Catch Your Death

by Kierney Scott

  Jess cleared her throat when she realized Jamison wasn’t going to say anything. She turned her attention to Tina. “The agents who were leading this, Smart and Scott, have had no luck in locating the curator. Frankly I think they have been useless. I told Taylor that you could sort that out. So, you’re now in charge of tracking the curator. Smart and Scott will take orders from you.”

  Tina bit the corner of her lip as she flipped through the packet. Her brows knitted together as she read.

  “What?” Jess asked. “You can trace him, can’t you?”

  “Um… I mean, yeah, no, I can. It’s just not as straightforward as that. From this it looks like this guy is good. He’s covered his tracks really well.”

  “But you’re better,” Jess said. She wasn’t blowing sunshine up her ass. Tina was the best analyst she had ever worked with. She had specifically asked for her to be added to their team because they needed her skills. Tina could find things in seconds that would take Jess days. She was smart and she was methodical.

  Tina smiled at the praise, making her eyes sparkle like they were lit up from behind. “Thank you. We can find him but it’s not going to be easy. He’s using a proxy server and onion routing. The IP is bouncing all over the place.”

  “Onion routing, I’ve never even heard of that,” Chan said.

  Jess’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She had heard of it and she knew it meant that their guy was hidden under layer upon layer of the dark net. “How are you going to trace him?”

  Tina blew out a stream of air and the small gust pushed her bangs up from her forehead. “From what I’m seeing here, it looks like the investigation to this point has been mostly traffic analysis to try to cut out the proxy server. That’s slow work and not always reliable. A good defense attorney could shred this.” She tapped her pen on the table as she thought. “We could try to get a warrant for more records but my gut says that even the friendliest judge is going to think it’s a fishing expedition and not grant it.”

  “So, what do we do?” Jess pressed. She could only discuss a problem long enough to understand it before she switched her focus to finding the solution.

  “I think we should keep monitoring it and wait for him to make a mistake. I know it sounds lame but most of the time that is how these people are caught. It only takes one time where they’re lazy or tired or in a hurry, and they log in without covering their tracks and we get them. It’s as simple as that. We wait for them to make a mistake while we continue with traffic analysis. I know you want a simple answer, but the simple answer is we might just have to play the long game on this one.”

  “Might. You said might.” Jess pounced on the seemingly meaningless utterance. All words had meaning, every careless phrase or throwaway comment betrayed the thought process of the speaker in some small way. Tina was holding something back. “What are you thinking? What’s the other option?”

  Tina’s throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed hard. The edges of her lips blanched where she had clamped her mouth shut to keep from saying anything else.

  “What?”

  Tina sighed. “There is another option. I’m not sure I would recommend it—”

  “What is it?” Jess pressed again.

  Tina’s seat squeaked as she shifted uncomfortably, crossing and then uncrossing her legs. She looked like she would rather pour acid in her own eyes than contribute any more to the conversation. “We could try to set a trap. It would be risky. Obviously if we are caught, it will push him underground even further, we could lose him forever, or we might put more people at risk.”

  Jess rubbed the knotted scars of her palm as she thought. Tina wanted to take the conservative option and follow Smart and Scott’s lead of observation and incident management. She could hardly blame her. Since Tina had joined the team, the cases she had worked had resulted in Jamison getting shot and Lindsay being murdered. Tina was understandably gun-shy at this point.

  “What would the trap look like?” Jamison asked.

  “Well…” Tina flipped through the pages. “This girl Kayli Lewis sought out the curator. Other kids were targeted but she invited him to contact her. We could use the same hashtag as her. We could create a profile, maybe even link it to someone who has already died playing the game, and then invite the curator to make contact.”

  Jess glanced around the room to gauge people’s reactions to the idea.

  “That sounds risky. It could tip him off,” Milligan said.

  Chan shrugged. “Maybe, or it could bait him, make him cocky and more likely to make a mistake. Hackers and hubris go hand in hand. Keyboard warriors want to be noticed. Maybe we should let him know we’re on his track and see if he wants to engage.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tina said, mortification flashing across her face.

  “Well, we can’t just do nothing,” Chan said. “There are twelve dead kids. How many more bodies do we let pile up while we sit here doing nothing?”

  “She isn’t suggesting we do nothing, she’s suggesting we be cautious. That’s not a bad idea after—” Milligan stopped mid-sentence. He looked over at Jess, his cheeks flushed. “Never mind.”

  A heavy silence fell on the room. Jess tapped her fingers on the desk as she thought. Milligan was right: if the last two cases had taught them anything, it was that if something could go wrong, it would go wrong. Maybe they should be more circumspect, but then again there was a fine line between caution and cowardice, and she never wanted to be on the wrong side, especially when there were kids involved.

  She waited for someone to say something but no one did. She blinked with surprise when she realized they were waiting for her to tell them what to do.

  She was in charge.

  Her head spun with the realization. She closed her eyes for a second to give herself the emotional distance to focus.

  She looked to Jeanie’s empty seat. Jeanie was the one who made the decisions. That’s how it worked. As her agents, they made their case and fought their corners, but it always came down to Jeanie.

