by Sean Platt
“Ah, so she’s your beard?”
“Beard?” Jordyn repeated, confused by the term.
“It’s nothing,” Bobby said. “Just Calum’s way of saying that because I’m into drama, I must be gay.”
“Ah,” Jordyn said, not sure how to respond.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” Calum said, smiling his pretty-boy smile. “Just as long as you can keep catching my passes, you can wear a dress and suck five guys off on stage for all I care. To each their own.”
Charming.
Seeming to sense her discomfort, Calum said, “I’m just fucking with him. Bobby is my bro from way back.” He pulled Bobby into a hug and play punched him in the gut before letting him go. “We go back to what, first grade?”
“Yeah,” Bobby said. “I was new here, just like you, and Calum showed me the ropes. He got me into football.”
“That’s cool,” Jordyn said.
Shit, did I just say, ‘That’s cool?’
Jordyn could feel everyone staring, as if she was in some sort of initiation. She probably had something in her teeth.
“So,” Calum said, “how long you two been going out?”
“Um …” Jordyn looked at Bobby, his eyes wide.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I just thought you two were … Never mind. So, um, did you turn him down or what?”
“Dude, stop,” Bobby said.
“What? Oh, wait, you didn’t ask her out, did you? Shit, I’m sorry, Jordyn. Bobby’s a bit shy when it comes to girls he likes. So, let me ask for him. Do you want to go out with my man, Bobby, star wide receiver for the Belmont Wildcats?”
Nate stood behind Bobby, shaking his head, “Yo, if you don’t ask her, I am.” He flashed his most winsome smile.
“She ain’t gonna go out with someone afraid of bugs, you big bitch.” Then Adam threw the wasp at Nate, and Nate ran away screaming.
Jordyn laughed. She’d never seen someone so big and heavy move so fast.
Brianna said, “You don’t have to answer. Calum can be soooo obnoxious. Leave Bobby and his friend alone.”
Calum shot Brianna a glance, hard enough to startle Jordyn. It looked like he was about to tell her to back the fuck up. Maybe even smack her. But then he smiled, making Jordyn wonder if he was genuinely pissed, or acting for comedic effect.
“You’re right, dear,” Callum said, then turned to Jordyn, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. But, seriously, you couldn’t ask for a nicer guy. Even if he might be a bit gay for drama.”
Bobby punched Calum in the arm, and they laughed.
“Great to meet you, Jordyn,” Calum said, extending his hand. “I’m gonna give you two some space.”
They shook.
Calum turned, with a bit of comedic flourish and to the others said, “Come, bitches. I’m starving.”
Everyone followed him except Bobby.
He turned to Jordyn, blushing. “I’m sorry. He can be a real dick. So, um, aren’t you glad you came to lunch?” He croaked an uncomfortable laugh.
“It was fine. Your friends are … funny.” Jordyn realized her pause and didn’t want Bobby to think she was judging them. “Nate and Adam are hilarious. I can’t believe Nate is so scared of bugs. He’s, like, ginormous!”
“Yeah, he’s a bulldog on the field, but a teddy bear out of uniform.”
Jordyn was thinking the same thing about Bobby. Gruff and crude around the guys, but sweet as a Gummy Bear once alone.
But she didn’t dare say that. While Jordyn had no experience with boys herself, she’d read enough books and watched enough TV shows to know that if you came off too desperate, or too nice to a guy, they would lose interest immediately.
She kept her cool and played coy, though Jordyn wasn’t sure how long one was supposed to act disinterested, or if she might scare him away anyway if she didn’t try harder.
“Since we’ve established that you don’t have a boyfriend that you meet for lunch every day,” Bobby said, “Is it safe to assume that you don’t have a date for the fall dance?”
Jordyn laugh-snorted.
Oh. My. God!
“Did you just snort?”
Jordyn wanted to teleport away and never see Bobby again. He burst out laughing.
Her cheeks burned. She turned away.
“No, it was cute,” he said.
