Helpless

by Daniel Palmer

  “Good. Then eventually you’ll get to that conclusion if the evidence takes you there.”

  “We could speed things up, maybe even figure out Mann’s supplier if we could ID one of these girls. But there isn’t enough detail in these pictures for me to make one.”

  “In your opinion, are any of these girls in immediate danger?” Tomlinson asked.

  Rainy knew better than to lie. “No, sir,” Rainy said. “The images are consistent with other sexts that we’ve seen. But I’m wondering if somebody is hacking cell phones. If I could get some of Clarence Stern’s time, maybe put together a bigger task force, we could—”

  “Out of the question,” Tomlinson barked. “Stern is fully booked investigating what may be a terrorist sleeper cell in Somerville. I can’t spare him.”

  “But he’s the best at image manipulation.”

  “Which is why he’s working terrorism.”

  Rainy bit her lip. After 9/11, the FBI had rocketed right to the top of Washington’s most important agency list. Budgets ballooned as a result, but most of the money and resources went toward combating terrorism. Meanwhile, drugs, child porn, organized crime, mainstay assignments of the FBI for years, continued to skyrocket. Rainy couldn’t complain. It was well known that terrorism was job one at the FBI.

  “Well, what do you suggest I do, Walt?”

  “What I suggest you do is your job, Agent Miles.”

  “Sir, if one of the girls finds out that her naked pictures are being passed around the Internet, it could end in tragedy. It could be another Melanie Smyth.”

  Melanie Smyth was a fifteen-year-old girl from Newton who’d hung herself in the bedroom closet after her boyfriend posted the naked pictures she texted him to Facebook.

  “Stern is booked. End of conversation. After you alert the major carriers about a potential hack, I suggest you talk with Mr. James Mann and figure out how we crack those Leterg codes.”

  “He’s not going to know. Suppliers using Leterg do it to keep themselves anonymous.”

  “Then it looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Tomlinson said, and left.

  Rainy picked up the CVIP report and read it again. Tomlinson was wrong about this one. These girls might have taken their pictures willingly, but that didn’t mean they weren’t in any danger.

  Chapter 13

  Tom watched the Wildcats soccer scrimmage from the sidelines. It felt good to be coaching again. He needed the distraction.

  “How are we looking out there, Coach?” Lindsey asked.

  “We’re looking a little sloppy,” Tom said. “But I’m sure we’ll pull it together.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. Do you think I’ll get more playing time?”

  “I’m not sure, Lindsey,” Tom said. “You know my position. You’ve got to work harder out there. You’ve got the talent. Now you’ve got to show me you have the desire.”

  “I need to play more. I’ll get better. But I’m not going to get any colleges interested in me with the minutes I got last year. Please, Coach.”

  Tom nodded. “I’m not saying no,” he said. “Okay? I’ll sub you in for Ashley in a minute.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  Jill was at practice, but not dressed to play. She wasn’t feeling ready yet. Tom understood completely, but he needed to get back to coaching the team and couldn’t let Jill out of his sight. Not with Kip Lange still on the loose.

  The first game of the season was just a week away.

  Tom noticed something in the distance. A police car was again coming down the road abutting the practice field. The cruiser parked where it had before, and Brendan Murphy climbed out with his signature lack of grace.

  “Vern, keep the girls working hard,” Tom said to his assistant coach as he crossed the field. Tom didn’t notice the metal storage clipboard tucked under Murphy’s arm until the two met up on the other sideline.

  “Good afternoon, Tom,” Murphy said, without extending his hand.

  “Long time, Brendan,” Tom said, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “How’ve you been?”

  Murphy removed his mirrored shades. Tom found the gleam in the cop’s eyes most unsettling.

  “Well, okay, Tom. I’ve been okay.”

  “What brings you to practice today?”

  “We’ve got ourselves a situation, I guess that’s what.”

  “Is this about Kelly’s homicide investigation?”

  “No,” Murphy said. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new situation.”