  Not this time.

  Jess took a deep breath. “Let’s try to lure him out. Tina, I need you to lay the groundwork, set up some fake profiles, and see if he bites. We need it to look legit. Make them active across several social media platforms. Give them an internet presence that will pass the sniff test. If he doesn’t bite, we can use one of the profiles to actively seek him out. You’re right: the last thing we want to do is scare this guy off.”

  Tina nodded. “Okay, I’m on it.”

  Jess stood up to collect the reports so she could lock them safely in her office. “Great. If any of you need me for anything, I’m on my cell. There’s something I need to take care of.”

  Eight

  Jess zipped up her coat and then pushed her hands deep into her pockets. The tips of her fingers burned from the cold, even on her good hand. She had dropped one of her gloves somewhere earlier in the week but she didn’t want to retrace her steps to find it because she wasn’t particularly proud of any of the places she had been or any of the men she had spent time with. “You didn’t need to come with me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jamison’s breath came out in white, billowy puffs.

  “Thank you.” She didn’t want to do this and he knew it, which was why he’d insisted on coming with her. She could handle death or decomposition but dealing with families was excruciating at the best of times.

  She glanced up the drive, behind the black iron gate, to the red-brick colonial house. Her boot sunk into the fresh snow. It was dry and loose, perfect for skiing or making a snowman.

  “I’ve never been here. I couldn’t even tell you her address before today,” Jess admitted.

  “Me either. She’s always been private.”

  Jess stopped and turned to Jamison. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. Most people were terrified of him but she was glad he was here. She couldn’t say those words, but she was.

  “How was sh
e? When you told her?” Jess asked.

  Jamison shrugged. “I wasn’t sure she’d heard me. She was shocked. That’s not a call anyone expects.”

  Guilt settled heavy on her. Jeanie had been her boss and mentor for over a decade. She was a coward for not making the call herself: she owed that to her.

  She reached for the doorbell but stopped short of ringing it. She took a deep breath and pushed away all the thoughts thundering through her mind.

  “You okay to do this?” Jamison asked.

  Jess’s back stiffened. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She jabbed her finger into the buzzer.

  A few seconds later, the door opened and Paul Gilbert greeted them; his wife, Jeanie, was a few steps behind him. Her faded hair had escaped its usual bun and trailed down her back in a thick braid. Behind her bifocals, her eyes looked red and puffy.

  She’d been crying.

  Of course she’d been crying: she had just lost a family member. Jess looked away. It was hard to see Jeanie that way. She was their fearless leader, composed, and stoic. This wasn’t her.

  “Please come in,” Paul said.

  Jess and Jamison followed them through the entryway, through double doors into the living room. The beige walls were covered in family photos. There were smaller frames in every size and shape around a poster-sized picture of Jeanie and her extended family in a gilded frame. There were easily forty people in the picture, all huddled around an elderly couple in white, a bright-blue sky as the backdrop.

  “That’s my family,” Jeanie said, her voice flat. “Shona’s family is in green. Her husband left not long after this picture was taken. He hasn’t had anything to do with Levi since then. That’s why Paul and I took him in when Shona died. That’s Levi there.” She pointed to a little boy in a green T-shirt holding a sucker in one hand and a toy car in the other.

  Jess smiled. She had seen this style of family photo before, where every color represented a branch in the family tree. She scanned the picture for Jeanie. Her chest tightened when she found her and Paul on the very end, the only two people dressed in red because they didn’t have children.

  “Can I get you something to drink? We have herbal tea or hot cocoa. I think we might have some lemonade,” Paul offered.

  “No, thank you. We’re good,” Jamison answered for both of them.

  “Sorry, where are my manners, please sit down.” Jeanie pointed to a cream sofa.

  Everything about her home was so clean and organized, nothing out of place, just like Jeanie.

  Jess sat down and then took out a new bottle of ibuprofen and took two.

  “Is it still painful?” Jeanie asked.

  Jess winced when she tried to close her hand to conceal the ugly scar. “No, ma’am. It’s getting better. I’m fine,” she lied. She had given up on ever being fine again. Now her goal was to numb as much of the pain as possible, any way she could.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss,” Jamison said.

  Jeanie nodded and fresh tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He was such a sweet boy. Always so considerate. He was so kind. And happy. He was happy. He really was.”

  “There was nothing you could have done,” Jamison said, reading between the lines. The grief of suicide was compounded by guilt and anger. The families left behind were forever haunted with questions.

  Jeanie pushed up her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I couldn’t have loved him any more if he were mine.”

  Jeanie couldn’t have children. She had never said those words but Jess had pieced it together years ago.

  “I’m sorry,” Jess said. Jamison had already said it but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. This was Jeanie, the one she looked to for strength and guidance. She could never divorce herself from that fact, but she needed to treat this like any other interview. Jeanie had called her for a reason, because she knew she could depend on her to be professional and get to the bottom of what was happening. Jess couldn’t let her down. She cleared her throat. “Last night you said Levi called you. Can you tell me exactly what he said?”

