motion caused him to drop the phone. He watched it bounce and land a couple of feet away. I can't be dying. Fear started to grip him as he realized how alone he was.

He collapsed to the floor. His gaze went to the door, willing help to arrive. His breathing was shallow and he felt hot. His shirt was suffocating him. He grabbed at it but didn't have the strength to rip it open. The pressure. I'm suffocating.

A figure entered the apartment.

“Help,” Rob said.

The man laughed. “You were smarter than I thought.”

The man bent to his knees and looked at his watch. “About ten more minutes and the pain will stop,” he said and started to go through Rob's pants pockets. Rob's vision was blurry. His mind was confused by the mask on the man's face.

“I pushed the poison into the air vent,” the man said while pointing to the ceiling. “It's untraceable after thirty minutes.”

The detective stood. “I believe this is what I'm looking for.” He held up the flash drive. “Nice try with the CD, but that drive was empty earlier.” He turned to leave but then turned back. “Your mother's novel was a tell-all memoir. Featuring me. And including my affair with your father. I slipped while critiquing her work and she figured out my new identity. Intelligent woman.”

“Samantha,” Rob wheezed.

“Yes. I was. Now I'm Samuel Mark, detective. This,” he said holding the flash drive again, “will be published on my terms.”