“Snorting is not cute!”
“It is when you do it.”
A moment of silence passed. She stared into the bushes, ignoring him.
“So, will you go to the dance with me?”
Jordyn couldn’t believe he was asking her to the dance. She never thought any boy would ever ask her to the dance, let alone one of the sweetest, most handsome, most popular guys at school.
“I don’t really dance. My dancing is worse than my snorting.”
“Me neither. It’s just an excuse to be with you on a special night. I like you, Jordyn.”
A million butterflies took flight in her gut.
He is actually asking me!
Oh my God, what do I say?
Should I keep being coy? Make him work harder for a yes?
But her knees went weak when she saw his blue eyes, and Jordyn could only say, “Yes.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 10 - MALLORY BLACK
Mal recorded Katie’s statement, then Carrie Thompson took over.
They had a few options. They could relocate Katie and her mother to a women’s shelter, or arrest Katie’s father and let the women stay home. Or, they could do nothing; what all too many women did.
“Thank you, Katie. Mrs. Thompson is going to help you now, but I’ll be checking up on you tomorrow.” Mal hugged her and pulled a burner phone from her pocket. “My number is programmed into this phone. Call me any time, day or night.”
Katie collected the phone, looking back a few times as she walked to the second floor, Victim Services offices. Mal wished she could stay with her, but she didn’t have time. She had a case to investigate, and, thanks to Katie, new leads to follow.
**
Two hours later, Mal stared at a computer screen in Aanya’s office in the Creek County Sheriff’s Department.
Captain Wilson spoke first. “What the fuck is this crazy ass shit?”
Aanya said, “This, folks, is the /Killeveryone sub board of NonAMus Chan.”
Mal stared at the thread of photos. Dead bodies including mutilated animals, men, women, children, and even babies, with commenter after commenter laughing or making jokes like, “Looks like Joey really lost his head this time LOL!”
“What the hell?” Mike wondered out loud. “Who are these people? How is this thing allowed to be online?”
“Someone ought to round these fuckers up and lock them away for good,” Wilson said.
“Well, most of the stuff you’ll find here is in poor taste, but it’s not illegal to go on the internet and write stupid stuff,” Aanya explained. “Even the actual illegal stuff posted on the site, it’s hard to do anything about. This particular chan shuts down every few months then pops up somewhere else. Nobody knows who owns it, and it’s hosted in places that aren’t big on international law. As to who posts here, most of them do it for the LULZ.”
“What the fuck is a LULZ?” Wilson asked.
“Like a plural of LOL, Laugh Out Loud. Most of them are trying to outdo one another in posting the most shocking or depraved images, or what they see as the funniest comments.”
“What ever happened to good old fashioned ‘your mama’ jokes or bragging about your sexual conquests?” Wilson asked. “Man, what the fuck is wrong with these people? They don’t give a damn about anything. Posting dead baby photos and LULZING and shit. Let me in a room alone with ‘em for an hour. See if they’re all LULZ then!”
Mal stifled a laugh. She enjoyed when Wilson got cranky with his Get off my lawn! bit, but the way his brows were furrowed as he stared daggers at the screen, she wouldn’t be pressing any buttons today.
“
Anyway,” Aanya continued, clicking away from the thread and loading another bookmark, “this was posted by a user calling themselves Orestes666 right before the ballpark shooting.”
I’m going to kill some people. Help me choose a target.
A photo accompanied the text of a gloved hand holding a Smith & Wesson Shield 45ACP. There were several suggestions under the comment.
Mike leaned in and read out loud, “Go to a grocery store, find someone in the ten items or less lane. Shoot them in the fucking face if they have eleven or more. Did you write that one, Wilson?”
He shot Mike a look: Don’t even start.
Aanya scrolled down the screen, reading off a list that included popular stores, schools, and several suggested politicians, celebrities, and pretty much every race on the planet. After a while, it was hard to tell the jokes from the hate, people who truly wanted to watch the world burn.
An anonymous user eventually suggested a baseball game.
