Game of Death

by David Hosp

  ‘Everything seems to be taking on additional urgency these days,’ I say. ‘I’m just trying to deal with it.’

  He looks back at NetMaster. ‘You see? It’s alright. Would you mind letting me talk to Nick privately?’ NetMaster looks incensed. He stands there, spluttering, but after a moment he nods – almost a bow – and backs out of the office. ‘He’s crude, but loyal,’ Josh says. ‘One of so many necessary evils that someone in my position must tolerate.’

  ‘Are there many other evils you tolerate?’ I ask.

  He smiles at me, and I feel cold at the sight. ‘Please, Nick, sit. Let’s talk.’ We sit on two incongruous, uncomfortable chairs set at an acute angle to each other. He leans forward, bringing his hands together, locking his fingers and resting his chin on his knuckles. ‘I spent the morning talking to our people at Morgan Stanley,’ he starts. He looks at me to see whether I’ll have any reaction. I just stare back at him. ‘Do you want to know what they said?’

  ‘If it’s something I should hear,’ I say. At the moment I really couldn’t care less. I know that’s foolish; I have millions of dollars riding on what happens to the company, but it’s just not what I’m thinking about at this point.

  ‘Oh, it’s something you should hear. They think we’ll be ready to announce within the month. More importantly, they think the valuations for the IPO are going to go even higher than we originally anticipated. We initially had a goal of somewhere in the range of thirty-five dollars a share. That would be excellent. But looking over the numbers, and judging the interest on the street, our investment bankers are now thinking that the price is going to be over forty. Maybe as high as forty-five. Do you know what that would mean?’

  ‘It means a lot of money for you,’ I say.

  ‘It would mean that we will have had the largest IPO in history. We will have done it! And, yes, it would also mean a lot of money, but not just for me. It would mean a lot of money for everyone at the company. Every single employee we have has some level of equity participation. I checked yours, and at forty-five dollars a share, you will be making over thirty million dollars. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I answer honestly.

  ‘I would think that would help to make whatever time your mother has left much more comfortable, wouldn’t it?’ I glare at him. ‘Yes, I remember your mother, Nick. I met her when you first joined the company, and I remember that if it hadn’t been for the opportunity I gave you, she would not have gotten treatment. Tom Jackson came to me and told me about this brilliant young man who was in a hard place, and he said you were exactly the kind of person who would be an exceptional asset to the company. He was right, you know? What you have created in your little black-ops section is remarkable. The research you are able to gather guides virtually all of the company’s decisions on products at this point. You created that. No one else.’ He leans back in the chair. It is awkward because the chair back is low and leans at an angle. ‘You know, I think you may be even more talented than Tom himself. I’ve wondered recently whether you shouldn’t be heading up our revenue development.’

  ‘I’m not taking Tom’s job,’ I say firmly.

  He shrugs. ‘It was a thought. In any event, depending on what happens in the near future, I may have to move Tom out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m not convinced that he is aggressive enough with respect to revenue generation.’ He pauses. ‘And recently I’ve started to have questions about his ability to judge the character of those he has hired.’

  It hangs there between us for a moment, both of us fully cognizant of what he is implying. Then he leans forward again.

  ‘How is this unpleasant investigation going, Nick?’

  ‘It’s going.’

  ‘Is it? I understand that you met with Kendra Madison this morning.’

  ‘How did you know that?’ I ask.

  He smiles icily again. ‘Oh please, Nick,’ he says. ‘You wouldn’t imagine that I would fail to stay informed about something as . . . sensitive . . . as this, would you?’ I don’t answer, and he looks away for a moment. ‘She’s a very disturbed young woman,’ he continues. ‘It’s sad, really. She’s very beautiful. Very . . . sexy. I remember when I first met her, I was enchanted. She holds that power over men. Do you know what I mean?’ This time it’s my turn to look away. He chuckles. ‘Yes, of course you do. I spent some time with her for a number of years. It was nothing serious, obviously, though I think she wanted it to be. She was a remarkably sexual creature, with very . . . unorthodox . . . tastes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He hesitates, leans in and says in a conspiratorial tone, ‘She likes pain.’ I look at him, and he nods solemnly. ‘She likes to inflict it, and to have it inflicted on her. I’m embarrassed to admit that I was intrigued by this for a time. I think it’s a product of being successful, and still not feeling that I’m finished. I confess that I sometimes fall prey to idle speculation about the meaning of it all. All this,’ he sweeps his arm around the room, ‘what does it all mean? Questions like that have, on occasion, led me into unproductive behaviors. My time with Kendra was one of those times.’

  I think about her. I have trouble drawing the distinction between the real woman and her incarnation in De Sade’s LifeScene.

  ‘Do you understand why I’m telling you this?’ I nod.

  ‘Good.’ He grins. ‘As you move forward, and as you and Detective Killkenny discuss these matters, I want you to have a full picture of who I am. I hope I have accomplished that.’

  ‘I think you have,’ I say. ‘Is that all?’

  The smile disappears. ‘For now,’ he says. ‘But you should bear in mind what we have talked about here, and previously. You hold the future of all of those at the company in your hands. You must consider what the future will be as you move forward.’

