by Jack Kilborn
One seventy-two, one seventy-three…
That was it! One seventy-three!
She sucked in a breath and began to sprint back toward her sorority house, running as fast as she could count. When she made it home, panting and shaking all over, she was trying to hold her key steady enough to get it in the lock when her cell phone vibrated with a text message.
Kendal didn’t want to look.
She looked anyway.
You can run. But I know where you live.
Kendal turned slowly around, and saw the black van parked only a few meters away.
Then the world went swirly, her legs went rubber, and she passed out.
CHAPTER 13
“Detective Nafisi?” Tom asked, eyeballing the man standing next to his desk.
The man extended his hand, and shook Tom’s with surprising force. “Call me Firoz.”
“Tom.”
“I wanted to do this in person, Tom, for two reasons. First, I wanted to meet you. I heard about South Carolina, what you and Roy Lewis went through. Must have been intense.”
Tom nodded. “What’s the second reason?”
“I found something on Kendal Hefferton’s laptop, and I need to confirm it in person.” Firoz looked at the empty chair across from Tom. “May I?”
“Please.”
Firoz dragged it over next to Tom, then turned it around and straddled it like it was a horse, propping his arms up on the back. “I heard you were tortured,” Firoz said.
Tom didn’t mind a man who was direct, but something about Firoz was off-putting. Tom felt like he was being scrutinized.
“What did you find?” he asked, ignoring the comment.
Firoz stared at Tom for a moment, then said, “The victim was having problems with one of her online clients. He was cyberstalking her.”
“Is it traceable?”
Again Firoz paused before answering. “To a degree. But the better the cyberstalker, the harder he is to trace. Do you know a lot about computers?”
“As much as anyone, I guess.”
“When devices communicate with each other over a computer network, each has a unique Internet Protocol address. This can be traceable, unless someone takes steps to make sure it isn’t. If it’s something like an email, the IP is recorded. But in a chatroom, like the victim used for her webcam modeling, tracing after the fact is practically impossible. Once the stalker disconnects, there is no way to find him. But Kendal was smart. She kept screen shots of the harassment. The last time, he used the name Tilphousia. His threats match up to the way she was killed.”
“How do you spell Tilphousia?” Tom asked, pen in hand.
Firoz spelled it out.
“Do you have those screenshots?”
“I emailed them to you before I came up. Check to see if you got them.”
Tom turned to his computer screen, accessed his department email, and saw he’d gotten a new one from superhackercop17. Tom clicked on it, then clicked on the attachments, creating a slideshow of screen captures. Half the screen was a picture of Kendal Hefferton, a snapshot of her live feed. She was in lingerie, looking disgusted. Tom could understand why. The other half of the screen was chat text. Tom read through some of Tilphousia’s threats and felt himself become disgusted as well.
“Yeah, he’s quite a psycho, isn’t he?” Firoz asked.
Tom nodded.
“Keep looking. The next to last jpeg is of an email Kendal received. It’s a different name, but the tone is the same.”
Tom found it and began to read.
Little girls who do naughty things must be punished. Accept your fate and accept your Penance. Vengeance comes from the blood of Uranus, whore.
“Can you trace the email?” Tom asked.
“I already did. Click on the last picture.”
Tom did. He stared at the screen, blinking a few times, confused.
“Don’t you recognize it?” Firoz asked, his eyes narrowing.
“I don’t understand,” Tom admitted.
“What’s so hard to understand?” Firoz asked. “That email, the one I found on Kendal’s laptop. Do you know where it came from?”
“Of course not. Why would I?”
“Because it was sent from your account.”
CHAPTER 14
Erinyes watches.
It is easy to watch when there are so many cameras.
Cameras in businesses.
Cameras on streets.
Cameras in homes. Security cameras. Nanny cams.
Cameras on computers. On tablets. On cellphones.
Taking a selfie? Erinyes can see it.
Video chatting? Erinyes can watch it.
Surfing the web? Erinyes can turn on your webcam and stare at you, and you won’t even know it.
Does your ebook reader have a camera?
Look at it. Examine the edges. Is that a camera on the front, up on top?
Are you being watched right now?
What is that on the bottom? A microphone?
Is someone listening to you breathe? Hearing you clear your throat? Recording your every movement, every sound?
How secure is your network?
How unbreakable is your password?
Do you think your firewall is unbeatable?
Do you think your antivirus software can protect you?
Do you really think you’re safe?
There is no such thing as safe. If you are connected to the Internet, if you’re part of a network, if you’re online or on the phone, surfing, talking, chatting, texting, you can be seen.
Are you frightened?
You look frightened.
CHAPTER 15
Tom stared hard at Firoz. “You think I sent this email?”
“You tell me. Veteran cop, went through a horrible experience, became dangerously unhinged, began stalking webcam models.”
Tom was about to protest, but Firoz smiled for the first time. “No, it isn’t you. No offense, man, but you don’t have the brains for it.”
“You went from practically accusing me of murder, to saying I’m an idiot.”
“Look at your desk, Detective. What are those?” Firoz pointed.