Orestes666 replied, “A baseball game it is.”
About two hours later, Orestes666 posted a link to a LiveLyfe livestream.
Aanya said, “It’s down now, but that was the URL of the killer’s stream. I’ve contacted LiveLyfe; they’re getting me everything tied to that account, including IP addresses used to access it.”
“I’m guessing the killer used Kincaid’s phone,” Mal said, updating them on the information she’d mined from Katie earlier. “Is there any way to get an IP address of this Orestes666?”
“No. I’ve sent messages to admin for the board, but they’ll probably ignore them. But here’s the interesting thing: Orestes666 is still posting. At first, he’s bragging about the killing. Then he went radio silent. Until last night, long after Kincaid was dead. He posted this.”
Mal clicked on an image of the coach’s house with sheriff’s deputies surrounding it. “Fuck. Do we know when this picture was taken?”
“Looks like it was when we were interviewing witnesses,” Mike said. “See, there I am, talking to one of the neighbors.”
Aanya said, “I wonder if you interviewed him.”
Mal stared at the image, burning with rage, wondering if they had let the killer slip through their fingers. They got names and checked ID for most of their interviews, but maybe this guy was standing on the periphery, avoiding interaction.
Aanya refreshed the page. “Shit.”
“What?” Wilson asked.
“Orestes666 posted again. It says, ‘Round Two tomorrow. Be ready to play along.’”
Wilson exploded. “I want every photo from every goddamned phone there. The ones we took of the crowd, and ones from the looky-loos. I want everything the news crews took. And I mean everything. Call in any favors you’ve got. I want this bastard before he kills again!”
“Yes, sir,” they all said.
“Alright, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to go update the Sheriff so we can figure the best way to contain this. Is there any way this doesn’t get to the press?”
“I don’t know,” Aanya shrugged. “With cuts to the newsrooms, maybe they don’t have anyone chasing this angle. But this case is attracting national attention, and I can’t imagine that this post will stay hidden.”
“Damn it. Any good news?”
“Nothing yet. We’ll keep you in the loop,” Aanya promised.
Wilson sighed as he left. Mal didn’t envy him having to report all of this to Gloria. A serial killer was the last thing she needed during election season.
Mal asked Aanya to scroll back to the NonAMus thread where Orestes666 was posting.
“Why do some people have usernames while most are anonymous?”
“Anonymous is the default username for most imageboards. You can create an account. Most of the more prolific posters will do so that they can get credit.”
“Did the user who suggest the baseball game have a username?”
Aanya scrolled. “No. Anonymous. Why?”
“I’m wondering if the killer was truly doing a random killing or if this was staged to cover up a targeted murder. Is it possible that Orestes666 also posted as the anonymous viewer who suggested the baseball game?”
“Definitely.”
Mal nodded. “Great stuff, Aanya. Thank you. Keep an eye on this board and let us know if Orestes666 posts anything else. But I think we need to keep our focus on the victims, including Kincaid. See if anything links them.”
Mike nodded.
Aanya refreshed the page. Commenters were already suggesting places for Orestes to strike. They ranged from random people and places to specific ones, with many far from Creek County.
“Do we think he’s local?” Mike asked. “Or he just stopped by our town on some nationwide spree?”
“I think we need to consider this as a local thing until we have evidence otherwise,” Mal said. “Meaning we need to keep on top of this and see if he lists any hard targets we can reach before he strikes. We also need to call the Feds, especially if this isn’t local. Got to share everything we have so far.”
Mike shook his head. “I’ll go catch Wilson and give him the good news.”
Mal laughed. “Yeah, he’s gonna be pleased as punch.”
As Mike left, Mal watched Aanya refresh the screen to reveal even more suggested targets.
Celebrities and politicians. People offering up their ex-girlfriends. People suggesting schools and little kids. It was all too much. The height of cowardice and disconnectedness that seemed to be spreading like cancer. And seeing the comments coming in so fast made Mal feel powerless against a rising tide of hate and despair.