  ‘I will,’ I say. ‘You can count on that.’

  I stop by Tom Jackson’s office on the floor below before I leave the building. I trust Tom, and I’ve always been grateful to him for bringing me into the company. I’m hoping that he may be able to give me an unbiased perspective.

  He is sitting at his desk, tapping away on his computer when I poke my head through the door. ‘You got a minute?’ I ask.

  He looks up. ‘Nick,’ he says. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You working on the revenue generation?’

  He smiles as he nods. ‘Always. Not the easiest task.’

  ‘No, I’m sure.’ I’m not sure where to start. ‘Tom, you know I’ve always appreciated what you did for me – bringing me in, making sure Ma was taken care of, all of it.’

  ‘You don’t need to thank me, Nick,’ Tom says. ‘I brought you in because I knew you’d help the company. I was right; you’ve proved that over the past four years.’

  I sigh. ‘There may be some who disagree at this point.’

  ‘The investigation?’

  I nod. ‘I’m trying to do what’s right.’

  He smiles. ‘You’ve always been better than any of us at that.’

  ‘But what if that leads me into places that are no good for the company?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  I wave a hand in dismissal. ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I don’t mean anything. Listen, there was one question that I wanted to ask you. One of the girls who appears in De Sade’s LifeScenes is named Kendra Madison.’ Tom sits up straight at the mention of her name. ‘She said you were friends.’

  Tom looks around, as though worried that someone might be listening in to our conversation. ‘I don’t know that I would call us friends,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t worry, Tom, I already know about her and Pinkerton. I just wanted your view on what happened between the two of them. Josh says that she was into kinky violence. She says that he got out of line with her, and that you stepped in and helped her. I’m just curious for your perspective. It would be helpful.’

  Tom shakes his head. ‘I’m not comfortable talking about t
hat,’ he says. ‘He’s my boss, and she’s . . . ’ he pauses. ‘Well, you’ve met her. I tried to help both of them. I’m still not sure I succeeded.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like I say, I’m not comfortable talking about it.’

  He and I sit in silence for a moment. ‘Okay,’ I say at last. ‘I get it.’ I stand up and walk to the door.

  ‘Nick,’ he says before I can leave. I turn and look at him. ‘You need to help the police track down the person who is doing these terrible things to these women.’

  ‘I’m trying,’ I say.

  ‘Nick,’ he says, his voice full of emphasis. ‘I mean it. No matter where it leads, no matter what it takes. Do you understand me?’

  ‘I’m not sure I do.’

  ‘Whoever this is, he’s going to keep doing it. We’ve provided a doorway for people to explore their darkest sides, and someone has walked through that door. He’s gotten lost on the other side, and I don’t think he’s coming back. It’s something I’ve worried about from the beginning of this company. So many people are unhappy with their lives, and then they find another life where they can be someone totally different. If you were that unhappy, would you come back?’

  I think about it for a moment. ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘Now do you understand why he needs to be caught?’

  I nod to him silently and walk out of his office.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When I get back to the office in Cambridge, my head is pounding. It’s too much information for me to absorb, and none of it seems to make sense. I’m hoping that Yvette has found something that will bring clarity to it all, but those hopes are dashed when I see her face.

  ‘I think I’m close, but I’m not there yet,’ she says, her frustration evident.

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘I don’t know, Nick,’ she snaps. It’s clear that she’s going to need some rest soon, or she’ll collapse. I don’t care how strong she is, no one can keep going at this pace. ‘I don’t even know whether what I’m doing will work. I’ve written a program that should collect all the bits and packets that make up any LifeScenes that match De Sade’s profile and reside on the system, so anything that was created on a drive that is connected to the company should be found, but there’s no guarantee that it’s gonna work. And even if it does, I don’t know that I’m gonna be able to put them back together in any way that’ll be useful.’

  ‘But you’ll be able to identify which computer on the system was used to create the Scenes?’

  ‘If I’m right, and they were created on the system, then yes, theoretically that information should be there. But I could be wrong.’

  ‘Well, if you’re wrong, I’m not sure where we go from there. We don’t have any information about this asshole that will lead us to him.’

  ‘I was thinking about that,’ Yvette says. ‘It’s not really true. We actually have a fair amount of information.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, we know what he’s done to these girls. And we know that he’s chosen De Sade as his username.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem like much,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe not,’ she admits, ‘but you never know. After my computer program started running and I had a moment to breathe, I started trying to put myself in this guy’s mind.’

  ‘Jesus, you really need to get some rest.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ she says. ‘I started trying to figure out what’s motivating this guy. Why is he doing what he’s doing? What’s the logic behind it?’

  ‘You think there’s logic behind this?’

  ‘I think De Sade thinks there’s logic to it. These killings are stylized. They’re detailed and carefully planned. So the question is: what do these murders do for this guy? What do they get him?’

  I think about this for a moment, but I can’t think of anything other than that he’s a psycho who gets off on murder. ‘I’ve got nothing. You think you can figure it out?’

  ‘Not yet. But I figured the more information we have, the better, so I did a little research on the real Marquis de Sade. I thought maybe that would lead us somewhere.’