  Jeanie reached into the pocket of her sweater. “It’s not as much what he said but his tone. I knew something was wrong. I wish I would have picked up the phone.” A tear slid down her cheek and settled into the deep crevice of a smile line.

  “It’s not your fault,” Jess said.

  Jeanie didn’t answer. Instead she typed in her password and played the saved message. A chill ran down the length of Jess’s spine when a young man’s voice filled the room. Hearing the voice of the dead boy was like listening to a message from a different dimension.

  Auntie Jeanie… it’s me. Um… it’s late here but I really need to talk to you. Um… there is something I really need to tell you. Please call me. I-I-uh love you and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…

  His voice cracked as he trailed off. He sounded so scared. And so young. He was terrified. Grief squeezed at Jess’s lungs. What must he have been thinking when he decided to end his life? Clearly, he was having second thoughts. He didn’t want to die but he thought he had to because he had gone so far. If only Jeanie had answered the phone. She pushed the thought away with a shake of her head. She could never tell her that.

  “What time did you get the call?” Jess asked.

  Jeanie glanced down at her phone. “It was at 6:48 MST. It must have been just after he had dinner.”

  His Last Supper.

  Jess shivered. “I know this is very difficult, but did Levi seem depressed at all before he died?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Jeanie shook her head. “Maybe… goodness I don’t know anymore. He was stressed. I thought it was just normal adolescent angst. But it wasn’t and I missed it.”

  Paul reached over and wrapped his fingers around hers. “It’s all right, love,” he whispered to her. “It’s not your fault.”

  Jess didn’t want to push but she had to. Four other boys at the school had also committed suicide that year. She needed to know if there was a reason that the pupils at Gracemount were more susceptible to suicidal ideation. “Did he ever say what was stressing him out in particular? Was there any problem with his classmates or his teachers?”

  Jeanie thought for a second. “I don’t know. I’ve played conversations over and over in my mind but nothing stands out. Did I push him too hard?”

  “No, honey. He pushed himself. He always did since he was little,” Paul explained. “He was always conscientious, since he was a kid. He always pushed himself to do his best but he wasn’t over the top. There was balance. He knew how to unwind and cut loose.”

  Jess’s ears perked at the turn of phrase. “Cut loose? As in alcohol or recreational drugs?”

  Paul and Jeanie shook their heads in perfect synchronization. “Never. He would never violate the honor code of the school or the Word of Wisdom,” Jeanie said.

  “Word of Wisdom as in Mormon?” Jamison asked.

  “Yes,” Paul answered.

  Jess looked away, over at a framed picture of a temple. “Is that the temple in Maryland?” She already knew the answer but she wanted time to formulate the delicate question she needed to ask.

  “No, that is the Salt Lake Temple. We were married there,” Paul said.

  Jess didn’t know how to ask the question in a tactful manner so she was just going to say it. “Was Levi struggling at all with his sexual orientation?”

  Jeanie blinked. “No, why would you ask that?”

  “LGBT youth have an increased risk of suicide.” Jess left out the part that it was particularly difficult for teens from fundamentalist communities who risked being ostracized for their sexual orientation.

  “No,” Jeanie said softly. “He wasn’t gay.”

  Jess pulled out her notebook. “We know there have been four other suicides at the school this year. Did Levi mention them?”

  Jeanie’s eyes widened. “What? How is that possible? No, Levi didn’t mention it and he would have.”

  “Kids can be
non-communicative,” Jess said.

  Jeanie shook her head. “He wasn’t a withdrawn, moody kid. We talked. We saw him every Monday for family-home evening and of course on Sunday for church, and he called during the week to talk. He would have told us. It would have come up.” More tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

  Paul’s brow knitted together in concern. “Are you sure there have been five suicides? This year? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jamison said.

  “Why didn’t the school tell us?”

  Jess had asked herself the same question. Parents and guardians needed to know what was going on so they could speak to their children. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she couldn’t share everything with Jeanie. It felt like a betrayal to hold anything back from her but they had to keep the delineations of roles clear for the sanctity of the investigation. “Jamison and I are speaking to the principal tomorrow.” She glanced down at her notes. “Mr. Sturgeon, I believe his name is.”

  “There is no way we would have kept him there if we knew that four boys had committed suicide. We should have been told.” Jeanie’s voice broke.

  “So, he never mentioned any boys committing suicide at all?” Jamison clarified.

  “No.” Paul shook his head. “But it is a big school. He probably didn’t know them.”

  “Yeah, probably,” Jess said because she didn’t want to press the point any further.

  “What were their names?” Jeanie asked. She wiped her eyes and pulled her glasses back down. Her voice had changed, the fragility gone. The boss that Jess knew came back into focus. “Paul, can you hand me that pad and pen?” She pointed to the closed lid of a grand piano.

  Jeanie wanted to investigate this herself. The agent in her demanded answers.

  Jess paused for a beat to consider if she should tell her. Would she tell any other grieving family member? Probably not, but most family members didn’t have the resources to look it up on their own. She flipped to the page in her notebook with the names. “The first boy to commit suicide was Ryan Hastings in August. Eric Beauchamp in September, Sam Peterson in October, Jason Davenport in December.”