  Murphy peered over Tom’s shoulder and waved to somebody approaching from behind. Tom turned and spotted the school’s athletic director, Craig Powers, waving and walking toward the pair. Tom and Craig Powers had worked together for years and were fond of each other. Powers approached from the direction of Shilo High School, a redbrick building that, according to the school committee, had too many students and too few cafeterias.

  Tom turned back and looked at Murphy. “Is somebody hurt, Brendan? One of the kids’ parents, I mean.”

  Murphy responded with a grunt but stayed quiet. He apparently wanted Powers to hear whatever had to be said. Powers, thin, balding, looked unsteady on his spindly, long legs. He moved in an unathletic way for an athletic director, Tom thought. But something about this impromptu gathering seemed wrong. Tom had a dreadful feeling that made him forget all about Kip Lange.

  Tom noticed how Murphy extended a hand toward Powers. The men shook the way poker buddies might.

  “Thanks for making the time, Craig.”

  “Does Tom know yet?” Powers asked.

  “Not yet. I was waiting for you,” Murphy answered.

  “Know what?” Tom asked.

  “Heck on a high stick,” Powers said. “I’ll tell him, then.”

  Powers loved inventing phrases—without the expletives, of course. Tom often found those folksy colloquialisms not only novel, but situation appropriate as well. Heck on a high stick, indeed! Again Tom called up his kinesics training from his Navy SEAL days and could see Powers’s concern as clearly as he could read an opponent’s defensive scheme.

  “Tell me what, Craig?” Tom asked.

  “We got an anonymous tip about a Web blog that somebody started,” Powers said. “And it involved you.” He said this in a tone that was more annoyed than alarmed.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I got an email from somebody—I don’t know who,” Powers continued. “The message said simply that I should check out this link and that it pertained to you. So I clicked on it and opened this Web site called Tumblr.com. Ever hear of it?”

  “No,” Tom said.

  “It’s for blogging,” Murphy said. “You can post text, photos, quotes, links, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, this wasn’t protected at all,” Powers said. “Anybody who had the link could have read it. Whoever created the page was looking for attention and wanted people to see it, if you ask me. That’s my guess.”

  “Yeah? An attention-seeking mystery blog,” Tom said. “Well, what was on this blog that’s got the attention of the police?”

  Powers cleared his throat as if he were about make an important announcement. He didn’t get the chance. Murphy answered for him.

  “It said that you’ve been having sex with one of the girls on your team.” Murphy looked smug, as if to say, “I may not get you for Kelly’s murder, but I’ll nail you for something else.”

  “You don’t really think I’m sleeping with a player?” Tom said. “Come on. Are you joking?”

  Powers and Murphy each held a blank stare.

  Tom frowned. “By the looks on your faces, I’m guessing no. You’re not joking.”

  Murphy opened his storage clipboard and took out five sheets of paper, which he handed to Tom.

  Tom leafed through the pages. As he did, his skin began to crawl. Murphy put his sunglasses back on. Perhaps, Tom thought, to hide the glee in his eyes.

  “I think the first post called
you a better sex teacher than a coach,” Murphy said. “By the fifth one, well, let’s just say that stuff would make a stripper blush.”

  Tom’s first thought was that some twisted kid was preying on Jill’s tragedy. Teens engaged in cyber bullying all the time. One of them must be out to humiliate Jill by attacking her father. Tom crumpled the pages Murphy had given him into a tight ball.

  “Ah, shucks, Tom. That’s evidence,” Murphy said, but with a mock dismay. “No worries, though. I brought more copies. To show the girls.”

  “To what!” Tom exclaimed, loudly enough for some of the girls to stop running, and for Vern to whistle to get them moving again. “What did you just say?” Tom asked.

  “Tom, Sergeant Murphy and I believe this might be some sort of prank,” Powers said. “Sergeant Murphy suggested the best way to ferret out a prankster is to confront him or her head-on.”