“My notes.”
“Written on paper? In pen? What are you, a Neanderthal? Don’t you know there are apps for that? Have you heard of typing? Voice to text? A stylus for digital notes?”
“A pen never runs out of batteries,” Tom said.
“Move over.” Firoz nudged Tom aside, his hands a blur on his keyboard. A few screens flashed by, almost too fast for Tom to see. “You were spoofed.”
“Spoofed?”
“Someone forged your sender address, made it look like you were sending the email. When was the last time you ran your antivirus program?”
“Uh…”
Firoz clicked the mouse a few times. “The answer you’re looking for is never. So either you have a Trojan or a worm, or someone used a fake mailer. I’m going to need to do an analysis.”
“That’s why you wanted to meet,” Tom said. “To check out my computer.”
“Or to arrest you if you tried to get away,” Firoz grinned.
“How long is this going to take?” Tom asked. He wanted to get a closer look at the screen captures from the victim’s computer that Firoz had emailed him.
“An hour. Maybe more. Depends if you have an infection, and how bad it is.” Firoz dug a pen drive out of his pocket and plugged it into one of Tom’s USB ports. “I brought some basic tools with me. If we’re lucky, and this guy hacked your computer, maybe I can find him.”
“Can you print up those screen shots for me?”
“Print?” Firoz said the word like it was an expletive. “Why you want to kill trees, man? Don’t you like trees?”
“I wanted to—”
“Don’t you have email on your cell phone? Wait, you don’t still have a flip phone, do you? Tell me you’ve got one of those old Motorola RAZRs with the clamshell case.” Firoz began to giggle
.
“I have an iPhone,” Tom said. “The latest version. 4.”
“A 4s?”
“Uh, no. Just 4, no s. So I’m just a model behind.”
“The latest version is 6s. You’re five models behind.”
Tom stood up. “I’ll be at my partner’s desk if you need me.”
Tom took his handwritten notes and the case files, went to Roy’s workstation, and sat down. Then he stared at his partner’s screen saver, Chun Li from the Street Fighter videogames. Chun Li offered no inspiration on what to do next. But detective work wasn’t about inspiration. It was about pounding pavement and doing research. Since Roy was out pounding pavement, looking for video footage of the perp, Tom fired up Google and looked up Tilphousia, the screen name of the guy who’d harassed, and possibly killed, Kendal Hefferton.
Tilphousia, Megaera, and Alecto are three infernal goddesses in Greek mythology, known as Erinyes or Furies.
Tom could still see the word FURIE written on the wall of the last crime scene. He read on.
They had the wings of crows, and bloodshot eyes, and wore crowns of live spiders, and they punished the wicked for their crimes with pain and torture.
Tom clicked on a hyper-realistic drawing of a scowling, witch-like woman with spiders in her hair, flaying the skin off a screaming man’s back with a studded whip.
He searched for more information, and learned all about the furies’ history and depiction in art and literature. They were frightening, sadistic creatures, whose sole purpose was to inflict suffering. Tom read a scholarly paper about the absorption of Greek gods into early Christianity, and how the furies were refitted as demons, dragging sinners into hell for atonement.
Tom had no doubt this was his killer. A psycho who thought he was an avenging deity, taking out his warped agenda on webcam models. Just like his mythical counterpart, he first stalked and hounded his victims, tormenting them before swooping in to torture and kill.
Tom went back to the first report, the murder of Kendal Zhanping over five weeks ago. He and Roy had done extensive interviews with the webcam agency she’d worked for, along with a competitor. Their security was top notch. Models could live anywhere in the world, and they had full control over their client list. For example, a webcam performer who lived in Chicago could prohibit anyone from Chicago, or Illinois, or the Midwest, from accessing her page. Their own locations were hidden from clients, and the agencies gave the models tips on how to make their performance areas untraceable. Unlike sex workers, or exotic dancers, or even adult actors who go to conventions and greet fans, webcam models were particularly hard to find. And it made sense. You didn’t want stalkers finding you. But you also didn’t want your postman recognizing you from your Hitachi vibrator show.
Webcam models didn’t use their real name. The websites all used secure, encrypted connections. The models could block individual users, or entire regions. Yet The Snipper found two victims, and they were both named Kendal. Not their cam names. Their real names.
If it had been the same website, Tom would have suspected someone on the inside. But the two agencies weren’t related in any way.
“Hey, Firoz,” Tom called over the desk.
“What?”
“How hard is it to hack an encrypted website?”
“Depends. Different sites have different levels of security. What kind of site?”
“A porn site. Webcam models.”
“You’re too cheap to pay?”
“I want to know how The Snipper is finding out who these models are, and where they live.”
Firoz pushed away from my computer and laced his fingers behind his head. “Lots of ways. There are tools and programs. He could hack the source code to find passwords. If the site has HTTPS he could use a brute-force attack.”
“Sounds violent.”
