Death Song by Michael McGarrity

computers at the Riley residence.
    “Nada, zip, zilch,” Matt replied, chewing on a toothpick, which was his habit, “but all may not be lost, to turn a phrase.”
    “That’s cute, Matt,” Ramona said. “Give me details.”
    “Details, I don’t have, but I do have an idea about what it took to scour those hard drives, which can tell us something about the person who did it.”
    “Explain,” Ramona said.
    “Most of your typical computer users will either purchase or download a free hard-drive eraser utility that does a fairly adequate job of destroying data. However, a good computer forensic specialist can often find information that hasn’t been overwritten in clusters because of something called file slack.”
    Ramona rolled her eyes skyward. “This is all so very riveting.”
    Matt laughed. “Be patient, Sarge, I’m getting there. In this particular case, both hard drives were cleaned and sanitized to the max.”
    “How is that done?”
    “Simply put, by repeatedly overwriting and replacing hard-drive surface information with random numbers or characters. On hard drives that have been cleansed by your typical software end user, I’ll normally find file slack that has been dumped from the computer’s memory, which makes it possible to identify passwords, log-on information, and prior computer usage we call legacy data. But not this time. Everything was as clean as a whistle. I’m betting whoever did this is no average user when it comes to computers. In fact, it could well be the individual is an IT specialist. But if not, he or she is a gifted amateur techie.”
    “And you can tell this by how the hard drives were erased.”
    “Yep. Whoever did this used the techniques and standards set by the Department of Defense to cleanse computer hard drives.”
    “What else have you got?”
    Matt looked surprised. “Nothing right now. I was waiting on you to tell me what Internet service provider the victims used so I could get a subpoena to access their records.”
    Ramona drained her coffee and gave Chacon an apologetic look. With the discovery of Denise Riley’s body in the horse trailer and the ensuing work that it entailed, she’d totally forgotten to follow up as promised.
    “Never mind,” Matt said with a smile. “I’ll do it. Do you know if the evidence search at the residence turned up any floppy disks, zip drives, or compact disks? I didn’t see any when I was there.”
    “I’ll take a look at the evidence sheets when I meet with the sheriff’s investigators and let you know.”
    “Thanks.” Matt slid out of the booth. “Also, ask about any software. If they secured anything like that during the search, have them give me a call. I’ll pick it up for analysis.”
    “Coffee’s on me,” Ramona said.
    “Thanks,” Matt said, knowing full well that it served as a partial apology on Ramona’s part.
    Outside the restaurant, Ramona took a call on her cell phone from Don Mielke of the sheriff’s department asking her to show up for an investigative team meeting at the sheriff’s office in fifteen minutes. She told him that she was on her way, passed the word of the meeting by radio to the two other detectives Chief Kerney had assigned to the case, and drove out of the parking lot, still feeling a bit miffed with herself for failing to get Matt Chacon the information he needed.
     
     
     
    Several years ago, the county had built a new law enforcement complex on Highway 14, a state road that ran from Santa Fe through the old mining towns of Cerrillos, Madrid, and Golden, into the Ortiz Mountains, and down the back side of the Sandia Mountains that rose up east of the city of Albuquerque.
    Designated a scenic route and named the Turquoise Trail, most of Highway 14 was indeed picturesque, with views of high, heavily forested peaks and several old mining towns along the way that were definitely worth a stop.
    One such town was Cerrillos, named for the nearby hills, where according to fact or