  “Well, that’s just insane,” Tom said in a disgusted tone. “Craig, please tell me that you don’t really think this is a good idea! Just the rumor of my being involved with a player will have devastating consequences for the team. You know that’s true—”

  “Nonsense,” Murphy broke in. The sergeant patted Tom on the shoulder. The taps felt like blows from a sledgehammer, each one driving Tom deeper into the ground. “Best way to get the prankster to come forward is to get these girls talking as a group,” he continued. “In my experience with this sort of thing, once the group gets talking, they end up pressuring whoever pulled the stunt to delete the account. Or at least get one of them to come forward with some useful information.”

  “And how much experience have you had with this sort of thing, Murph?”

  “Are you questioning my judgment here, Coach?”

  “Damn straight I am! We both know what this is really about. Don’t we?”

  Powers looked first at Murphy, then at Tom with a degree of confusion. “What’s going on?”

  “Murphy thinks I had something to do with what happened to Kelly,” Tom said. “Craig, he’s making a spectacle out of this anonymous blog because he knows what it’ll do to me in the aftermath. He’s only doing this to put the screws to me.”

  Powers looked over to Murphy. “Brendan, is this true?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” Murphy said. “One thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other. We agree Tom’s reputation is under attack and we think it’s a prank. Now we’ll find out who did this. I’ve already issued a preservation request with Tumblr. That way the data is safe and I can try to remedy the situation by interviews without having to go through the mountain of paperwork to obtain a search warrant.”

  “My concern isn’t that you keep the data safe,” Tom said. “My concern is that you want to bring it to my team’s attention.”

  “You worried about something else coming to light, Coach Hawkins?” Murphy asked. His tone was knowing, like a hunter setting his trap. Allow the interview because you’re innocent, and you end up screwed. Refuse to cooperate because you’re innocent, then you look guilty and you’re screwed.

  “What I’m worried about, Sergeant Murphy, Craig, is the repercussions of false allegations.”

  “If it’s a prank, Tom, we need to get to the bottom of it fast,” Powers said. “I’m here to reinforce the fact that we’re viewing this as a prank and only that. I’m here to protect you, Tom.”

  Tom shook his head. “If you want to protect me and this team, you’ll put a stop to this right now.”

  “You’re making a way bigger deal out of this than you should, Coach Hawkins,” Murphy said. “We won’t show the girls anything they shouldn’t see. The copies of the notes I brought have everything racy blacked out. Well, to be honest, the page is mostly black, but there’s still some stuff they might see that will help us ID the account creator.”

  “Why don’t you just look at who made the damn account?”

  “Gee, Coach, you’re a bit out of the know on how this technology stuff works,” Murphy said. Tom hadn’t been spoken to in that way since boot camp. “These kids make secret profiles all the time so they can bully each other online. Bogus email addresses. Fake profile pictures. Bottom line is we don’t know who made this Tumblr account. But we will soon enough.”

  Tom clenched his hands. Murphy looked down and saw Tom’s tightly balled fists. He looked Tom in the eye and gave him a smile, as if to say, “Go ahead. Take your best shot.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I’m against this, Craig.”

  “Your objection is noted, Tom. But I’m following police advice here, and it’s not your authority to dictate how I run my athletic department. Sergeant Murphy has assured me this is the best way forward.”

  “Forward into hell,” Tom wanted to say.

  “Okay, call them together,” Murphy ordered.

  Tom bowed his head, sighed, and blew his coach’s whistle.

  The girls didn’t need another blast. They all came running.

  Chapter 14

  Vern Kalinowski got the girls into a row, their toes touching the white line that marked the playing field’s boundaries. Sergeant Murphy stood beside Powers. Murphy had his hands on his hips and watched the girls as they lined up. He looked like a dog licking his chops in anticipation of a juicy bone. His juicy bones.

  Tom marched over to where Powers stood. He believed he still had time to prevent the coming disaster. He wasn’t worried about himself as much as about Jill.

  “You’re a minute away from making me an outcast in this town.”