“It means you use a program to keep trying random passwords until one works. This can technically be used on any system. Depending on password strength it can take minutes, or millennia. For example, it took me thirty seconds to crack your Facebook password. For the record, your last name plus the year you were born is used by millions of people. So are ascending numbers, like 1-2-3-4, or the word password. I hope your bank password isn’t so easy. Some morons use their social security number. Anyone who steals your wallet has your Social. People are idiots.”
Tom made a mental note to change his bank password. “So if you were looking for webcam models named Kendal, how would you do it?”
“I’d find the top webcam model sites, and I’d be searching for administrator passwords. That would give me webmaster access, so I could search employee records.”
“What if I needed you to start looking?”
“Then you’d need a warrant. And you aren’t going to get one. NSA aside, you can’t just hack the whole country hoping to find evidence of a crime. That’s not how the law, or the Constitution, works.”
Tom knew that. But he wanted to plant a seed in Firoz’s head, in case the man wanted to do a little hacking outside normal work hours. “That might be the only way we catch him. To find out who his next target is. It will be a webcam model in Illinois named Kendal. How many can there be?”
CHAPTER 16
Kendal opened her eyes, unsure of where she was. Linda stared down at her.
“Hey, slut. You scared the heck out of us.”
Kendal realized she was lying on the couch, in the living room. “What happened?”
“We heard something pound on the front door. It was your head. You were passed out on the porch.”
She reached for the sore spot on her scalp, found a lump. “How long ago?”
“Just happened. We were about to call 911.”
Kendal saw Hildy in the kitchen, the land line receiver in her hand.
“No!” Kendal said, louder than she’d wanted to. “I’m okay. I don’t need a doctor.”
Kendal knew where that path would lead. If she told anyone at the ER about the things she’d been hearing and seeing, they’d admit her for observation. That meant missing several days of school. Or weeks, if they decided her mental health issues were severe enough. Kendal could deal with it on her own.
“I’m fine.” She nodded at Hildy. “Really. I just tripped.”
Hildy said, “Whatevs,” and hung up.
The memory returned to Kendal. The dark van. The text. She patted her pockets. “Where’s my phone?”
Linda winced, then held up Kendal’s Samsung Galaxy, the screen cracked in a spiderweb pattern. Kendal reached for it. The cell didn’t even turn on.
“Shit,” Kendal said.
“I’ve got like six old cell phones. You can have one of mine. Just stick your SIM card in, it’ll work fine. But you should play this up.” Linda leaned forward and whispered, “Do a chat, show everyone. They’ll feel sorry for you and tip you crazy cash.”
Kendal didn’t want to do a chat. She wanted to get away from all the cameras. She could feel them all, like weights pressing down on her. Drills, boring into her bones. But the idea of leaving the house frightened her. Maybe the van was just a hallucination, or maybe it wasn’t. Kendal wasn’t ready to prove it one way or the other. She just needed some alone time, to think. Someplace dark and quiet.
The basement?
The sorority house had an unfinished basement, cement floors and walls, exposed beams and columns. It was dusty, and probably full of spiders.
No, thanks.
The bedroom, then. Cameras off, even though Kendal needed the money now more than ever.
Kendal said, “Good idea,” to Linda, then stood up. There was a pinch of dizziness that quickly passed, and then she was counting the steps to her bedroom. She touched the knob three times, went inside, and locked the door behind her.
After making sure all the cameras were off, Kendal logged onto her laptop computer. She stared at the built-in webcam at the top of the screen, frowned, and stuck a Post-It note over it. Then she went on Google and searched for “
schizophrenic hallucinations.” She found the usual sites; Wikipedia, the National Institutes of Health, WebMD, but it was all the same stuff she’d known for years. Take your meds. Get counseling. Keep a journal. Confront the voices in your head.
But what if it wasn’t voices? What if it was a van? Or a text message?
The chat balloon appeared. A subscriber wanted to reach Kendal. She clicked on IGNORE.
The balloon appeared again.
I know you’re seeing things.
Kendal froze.
I can help you.
Kendal wasn’t sure what to do. If this was a hallucination, the doctors recommended confronting it, ordering it to go away.
But if it was some pervert, stalking her, Kendal needed proof.
How? Take a picture of the screen? Her phone had just broken.
Wasn’t there a way to do some sort of screen capture?
Kendal Googled it.
You can’t ignore me, Kendal. I’m your destiny.
Who r u? Kendal typed.
Some call me Megaera.
What do you want?
What all people want. I want the righteous to prosper. And the wicked punished.
Kendal quickly read how to print a picture of your computer screen. All she had to do was press one key, PRTSCN. But where was that key?
Whores need punishment. I can give you Penance for your sins.
How do I know you’re real? Kendal typed.
You’ll know I’m real when I stick the knife in.
Kendal spotted the PRTSCN button, above the INSERT key. She pressed it.
Nothing happened.
She went back to the Google page, and realized she needed Photoshop or something like it; some art or picture program to paste the screen capture she took. She clicked on the Start icon and began to search Windows for art apps.
What are you doing?
She clicked on the Accessories folder. There! A program called Paint.
Stop it, Kendal. I’m warning you.