  ‘What did you learn?’

  ‘A lot. I’m just not sure what it means. He was born in 1740 in France, and lived most of his life in Paris. He was a writer, philosopher and politician. When he was in his thirties he became known for a hedonistic way of life. He used to pay prostitutes to let him abuse them, and he would often take advantage of his servants.’

  ‘Pinkerton apparently abused Kendra Madison,’ I say.

  ‘If you believe her. How do you know that she’s telling the truth?’

  ‘He confirmed it. He says that it’s what she wanted – what she liked – and he just got dragged into it, but he admitted to me that he did get into that kind of scene with her when they were together. Maybe that was just the start. Maybe he decided that he liked it, and he wanted to take it further.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Yvette says. ‘De Sade was rich, just like Pinkerton. That’s how he got away with what he did for so long. He was able to pay people off, and keep people quiet. Maybe that’s what Josh was trying to do with Kendra Madison.’

  ‘What else did you learn?’

  ‘Well, eventually De Sade’s luck ran out and he was arrested. He spent a bunch of time in prisons and insane asylums. He was in the Bastille for six years, from 1784 through 1790. He was there when he wrote The One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom. That was his masterpiece – a 700-page story about four middle-aged men who exile themselves to a castle with forty-six victims and spend four months engaging in escalating degeneracy. They hire four women – brothel-keepers – to document all of the twisted things they do.’

  ‘So who are the brothel-keepers here?’ I ask idly.

  ‘Maybe NextLife is all he needs. The system documents what he’s doing; maybe that’s all he wants.’

  ‘Maybe. What happens in the book?’

  ‘The sexual violence gets worse and worse, and more depraved with each consecutive month. Eventually they slaughter all of their victims. The things that De Sade describes in the book sound even worse than what our boy has done.’

  ‘What sorts of things?’

  ‘They flay the skin off their victims; they tear out their intestines and set them on fire; they use hot pokers to torture their victims in various different orifices. Things like that.’

  ‘Lovely. Let’s hope this bastard doesn’t go that far.’

  ‘You never know; the violence in the book apparently gets more and more brutal.’

  ‘Did you come up with any connections that could be drawn with Gunta?’

  Yvette shakes her head. ‘Nothing that I could see. Though it’s interesting that, even if we think the good doctor is gay, that wouldn’t rule him out. The forty-six victims in the book are a combination of boys and girls, and De Sade himself apparently swung both ways. He was first jailed for sodomy with one of his valets.’

  ‘What ended up happening to him?’

  ‘He had an interesting life. He lived through the French Revolution, and was actually released from prison and elected to the French parliament for the ultra-liberal party. He was in the government during the Reign of Terror. When Napoleon came into power, he ordered De Sade to be jailed again, and his family arranged to have him transferred to an insane asylum and eventually released into exile on one of his estates. He spent the last eight years before his death having an ongoing, physically punishing affair with a girl that started when she was thirteen.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘He was seventy-four.’

  I shake my head in disbelief. ‘And he was abusing a thirteen-year-old?’

  ‘That’s what the history books say.’

  ‘What a sick fuck.’

  Yvette nods. ‘A brilliant fuck, too, though. He started the entire amoralist movement. People who took some level of inspiration from him included people like Friedrich Nietzsche and Sigmund Fr
eud. Some historians trace existentialism back to him. Even Simone de Beauvoir, the feminist, relies on De Sade for some of her thinking. She wrote that his views on women were actually far more egalitarian than traditional religious doctrine.’

  ‘Tell that to the women he tortured.’ I look at Yvette. ‘You don’t buy any of this as a genuinely legitimate philosophy, do you?’

  ‘Amoralism?’ She stares at the wall for a moment. ‘Not really, but I understand the attraction. I grew up watching the way the Church viewed morality. The heads of the Church sat on their hands as children were molested – they transferred abusive priests from parish to parish as they denied that anything was happening. I had a friend who was molested when he was thirteen; he was so afraid to tell anyone, he swore me to secrecy. He thought there was something wrong with him – thought it was his fault, because that’s what he was taught.’ She sighs heavily. ‘He killed himself when he was nineteen. After that, it just seemed to me that the people I grew up thinking had moral superiority had no real legitimacy, so I figured everything was bullshit. I gave up on morality, and I just started doing my own thing – going by my own compass. I guess I believe morality exists; I just think it can be hard to find.’

  ‘Do you have trouble finding it?’

  ‘I do,’ she says absently. She seems to shake herself and looks at me again. ‘I’ve figured out enough to know that whoever is doing this to these women is a bad, bad person, and we have to stop him.’

  As I nod, my cellphone rings. The caller ID is a number I don’t recognize and I consider letting it go to my voicemail, but decide against it. I hit the answer button and hold the phone up to my ear. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is this Nick?’ I recognize Kendra Madison’s voice instantly, and for a moment I think perhaps I’m having a dream.

  ‘Yes, this is Nick.’

  ‘Do you know who this is?’

  I hesitate. ‘Yes,’ I say at last.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘How did you get this number?’

  ‘Information.’

  ‘It’s unlisted.’