  Powers gave Tom his best “come on, now” look, which Tom wanted to rub off with his knuckles. “Let’s not blow this out of proportion, Coach. We have every confidence that we’ll find the prankster within this group here.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “If we don’t, then we’ll keep digging.”

  “And how do you expect me to coach these girls after this, Craig?”

  “The same way you always do,” Powers said. “You stand strong. Once we figure out who’s responsible, the whole incident will blow over. Trust me on this.”

  “And what about my daughter?” Tom lowered his voice and asked the question through clenched teeth.

  “We thought about that, too,” Powers replied, also in a low, secretive voice. “We know you two haven’t had the easiest time adjusting, what with her mother’s death, the circumstances, and you moving back to Shilo and all. I don’t want to imply anything here, Tom, but, well ...”

  A thick vein on Tom’s neck, usually visible only when he was working out, began to pulse for another reason. Every muscle in his body felt tense—on fire. “Say it,” he demanded.

  “It’s just one theory, but ...”

  “You think my daughter is behind this?”

  Powers looked around, worried that someone might have overheard. “Consider the timing.”

  The thought churned Tom’s stomach. His chest tightened while his mind explored the unfathomable. Could Jill have done it? No! That was impossible to believe, but ... but what if she had somebody do it for her? But why? Revenge for all his perceived wrongdoings?

  Is it possible she thinks I had something to do with her mother’s death? he wondered.

  Tom rubbed his hands back and forth through his hair. He glanced over at Jill, who stood in line, stone-faced and still. Unlike him, not a bead of sweat glistened.

  Powers called for the girls’ attention. Tom considered leaving the practice field altogether in protest but decided to stay. Murphy had it all figured out from the start—Tom Hawkins, stay or go, was about to be branded guilty of something.

  “Hello, girls,” Powers began. “So, I bet you’re wondering why the gathering.”

  There were murmurs. Some said, “Sure.” Most stayed silent.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal. Somebody sent me a link to a Web blog on Tumblr.com,” Powers explained. “The page contains some very graphic content, with serious allegations pertaining to Coach Hawkins and one of you players. Now, we don’t believ
e these posts are authentic. If we did, Coach Hawkins would not be standing here with us while we confronted you all.”

  The girls weren’t ignorant. They knew “graphic content” meant sex.

  Tom looked up and down the line, studying his team carefully. He didn’t doubt that somebody had taken the trouble to create the salacious posts. The question on his mind—Powers’s and Murphy’s, too—was who and why.

  Tom’s ability to read body language wasn’t helping at all. The girls were openly and obviously nervous: fidgeting with their shorts, bouncing on their heels, looking at the grass. If they were in on it as a group, perhaps they feared they’d all been busted. More likely, they were feeling anxious because some plus-sized cop was parading in front of them, wearing mirrored shades and doing his best O.K. Corral strut.

  Tom caught Jill’s eye. She held her father’s gaze for a beat. A pained expression washed over her face seconds before she looked away, and that hurt Tom more than any prank ever could. The SEALs had taught him how to maintain control over his emotions. But it took every bit of his training to keep from shouting out to her, “Baby, don’t you believe it. Don’t you believe for one second I would ever do that!”

  He mouthed the words to her, though.

  “This is not a joke,” Powers continued. “Some of you may know Sergeant Murphy here from the D.A.R.E. program. Sergeant Murphy and I have discussed this situation in detail over the past several days, and we are in agreement that one or more of you girls know who created the account and wrote these posts.”

  Murphy took that as his cue. “I’ve brought handouts with me,” he said. “Printouts from the blog. I’m going to pass them out to you, then collect them before we break. Anything inappropriate, we’ve blacked out with marker. Now, the reason I’m showing you this is because we want you to come forward with information about who created these posts. If you recognize something about the writing that can help us identify that person, well, great. That’s what we want to know. But as a team, you should be very aware that there are serious consequences for this sort of behavior. It can cost you a lot more than some embarrassment.”