* * * *
CHAPTER 11 - MALLORY BLACK
Mal sat in her cubicle pouring over photos and videos collected at the baseball field and the coach’s house, searching for anyone or anything that might jump out at her. She’d didn’t have the stomach for the child porn. Her cell rang.
“Hey Mike,” she said, picking it up.
“We got a few hits from the partial tags. Five names, all local. Aanya rushed a request to the phone companies and got GPS data. We’ve narrowed it down to one name at the ball field on Saturday.”
“Who?”
“Brendan Woods. Not on either list of interviews.”
“Really?” Mal leaned forward. “Tell me more.”
“I’m sending you details. He’s a twenty-nine-year-old former IT consultant who lives at home with his parents since he lost a job when TeleCorp left town last year. No priors.”
“What else do we have?”
“Some posts on LiveLyfe bitching about local politicians, mostly about how they’re not doing enough to attract new industry, and how they’re catering to ‘old farts’ who don’t add to the economy. Nothing violent.”
“Is he friends with any of the victims on LiveLyfe?”
“Coach Kincaid. But none of the others.”
“So, not enough for a warrant?”
“Not yet. But once we get his internet history, we might have more to go on. I don’t think we should interview him until we know more. We’ll sit on him. If he leaves the house, we’ll follow and contain him. What’s going on over there?”
“Not much. Wilson pulled in Skippy and Graham to help chase down some leads. The feds are offering support, but not taking over the case or anything. They have their cyber people helping Aanya, so maybe we can find this fucker before he strikes again.”
“How’s Gloria doing?”
“So far, all is quiet. She’s holding a press conference at 6 PM tomorrow which I need to be at. Unless you want to fill in?”
“Um, no thanks. Have fun with that. And try not to curse out any reporters.”
“You take the fun out of everything. Alright, I’m gonna get some food. Keep me in the loop.”
Mal hung up headed to the second floor to check up on Katie.
The Victims Services office was empty, as was most of the second floor on Sundays. Stevie was only there because Mal had asked her to help out.
Had Carrie finished up that quickly? Or were they on their way to Walmart to get Katie’s mother?
Mal thought about calling but figured Stevie would update her with any relevant news.
Mal checked the clock. She couldn’t believe it was 4:15 already. The day had gotten away from her, and she hadn’t eaten anything since the banana she grabbed on her way to meet Katie.
She got in her car, drove to a Wendy’s, ordered a burger, fries, and Diet Coke. Then she sat in the parking lot eating while listening to the local NPR station’s weekly local show.
The hosts were talking with a roundtable of “experts” about the rise of gun violence while speculating on the killer’s motives. They also discussed the coach, and what little information they’d received from the Sheriff’s Office.
The conversation was mostly calm until they cut to Harold “Harry” Conlan, a city councilman who was trying to undermine the Sheriff so he could sneak his candidate of choice, former Sheriff Claude Barry, into the November seat.
Conlan replied, “The only thing I need to know is that we didn’t have these kinds of shootings under the former sheriff.”
One of the guests on the panel, a reporter named Trinity Watkins, who operated a local online news site, responded. “No, you just had cops shooting unarmed black folks. This is an isolated incident, and for all we know, the suspect is dead.”
Conlan didn’t squander his opportunity. “The numbers don’t lie. Violent crime is on the rise since Gloria Bell took office. Robbery is up 34 percent, sexual assaults up 19 percent, and murder is up 240 percent! I’m sorry, I don’t think this is the change we were hoping for when voters elected Ms. Bell.”
“That’s Sheriff Bell, Councilman Conlan,” Trinity corrected the man. “And we all know that those numbers are wrong—”
She killed the radio.
Sometimes Mal wished that she’d taken a job at a police department, instead of the sheriff’s office. There was only one other department in the county, the tiny understaffed Butler PD, and she didn’t want to move or spend half her life commuting. Plus, Creek offered better pay than the neighboring counties when Mal was coming up.
